Breakfast at the motel in Jackson, They had a waffle maker fer Christ's sake!The pope's funeral is on the telly. How do you bury one guy in three boxes?
The trace dtours around Jackson, so we went the long way around. That is; the long wrong all the way around. But, hey, we're here to ride, so what the hell?
The sun is out in full force and we quickly find ourselves shedding gear. This is not a big problem on the Trace as it is a leisurely ride with no surprises save the local wildlife kamkazeein' ya' every so often. The list of which grows by a fox and two turkeys. The fox had it timed just right, but did a 'U' turn right at the edge of the pavement touching his nose to his tail in the maneuver. Shucks! I was already figurin' out how to get his hide back to the house to made a nifty fur something out of him.....
We tooled along at a stately 60 mph for the 90 miles to Natchez and headed straight for 'Natchez - Under the Hill". For those of you not in the know, Natchez Under the Hill is a group of taverns, shops, and cafe's on the waterfront where the dock used to be for the riverboats to ply their trade. Rainman and I dined at the same cafe' that Nate and I visited last yaer and I had the 'Shrimp, Chicken, Okra Gumbo'. Delicious. Rainman expressed his satisfaction at the dining experience, though I could tell he was lookin' around for something else to stick a fork into. The man has a bottomless stomach I tell ya'.
We took a stroll along the waterfront and I was dissapointed that the Mississippi Queen was not in port, instead one of those uglyassed gambling boats was there with an ant trail of retired suckers marching in and out. Ugh.
more to come.-
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