I still haven’t quite got the picture thing figured so I will be adding pictures later but I wanted to get some things down before they escaped my memory bank forever. (That seems to happen more frequently with each passing year.) Mason is an amazingly good travel companion. I planned a route to get us to Clarksdale, Mississippi from our temporary home (ok – 1 night) in Sikeston, Missouri. It wasn’t one of my finer planning moments – lots of interstate and a big messy city (Memphis). Mason stepped in and made a much better plan.

The morning started with our normal routine of packing stuff back in the motorcycles. I think it’s funny that Mason and I don’t have a set time to roll – we just seem to be on the same time routine. We met at the bikes, loaded up, and Mason was kind enough to let me go inside and drink my first cup of coffee of the day. The weather was much better today than it has been the last 2 days. The sun was shining and the temperature was 53 degrees (F). I even packed a sweatshirt layer instead of putting it on. I was happier with few layers of cloth between me and the actual environment.

I like to start the day with a little eye opener so a half a block from the hotel my phone fell from my pocket while I was riding down the street. If it hadn’t hit my foot on the way to the concrete, I probably wouldn’t have known I had lost it. I’ll take that kind of luck any day. Cars behind me were thoughtful enough to avoid hitting my poor grounded phone. Maybe they swerved to avoid the phone or maybe they were just laughing at someone else’s bad start to the day. Either way, I was glad no one crushed my Android. There is some irreplaceable stuff on that phone like pictures of my dogs.

Phone retrieved, we were on our way. Mason and I both enjoy starting the day with a good breakfast and prefer small town diners over the larger chains. When you pick out this type of restaurant based on the name alone you can have two outcomes. One is that you pull in to the chosen place the sight of it is enough to get you to move on without crossing the threshold. The other outcome is that it screams mom-and-pop in a small town diner. Katie’s Cafe at Portageville, MO was exactly the right choice. Way to go Mason – another golden chef’s hat for you. In we went even though the parking lot was gravel. Sitting on the bench on the front of the cafe was a guy who I thought was just relaxing. I asked if the food was good here. His response: “it better be. It’s how I make a living.” Great – we’re not even in the place and now I’ve upset the owner / head chef.

Maria was our server and was the perfect personality to work in this environment. She came to our table and I asked her if she was Katie. She smiled and I’m sure she was wishing she had different customers. She handed us menus and we each ordered coffee and water. When she came out she had 1 cup of coffee and 1 glass of water. Her comment: “who gets the coffee and who gets the water”. I may move here. We ordered standard breakfast fare and it came out promptly. They really know how to do crisp bacon. I was impressed. My bill came and I was identified as “Red Shirt”. At least she didn’t identify me as “SmartAss”.

There was a menu on our table standing vertical in one of those plexiglass holders. On one side was a card with a hand written “Table 7” on it. When Maria returned with our food I told her we were really disappointed because guys like us should be Table #1. I felt sure she was going to show me her single finger indicating that we were number 1. Did I mention that the food was good? After breakfast I asked what was the big attraction in Portageville, what do people do for a living or for fun. The response was – “the best part of Portageville is the girls that work here”. I believe that’s true – besides we missed the annual “Soy Bean Festival” by one week. “There are no rides just guys on tractors pulling farm implements down the street.” OK – maybe I won’t move here.

We said goodbye to Maria and walked outside to mount up. There we were met by a fellow biker who was parked at the far end of the lot. He walked up, introduced himself as Ricky, and asked if he could pray for us. Truthfully, I need all the help I can get. Reverend Ricky prayed for a safe journey for all of us. This is small-town heart-of-America right here in Missouri.

Sometimes taking the interstate is the smart way around the dreaded big city. Trust me, Memphis is a big city. We managed to maneuver through some minor road construction delays as we continued aiming south and west. I’m sure Reverend Ricky’s words helped.

The day was heating up as we crossed over into Arkansas. It was time to stop for a break. There was a rest stop which just happened to be an Arkansas welcome center. I’m sorry – I try to avoid anything political in my blogs but when you walk in and there is Bill Clinton’s life size cardboard stand-up directly in front of you it strikes me as funny. They could have chosen any number of things to represent Arkansas (Walmart logo, the Razorback football team, etc.). Their choice of Bill Clinton says a lot about the state government. As least Hillary’s cardboard wasn’t there too.

As we drove through a small slice of Clinton’s state and in to Mississippi, we were rolling alongside some huge cotton fields. Once I figure out how to add pics, I’m going to add a picture of a cotton field. I was fascinated. At least it not corn or soy beans which is about all that Indiana has.

We ended the day about 260 miles from where we started. We’re in Clarksdale, Mississippi. If you listen to blues music, you may know the story of Robert Johnson. The legend says that Robert met the devil “at the crossroads” and sold his soul if the devil would make him a great guitar player. I’ve heard a couple of different versions of where “THE crossroads” actually is but it was near Clarksdale. There is a marker where highways 61 and 49 cross. Highway 61 is known as the “blues highway”. The plan for tomorrow is to ride to the Crossroads (hopefully the Devil himself won’t show up) and explore a couple of things here before moving on to Tupelo.

I’m having a great time rambling with Mason.