Day 20: Friday, July 4, 2003

Independence Day!

As I'm cleaning and packing up the bike in the morning, a lady who likes motorcycles comes over and sits on the curb to talk to me. She asks about my trip and where I'm going. I tell her I'm headed home to California, planning to hop on Interstate 40 westbound. Then she tells me I should ride the Natchez Trace.

Never having heard of the Natchez Trace, I ask her what and where it is. She tells me its a beautiful parkway that goes west and that I can pick it up not far from where we are, off I-40 she thinks.

As I head out, I first stop at a gas station to fill up, and I ask the attendant for directions to the Natchez Trace. She gives me directions that keep me off I-40 entirely, and in a few minutes I'm riding this beautiful, smoothly paved, two-lane parkway that winds through woodlands and past grassy meadows, with overpasses and underpasses at every intersection. Also, the amazing thing here is that this is the Fourth of July, right? But there is virtually NO traffic on the Natchez Trace. Every minute or so I see a car going the other way. And actually there are almost more motorcycles than four-wheeled vehicles.

I ride this thing for a couple of hours, probably 70 miles or so. I did not see it on my map, but I am heading generally westward, so I don't worry too much about it. Along the way there are points of interest with signs that explain the history. I stop at several of these. The Trace was apparently the historic trail used by stages to travel through the woods between Nashville and Natchez, Mississippi, during the early 19th century. It follows an old Native American trail that runs along a ridgeline and by following the high ground minimizes the need to ford streams and avoids much of the marshy surrounding terrain. At a couple of points there are remnants of the historic Old Trace, the original route, which due to the exigencies of of modern highway construction is usually offset from the new Trace by up to several hundred yards and occasionally crosses from one side to the other.

Eventually I see a sign for highway US 64, which I remember from North Carolina as generally heading west. I get off there, thinking this will shortly put me back on I-40, not realizing that the Natchez Trace has actually taken me southwest toward the lower edge of Tennessee, and that I-40 is now about 40 miles away. I stay on US 64, which takes me through Tennessee farmlands and eventually to Memphis. US 64 in this part of western Tennessee is also known as the "Sheriff Buford Pusser Memorial Highway." Rain comes up, and I have to ride through a couple of pretty violent downpours on route 64. Fortunately I suit up in time and there is no hail. At Memphis I cross the Mississippi River into Arkansas and connect with Interstate 40 again. The Natchez Trace was a bit of a side trip, but well worth the extra time. It's a beautiful motorcycle road and highly recommended.

Once back on I-40 I blast, trying to get as far west as I can that day. As with most places on the interstate highways in America, the traffic is moving about 20 miles per hour faster than the speed limit, and there is very little enforcement. I kept up. In general, I believe it is safest on a motorcycle to move at about the same speed as traffic, and if possible just slightly faster -- in many cases both difficult. A comfortable speed from the standpoint of wind buffeting and maintaining good gas mileage is usually in the 60-75 mph range, but traffic normally moves faster than that. If I move with traffic or slightly faster, I always worry that though enforcment may be light, I will be the one to get the ticket -- a complication I can do without. In this case, I moved with traffic.

I had hoped to make it to Fort Smith, across Arkansas on the Oklahoma line. But the time spent on the Natchez Trace eliminated that as a possibility. By nightfall I made it to Little Rock, and actually a little beyond, to a town named Conway. I took a motel room for the night, then headed a short distance down the road to the Outback Steak House I had seen from the highway. This was one of my main reasons for stopping here. I figured I could get a good stiff drink and a big juicy steak.

The hostess at Outback offered to seat me at a table, but I told her I preferred to sit at the bar. I sit down, order a drink, and that is when the "bartender", who actually turns out to be my waiter, tells me that this is a dry county and no alcoholic beverages are available.

Deflate. Deflate. Deflate.

I can't believe this. Why would they even build an Outback Steak House here? The waiter tells me they are trying to get the law changed, maybe that will happen next year. Sheeze! Where is civilization when we need it? I order a diet coke. No Manhattan cocktail to mellow me out at the end of this day. But the big juicy steak was good.