arkansas and mississippi!

I am a few days behind on posting about my adventures. I feel bad about this, but not too bad because I have been busy having adventures. So it goes.

After poking around Fayetteville on that cold, sunny morning, I got on the road. I wasted a little bit of time going the wrong direction leaving town after following the drawling health food store clerk's directions, but eventually I was heading south on I-540 as the Boston Mountains rose to one side of me. I had to head back to my old friend I-40 to then continue southward to Mississippi. Suddenly, though, it struck me - back roads!

Up to this point on this adventure, my dedication to following back roads had not matched that of my previous adventure in November. Much of this was geographical. There are, it turns out, very few roads that will get you across the desert in the Southwest, and call me shy, but I wasn't terribly excited about exploring roads that might lead me off the beaten path in that region.

But now I was back in hill country! Dozens of country roads were already firmly entwined into regular usage before the creation of the interstates, and as such, I had options. I stopped at beautiful Lake Dardanelle, another reservoir (and as it turns out, home to Arkansas' only nuclear power plant on the side away from that reserved for recreation...) to survey my map. A few miles later, at Russellville, I left the interstate on US-64, which follows I-40 pretty closely for a ways.

A friend I made in Fayetteville had told me of some of the state's major economic influences. Tyson chicken plants exist all around the state, in addition to Walmart's corporate headquarters in Bentonville. Indeed, the interstate swarmed with semi-trucks bearing the logo of one of these two companies. As I wound my way into the more rural, agrarian part of the state, farm after farm bore the Tyson logo. I tuned into Spanish-language radio; I don't know why I love it so. In Arkansas, the Hispanic influence is relatively recent, and directly correlated to the rise in Tyson and similar employment. This leads to a new kind of racial tension; I'm told that some small towns in the area have up to 50% Hispanic population!

From US-64, I picked up Arkansas State Hwy. 9, which took me south to AR-10. The sun shone down as I breezed past farms and trees, many of which still bore green foliage. AR-10 becomes a surface street along the north edge of Little Rock. I appreciated this; I had had a fleeting desire to explore Little Rock, but decided I didn't have the time to wander around the capital city. The western edge of Little Rock was a well-groomed suburb, but as I worked my way inward I saw a more industrial side to the city. I stopped in North Little Rock at a gas station that also sold fried chicken, and realized with a start that I was the only white person in the building. A few hundred miles later, and I was in the South.

I followed AR-10 along the railroad tracks until it met up with US-70, which like US-64 in the western part of the state, hugs I-40 pretty closely for a ways. I dipped lower into the southeastern corner of the state, and then I was in cotton country. Brown cotton fields extended all around me as the sun sank lower in the sky. I mused on how cotton was grown in Arkansas, shipped to China to make clothes, then returned to Arkansas to be distributed by Wal-Mart. And somehow this is cheaper than making the clothes here?

I caught a beautiful sunset, brilliant pinks and lavenders, over rows and rows of farmland and dusty gravel roads, before turning off onto US-49 which would take me to Mississippi. Night had already fallen by the time I reached the mighty river, just past Helena, AR. I continued on US-49, and could feel the proximity of the rushing Mississippi. Clarksdale, Mississippi, touts itself as a home to the blues, and I was meeting friends there, so I exited the highway onto MS-161 into Clarksdale. I stopped at a gas station to ask directions, and soon found the town's downtown area, where blues joints lined the streets.

I met my friends at Ground Zero, a huge barn-type watering hole, which I hear is owned by Morgan Freeman. Walls were covered in posters from past shows and Sharpie-d autographs of anyone who'd ever walked in its doors. A Southern-rock cover band was setting up on stage. The bar bustled, bartenders breezily handing out shots and bottles of cheap beer. We sat at a long picnic table near the pool table, and the waitress brought us fried green tomatoes. The tomatoes were tangy beneath a savory flour breading. Not exactly my usual fare, but I'll take it in the name of adventure!

We soon tired of the cover band, and wandered over to a hole-in-the-wall called Big Red's. A blues band was jamming away, but we were reluctant to front a second cover charge for the evening. The band's singer Shariya cut us a deal at the door, convincing us of the merits of Big A and the All-Stars. She was right! We sat on a couch in the corner of the small, warm bar. Shariya had a powerful voice, booming to all ends of the room. The frontman played a tidy blues guitar, and his crooning too was soulful. Big Red, the proprietor, surveyed the room from his perch behind the bar.

Today's mileage: 388. Total mileage: 3,392.