From The Hands Of Angels ToThe Den Of The Devil

Day Three: Tishomingo MS to Greenville MS

•         236 miles

•         11 hours

•         The Trace to 8 W to 7 W to 82 W

•         number of states: 1

•         # of wardrobe changes in three days: 0

            We got up this morning with heavy hearts. We had spent the night away from R. Girl (she slept at Main Street Cycles), and still didn't know why her back tire was flat. We suspected that we hit a nail or something on The Trace, and that we'd have to buy a new tire. Needless to say, at probably $250, it throws our budget off a bit.

            Terry fetched us at promptly 8:30 am and drove us back in to Tish. The Pirate and Terry went over to Main Street Cycles to plead with them to try and save the tire if possible. None of us like the idea of driving down the road with a patch, but hell, it's cheaper. I hang out in the gas station a few steps away and write. I also go and gawk at the alley kittens, who steal my heart whilst the locals shake their heads and roll their eyes.

So, good news! It turns out that the valve stem wasn't replaced when the Pirate bought this particular tire about a month ago (Cycle Sportz is in trouble!). The guys at Main Street replaced that, pumped the tire back up and we were back on the road for under $70. Hooray for Main Street Cycles!! Hooray for Terry Whithead! Hooray for Tishomingo!

I’m going to pause and let the Pirate explain why changing a motorcycle tire is not that easy:

“For all of you who don’t know, changin’ a motorcycle tire is nothing like a car. You damn near hafta  tear the whole rear end off. You can’t just jack it up and pull it off like a car. You hafta  have a certain machine to break the bead, the you hafta replace the tube. It’s a son of a bitch.“

(From now, whenever  it’s the Pirate it will be in that font)

            The Trace takes us down to Tupelo MS, birthplace of the King. Our first stop is a local hardware store to get a tire gauge. We walk in, holy moly, this place is floor to ceiling stuff, and I am the only female in there. A sweet old guy helps us out, and tells us that Tupelo Hardware is where the King got his first guitar. He told us all kinds of stories, told us where to eat and recommended we check out the actual home where Elvis was born. All the old guys were all over us and R. Girl. “How far ya'll travelin'?”  “What's the make of  'at bike?”  “Hot day for a ride, ain't it?”

 

We take the shop keeper's recommendation and eat at Romie's Barbeque. Ribs, fried green tomatoes, deviled eggs, texas toast and 2 sweet pickles; banana pudding for dessert. These are the best ribs I've ever had; tender, sweet and smokey. I know that this is our last official day in the South. What this means is that it's the last day to get any decent iced tea or banana pudding. There are undoubtledly good ribs in Texas, but otherwise, this is the last chance to eat the food of our beloved homeland. We decide that the deviled eggs are nowhere near as good as mine, and the banana pudding is nowhere near as good as the Pirate's Mom's (yes, Pirates have Moms). In the middle of our meal, the shop keeper from the hardware store pops in, all the way from his store, several blocks away, to see if we are enjoying ourselves.  Is that sweet or what?

 

The birthplace of Elvis is probably best enjoyed by serious Elvis fans, of which I am not. I applaud his contributions to the world of music and showmanship, but other wise I could take it or leave it. My favorite thing about the birthplace was the sign on the the church across the street that read “worship the real King and see Elvis in heaven”. Fightin' words.

            It turns out that the middle of Mississippi in the middle of the day in the middle of summer is hot. We speed along beside acres of sweet potatoes and corn and watch storm clouds build in the direction we're headed. We get to a little town where we decided ahead of time would be a good place to stop and learn a valuable biker tip: public libraries rock. Air conditioned, quiet, internet access, bathrooms, bazillions of magazines. Heaven. Once we’re settled in and happily casting about the internets, it storms like hell; purple skies, thunder and lightening, the works. We are tucked in the library and R. Girl is tucked under the library eaves. Really realy good timing.

            The day ends with a sunset on the shores of the Mississippi River in Greenville, MS. We’re beside a floating casino on a huge concrete levy. Folks from the town are sitting around on benches and quietly fishing. Carp are hopping around in the water.  It’s all really peaceful, but there’s something weird about this town. It feels recently abandoned, though it wasn’t affected by the spring flooding. It turns out that once the sun sets, Greenville MS gets even weirder…..