Floribama Riders

Two things in my life really get me going. M & M's baby. Music and motorcycles. Over the last 3 years, we have been able to weave the two together on several of our rides.... TRTEAR in Arkansas had us in Mountain Home, listening to musicians that came down out of the hills to play on the court square. Indigenous, homespun, and completely wonderful. The Bride's ride had us go to the mecca of country music, the Grand Ole Opry. While not everyone's cuppa tea, you have to be impressed by the production value and the great sense of history that this live radio show maintains week after week. Our forays down into Louisiana allow us to dance to authentic cajun music and soak in the ambiance of crawfish dishes liberally laced with bottles of liquid fire. All of these jaunts were wonderful in that they combined my two great loves.

Having grown up in Memphis, I was exposed to a wonderful melange of live music. I knew as much about the Bar-Kays as I did about Booker T and the MG's. From the BoxTops to Confunkshun, Memphis has always been about drawing musical talent from all over the delta region that this aging queen of the south has held sway over. The list of musicians that can trace there roots back to the delta blues and the rock and roll of today can all follow a single black line to the springboard for talent that Memphis became. I did not experience the ugly days of segregation like my wife did, but the polarization of the races in Memphis still has an austere effect on a city that begs to forget its past. After seeing the Spike Lee movie about Birmingham's 4 little girls, the newsreels of Bull Connor days, and then seeing first hand the abject wrong propagated in Mississippi by the white landlords to the black community, you begin to get a sense of the magic and miracle
of blues and rock and roll.

On this trip, it was not about the ride, but about the destinations. The ride was just the magic carpet that allowed us to soak up first hand the true sense of the region. Rooster and Paula (we gotta get her into the Order of Blutarsky soon!) and Bekay and BD were the FBR that answered this ride call. I know how life can get in the way of a weekend outing, so it was no surprise that we ended up with a "quality vs quantity" ride. A quick blast down 20/59 put us on Hwy 82, the east-west corridor that hooks Mississippi' s hill country to the delta nestled by the mighty Mississippi in the west. We were nervous about the 50/50 call on rain, but we made the trip in sunshine and without one once of the liquid sort of sun that plagues riders. One cute incident happened in Greenwood as we stopped for a fuel/peepee break. A black cop pulls up and motions me over.... "yes sir?" I asked as my brain churned out the offenses I might have commited to get my butt
chewed and a ticket. "Nice bike" he says. I grinned, and said "thanks"! Then he asked how old I was. "Ummmmm, sir, 54." He grinned again and said, "aren't you kind of old to be riding one of those?" I just laughed and told him "you are what you eat, my brother". His partner leaned over and exclaimed he rode a 'busa (Hi-Ah-Bustah) and dug the Blackbird as much as his 'busa. We had a nice chat, exchanged email addy's and of course, I pimped the club. Basically, we got a "get outta jail" card in Greenwood and made a couple of new friends.

We made the final 27 miles to Indianola without incident... enjoying the ultra flat agricultural views of row after row of soy beans or cotton that had been planted. All of the rivers were at flood stage, so each river crossed seemed to be right under the bottom of the bridge. Lots of brown water was flowing, and I know the fishing was gonna suck for gar and carp and buffalo this weekend. We stayed in the Super 8, owned and run by a Pakistani dude. Overpriced, it was at least clean. Our dinner plans were for Doe's Eat Place over in Greenville which was a 17 mile ride. Sade, my friend from the museum told me that Club Ebony and Club 308 in Indianola did not have music this particular Friday, so we should head down to Walnut street after dinner in Greenville.

We made the trek over, winding our way through low income neighbor hoods till we found a little clapboard house with the sign, "Doe's Eat Place" hanging in front. Hmmmm.... lotsa cars. Good sign. You enter by going up some old wooden steps, through a squeeky screen door, right into the kitchen as the food is being cooked and served. Ah oh, we were 15 minutes late, but they just laughed and squeezed us in. This place was a complete throwback to the days of brown bagging that I remember in Memphis. Most tables brought there own Jack, Crown, Wine, or whatever. They did serve beer and the Rooster needed some refreshment to help him get his cockadoodle doo working again. The waitress (a VERY stereotypical old school, "hair piled up high") lady, asked what we wanted to eat. "But ma'am, we havent seen a menu yet"..... "honey, we don't have menus here". Oh. Well, you get basically 4 selections. Tamales, Fried shrimp, Steaks, or Spaghetti. I ordered a
porterhouse, bone in. Typically, I don't like steak with a bone in cuz you pay for the damn bone and not much meat. When I made that comment, the folks at the table next to me just laughed. Then the waitress laughed. Hmmmmm. Nuttin funny to me, I want MEAT baby! We had the Doe's salad (great homemade dressing btw) and gnoshed on the tamales. They were tasty, wrapped in cornshucks, and had a semi spicy filling. Not bad. Then.... she brought.... the meal. Understand, Big Daddy has eaten in some of the finest 5 star restaurants from San Francisco to NYC, and THIS steak was the mack daddy of all steaks. Huge doesn't describe it. It was battleship big. No, it was aircraft carrier big. I thought, "Holy Jesus, Holy Jesus, how in the flamin world am I gonna choke this puppy down" Well, a) it was prepared to perfection.. .. a bit of seer on the outside, and perfectly pink on the inside. Like Bekay sez, "if it aint pink on the inside, you don't wanna eat
it" and b) it was almost like you didnt need a knife to cut it. Delicious... the best, I have EVER had. To make a long story short.... I did it. Rooster and Paula hacked theirs as best as they could, and Bekay left about 4 fried shrimp on her plate. Ambiance, history, and unreal food made for a perfectly memorable meal.

After dinner, we headed down to Walnut street to find the Blues Club at 128 Walnut. Sade had mentioned that it was a genuine juke joint and to give it a go. The talent was local from Jackson Mississippi and got cranked up at 10. Bekay was fading fast, so we (she and I) enjoyed a couple of songs and then headed east back to Indianola. The club had a perfect "bar funk" smell and yes, allowed smoking. No soapbox here, but somehow, clubs that don't allow smoking are too damn sterile for me. Smoking, drinking, and dancing were all the evils my mama told me to avoid, so a juke joint really needs those three things to be authentic. This plank floored, graffitti covered, old hole in the wall fit the bill on all accounts. We got to sample at least a house of worship for the blues, even if the players were all over the place in what they offered as their musical selections.

Saturday morning, we rolled over to the BB King museum. Sade met us at the door and we were greeted like long lost family. Big ole hugs, and a good smoochie from one FINE looking woman. Sade gave us the lay of the land and we stepped into what became maybe the high point of the trip. I have been a huge fan of BB since my first album I purchased of his (Indianola Mississippi Seeds). The museum is first class, with interactive and interpretive music, films, and documentaries that wove the story of how a kid without a family made his way out of the delta up to Memphis to become the Beale Street Blues Boy. Throughout the museum, his personal story was interwoven with the times.... the hard life of the sharecropper, the segregation, the propagated injustices by a white society scared to death to allow their workers any respect. All of a sudden, the Walnut Streets, the Beale streets, and all of the Saturday nite areas that black folks came together to
forget their crappy lives made sense. The common thread was the rough life the musicians from the delta all endured and the hours and hours and hours they spent honing their musical craft as a step out of a very tough life. I expected to spend about a half hour in the museum and walked out after two hours of immersion in the mentality of the times and remembrances of not only BB, but of Beale street, WDIA radio, and the legacy of scores of artists who I was able to listen to as a kid. Poignant, educational, entertaining, and very emotional. Yes, I cried at the end.

We did our requisite museum store shopping, and I reloaded my musical library with some BB CD's. Miss Sally, the "Queen of the Mississippi Juke Joints" held court and made fast friends with Bekay. Just listening to her stories could have taken the rest of the day. Sade hooked us up with calendars, posters, shirts, buttons, and the promise that if we came back, we would be guests of honor. I believe her... (btw, she is emceeing BB's homecoming) I can't tell you how much it would mean to shake the man's hand. When love comes to town, baby. For some reason, they really were taken with us coming over on bikes... especially an old dude on a sport bike.

We were ready to depart and head up to Clarksville to Ground Zero, but Rooster had some biz to conduct, so Paula, Bekay and I all went over to the Gin Mill for a cold drink. The Gin Mill is right next door to the museum, and is owned by Tom, a new found friend and soul mate. Tom built the place pretty much with his own hands, and told us his story. He was a high school drop out and he fashions furniture out of reclaimed wood from barns, bridges, etc. I noticed he had the T-Shirts from several colleges on his walls, and I asked who his allegiance was to. He pointed at a 4 foot concrete Bulldog and I just grinned. I also whipped off my "Roll Tide, Bama" tee shirt and told him... "dude, if we are gonna eat and drink here, that has to go on the wall". Welllllllllllllllll llllllll, waitress comes out, cook comes out, and Tom is just laughing, cuz Big Daddy is now shirtless with his riding overalls on. Bekay feigns horror, but suggests I either buy a shirt
from Tom or get my ass out to Mona for another shirt. Lol... After a fine meal of fried bologna sandwiches and sweet tea, we listened to Tom recount story after story of the area, his establishment, and his take on life. Truly a wonderful hook up and he told me, "brother, if you come back for the homecoming, we have a lovely house across the street to rent you with a pool". Oh my. I really can't emphasize the overwhelming genuine hospitality accorded to us by ALL the staff of both the museum and the Gin Mill. Truly a highpoint from any trip I have taken.

North we headed, on the famous Highway 61 to Clarksdale and club Ground Zero. We rode into VERY stiff headwinds that taxed us, sometimes moving a fully loaded bike of BD, Bekay, and gear over 3 inches at a time. Again, the scenery was all about agriculture, and while not ugly, was certainly not the typical FBR twisty ride. Clarksdale saw us taking pictures of the Crossroads (Hwy 61 and Hwy 49) and then going downtown to Blues Alley and Club Ground Zero... bad news.... the band stood em up. Good news, the guy mixing the sound on the club system had some righteous tunes as we sampled yet more tamales and BBQ. I looked at Rooster and said," ok, bro, let's take this party home", and off we went for the final 40 miles up to Memphis.

We have talked about Memphis before, so I will just leave it as a place I don't ever want to go back to. Hwy 61 dropped us off two blocks away from our hotel on Union Avenue, and after a brief phone call for a pin point location, we rolled in to the King's court motel. An hour nap and a shower had BD ready for the evening, so we met Rooster, his high school buddy, and Paula outside of Rum Boogie cafe. Beale street was jammin with electricity and wall to wall good vibes. Music poured out of the open doors to myriad bars and cafes, so you could drink as deep as you wanted of all the live music you could stand. Somehow, I felt it fitting to go ahead and end the trip at BB King's house of Blues, and was able to BD us a superb table overlookin the stage. Orders of cocktails, ribs, etc put us in the mood for some good musica, and sure enough, the band was setting up as we were served our meal.

The BB King Beale Street All-Stars really are musical all stars. Two guitarists that swapped lead, a mighty Hammond B-3 organ with leslie, bass guitar, drums, and then that Memphis trademark wall of sound with brass backup. Yummmy. They introduced a female singer with huge bosoms and a fine bootie who proceeded to massage the crowd with her bluesy voice and commanding stage presence. No baby, this ain't cheeseball Vegas stuff, this is down home music. Bekay did the butt-dance, enjoying the music and bouncing up and down on her seat. I just soaked it in, revelling in that delicious mix of ear candy that a great group of musicians can put together when they have the heat turned up to "hot". After the first set, Rooster and Paula made their way outside and Bekay and I did a tour de toilette. We never saw our roadmates again that evening, but continued to stroll around and poke our heads in various clubs for a song or two, enjoying the enormous
smorgasboard of music. Around 11:30, we both said, "ok, all done" and we headed back to the King's motel.

Sunday morning, we were up at the crack of 9, and at breakfast by 9:30. The temperature was on the cool side, and Bekay had on a mesh jacket. Ah oh. Breakfast at the Cupboard (on Union ave, not to be missed) and off we went. Stoppage in Southhaven Mississippi put Bekay in a nice waterproof Stearns jacket and pants from Walmart and we did the BD boogie on down 78. Depart, 11:30.... Arrive 2:55. 25 minute stop. You do the math. No rain on us till we got to the end of Corridor X, and our gear did its job.

Rooster, you do better top 10's than me, but here is mine....

1. Great travelling companions.. .. no complainin' from the ladies, and everyone was on the same wavelength as far as stops and rolling were concerned.

2. You get noticed on a bike. Man, we talked to so many folks that had questions on where we were going and what we were doing. It was fun.

3. The hospitality and cordiality of the folks we ran into in Mississippi. I even struck up a friendly with a couple of gang bangers who dug the mighty Blackbird. Nothing but respect on both sides of the fence.

4. The weather.... FBR must be blessed... it was good...a nice mellow trip weatherwise for 99 percent of it.

5. Live music... watching a good musician "take off" and lay down some good licks while the crowd gets swept up in the emotion of the playing is special.

6. Doe's Eat place. A Do Not Miss in your lifetime if you get a chance. Legendary meal, baby. Hell, make a road trip out of it and just ride to Doe's.

7. Bekay. The woman has little to no stamina, a chemo racked body, and she puts that sweet ass of hers behind me and rocks it down the highway. There is no one tougher than the redhead, and she takes every sip of life that is handed her and she drinks it as deeply as she can. You can always make excuses for not living. She doesn't. I feel sorry for the able bodied that wimp out and live their lives in a living room.

8. The BB King museum. First class, friendly, factual, and full of good vibes. Sade is one sister who needs to be made an honorary FBR. Lookin' forward to our next meeting, darlin'.

9. The Gin Mill.... total F/U on my part not ending Friday nite with Tom and his musician buddies. That won't happen again.

10. Rooster.... what a wonderful riding partner...a smart, good rider with the soul of an imp. Lots of grins and witticisms when you ride with the Rooster. kwackifoofoo baby. I love people that love life. Rooster is eat up with it and is all about the attitude of "well, the wind is blowing that way, so maybe we ought to follow it". Timeframe? uh uh. Rooster and BD make their own space-time continuum.

Gooooooood fun this weekend. Sorry more of you opted out. But in some ways, the small group was perfect. Somewhere, Arlo Guthrie is singing the City of New Orleans and the vistas of the delta are gliding by. Good mornin', America, where are you? Don't you know that I'm your native son.....

Ya'll ride safe.

BD