Roadtrip Day 10: Woke Up This Mornin … In Search of Da Blues

Why do so many blues songs start out with “Woke up this mornin?”

If I was singing a blues song about this day, it would something like this:

Woke up this morning
Took my dog for a run
Got attacked by some dogs
They were two mean Son of a Guns.

That morning I woke up feeling like I had slept for two weeks. Traveling on the road, I would venture, takes a bit more out of you than you initially realize. Especially when you are like me and want to see EVERYTHING. It was a conscientious decision to stay in Clarksdale a few nights, to give us some time to slow down and relax, and I think it was a smart one.

The first thing on my agenda for the day was to go for a nice long, unrushed jog with Linus while Earl slept in.  I’ve been taking him for one almost every single morning, but most days it’s just for 25 or so minutes, before I have to get back, get showered up and on the road.  Since we were mainly in Clarksdale for the nightlife, I was afforded a slow, lazy morning.  So a 50-minute enjoyable run it was!

Well, enjoyable it wasn’t.  At least, the last part.  We did an out-and-back on a farm road going behind Hopson Plantation, which is the plantation the Shack Up Inn is located on.  On my way out it was wonderful- gorgeous, peaceful, relaxing, I was feeling good jogging which is amazing considering the amounts of fattening foods I have been scarfing lately.   On the way back in, on a dirt road surrounded by cotton fields, two hound dogs bolt out from behind this run down looking house, cross over the street to us and go right for Linus, who was leashed.  It happened so suddenly, and then one of them was on his neck with his teeth in him!  So without thinking I just acted to protect him.  I yelled in a really loud, authorative voice, hoping to startle the dogs and get the attention of their owner, “HEY! STOP!” and then when the dog wasn’t letting go of his neck, I kicked the dog square in the stomach.  It yelped and let go, but they were still circling us and growling with teeth bared.  One of them was jumping at my arm, trying to bite my wrist where I was holding the leash, and the other one was still going for Linus.  So I kicked the one going for Linus again, this time right his face (the mouth).  I didn’t hold back, I really let him have it.  I felt horrible and didn’t want to hurt the dog OR piss off any shotgun-wielding owners, but they came across the street, unleashed and attacked us, so I figured self-defense was my perogative.  Linus was snarling and trying to bite back, but they must have each had 30 lbs on the guy, plus he is at a major handicap without any teeth, so I really didn’t think he could hold his own in a fight.

After much screaming and defensive posturing (kicking) on my part, the dogs backed down a bit to the point where they weren’t right on top of us.  They still followed right hehind us growling and like they were going to attack at any second down the road.  This finally let up when I picked up a couple rocks and threw them at them.  It was VERY scary and my heart was racing a million miles a minute.  Talk about an adrenaline rush.  Stupid hick mangy mutt dogs.  Those things were ugly and MEAN.  When I got back to the hotel I was pretty shaken up for a while, and Earl inspected Linus who fortunately didn’t have any skin broken.

It took me a bit to calm down, but finally I did enough to shower up and we headed out to explore the plantation.

I love the way they decorated with cotton framing the front wall of the function hall. There happened to be a family hanging out on the porch drinking lemonaide, who we were introduced to with the help of our certified people magnet.  They had a cute little girl tottering around who of course wanted to meet the “puppy.”  Linus much prefers the attentions of sweet southern girls than those of mean ole hick hound dogs.    The mother told us how this plantation had been in her family for four generations.

Earl and I walked Linus over to the Sunflower River, which one of the guys informed me had catfish swimming in it’s muddy depths that were “THISSSSS BIIIIIG” as he spread his arms out extra-wide.

We trundled down off the road to the riverbank to explore, and while didn’t see any catfish in the lazy, hazy river, we did spy an obviously-lived in tent, hidden up under the bridge overpass. Homeless person? Back-to-nature-freak? Giant catfish hunter?

They were clearly at home, so rather than stick around and wait for Tent-Dweller to come down and beat my ass for my second butt-kicking of the day, we decided to hightail it out of there. We did quietly and stealthily snap one shot of puppy looking cute by the riverbed:

And then opted for a nice and safe game of “hunting” on Shack-up Inn grounds.

Next we hopped in the car to seek out some blues heritage. First we went in Cathead, which is a folk store and heritage center. Inside we bought a bunch of blues CDs- everything from the M for Mississippi Soundtrack to a Leadbelly album to some Delta Blues compilations and some Robert Johnson stuff. We could have spent hours in Cathead alone poking around and spent hundreds of dollars on music, it was just that damn cool. I feel like we got out with a good sampling and the staff was so friendly and helpful.

Outside of Cathead, this gentleman was strumming on the guitar and singing a couple sad songs. Little did I know we would encounter him again later in our travels. It was to be good karma that I gave him a big tip!

Next it was time for, what else, BBQ!  I had to convince Earl not to have more tamales and instead try Abes BBQ at the Crossroads.  How did I convince him? Well, I read him this paragraph describing Abes, from my beloved Roadfood book:

Abe’s has been sung about in blues songs and written about in Faulknerian novels set in the Mississippi Delta; and to the traveling foodie, it is a must-eat destination. Its legend goes back to 1924 when Abe Davis opened a snack stall on the street in Clarksdale. Today at the famous crossroads of Highways 61 and 49, Abe’s grandson Pat Davis maintains the name and the high-quality cooking, which includes thin-sliced, crisp-edged barbecued pork as well as that incongruous Mississippi Delta specialty, the hot tamale.
Abe’s barbecue is Boston Butt that is first cooked over pecan wood, then allowed to cool overnight, then sliced, then heated again on the griddle when it is ordered. While it is getting heated, the pork gets hacked into a rugged hash. The process results in meat with lots of juicy buzz in its pale inside fibers and plenty of crusty parts where it has fried on the hot iron of the grill. You can have it on a platter or in a sandwich, which is available in two sizes – normal and “Big Abe.” We love the latter, which is twice the amount of pork heaped into a double-decker bun. This is close enough to Memphis that it is served city-style, i.e. with the slaw inside the bun.
One of the things that makes these sandwiches so especially delicious is the sauce, which is dark red, tangy, with the resonance of pepper and spice, a sublime companion for the meat.

Wouldn’t YOU be salivating at that point, too? Cuddos, Roadfood.
Happy to report, Abes lived up to the above description, and we devoured with glee.

Afterwards we toured the Delta Blues Museum, which made me want to buy a ton more of music! It was fascinating and had an overwhelming amount of info. I feel like I need to take a course in blues/music history and then come back to Clarksdale simply to have more background knowledge and appreciate everything we’re seeing firsthand all the more. One thing I did recognize is the R.L. Burnside’s grandson, Cedric Burnside, was a frequent headliner at our hotel. But so much on the blues-scene is still happening in the Mississippi Delta, I am sure a ton of other connections like that were unfortunately over my head.
Inspired by the Blues Museum’s life-sized replica of Muddy Water’s home, we hopped in the Jeep and set off to find his birthplace, which was due north from Clarksdale. Okay, okay. I have to admit, we weren’t actually looking for THAT, we were looking for “a place to see the Mississippi” and on our way to Friar’s Point we were lost and happened to drive by this sign while making a u-turn:

How cool is it while just lost and ambling about you can stumble into something as notable as this? Only in the Mississippi Delta! It was absolutely serene at Muddy Water’s birthplace:

I tried to get a bit arty taking photos of the surrounding cotton fields.

The cotton really was gorgeous, I could sit there all day and take pictures of it. Maybe it’s because I’m not used to it, but it really was neat seeing something so very soft and fluffy growing out of this hard and prickly plant.
I still wanted to see the Mississippi River, so we decided to drive (illegally? who knows?) up on the levys. Okay, so it wasn’t TECHNICALLY illegal, I guess… it was marked with a sign that said, “Not An Official Road.” Does that mean it was closed to the public? Well, there was no one around to stop us.

Besides, I figured if we got stopped, I could just act like a clueless tourist idiot from Connecticut, and they would cut my dumb Yankee self some slack. As I read in one of my Blues-Highway guidebooks, southerns don’t so much look down on Yankees as much as they pity you, for being Yankee is a fact of life you can neither help nor change.

Down by the river it was gorgeous and woodsy, but we did see a bunch of razor-wire fencing, some NO TRESPASSING notices and got one of those hair-on-your-neck raising kind of vibes, so we didn’t stick around very long at all. Last thing I needed was to get in another fight for the day! (Doesn’t it feel like I was just looking for trouble all day or what?! shesh!)
Back in Clarksburg we were just in time to catch the opening act at the Ground Zero Blues Club. Ground Zero is partially owned by Morgan Freeman, whom I love and was secretly hoping to see all evening.
Ground Zero’s opening act was Daddy Rich, although they let this gentleman who was hanging around sing a couple songs. His name was Razorblade, and he was AWESOME!!! Daddy Rich was great, too, but this Razorblade guy had one of the most soulful, rich voices I have ever heard. He just killed it.

Now at this point I was a bunch of beers in and being my friendly buzzed-drunken self, I exclaimed “Oh! We saw you playing outside of Cathead” to the gentleman standing next to me ordering a beer. Well… haha. He was incredibly nice and instantly engaged me in a conversation. The problem was, I COULD NOT UNDERSTAND A SINGLE WORD HE SAID. I mean it. It was seriously like “garblegarblegarblegarblegarblegarblegarblegarbleGARBLEgarble.” Umm… As a bailout resort since I had no clue what he said, I offered to buy him a beer and then told the bartender “I would like to buy this gentleman a drink!” I don’t even know if wanted a beer based on his garble-y response, but thankfully the bartender took care of that. The only thing I actually understood that this guy said, during the WHOLE conversation which lasted about, oh, six minutes, was that he had been to San Francisco once, and it was expensive. Mostly I just smiled and nodded and tried not to look panicked that I had no idea what he was saying.
The funny thing is that then the band called my new friend onto the stage to sing some songs with them! Apparently he is a blues legend in town, and his name is Tator. Tator also was great up there. Still mainly unintelligible, however I am coming to think that being partially unintelligible is a key component of the blues.

In the background of this photo you can also see local blues legend Stan Street of Hambone on the harmonica. It was really cool how these local guys were all hanging around at Ground Zero and could walk up and play. They all seemed so supportive of each other, too and just excited to hear the music. It was a great vibe. Maybe we just lucked out on a good night?
Later we bought both Razorblade and Tator’s CDs. Razorblade sat and talked with us for a while, and Earl ended up getting volunteered to help him set up a website. So when we get to California, Earl has a fun music-related project. This guy is just so damn good, he needs a freaking website!! Earl will be doing him and the world a service!

This morning, me with a bit of a hangover, we said Au-revoir to our lovely little shack in the Delta and delved further south to explore Greenville, Greenwood and Vicksburg.  Tonight we’re staying in a lovely Southern Antebellum mansion which happily allows well-behaved small dogs (the owner herself has a Jack Russell).  I’ll post up more photos and details on today’s adventure soon, but right now I have a snoozing dog and boyfriend to join!