The Great River Road
  
 

Day 10

June 4

  
     
     
   
  I get out real early trying to beat the morning rush but as with most plans they often do not work.  
   
  Fortunately I finally 'get out of Dodge' and leave the traffic behind so I can enjoy a lovely canvas painted by the Master Painter.  
   
  There is still some significant 'incoming' but my side is pretty clear and for that I am very thankful.  
   
  I figure by running I55 to Jackson I should be able to keep the air flow pretty significant over the engine.  
   
  At my first gas stop I go foraging for breakfast.  
   
  And I don't come up empty-handed as they have some pretty tasty breakfast croissants for my consumption.  
   
  Then it's back to slabbing it, trying to stay out of traffic clusters. I am always amazed at how some drivers seem to like to travel in 'packs' at high rates of speed. They never seem to consider if one of the 'pack' members does something stupid it will turn real ugly real quick. And if a motorcycle is in the mix, the rider is usually dead when it is over.  
   
  Soon I am off I55 and onto my beloved Trace at Jackson.  
   
  I know from past experience that the Trace will be pretty much deserted since it is a week day and there will be lots of shade to keep the outside temps a little lower.  
   
  The Ross Barnett Reservoir looks inviting for a nice swim but I can't work in today.  
   
  With the abundance of shade, the lower speeds and the lack of traffic, SweetTreat tends to keep her temps closer to normal - which is a great relief to me.  
   
  I love the various wildflowers that line the Trace this time of year.  
   
  Then I remember that it is shutdown from French Camp to a good ways north. This section has been closed for quite a while and I hope they reopen it soon.  
   
  Fortunately I am familiar with the detour and it pretty much sticks to back roads with little traffic.  
   
  I manage to get through it and soon I'm back on the Trace.  
   
  I could have rode all the way back to the Holler today, but I figured by this time in the trip I would be ready for a short day - and I am. I make my evening stop in Tupelo, about two hundred miles from home.  
   
  There's a Texas Roadhouse next door so supper is an easy choice.  
   
  And I don't see a thing wrong with having a nice salad again ...  
   
  with a fine piece of dead cow and a smothered baked potato. Now I can safely testify that a man can eat steak two nights in a row and it not kill him immediately.  
   
  And once again I retire from the battlefield victorious and fuller than a tick on a dog too lazy to scratch.  
   
  Packing away that kind of supper, it does not take me long to wander to the shady lanes of repose.