It was so warm last evening I actually ran the generator for a time to cool down the RV. It was a warm evening made warmer by my having over-eaten earlier and by the mild sunburn on my shoulders I picked up while I was out reading. The gang of cyclists down the hill had a banjo and a boombox they’d carried with them and broadcast their joy to the neighbourhood for far too long. I slept well when I did get to sleep but remembered just before retiring that I needed to secure my bike on its stand a feat I accomplished in the dark.
Washed up dishes and performed my toilet before setting out to find a rest area to run my generator to make coffee without causing a disturbance. After breakfast I drove up to Jackson and into a north-end suburb to pick up a DVD at Best Buy. After having been spoiled with the freedom afforded by the Trace driving in city traffic was a pain. Got a copy of the Fighter and left it at that. Not noting a grocery store I resumed the Trace and continued on. I’ll shop in Tupelo. North of Jackson an impoundment of the Pearl River creates a large body of water that backs up for miles. At the north end of it I stopped to visit Cypress Swamp.
Tupelo/bald cypress swamps are home to specially adapted water-tolerant trees which grow ‘knees’ which help them breath when submerged. The trail here included a raised boardwalk through the swamp. I found only a few spring wildflowers blooming but the principle attraction escaped my notice until others pointed them out. I know for a fact that this well-fed specimen was live as I saw him scratch his tummy with his left front foot.
Beyond that point encountered road construction and a flagman who represented the first traffic impediment I’d met on the Trace. I missed the Mississippi Crafts Centre and later the Information Centre and Museum. This section of the trace is overburdened with traffic signs and warnings. The red clay hills and pastureland adjoining the Trace north of Jackson moved me to abandon my normal 30 mph pace and speed up to 50; especially after I was forced to pass a large bus type motor home whose owners were babying it over every little bump.
Jeff Busby Campground is an insult to the politician whose name it bears. Small and cramped hilly sites are crowded around the single washroom. It even boasts a campground host whose principle duty seems to be squeezing in as many campers as possible. I drove around three times before deciding, that must be it. Joined a neighbour for the walk along the adjoining trail to the height of land above. We photographed some dogwoods but weren’t impressed by the view from the top. For one night I decided I’d live without trying to lift my front wheels six inches off the ground to level my home, at least my head’s above my feet in bed.
Washed up dishes and performed my toilet before setting out to find a rest area to run my generator to make coffee without causing a disturbance. After breakfast I drove up to Jackson and into a north-end suburb to pick up a DVD at Best Buy. After having been spoiled with the freedom afforded by the Trace driving in city traffic was a pain. Got a copy of the Fighter and left it at that. Not noting a grocery store I resumed the Trace and continued on. I’ll shop in Tupelo. North of Jackson an impoundment of the Pearl River creates a large body of water that backs up for miles. At the north end of it I stopped to visit Cypress Swamp.
Tupelo/bald cypress swamps are home to specially adapted water-tolerant trees which grow ‘knees’ which help them breath when submerged. The trail here included a raised boardwalk through the swamp. I found only a few spring wildflowers blooming but the principle attraction escaped my notice until others pointed them out. I know for a fact that this well-fed specimen was live as I saw him scratch his tummy with his left front foot.
Beyond that point encountered road construction and a flagman who represented the first traffic impediment I’d met on the Trace. I missed the Mississippi Crafts Centre and later the Information Centre and Museum. This section of the trace is overburdened with traffic signs and warnings. The red clay hills and pastureland adjoining the Trace north of Jackson moved me to abandon my normal 30 mph pace and speed up to 50; especially after I was forced to pass a large bus type motor home whose owners were babying it over every little bump.
Jeff Busby Campground is an insult to the politician whose name it bears. Small and cramped hilly sites are crowded around the single washroom. It even boasts a campground host whose principle duty seems to be squeezing in as many campers as possible. I drove around three times before deciding, that must be it. Joined a neighbour for the walk along the adjoining trail to the height of land above. We photographed some dogwoods but weren’t impressed by the view from the top. For one night I decided I’d live without trying to lift my front wheels six inches off the ground to level my home, at least my head’s above my feet in bed.
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