The journey begins

If a traveler hasn't taken a journey in a while, the first few days are reminders about technique and take-alongs.  Here were mine:

1. Avoid news while traveling. The severity and anger of current news cycles can rob the traveler of clear eyes for seeing clouds and fences and surprises that show up on the road.

2. Avoid major highways as much as you can.  Set your GPS to "avoid highways."

3. Simplify, simplify--as Thoreau said.  Consolidate everything into two bags, leaving camera and atlas as close to the driver's seat as possible, un-bagged.

4. Detach from anything that's been worrying you or nagging at your mind.  Make space for a fresh canvas.

Day Two of my 1200-or-so-mile-drive from San Antonio to Lawrenceville, was Reminder Day.  I let myself be pulled into the hearings and testimonies--so that the present moments of road time dimmed.  The intrusion of news into an otherwise magical day was my mistake.

I did stop for lunch in Natchitoches, Louisiana, on the Cane River, and walked a few blocks on its brick streets.  But the day was essentially spoiled by the sound of politics.

It's on days like this that a traveler--this one--is apt to go for the main roads and "get there"--which means that the real journey is already over and flattened out into one long stretch of road, every stop looking like every other stop.  When the eyes and ears and mind are filled up with the same old arguments,  it can't take in roadside surprises.

So after a Twilight Zone of a night in Vicksburg in a cheesy motel, after a stretch of boring Interstate between Vicksburg and Jackson, I came to my senses and meandered Mississippi backroads and entered the magical underworld of the Natchez Trace Parkway, radio off, music playing, singing along.

Twenty miles into the Trace, I discovered French Camp, a town in Choctow County, Mississippi, home to the historical  French Camp Academy (established in the late 1800s)  and their Council House--a quaint cafe where the students serve sandwiches made with bread and spreads they've made themselves.  This boarding school serves mostly kids in trouble, abandoned, or otherwise in need of special care.

My hundred miles of Trace ended in Tupelo where I visited Tupelo Hardware  (where Elvis and his mama bought his first guitar), talked with a few Tupelo people, took some pictures,  and bought a pair of lamps for my living room.

By nightfall, near Birmingham where I spent Night Three, I had recaptured my happy full force.

I'll remember this trip for its roadside beauty, Leonard Cohen soundtrack for driving, unexpected conversations that swooshed in more joy, and a free coke from a woman who--when I protested and said I had cash in the car--said, "Don't steal my blessing!"

I'll remember Highway 411 from Birmingham driving into Georgia as Willie was singing "Georgia on My Mind," a blue blue sky and mild temperatures,  and the sound of Isaac Freeman singing "Beautiful Stars," so pretty I kept pressing Re-play.

On a journey, I can always hear the internal click when words of opinions and beliefs go silent and mystery opens my mind and heart to the real adventure of any road. This is where I want to live, in this kind of mind space, wherever I am.