Day 3: Thanks for the memories Elvis

We forget sometimes that our main purpose this week is to drive to the east coast and not so much to sight see along the way.

Reality hit home when we left the Natchez Trace Parkway for I-40 around 5 p.m. yesterday and proceeded to crawl bumper-to-bumper through Nashville’s grinding rush hour and then white-knuckled it over the mountains in the fog with about a zillion 18-wheelers to Knoxville, which turns out to be in the eastern time zone.

Suffice to say we arrived at our destination in Strawberry Plains, Tennessee (just east of Knoxville) about 10 p.m. EDT and settled for leftover Popeye’s chicken in the room.

The less than stellar end to the day belied a very nice start in Tupelo and another relaxing middle, as we drove the beautiful northern end of the Natchez Trace.

Tupelo is a surprisingly nice, bustling, attractive little city…not exactly what I had expected to see in rural Mississippi. Also, everyone we encountered was exceptionally nice and friendly. I got a good vibe from Tupelo.

We got to Elvis’s birthplace ahead of the crowds and looked around at the free stuff, which was all we needed. Plus, of course, the gift shop; which was a hoot.

I’ll let the photos below tell this story.

We left the Trace briefly to ascend to the summit of Woodall Mountain, the highest point in Mississippi. It was Betsy’s 14^th state highpoint and (I’m pretty sure) my 9^th “double”. Among highpointers Mississippi is widely considered to be the ugliest of the highpoints and, having now been there twice, I have to agree that it is near, if not at, the top (or should I say bottom?) of the list.

Not too long after we passed into Tennessee we stopped for a cool picnic where it was necessary to pull out the jackets. Again today we saw a lot of wild turkeys along the road including several big toms. We also stopped to see Meriwether Lewis’s grave site and hiked a short distance to a really cool waterfall.

The story is muddled, but Lewis is thought to have either been killed or, possibly, to have killed himself in 1809 while traveling on the trace on his way from St. Louis to Washington D.C. (which seems like an odd route for such an experienced traveler to have taken). Thirty-nine years later the state of Tennessee saw fit to construct a rather large marker amongst the otherwise modestly-marked grave sites in the makeshift cemetery. It is one of many small, mostly-forgotten cemeteries sprinkled along the Trace.

The further north we went the hillier it got, affording some spectacular views and the aforementioned waterfall.

The jog from the northern terminus of the Trace to I-40 was quick, maybe five miles, and you already know what happened after that.

Betsy relaxes on the porch of Elvis's boyhood home.

Betsy tries to seduce a 13-year-old Elvis.

Dave reads from the Good Book to emphasize a point during his powerful sermon at the Elvis Chapel titled "Jesus didn't wear no blue suede shoes".

Another view of the chapel after the large crowd that gathered to hear the word from Preacher Pasley had dispersed and headed off to Cracker Barrel for a late breakfast.

Betsy contemplates which version of Elvis is her favorite.

Betsy celebrates at the summit of her 14th state highpoint.