Chapter 29 West Memphis to Helena, AK, Razorbacks, Blues Festival

Our camp at T. O Fuller State Park

I spent my last afternoon in Memphis traveling to the T.O. Fuller State Park that is actually within the city limits.  It is notable because it was the first state park in the U.S. where it was actually legal for a black person to camp.  It was originally built for the use of African Americans in the great depression by the CCC. 

A reconstructed home at Chucalissa.

Next door is an archeological site and Museum known as Chucalissa that preserves the mounds of early Native American tribes that lived there.  My visit coincided with hundreds of school children who mobbed poor Murphy. 
I crossed the Mississippi into Arkansas over what was described as a "bike friendly"interstate highway bridge.  There is a narrow separated lane for bikes but the pounding of a continuous train of Semi tractor trailers caused the entire structure to vibrate exceedingly.  I could not help but wonder what the safety factor on the gusset plates was.  Before I even get on the bridge my tire goes flat again, this time a victim of the minefield of broken glass and metal shards on the shoulder.  This happens despite the "FPS" flat protection system the tire advertises on its side.  Halfway across I am blocked by a rotting Lazyboy recliner someone had dumped onto the bike lane.  I had to man handle the thing over the side of the bridge to get by.  Once over and short cutting down the weedy highway embankment I was safely off the freeway onto a frontage road I had spotted below me.  I google mapped my way to West Memphis a couple miles from the river.  It tells me there is no way to get there except the freeway (which is illegal). It seems someone does not want me to get to West Memphis.  However, I followed the frontage road to the dead end whereby unknown to the "all knowing" Google there is a newly built bike path that runs alongside the freeway all the way into town. The good news here is that there is currently under construction a bicycle bridge converted from a RR bridge that by passes what I just dealt with. It is scheduled to open October 24. I missed it by just a few days.  I actually tried to use it but the contractor said no way.
West Memphis is the very poor cousin to Memphis. Struggling to survive, it reminds me of Cairo, IL except with people around.
I stopped at the Hardware store to fix my handlebar mirror. There was an older black woman who had on a FEDEX shirt waiting at the counter. I knew FedEx is based there and asked how it was working for them.  She had only been on the job a month as a package handler. She said they handle 2.2 million packages each day at her facility and she feels like she handled every single one of them today. More specifically she repairs packages that get smashed or torn.  "You would not believe the treatment these handlers give them.  They throw them boxes back and forth on the line to keep up.  She yells at them please don't throw them boxes! I gotta fix them and I am already behind!" I asked her if I should send my stuff UPS.  "No, just don't use no flimsy boxes."
I spent the night in Marianna, AK.  a town big enough to support a Post Office.  I came preplanned to pick up my absentee ballot that Sue had sent to me so I can vote.   

Murphy found the well Timmy
 fell in near the derelict ball park

That night I camped at a remote derelict ballpark on the edge of town.  Technically it was not allowed but a conversation with the police granted me an exception.  I had some nocturnal visitors that night.  Several times I heard a chuffing, grunting sound in the nearby woods.  I shone my light and could see a pair of yellow beady eyes shining back.  I am pretty sure I have the company of the famous Arkansas razorback or wild pig.  Razorbacks are descendents from domestic pigs escaped from early settlers.  Somewhere in time someone had the bright idea to introduce into the gene pool some imported russian boars that bred with and produced meaner tougher and nastier offspring.   I kept Murphy close at hand all night in the tent.  I didn't bother them, they didn't bother me.


 


"Boot Hill" in Marianna

In the morning I visited an old cemetery that was next to me.   It was barely maintained and had a distinct "Boot Hill" character.  Old tombstones teetering this way and that on a hillside and rusting ornate wrought iron enclosures similarly falling apart.  They contained curious marble ovals that looked like buried old fashioned bathtubs holding what I presume was the remains of individuals of a family.  It was a interesting place to visit in the early morning light. 
In the afternoon, I shared a table at a cafe with a guy in his 70's who told me about his Huck Finn adventures on the Mississippi. He and 7 of his pals had cruised 300 miles down the river in pontoon boats to Natchez.  He had a fearful respect for the river. He said he had always wanted to do something like it but he finally made up his mind one day while sitting through yet another funeral of one of his friends. He decided now would be a good time. He told me in the course of the 12 days he saw probably 10 - 15 people in canoes and kayaks who were traveling the length of the river from Itasca. I hear about similar encounters from a lot from locals along the whole way during my  trip.
Late afternoon I finally reached Helena, AK.  I rode down a hill right onto main street.  I had stumbled quite by chance onto a street festival.


Helena, AK Blues Festival

Not just any festival, but the 31st Annual King Biscuit Blues Music Festival.  I quickly learned this was a big deal.  Blues aficionados come from far away states to attend this.  There were 10 blocks of blues music coming from well known purveyors of this sound on each block with a big main performing stage at one end.  It was in full swing and Murphy and I slowly worked our way down the historic main street being stopped frequently by dog lovers or bike lovers or both.  I kept him in his trailer because he is incorrigible on a leash trying to snarf up every cheese curd and piece of kettle corn.  Until that day I was not even a faintly aquainted with Blues music so for me it was education by immersion. Now I know who B.B. King is.
Finding a quiet place to camp that night was going to be a challenge with the thousands of visitors and noise.  I headed to the edge of town and was eyeing up a churchyard along the highway. There was a white haired older black man working in his what appeared to be a salvage yard across the street.  I approached him asking about the church and spending the night.  " Hell, I own all that land around it, go ahead and pitch your tent anywhere you want."  Joe Hughes owns a logging/trucking operation which explained the trucks and rigs surrounding his trailer.  I soon learned about his battle with the City of Helena.  It seems he had a big operation for 30 years when one day an over zealous zoning inspector came to tell him it was now illegal as they changed the zoning. They denied him a grandfathered use permit. At first he could just put up screening fences though they could not tell him what they would approve, then they did not like what he put up, then he went to court, then his lawyer's sister got on the zoning board and the lawyer chickened out of fighting his cause. The story went on for some time and got so confusing I gave up trying to make sense of it.  I believe it is still in litigation. Anyhow, he owns 16 acres and I camped behind one of his screen fences next the pile of truck tires, engine hoist and pair of refrigerators all with weeds holding them in place.  Helena was the site of a major Union encampment that had been attacked by the Confederates.  Newly freed slaves had followed the union army trains there and many joined the Union forces ultimately defending Helena.  Joe told me he has a civil war cemetery still somewhere in the woods in the back of his 16 acres. Not maintained, he had not seen it since he was a boy and now it is buried in a dense mass of vegetation.  I was tempted to do some exploring but lacking a machete decided to move on.