I awakened from a deep sleep to the sound of a jungle outside my tent.  There were countless different cheeps and chirps and tweets and whistles of songbirds, a couple of hoots from an owl, the cawing of crows, a crazy mockingbird, and I could have sworn I even heard the shrieks of monkeys.

Last night I struck up a conversation with a guy at the site next to mine.  He and his wife were doing a bit of traveling with a Scamp trailer they had recently acquired.  He was a bicycle rider and a backpacker so we had those things in common.  This morning we talked a little more and finally introduced ourselves.  He surprised me by asking, "Are you writing about your trip on Crazyguyonabike by any chance?"  Now, I don't usually go around advertising that fact but since he asked, I gave him the address.

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Back onto the Natchez Trace Parkway I rode.  There were a few oncoming cars, but I pedaled 8 miles before being passed by a northbound car.  I spoke briefly with a couple who were biking the length of the Parkway from Nashville to Natchez.  A few miles later I was flagged down by a woman who was driving the entire parkway by herself.  She asked about my trip so I gave her a brief outline of my plans.

"Are you keeping a diary?" she asked.  Her name was Helen.

"As a matter of fact, I'm keeping an online blog."

"Really?  Can I read it?"

"Sure," I replied, "but I should warn you it's pretty silly."

"That's OK.  What's it called?"

"GOING UP!" I said it correctly--like an elevator operator.

Helen thought about that for a second and said, "Ohhhh, like, you're going UP the Mississippi River."

"Yup, that's it," I fibbed.  "No, actually I hadn't thought of that.  I came up with the title when I was looking at a map.  When you go from south to north, you're going UP."

"And you'll be going upHILL as well," she added.

"Uh, yeah!"  I said it a little too excitedly, as if I had thought of that myself which, of course, I hadn't. 

For the second time this morning I wrote down the address of my journal and we parted.  It is true that my journey will be trending uphill.  I'll be riding from sea level to Lake Superior's elevation of about 600 feet over the course of approximately 1800 miles.  I'm too lazy to calculate the degree of climb for such a trip, but I'm guessing it would be measured in thousandths of a percent.

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I saw another example of strange Mississippi animal behavior before leaving the Natchez Trace.  I saw a fat vulture standing on the road up ahead.  I was anxious to see what it was feeding on.  As I got closer it appeared he was eating nothing.  He was just staring at a squirrel which was about three feet away, and the squirrel was just looking right back at the vulture--as if they were engaged in a conversation.  Indulge me, if you will, while I try to imagine that conversation.

Vulture:  Excuse me Mr. Squirrel, are you dead?

Squirrel:  No, I'm very much alive.

Vulture:  Damn!  I only eat dead animals, road kill mostly.

Squirrel:  Sorry.

Vulture:  It's OK.  I'm not interested in, nor capable of, killing you.

Squirrel:  Thank goodness!

Vulture:  Oh shit!  Here come's a bike rider.  I gotta go.

Squirrel:  Me too.  See ya later!

At mile post 38 I exited the parkway and rode into the town of Port Gibson.  During the Civil War, General Ulysses Grant marched into town and, in a rare display of mercy, declared the town "too beautiful to burn."  What a guy!  Port Gibson was pretty nice.  It had several beautiful antebellum homes and a couple of really nice old churches.

From Port Gibson all the way to Vicksburg, my old friend The Rain kept me company.  (Otherwise there would be some pictures of those churches coming up.)  Again, I sought indoor accommodations for the night.