Memphis in May, Not Really... August

Each May, Memphis hosts the biggest barbecue in the free world. If I cruise there again, I'll plan better and make landfall just in time to join in the festivities. This time, however, it was early in the month of August; they say heat and humidity is good for the skin. I'll take "they" at their word. It was during one of those extended southern heat "spells" and while my skin was benefiting, I was wondering if good skin would make any difference in heat prostration.

We slept as long as we could in our questionable anchorage behind the casino at Caruthersville and spent some time clearing the Mississippi River debris that had accumulated around the anchor rhode during the night. This was another of those "bump in the night" nights as objects making their way under the casino boat hull bounced off Detour making their steady way to the Gulf. I remember lying in the V-berth and hoping a big cypress tree wouldn't become entangled in the running gear and take us to NOLA backwards. We ate the last of the Honey Buns, saluted the Isle of Capri' security guards finest and joined the other flotsam on the way south to Memphis.

The trip was smooth and unusually free of the big tows that are normally numerous. It gave Bo and I a good time to visit before he and Jack departed for home. Mickey would join me at the Mud Island marina close to downtown Memphis. I know its been several posts ago that I explained all the goings on to get automobiles situated and otherwise arranges but Bo and Jack's car was to be waiting at the marina and if we were lucky it would be without urban art and with all its wheels.

We arrived in Memphis about 3:00 pm on Friday August 8 and worked our way around Mud Island and into the Mud Island marina. Since we were to be there only one night, the marina manager let us tie up on the gas dock and spend the night. Bo and Jack took off for home, by the way, the car was in good shape with all wheels still attached. I enjoyed having Bo on board and Jack's dry humor kept things light, even when we thought the Isle of Capri security guards were going to "draw down on us". It was a little sad for me to lose them for the rest of the trip, however, Mickey brought a whole new perspective to our cruising experience.

Speaking of Mickey, he was waiting for us in the parking lot of the marina and it was good to see him after a year or so. He looked prepared and excited about our next day's adventure. Little did he or I know it could have been more dangerous than we expected.

Memphis was quiet relatively speaking; I guess folks were spending quality time in their air conditioned homes. Mickey and I took off to find a good dinner, a couple of drinks and an early bedtime because we had a long trip planned for the next couple of days.

On to Columbus and Tibbee Creek

Marina Cove is only about 40 river miles from Columbus, Mississippi and it is always a planned stop on my trips on the TennTom. Available gas is always a planned stop but in the case of the Columbus Marina it is a pleasant stop also. Aside from my grandchildren living just a few miles away, it is one of the marinas that is well operated, by knowledgeable people (Chuck and Barbara Bigelow) who seem to care about transient visitors as well as they do the guys who pay on a monthly basis. We have berthed Detour at Columbus on several occasions and have no reservations in recommending them.

I have another friend in the vicinity, I believe Robert Louis Stevenson might describe him as the smartest person I know that lives on a gravel road. He's independent, he chose to live on a gravel road, and he and another of my friends, although not so close, commiserate daily about the issues in life that really make a difference... and that I probably won't ever get a chance to experience.

Mickey lived most of his life within a few miles of Tibbee Creek; although there was that time when his father worked at the Northwest Mississippi Correctional Facility, known at the time as simply Parchman. I've been to Parchman on occasion, back in the day before I knew Mickey, I visited with my church. We thought we might do some good but I think the old Baptist preacher that took us figured it would scare us worse than his best fire and brimstone sermon. Truth be known, the trip failed on both accounts.



Mickey's retirement retreat provides all the challenges one's senses can absorb. More can be experienced there than in the library, theater or concert hall. Yard art, hunting trophies, fishing stories, song birds, alligators, favorite dogs and friends all with lives and stories of their own that no one could script except maybe ole Tibbee Creek herself... and she ain't talkin'.