Ten-dollar mojo ...

It's Friday night and I'm in Clarksdale, Mississippi. If the Highway 61/49 crossroads just outside the city is really where Robert Johnson sold his soul to the devil 'round midnight, it's pretty quiet this evening. No blues legends will be born tonight. Last night, I checked out Morgan Freeman's Ground Zero Blues Club. Nice place -- it's definitely got a juke joint feel. It was jam night and the host band did a great job ... which is more than I can say for the patrons dancing on the floor or singing on the stage. Just goes to prove that too much alcohol does strange things to you no matter where you are ... Mississippi or Manitoba.

As I type, I'm parked on Delta Avenue just outside Miss Del's General Store listening to WROX. I'm here for the wireless internet. I'm sleeping at the Shack Up Inn out at the old Hopson cotton plantation and the internet is sketchy (i.e., non-existent). I can handle the beetles in my bedsheets, but I can't handle no wireless internet. Meanwhile, I just know the sheriff is going to come by while I'm parked here and bust my butt for loitering. So, I'm typing fast.

The Mississippi delta is the home of the blues (especially the country blues) and Clarksdale is the capitol of delta country. I've met a lot of tourists in the past few days, almost all of them from the U.K. and Europe. They can't get enough of this place. Ironically, most of the blues legends of the 1910's to 1940's often had more than enough of this place. Jim Crow laws and the end of hand-picking cotton during WWII brought an end to the heyday of delta blues. People moved north to play the blues and pay the bills. Even if blues tourists could go back in time to the years between the wars, the search for magic or mojo down here would be missing the point. The delta blues legends weren't making history, they were making music. (And music was a means to an end -- usually picking up women instead of picking cotton). But for those who insist on finding mojo, local merchants will sell you a bag of it for $10. (It's a small burlap sack filled with golf tees.)

A brief flashback: I spent the first part of this week in New Orleans. Before Katrina, N.O. was "let the good times roll" city. Today, it is a humbler town, working hard to fight its way back. They're down in this town, but they're not out. I looked at property while in N.O. because I love the place so much. From an investment perspective, I have some reservations about N.O.'s ability to hold its own and hold its property values against future storms. When I mentioned these concerns to the property agent, he ended our meeting. Never tell anyone from N.O. that they won't be around tomorrow! My waiter, Paul, at Landry's Seafood House threatened the secession of the city from the United States if the federal government doesn't step up the next time a storm hits the city. "We can survive on our own and we would be a rich country." (The French heritage of this town is very evident!) And yet, the people of N.O. don't want to be forgotten. Everyone asked me, "Will you come back?" And I will come back. N.O. reminds me of my hometown: great music, great food, and great people.

Pray for the people of New Orleans. Exactly three years after Katrina, Hurricane Gustav is threatening the city. People were apprehensive and concerned when we left N.O. On Saturday, police will begin driving through the streets with bullhorns, telling people to leave. Some have already made their way north.

I'm heading to Memphis tomorrow, but before I leave Clarksdale I plan to stop by the Super Soul Shop on Yazoo Avenue. They're selling "hi-style suits" and I like what I see in the store windows!

You can see all my road trip pictures on Flickr.

And here comes the sheriff ...