Cocks, Bourbon & Blues (Highway 61 visited)

I had 2 options today - haul ass to New Orleans or make some fun detours and get there later.

When I saw an option to visit Clarksdale, Ms. It became a no-brainer. Here's a recap.

First off was a side-trip to Samuels, Ky. Why? Because there's a giant cock. My friend Endellion is a big fan, pictures were needed.

Not as giant as I hoped. But a good size, nonetheless

This particular cock is called Ozzie Frank. He seems kinda angry.

As an unexpected surprise, the road to Samuels is also known as the Bourbon trail. Hells Yeah!

So I stopped by the Jim Bean distillery. The place is like a compound

There's at least 20 buildings going up the hill . . .

They offer tours, but I didn't want to take that much time. So I had a tasting - Black Label and Baker's. And a Bourbon chocolate. Awesome. Drinking in the morning is cool. But Bourbon on a cold, cold day is special.

The next stop was Stonehenge. Seriously. KY Stonehenge, in Munfordville. Why?
I need an explanation.

In a guy's yard. Again: Why?

Too bizarre. Listening to Muddy Waters, John Lee Hooker, Betty Lavette and other blues artists gave this trip an extra nice feel. I was so excited for my next destination.
I did eat on the way to Clarksdale, Ms. I stopped in Nashville for some delicious pulled pork with mac and cheese on the side. Good stuff.
Highway 61 is so filled with history, and driving down I couldn't help but think of that. Unfortunately, by the time I got to Clarksdale, home of the Blues, it was dark. It looks awesome, just the right mixture of run down places and cultural significance. It knows what it is and doesn't try too hard. I like it.
The Crossroads, of course, is the main attraction.

This is where Robert Johnson sold his soul to the devil in exchange for the ability to play guitar.
And play guitar he did. In only 2 years (he died at 27) he was able to achieve so much. Clapton even called him the most influential guitar player of all time.
He's top 5 according to Rolling Stone. Hard to disagree. Django, Hendrix, Vaughn, Clapton & Johnson seems right.
This area is also where Muddy Waters came from. So much history.
Unfortunately, Morgan Freeman's restaurant - Ground Zero Blues Cafe - is only open for lunch on Mondays. So I couldn't eat there. I thought, there will be something in Greenwood, near the plaque for Johnson's death. Wow ... that was not happening.

Greenwood was like Chester, PA. Scary. Except I was there at night. I clearly did not belong. The looks I got were mostly of surprise. The guy at the store where I bought gatorade looked at me like I was crazy. I'm pretty sure I was off-roading at some point. The streets are not lit, the signs are hard to find, when they exist. Bad times all around. I took a picture, the flash didn't go off ... I got stuck in 3 dead ends ... oh man ...

No one really knows where he died. Or when, I think.

I ran away, past Yazoo to Jackson, Mississippi. Then around Ponchartrain to New Orleans.
This is a really nice hotel (under $60 CND) a half block from Bourbon Street, in the heart of the French Quarter. Good times.
This is gonna be awesome. Where the hell is Barbie and Endellion?

(see all the pics here: full album)