The legendary Ed Tudor Pole!

It's funny the things that excite you, and this little gig by a cult figure from the days of punk was absolutely thrilling!

So, it was the first night of Bloxfest, a music festival in the village of Bloxham, and the gig was in a pub car park. Trouble was it was cold and rainy and there were only a few dozen of us there.

But that didn't stop Ed, and he came out and ran through a few punkabilly numbers with great verve. He may look wild eyed and raddled but he was spot on throughout, and brought energy and positive good humour to the whole event.

So we're about three songs in when Ed says 'bring down the barrier!' Let me explain, the stage was in a marquee about 25 feet wide and 10 feet deep set on a raised lawn. In front of the stage was 10 feet of grass and a sloping flower bed down to us on the car park, so the thirty-odd of us were 20 feet away and Ed was aware of the poor dynamic. So, on his request we all scurried around the edge of the flower bed and up onto the little strip of grass, edging ever closer to the man himself, singing bouncy songs about plastic moustaches out of crackers and being accused of not being a punk.

In fact, he then said how great it would be to have a band, and the next thing we had one of the support acts with acoustic guitar, a lad on electric guitar, a feller looking like Rick Wakeman on bass, somebody behind a drum kit to one side, someone on fiddle, even an old boy sat at the back of the stage playing spoons, and 40 odd delighted punters crowded round singing along to 'Who Killed Bambi?'.

By the end some of us standing behind them - so when it came to the last number I was singing "Hoorah, Hoorah, Hoorah, Yea! Over the hill with the swords of a thousand men!" with one arm round Ed's shoulder and the other raised aloft in triumph!

Ed was a really nice guy and chatted to us afterward. I'd go and see another of his gigs in an instant, but would it be like that? Legendary. Just legendary!

Watch Ed's finest hour on YouTube

Mississippi Road Trip: The Strange Heart of America

Or… How an English chap and an American drama queen crossed State lines 16 times in one day in search of weird and wonderful sites along the Mississippi river.




9am – Ozora, Missouri: Let’s go to a stranded Capital City!

Quirks on the old frontier - this was the start of our road trip south to Memphis!

Yesterday we’d flown to St Louis and driven down the I-55 to a Motel in Ozora Missouri, just south of Ste Genevieve.

I had detoured via Alton Illinois to catch sight of the Missouri river, which joins the Mississippi just north from St Louis, and went very close to the site of the medieval city of Cahokia (you can read about it at http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cahokia).

But, this fine Saturday morning just after Christmas 2007, we were at a motel in Ozora, ready to embark on a real anorak’s tour, as we’d say in England – seeing oddities rather than scenic or historic sites.

First I had to get Maxie out of the motel. Her name isn’t really Maxie but her personality is. She had it in her head that our motel was an overpriced dump, and also had to spend a silly amount of time dithering with make up and complaining about where I ate my breakfast. Ignoring her protest that I should take her to the Greyhound station, we were on our way now, from the middle of nowhere to… the edge of somewhere!


10am – Kaskaskia, Illinois: there’s no-one driving!
We headed a few miles east across country from Ozora, along road J and down the 61 until we reached St Mary, Missouri. There we found a turn off leading over the State line into Illinois.

Now this is curious. Everywhere else the border with Illinois is formed by the Mississippi river, but this means the course of the Mississippi as it was way back when they were sorting this stuff out. It’s course changed after a flood in 1881, leaving these 24 square miles of Illinois stranded on the west of the river. The state line now looks like there used to be a flipping great river running along it, sure enough, but it’s now just a lot of mud and trees with a raised road over it.

More intriguingly, we followed the road into Illinois for 5 miles and reached the village of Kaskaskia [[you can read about it at http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Kaskaskia%2C_Illinois or at http://www.prairieghosts.com/kaskaskia.html]]. This outpost was once the capital of the state of Illinois.

Now it’s the haunt of driverless motor vehicles!

Let me explain. As I was posing for this particular shot, Maxie squealed “Oh my God! Did you see that! There was nobody driving that car! It just had a woman in the passenger side”. Now, I’m used to seeing just one person on either side of a car, me being from England, and so when I saw this lone vehicle pass, the fact hadn’t registered. Moreover, I was so used to Maxie squealing about all sorts of nonsense that I paid the matter no attention and asked her to get on and take the picture.



Harsh? This incredible woman screams if you open a door suddenly. An utterly unique character, Maxie decorates her garage with posters of Spongebob Squarepants and pictures of Federal Reserve Chairman Ben Bernanke. You gotta love her, even if she does over-react a lot. Like a lot.

However, I was soon to stand corrected. We saw the car again in St Mary, and - urged on by a shrieking Maxie - gave chase. When it stopped, we found that it belonged to a postal delivery woman who had, indeed, been trained to drive from the passenger’s side, allowing her to service post boxes.

At the place where we caught up with the mysterious driverless van we met a resident called Jerry. Hi Jerry.

The chase was well worth it in the end, as the post lady gave us directions to our next destination.
Border crossings: east into Illinois and west back out = 2.

11am – Chester, Illinois: Comics and cops!

We headed south, turned east on road H (the roads round here have letters) and then north on the 51. This took us over the river to the town of Chester, Illinois - home of Elzie Segar, creator of Popeye. Just next to the bridge was a statue of the comic character that had a steady stream of people getting their picture taken with it.

Like this.

We headed south through skin warming sunshine and a heartwarming landscape, along a clear wide State Route 3. So clear and wide is this road, in fact, that I allowed my speed to exceed the regulation 55mph. By up to 30 miles per hour at some points.

Well, no road trip is complete without a brush with the law, and that’s just what I got. I saw the flashing lights behind me, and pulled over to be approached by a cop just like on TV. He asked to see my license, and was bemused to see that it was English. “We don’t get too many of these round here,” he said. Anyway, he told me I’d been doing 72 (phew, is that all?), I apologized, and he just said “keep it down for me, would ya?”. What a totally top bloke. Hail to thee, reasonable traffic cop! If you’re reading this, I did indeed moderate my speed for the rest of the trip.
Border crossings: east back into Illinois, add 1 = 3.

12 noon – Cape Girardeau, Missouri: I am the Cape crusader!
I hadn’t had a cup of coffee since the motel, whose brew was… underwhelming. Coming from Oxford, England I’m a bit spoiled for good coffee – I can think of half a dozen places in Oxford city center that will do you an excellent mocha – and it was definitely time for one now.

So, I took a detour about 3 miles over the bridge to Cape Girardeau (pronounced ‘Gi-RAR-doe’ by a cop in Chester) in search of good coffee. And what a cultured treat this place was! Most of the towns in this region seem a little unsophisticated, and the environs of CG are no different, but the river front was just charming [[see http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cape_Girardeau]].

Not that you can see the river from the town. It’s hidden behind an almighty wall with artistic paintings along it and gates that can be closed to keep out high water. Walking down to the water’s edge I dipped my fingers into the great river. It was cold (well this was the last Saturday in December). The waves made an enchanting, peaceful plinking sound on the cobbled causeway, which I recorded on my phone. It was all rather heavenly.

I then bought my coffee and had some nice soup, while Maxie went into one of the many antique shops and emerged with a 1950s mink hat, which she promptly fell in love with. “I’m never taking this off. Ever!” she announced.

A word about American antique shops. They’re not like the antique shops that I’m used to – all Georgian tables and Victorian eye-glasses. I think of antiques as old. Really old. America just isn’t that old. A word to our American friends – if you ever describe your antique stores to an English person, call it a ‘second hand shop’.

Anyway, refreshed in body and spirit, and with a new fur hat, we returned across the bridge, and headed for the future!

Border crossings: west back into Missouri and east back into Illinois, add 2 = 5.


2.30 pm – Cairo, Illinois: Three states in four minutes.
This whole trip was prompted by an interest in the states of America, their quirks and their geography. Look at a political map of USA, and you’ll notice just what a crossroads this stretch of the Mississippi is, and how many states are squished together along it. In less than 100 miles it flows past five of the six states we would visit this day.

When I first started looking at this striking intersection, I discovered that just north of Cairo, Illinois (pronounced ‘KAY-ro’, apparently), is Future City. I was thrilled – imagining a bustling metropolis of shiny metal domes and hovering taxis. The reality was not quite the same. When we reached Future City it was a tiny gridiron of overgrown roads, grandly called First Street and so on, with the same scattering of modest wooden houses that you’ll find in any less-affluent area. Less a city of the future than a city sometime in the future! Buy real estate here now. With a name like Future City and a location at the crossroads of America, it’s got to be a winner if you hold it long enough.

Near Cairo, the Mississippi river is joined by the Ohio river, and this spot marks the tri-state border between Missouri, Illinois and Kentucky [[http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cairo%2C_Illinois]]. We took the 51 through Cairo and stopped at Fort Defiance Park in the absolute south of Illinois. I was surprised at just how well defined the very end of the state is. This pic is looking south, with Kentucky beyond the Ohio river on the left, and Missouri beyond the Mississippi coming in from the right and heading off into the distance.

Two bridges cross into the Illinois just next to the park, one from each neighbouring state over each river. You can see the Ohio river bridge behind Maxie. Now, this is a remarkable thing. Although Missouri borders Kentucky for a full 30 miles, there isn’t a single bridge crossing between the two states. Round these parts you have to go via Illinois.

I wanted to try something which excited me but meant nothing to Maxie. We went over into Missouri, turned around at a gas station, and waited for the second hand of my watch. As it passed 12, I set off back across the bridge, still over Missouri soil. A minute and a half later we were at a little junction by the park in Illinois, stuck behind a truck. We followed it to the right, and over the last bridge across the Ohio (a mighty river indeed), and were safely over Kentucky soil within four minutes.

Three states in 3m 52s - Roger Bannister would have been proud!

Border crossings: back into Missouri, back into Illinois, then east into Kentucky: add 3 = 8.

3.30 pm – Moscow, Kentucky: Did I say we crossed State lines 16 times?
I liked Kentucky. It felt Kentuckyish. Maxie was reading her book as we weaved through the gentle hills. It’s called Bashar – A Blueprint for Change, and contains information channeled through the author about how life exists across space in different dimensions.

“We all exist in a child-like state”, she read aloud. “See? I’m normal after all!”. I laughed. Defending her standpoint she insisted “Look, it’s from the aliens!”. When she wasn’t blaming me for missing a U-turn or bursting into tears because her new mink hat had fallen behind her seat, she could be very entertaining. By now she no longer wanted to find a Greyhound.

We took the 51 south as far as Clinton, and then headed south-west-ish, probably on the 239. Stopping for potato chips and beer in Moscow, we mentioned to the owners of the store that we were headed for Memphis. They said they wanted to go one day. It’s a whopping great city 150 miles away and they’d never been. Some lives are very different from mine.

I say this was in Moscow, but I could be wrong, because before I knew it we were at a crossroads staring at a Tennessee state border sign. Here we turned right onto a road that had Tennessee on one side and Kentucky on the other without being in either. I won’t call this ‘crossing a state line’ – we went out of one state but we didn’t go into another so how do you count it?

Anyway, we re-entered Kentucky, found gas at Hickman, and drove full steam along the 94, into the sunset and toward one of the most curious border features of the whole USA.
Border crossings: a half and a half. We won’t count it. Still = 8.

4.30 pm – The Kentucky Bend: The road to nowhere in the middle of America.

We were headed for the most westerly point in Kentucky, but first we entered Tennessee.

I like Tennessee, but this wasn’t why we were passing through it. You see, the Mississippi forms the western border of Kentucky, heading south of the 36* 30’ parallel that defines the border with Tennessee. Then it loops back north of it again, and then back south.

The result is a pocket of Kentucky, surrounded by a 310’ arc of the Mississippi river and the state of Missouri, and attached by land to Tennessee [[http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Kentucky_Bend]]. It gets curiouser. Three states meet at a tripoint, like the one near Cairo. Missouri, Kentucky and Tennesse, however, have three tripoints.

The road back up into this bubble of Kentucky runs for about 6 miles from Tiptonville, Tennessee. I stopped at a gas station to ask directions, since there wasn’t a road number on my map, which I showed to three shop girls. They looked at it as if I was showing them stock prices in Chinese. How can anyone not know that they’re living next to a state line – and a curious state line at that?

Using the sun, now low in the sky, I guessed which road to take (it was the 22), and after 10 minutes right-angling across the northwestern corner of Tennessee I was thrilled to run into this patch of Kentucky. I’m a very strange man.

We drove into it for a bit, until we came to a fork in the road. One option said ‘No Outlet’. The other said ‘Dead End’. This latter sign was shot through with bullet holes. We were in the middle of nowhere. The desolate wintery fields were looking eerie in the gathering dusk. We took our photographs hastily and turned back.

Passing through Tiptonville and leaving its erudite citizens behind, we reached the I-155 and headed west over the river into Missouri again. There was one more curiosity to visit, and we turned north onto the I-55 to find it.

Border crossings: south into Tennessee, north back into Kentucky, south back into Tennessee, and west back into Missouri: add 4 = 12.

7pm – New Madrid, Missouri: In the zone.
New Madrid is on the northern bank of the Kentucky Bend. Although it’s only 3 miles or so by balloon from the gun-blasted Dead End sign, it takes a good hour and then some to drive via Caruthersville.

A misleading sign took me off the I-55 toward an Aluminum plant. We drove around getting cross and wondering if it was worth it, until I asked at a gas station which way to go. It was here that I got confirmation that the name was pronounced ‘New MAD-rid’, which is hardly surprising after Cairo was called K-roe and St Louis pronounced St Lewis instead of St Louie.

New Madrid gives its name to an earthquake zone. Although less well known than its cousins in California, the fault once gave rise to a series of powerful quakes culminating in a 7.9 Richter shake up in February 1812, which flattened the whole town. You can read about it at http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/New_Madrid_Seismic_Zone.

At the end of Main Street, leaving Maxie dozing in the car, I found a platform overlooking the Kentucky anomaly. It was nearly too dark to see by eye. We then drove back south towards Memphis and our next motel. As I left the center of New Madrid I noticed that it was 7 o’clock on a Saturday night, and the place was dead.
Border crossings: no new crossings. Still = 12.

10pm – Memphis, Tennessee: The end of the road… for today.
Backtracking down along the I-55, we stopped for pizza and petrol (sorry, gasoline) near Caruthersville, and booted it through the dark. I say ‘booted’ rather appropriately, as we were in the Missouri Bootheel [[http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Missouri_Bootheel]]. The southern border of Missouri with Arkansas is mostly the same 36* 30’ parallel that cuts the Kentucky Bend. However, just here there’s a chunk of Missouri sticking out south into Arkansas. Not for any good reason that I can see. We listened to a radio documentary on Condoleezza Rice, while Maxie interjected with comments of varying levels of appropriateness.

Anyway, eventually we did enter Arkanksas, and after a featureless 55 minutes we left it again. Sorry, Arkansas, but it was dark and really nothing happened.

Getting a little punchy now we crossed the Mississippi for the last time, and entered Memphis Tennessee, heading for our motel near the airport. But I had one small detour in mind.

From the I-55 we exited south onto Elvis Presley Boulevard, looking at Graceland on the left and the visitor center on the right, and overshooting by 3 miles until we hit the state of Mississippi. We’d followed the river south for 200 miles, and here was the state named after it. Job done, we drove back north into Tennessee, back past Graceland all lit up for Christmas, and finished the last few weary miles to our motel.

Nearly. Actually I turned back at the parking lot. Maxie yelled at me for booking another overpriced dump and insisted we check out the motel next door.

Which was full.

So we ended up at the one I’d booked, which turned out to be fine. Anyway, it was me paying …

Border crossings: south into Arkansas, east in Tennessee, south into Mississippi, north back into Tennessee. Add 4 = 16.


Epilogue – Sunday
Because we overslept, and because the toilet overflowed, and because we had to get the car to Atlanta by 8pm, we had no time to visit Graceland for breakfast. Pity. Instead we set straight off.

We made East Tupelo, Mississippi by midday, and visited Elvis’ birthplace. An old guy at the end of the road was sitting out on his porch and told me the town was pronounced ‘TYOOP-lo’. He told me also his leg was bad and asked for some money. Some people live very different lives.

Then the long drive on the 78 to Birmingham, Alabama. I was pleasantly surprised by its rolling hills and copious trees. After Birmingham we took a small detour from the I-20 to drive past the Talladega race track, made famous in a Will Ferrell movie. Stopping off nearby to buy fireworks, the guys who ran the store (the most typical friendly southern red-necks in the world) told us that 177,000 people go to the twice yearly big race.

A little way down the road our last stop was Oxford, Alabama. Here we found a Starbucks where they were queuing out of the door. How appropriate that after two whole states I found an espresso machine in a place called Oxford.

We made Atlanta with an hour to spare.

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