Originally written for LiveJournal, 3-May-2006)

The day started with a 12 mile ride to Collinwood, where I got on the Natchez Trace parkway. It had already started to rain off and on, and starting at this point it was mostly on.

I had been looking forward to the quiet of this road after riding along with the logging truck traffic the last few days. I was also looking forward to fewer hills. I was not disappointed about either of these two items. There was an added bonus: The trees provided a good shelter from the wind, which still blew from the south.

Just the same, the Natchez Trace parkway was a big disappointment. It wasn’t until the next day that Myra and I decided how thoroughly bored we were with it, though.

This photo was taken under a bridge where I could take a photo without getting rain on my camera lens.

Rain or shine, the road was a big letdown.

Let’s start with this bridge. The trace is a limited-access road, disconnected from most side roads, including the one here. That’s great for controlling traffic, but it means the road is very disconnected from the communities along the way.

Disconnected is perhaps the key word to describe everything that’s wrong with it. (Sterile is another appropriate word.) The visitor center at Tupelo says one of the goals was to have a sort of connectedness with nature, but I say that just saying the word “connectness” doesn’t make it connected.

The road follows a historic route that was important in the days before steamboat travel. It was a raucous path, filled with people looking to escape their past, make their fortunes, betray their country for money, buy food from Native Americans, sell some farm produce in New Orleans, and charge travelers outrageous prices for a meal and a place to sleep with the bed vermin. People travelled together in groups for protection.

So, in order to commemorate this history of wild commerce, the National Park Service has decided that there should be no trace of commerce — no commercial vehicles on the road and no commercial signs. Once upon a time I thought more state should do like Vermont, which has severe restrictions on billboards along highways. But this was boring — and very disconnected from the history it was commemorating. Not only are there very few places to camp along the trace itself, but there is no information about where to go off the Trace to find a bite to eat or a place to sleep.

One of the good things about the trace is that in a few places, you can pull off the road and see the original paths. But I get far more of a sense of historical connectedness with highway US-12 in Michigan, which still has awkward turns that follow the original route right through the centers of the towns that grew up along it. The curves have been somewhat straightened out over the years since it began life as the Sauk Trail and a military road, but the awkwardness hasn’t been completely removed. And where it has been straightened, the old path often exists alongside the new one, somewhat stranded with less well-maintained pavement. But there are places where you’re traveling exactly where the travelers of the 1830s travelled, and even seeing some of the same buildings. The Natchez Trace gives no sense of anythign like that.

An audio display at the Tupelo Visitor center is defensive about this subject. It uses weasel words rather than the term “monotony”, but it tells us that the monotony of gentle curves and neatly groomed cuts and slopes that don’t really follow the original trace was “wise.” And that word “wise” is the last word it gives on the subject.

But if one pays careful attention to the information at the visitor center, one learns what was really motivating the Natchez Trace. It wasn’t so much the history or recreational uses, as it was a depression-inspired government boondoggle to provide jobs to an impoverished area. It has been many years in the building, and the last section was completed last year.

This bridge over the Tennessee River is a pretty one and nice to ride on, but must have cost a few tax dollars.

And no commercial vehicles are allowed on it. To think, the boringness of this road actually made me miss the lumber trucks.

I heartily approve of the 50 mph speed limit, though.

Photos fixed, 1-Aug-2007