{"id":33395,"date":"2014-09-01T12:12:55","date_gmt":"2014-09-01T16:12:55","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/motorcyclemojo.com\/?p=33395"},"modified":"2020-04-07T12:38:59","modified_gmt":"2020-04-07T16:38:59","slug":"natchez","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/motorcyclemojo.com\/2014\/09\/natchez\/","title":{"rendered":"Natchez Trace"},"content":{"rendered":"
The Natchez area holds a fascinating history and some very scenic riding<\/p>\n
Tales of cowboys and outlaws come to mind as I relax in the shade of a spreading pecan tree high above the mighty Mississippi and gaze at Louisiana\u2019s distant shore. I daydream of Jim Bowie valiantly defending himself in the 1827 Vidalia sandbar fight that made his knife world-famous. As a lad, the name Natchez was magical, as it was the background for many old Western movies. The Natchez area was a melting pot of American history, and therefore a large part of her identity today.<\/p>\n
The long ride from Nashville has placed us at the southern terminus of the Natchez Trace Parkway in Natchez, Mississippi. The French originally called this ancient trail Natchez, after the local native people, and Tracier, meaning pathway. In 1937, after repeated efforts by Congressman Jeff Busby, President Roosevelt funded the construction of the Natchez Trace Parkway as a memorial to its millennia of history. From Natchez to Nashville, no commercial vehicles are permitted along its entire 444 miles.<\/p>\n
<\/a>My wife, Tina, and I are on a new BMW K1600GTL, and our friends Hank and Marie are on their K1300. We ride cautiously, slipping and sliding, up the gravel laneway, seemingly paved with marbles, and park under the ancient live oaks. Lacy, gray Spanish moss hangs ghostlike from their outstretched limbs, and behind us, the huge white pillars of the antebellum Monmouth Plantation rise majestically. Built in 1818, this was once the home of Major General John Quitman, who served under President Zachary Taylor in the Mexican-American War. A painting in the sitting room portrays Quitman receiving the surrender of the citadel in Mexico City. Today, Monmouth is an elegant Georgian B&B.<\/p>\n Early next morning, a walk around the grounds reveals the opulent flamboyancy of the Old South. Quitman was predictably an avid secessionist, with four plantations and over four hundred slaves.<\/p>\n We mount up and ride slowly into Natchez to the old train station, and take a tour in a horse-drawn buggy. Three hundred years in the making, Natchez has many stories, some embellished I\u2019m sure. We walk through ostentatious Stanton Hall with its five-metre ceilings and beautiful grounds that occupy an entire city block, another example of the ill-gotten gains derived from slavery.<\/p>\n Riding across town, we park our bikes in front of the city\u2019s oldest building, King\u2019s Tavern. In 1779, Richard King built his tavern using salvaged wood from boats left behind by the \u201cKaintucks.\u201d These were frontiersmen from Kentucky and the Tennessee Valley who poled their goods down the Mississippi to Natchez and New Orleans. Musket holes in the building tell of Indian raids and the lawlessness of the times.<\/p>\n During a 1930s renovation, a brick wall was removed, and inside were found the skeletal remains of Madeline, King\u2019s mistress. Suspicions were that Mrs. King had disposed of Madeline, and the cache hidden in the wall validates the story. Never doubt that \u201cHell hath no fury like a woman spurned.\u201dAnother legend tells of a baby that was killed in King\u2019s Tavern by one of the notorious outlaws of the day. Ever since Madeline\u2019s bones were discovered, a baby\u2019s crying can be heard in an upstairs bedroom during the night.<\/p>\n After a great lunch at Fat Mama\u2019s Tamales, we make our way slowly down the cliff to Natchez Under-the-Hill. Here, fighting, prostitution, robbery and murder were a way of life. Mark Twain once stated, \u201cThe only thing here worth less than a woman\u2019s body is a man\u2019s life.\u201d And here the \u201cCock of the Walk\u201d \u2013 the biggest, meanest person \u2013 got to wear a red feather in his cap until someone came along who was able to beat him in a fist fight, or kill him, and remove the feather.<\/p>\n