July 24th Colubus Marina to Pirate's Marina Cove

From mile marker 335 , Columbus Miss. to mm 307, Marina Cove in Pickensville Ala. the river snakes in and out of Miss. and Ala. several times. Of course the wind is right on the nose again this morning. I tried to get rid of a nasty shaking by revving the engine higher and now she is running a tad hot. A super short day today, only 27.5 miles and one lock. Stennis Lock, #8 of 12 located just below Columbus Marina, where I met those two dudes hurtling up river at 24 knots and where I had that lovely six of Heineken, and where I awoke to a strange scratching sound on the cabin top that to my horror and revulsion turned out to be an opossum. As I popped my head out of the companionway I saw him crawl along the rail back to the dock and nearly off the bridge, thankfully for his blindness he did not perceive me in the darkness. Seeing that guy only strengthened my paranoia of things crawling in through nooks and crannies.
I arrived at Pirates Marina Cove at 12:50 pm after only a 6 hour day on the waterway. The proprietor Star was there to greet me and help tie up. Another extremely hot day that only gets hotter when the boat stops moving. There were two guys that apparently worked for the Marina working on on of their own boats and sweating to make up for any deficit of rain this summer. The boat was one of several large mostly wooden and mostly dismantled boats on the very low docks. There was an old tug called cricket, one modern motor cruiser from somewhere in Fla. and a small sailboat that by the color looked like it had been underwater for some time. One of its dock lines actually had vegetation growing thick all the way up to the boat. Both here and at Smithville there seems to be a predominance of liveaboards and derelict boats that started in the great white North. The marina office has a nice porch overlooking the docks and shares a lot with an R.V. park. Star sits behind the glass display case in the well air conditioned office with the television on some courtroom drama. She told me she had never worked until last year when she took over the administration of the marina. Occasionally she has to wake up and drive over to pump gas or something, but doesn't mind because she lives close by. She said she had dreams of one day moving to Columbus Miss., but her hubby said it was too expensive there so she has never left Pikensville.
I think my favorite part of this Odyssey is taking the courtesy car from these marinas into these tiny, God knows how they're here towns. Especially to find some down-home type restaurant where the locals go to eat cheap. I have always liked to dine in the barrio, but these little side of the road joints with their little side salads of iceberg lettuce, tomatoes, shredded cheese, bacon bits, croutons and some low rent Italian dressing just taste especially good after a hot day of motoring on beef jerky, cereal bars, and 90 degree drinking water. I love that even rustic places like Smithville and Marina cove actually have courtesy cars, and sure enough Star directed me to a place called "Down Yonder" which was just down yonder.
Everyone smoked at Down Yonder, and the waitress just left hers burning in the ashtray at the table near me when she would occasionally stop texting long enough to vouchsafe time to the clientele. I thought of moving to what I believed was the nonsmoking room but didn't care enough to make a nuisance of myself. The waitress knew everyone who came in; the old man who was there twice a week, the two guys sitting by the window one of whom sounded like Froggy from the little rascals with his cigarette destroyed larynx, "Miss Star," who must have followed me there, and the big tattooed biker looking guy who now sat at the waitress' smoldering table. Of course I ordered the house salad, roasted yard bird w/ green beans and mac&cheese, and the great southern traditional sweet tea. Perfect meal for the perfect time and place.
Above the doorway to what I guessed was the non smoking room was an Auburn license plate, so I asked the old man if they were fans, to which he replied, "Very few, I won't even go in there with that thing up." I later noticed there was a pewter Alabama christening plate right next to the Auburn one. There must have been around two hundred dollar bills signed and tacked to the ceiling and walls. The old man asked me about what I was doing and said he had fished every hole from here to Gainsville. I thought he meant Florida, but I later realized he was talking about Alabama. He told me about the typhoon he endured when he was stationed with the air force on Guam in '64. He said it was "Karen",and she had stuck broom straw into telephone poles and pushed an entire hanger off the runway into the ocean. This account of destruction did wonders for my anxiety about my forth coming game of hurricane roulette. "It was during the Cuban missile crisis.""We had 18, B-52s with 8 a-bombs apiece, we could have cracked the earth's crust." "Our destination was China." "Back then we didn't like commies and they didn't like us."
The old man and I, as well as Froggy and his smoking buddy all got up to pay at the same time so as to inconvenience the all too preoccupied waitress as little as possible. We left the biker guy sitting at the nicotine campfire.
I delivered the car back to the marina then walked the pine tree lined road over to the Tom Beville lock and dam and visitors center. The visitors center is a replica antebellum mansion built in the 80's, which I couldn't believe at first was not a private residence. It housed the most comprehensive display of information about the Tenn-Tom waterway. As well as the history of the rise, heyday and decline of the river trade. It was spooky to read about how towns like Nashville, Miss., Vienna and Memphis Al., rose and flourished in the pre-civil war days of river trade, then "declined" or altogether died as a result of the railroads taking the river trade and bypassing those towns. Destruction caused by the Reconstruction. The Beville visitors center also features a national landmark steam driven snag boat, built in Charleston, S.C. for removing trees and other debris from the waterway, now moored in concrete.
I think tonight how rich, striking and impressive all these river characters seem to be. I am also overwhelmed at how rich and immensely special my real friends seem to me right now. And furthermore, how much I miss touring with Stomp. I think about how much I love watching the world go by in the buddy seat on the bus, and how I think everyone likes their turn there.