Luckily I survived the ghosts who accompanied me in my room last night.

I take a final lap around downtown Natchez before departing. The town on the surface is very beautiful, but I get the sense that it’s essential to dive into the history of the place to really comprehend it. Every intersection and every building seem to have a few hundred years of stories to tell.

On the edge of town I find the entrance to the Natchez Trace Parkway. I’ve heard and read great things about this stretch of tarmac and I really look forward to riding it. I start on the south end and shortly come across mile marker #1 carved into a brown post. Every mile is marked which gives a nice cadence to the ride.

The road is amazing. The lush grass creeps within inches of the white lines on either side of the narrow two lane road like a perfectly edged carpet. It’s not particularly winding and there are no significant elevation changes. These are two characteristics which typically define great roads for riding a motorcycle on.

What Natchez Trace lacks in turns, it more than makes up for in a number of other ways. It’s clear why it lands on many of the top 10 roads in the country for riding on.

From what I could tell, there were no addresses on the road- no houses, no businesses, no farms. There are very few roads intersecting the parkway and when they do, a miniaturized version of a freeway ramp helps avoid slowing traffic. There are no commercial vehicles allowed and there are signs stating “for recreational use only”. The fields are perfectly manicured and the pavement is meticulously maintained. I get the sense that this is one of the crown jewels of the state of Mississippi. The equation is great for motorcyclists.

The scenery oscillates between dense forests, which filter dappled sunlight on the road, and wide open expanses of fields. The alternating pattern of light and dark becomes mesmerizing.

I rarely use the almost consistently dashed center line as there is nobody else on the road. I see three cars in my first 50 miles of riding and they are all headed in the opposite direction.

By the time I hit Jackson, MS, I’m starving and bike is nearly out of gas. I dive off the Trace to seek sustenance.

Penn’s Catfish doesn’t disappoint. The fried catfish, hush puppies, french fries, double tartar sauce and coleslaw, chased with sweet tea, proves so delicious I can’t stop until its gone.

With a very full stomach, I head back to ride more of the Trace. The afternoon is more incredible scenery. I cover 260 miles of the seemingly endless swath of roadway before forcing myself to find a place to camp before it gets dark. Its a special day on the bike. My mind has loosened its grasp and I have a hard time recalling what day of the week it is.

I saw Tupelo on the map and it seemed like a good stopping point. The name registered with me thanks to the Van Morrison song “Tupelo Honey.” It turns out that the song has nothing to do with the town, but they are extremely proud to claim the birthplace of Elvis Presley. I make a brief detour to see his humble beginnings before finding a campsite.

I wind my way up a rural back road to a beautifully remote state park set on a small lake. The accommodations couldn’t be any better at the end of an amazing day of riding.