Category Archives: Entertainment

Getting the Blues Part Four: Evolution

On Tuesday morning, it was time to leave Clarksdale and head up to Memphis, Tennessee. Built on a bluff just across the state line from Mississippi, Memphis is where the Mississippi Delta begins and has been called the capital of the Delta by some. The Blues Highway, US 61, leads through the Mississippi Delta country to Memphis and many delta blues musicians traveled north to and through this gateway city. Both rock and roll and soul music were born there. And coincidentally, my family and I first traveled to Memphis over 20 years ago at the invitation of my friend Matt to meet up with him and and his family to tour the city and spend some quality time together.

We left the Shack Up Inn and headed up Highway 61, stopping for breakfast at a Waffle House near Tunica, which is popular for its casinos. Matt and I don’t gamble, but as you may have noticed, we do eat. You already saw my standard Waffle House breakfast, so no food pic this time. Interestingly enough, though, this particular restaurant has a sizable water retention pond running beside the highway. Because of the pond’s elongated shape, at first glance, I thought it might be a creek. But upon closer examination, we determined that it was a pond and that it was inhabited by a fair number of turtles. Spoiled turtles. They were so used to being fed by well-meaning restaurant patrons, any time somebody would walk up to the pond’s edge, the turtles would all swim over expecting food. This was an amusing sight to see.

It probably took longer in the 19th century, but today one can drive from Clarksdale to Memphis in well under two hours. As we approached the metro area, we opted to skip the Interstate and stayed on US 61. This took a little longer and brought us through some vastly different areas of the city, which may be considered good or bad depending upon the eye of the beholder. Matt and I both appreciate the non-touristy side of this world and besides, we were in absolutely no hurry.

Despite having taken our time, we got into Memphis far too early to check into our hotel, so we opted to visit the Stax Museum of American Soul Music, a favorite for both of us. Even though Stax was forced into involuntary bankruptcy at the end of 1975, their legacy lives on. Booker T. & The MGs, the Staple Singers, Isaac Hayes, Sam and Dave, and Otis Redding, just to name a few, were all Stax recording artists. Thanks to the local community leaders who formed The Soulsville Foundation, the Stax Museum now stands on the former site of the Stax Records. And right next door, the Stax Music Academy and the Soulsville Charter School were also made possible by this same foundation. It’s a hell of a story.

Matt had proposed eating supper at Gus’s World Famous Hot and Spicy Fried Chicken in downtown Memphis, which was the chain’s first Memphis location and in fact only the second Gus’s location before it became a chain. Gus’s serves up southern spicy (not the same as Nashvillel hot) fried chicken, which is very flavorful but not painfully spicy. We opened with an appetizer of fried green tomatoes — my first time — which were quite tasty. Then Matt had a plate of fried chicken while I opted for their “limited time only” hot and spicy chicken sandwich, which is made with a boneless thigh, not a breast. Everything was quite good.

From there we walked to The Green Beetle, the oldest tavern in Memphis, located on the opposite side of the same block as Gus’s. This place had originally opened in 1939 as The Green Beetle Cafe and enjoyed some rather famous visitors before morphing into a dive bar and changing hands several times until rising to its current iteration, owned by the grandson of the Beetle’s original founder. It was okay, and reminded me of the college bars I used to frequent back in the day, though I think we had been expecting a bit more charm. Also, just a word to the wise, which way you walk around the block from Gus’s really matters. It’s almost upscale on one side of that block and sort of war-torn on the other.

The following day, after sleeping in a bit, we enjoyed lunch at a favorite spot that Matt had introduced me to a couple of decades ago: The Four Way Soul Food Restaurant, the oldest of its kind in Memphis. Although The Four Way was frequented by the likes of Elvis Presley and Dr. Martin Luther King, it’s not exactly a tourist destination. What it is, though, is a phenomenal soul food restaurant with a longstanding reputation as a gathering place where black and white diners can eat together — not a common thing for the place and time this restaurant was established (1946) and the years that followed.

I have never had a bad meal at this place. Matt had the chicken fried steak, black eyed peas, and pickled green tomatoes. I had a fork-tender, smothered pork chop, black eyed peas, and turnip greens. Both of us finished off with a delicious peach cobbler. Everything was wonderful, as always.

As an aside, I was sad to learn that the gentleman who had greeted me at the door so many years ago, Willie Bates, had passed away in 2017. I’ll never forget the way he greeted us and made us feel welcome, telling us the story of how he had bought The Four Way out of a desire to give back to the neighborhood. On my way out the door that first time, I walked over to tell him how much I had enjoyed eating there. I’ll swear, I thought the man was going to cry. That kind of thing sticks with me.

Next, we went over to The Blues Foundation’s Blues Hall of Fame Museum. Although the Hall of Fame has existed since 1980, this museum opened in 2015 and so, did not exist the last time I had been to Memphis. What a place! This museum was designed to provide an interactive and sensory experience. Besides all of the artwork, artifacts, displays, and recordings, for an additional charge, visitors can experience the museum’s interactive hologram exhibit featuring Taj Mahal. The Blues Hall of Fame is only the second museum in the United States to have utilized this technology. For about twenty minutes, Matt and I asked questions and this life-sized, three dimensional recording of Taj answered them. I’ll swear, he looked like he was gonna’ step out of that box any moment. But that was just the icing on the cake. The entire museum is great and well worth visiting.

For supper, Matt found us another hidden gem: Sam’s Deli of Memphis. Sam’s features a variety of Indian specialties but the menu overall can best be described as global. After opening with vegetable samosas an naan, Matt had this huge Italian salad and I enjoyed an equally huge sandwich called Mango Bonfire, made with Indo-Chinese chili chicken. The food was delicious and the portions more than generous. It’s best to come hungry to Sam’s!

We spent the final evening of our road trip on historic Beale Street, as it seemed fitting to do so. Beale Street had been a music hotspot long before it ever became a tourist attraction. Since the mid-1800’s, around the time of the Civil War, Beale was home to Black-owned businesses, clubs, restaurants, and shops. This is where the Delta musicians used to come up to play for Black audiences. Today the historic Beale Street district is considered the top tourist attraction in the state of Tennessee.

I had made only one request and that was to visit some clubs other than my favorite, the Rum Boogie Cafe. While I do love the Rum Boogie, it was the only club on Beale Street that I had been to thus far. So instead, we wandered into 152 Beale Street, which I believe was called “Club 152” once upon a time. Currently, this establishment seems to maintain absolutely no online presence. It’s a big place with two bars and seating throughout, including a row facing streetside. There was a band playing, a pretty good one, too, but not too many people were hanging out in there. I was not able to figure out the band’s name, but they deserved a bigger audience than they had. The bartender was pleasant enough, but again, not very busy. Matt and I listened to the band as we enjoyed our drinks, and then moved on.

We briefly — and I do mean briefly — ducked into another establishment, whose name I cannot recall, and quickly discovered that (a) it was open mike night and (b) the doofus at the mike was really drunk, really getting into the song he was singing, and really, really devoid of any talent whatsoever. We walked out faster than we had walked in and headed over to B.B. King’s Blues Club, a super popular place. We paid our cover, got seated, and stayed for a while. The band, who seemed to specialize in R&B and rock and roll covers, was extraordinarily polished. Although I had been hoping to hear more blues that night, I must admit they were quite good. The place was pretty full for a weeknight and the servers seemed to be working hard to keep up. On the bright side, my drinks were good and strong. It was a good way to finish the night.

Before leaving Memphis Thursday morning, we found our way to Brother Juniper’s, a delightful and truly local breakfast restaurant that is also highly supportive of its community. I gorged myself on a couple of huge blueberry pancakes with a side of thick-sliced bacon and a mug of steaming black coffee as I contemplated how I was going to lose all the extra weight I had surely put on over the course of the past week. As much as this trip had been about the music, it also proved to be a decadent excursion into southern cuisine — and I ain’t talking health food.

After we had both eaten our fill, we gassed up the car and headed north out of Memphis on Interstate 55. Within minutes, the skies opened up and let loose with a heavy thunderstorm and torrential rain. The storm eventually subsided, but that rain would follow us all the way to Illinois.

Once in Illinois, per Matt’s request, we took a planned detour to Tower Grove Cemetery in Murphysboro to pay our respects at the gravesite of Larry “Big Twist” Nolan. When we were younger, both Matt and I had been fans of Big Twist and the Mellow Fellows, a blues band that had become a top draw on the nightclub circuit in the 1970s and ’80s. The band played at Marquette University, where we had gone to college, every year that I was there, I think. It was still raining when we got out of the car and walked over to his gravestone. I had been there once before, so I knew exactly where to find it. We talked a little bit, took some photos, and then departed for home.

Unbeknownst to either of us, two days after we had made that stop, the Murphysboro Historical Society was to unveil a historical marker dedicated to Big Twist, who had lived in Murphysboro and raised his family there. We have already agreed that the next time we are in that area, we must return to Murphysboro to view the marker.

The drive back to Plainfield was a long one, but save for a brief scare when we kept smelling raw gasoline (not ours), it was uneventful. I was deeply touched when at one point I asked Matt what part of our journey he had enjoyed most and he pointed to me, submitting that it had been a long, long time since we had talked “like we used to.” That much was true. Once upon a time, it would not have been unusual for us to stay up into the night, spinning yarns, painting dreams, or solving the problems of the world. As we get older and take on the burdens that typically accompany adulthood, life sometimes distracts us from that which is most important. I will strive to remember this going forward.

Our journey concluded that Thursday night. Matt continued on to his home and I basked in the glow of it all as I began to unpack. We had ventured out in search of the blues and in that regard, we were successful. I can’t wait to do something like this again!

Well, this has been a long one, four installments worth. If you have been following along the entire time, I am grateful to you and, as always, I thank you for hanging with me.

Getting the Blues Part Three: Different Exposures

Not everything is open on Sundays and/or Mondays in Clarksdale. The juke joints are silent and many shops are closed, even some that claim to have hours. But what is open can be absolutely wonderful and deserves to be experienced. After doing a bit of research, Matt and I planned our activities and proceeded to thoroughly enjoy the rest of our stay in town.

After enjoying a nice breakfast at Grandma’s House of Pancakes on Third Street on Sunday morning, we took a short ride beyond the downtown area to the intersection of US Highways 61 and 49, the legendary crossroads where some believe a young delta blues musician named Robert Johnson sold his soul to the devil to become a famous blues guitar player. Whether or not this ever happened, seeing the famed crossroads was an item on my bucket list, an item that has now been crossed off.

Yes, I have been to the crossroads, though I chose not to go at midnight. I have enough problems already; I don’t need any new ones. It’s a pretty busy intersection nowadays and on one corner of that intersection, we noticed a renowned BBQ restaurant, but it was not open at the time, so we went back the following day for lunch. More on that later.

We spent a fair amount of time, both Sunday and Monday, in the downtown area walking around, exploring, and determining what was open on either day. Four things are prevalent in downtown Clarksdale. For openers, murals are everywhere, some of them quite good. You can’t walk very far without seeing a mural painted on the side of a building, or on the face in some cases. These are not acts of graffiti, but intentional works, many of them signed by their respective creators. Most, but not all, have musical themes. These murals are best appreciated while on foot. When you’re walking and you come across an interesting mural, it’s easy to stop and look at it; maybe even take a photo or two. When you’re driving, things go by too quickly, even at 25 miles per hour. And besides, your eyes should be on the road, watching for pedestrians, and so forth.

Also prevalent are the local historical markers — freestanding signs and bronze plaques — which share a great deal of information about significant businesses, people, and time periods that affected Clarksdale. Did you know that among other things, the rock and roll/R&B pioneer Ike Turner worked as a disc jockey at WROX Radio? That station is still in operation today, although not in its original location, and we listened to it while driving back and forth between our shack and other parts of Clarksdale. One can get a good sense of what has transpired in this city by reading these markers.

An unfortunate reality in downtown Clarksdale, as can be found in many other communities large and small, is urban decay. Right alongside the active commercial, retail, and residential structures in town are vacant ones, some of which have been abandoned for years already. We walked past a few former storefronts that were not just empty but falling apart.

It’s not all doom and gloom, though. The Ground Zero Blues Club occupies a building that had been empty for decades. On the next block, a former freight depot now houses an excellent museum, which I will get to shortly. Numerous unique and wonderful shops, restaurants, and music venues — some new and some that have been around for quite a while — are still very much in operation. Clarksdale also hosts a variety of festivals throughout the year. All of these things are drawing people from around the world to visit. I’m just one of those people. In my mind’s eye, these are the things that could very well reverse the decline of this city and make Clarksdale become for blues what Branson, MO became for country music.

Speaking of music, that’s the fourth prevalent thing. Communities with a substantial musical heritage are different from other communities in that their musical significance permeates everything. You’ll find it woven into the decor of restaurants and hotels. Their respective event calendars will be peppered with music and music-related happenings. And music won’t just be something to find downtown; for all intents and purposes, it is the downtown. Clarksdale is like that.

We discovered an amazing shop called Cat Head, self-described as “Mississippi’s Blues Store” by its founder, a gentleman named Roger Stolle. Roger is an amazing individual who moved to the already declining city of Clarksdale for the express purpose of promoting the delta blues tradition from within. I hadn’t known that when I visited the store, but it’s really an amazing story. One must visit Cat Head in person to experience what it’s all about. They sell a variety of merchandise, all related to the blues. They host live music performances and have supported or personally executed numerous projects aimed at promoting Clarksdale and its rich history.

Matt and I did not have the pleasure of meeting Roger Stolle while we were there, but we did get to meet another awesome individual. A gentleman named Frank, who had been minding the shop that day, engaged us in conversation as we were perusing the merchandise. When he found out we were staying at the Shack Up Inn, he asked which shack we were in and when Frank learned that we were staying in the Mule, he remarked, “You’re the guys who got moved from the Sweet Honey.” Naturally, I inquired as to how he knew that. Turns out Frank is one of the owners of the Shack Up Inn! Frank is also yet another individual who moved to Clarksdale because he gets what the Shack Up Inn is about and believes in the potential of Clarksdale. Frank is also a friend and fan of Roger Stolle, which is why he was helping out at Cat Head that day.

I had an aunt who would say about certain towns, “They roll up the sidewalks on Sunday evenings,” meaning that just about everything would be closed. I recalled her words as Matt and I began researching our Sunday supper possibilities. Most of the downtown places are not open on Sunday evenings, so we opted to go beyond that area to try Hibachi Buffet, out on State Street, which is well-rated online and open seven days a week. And man, did we strike pay dirt! The sheer variety of cuisine, from Asian specialties to Cajun and soul food dishes, all of them delicious, made me an immediate fan. Even before the pandemic, good buffet restaurants had become few and far between. It’s nice to know that there are still some good ones out there.

The juke joints are also quiet on Sundays, but Clarksdale boasts having live blues seven days a week and they deliver on that promise, too. One need only go as far as Cat Head’s “Sounds Around Town” page to see who’s playing where and when. Now I have to be honest, I wasn’t too sure about going to a hostel to hear blues music, but I was joyfully mistaken. The Auberge Clarksdale Hostel is a very inviting establishment and their Old Madidi Bar, formerly the Madidi Restaurant that was owned by Morgan Freeman and Bill Luckett until 2012, features live blues music in a somewhat intimate setting that Matt and I enjoyed very much.

Our entertainment for the night was provided by Terry “Harmonica” Bean, a delta blues artist — in fact, a very capable one-man blues band — and a most pleasant and personable entertainer. Matt and I found a low table with two comfy chairs by a window, located directly across from where Terry was seated and playing exactly the kind of music we had expected to hear down in the Delta. He played guitar, harmonica, and an amplified stomping board as he sang some of the best blues we would hear on our road trip. And when I say played, I mean worked. That man came on at 7:00 PM and didn’t call it quits until after 10:30 PM, taking only one incredibly short break during that whole time. We absolutely loved it!

On Monday, we returned to the famed crossroads right around 11:00 AM to see what Abe’s Bar-B-Q had to offer. Abraham Davis, a Lebanese immigrant, went into the restaurant business in the 1920’s and eventually moved it to the present location. His son, Pat Davis, Sr, took over the cafe in 1960 and the name was changed from Bungalow-Inn to Abe’s to honor the founder. Mr. Davis’ BBQ has been a regional sensation for 100 years now and judging by the line that had formed by noon, Abe’s remains a favorite with locals and travelers alike. Matt had a plate of hot tamales, which interestingly enough is a delta dish, and I had the Big Abe, a double-decker BBQ pork sandwich topped with coleslaw. Both were quite good and we were very glad that we had the idea to come in ahead of the lunchtime crowd.

Okay, this is a good one. On Third Avenue downtown, next to a former movie theater, is Deak’s Mississippi Saxophones & Blues Emporium, a must-see shop for any blues pilgrim while in Clarksdale. As is the case with Cat Head, you will not find another place on earth quite like Deak’s shop. Part store, part museum, part service center, and just a nice place to stop and visit. Deak Harp, an accomplished musician who used to tour with James Cotton, can take an ordinary off-the-rack harmonica, disassemble it, modify and customize the innards, and build a professional instrument. He did exactly that for Matt, who plays the harmonica on occasion, while we went off to do some more touristy stuff.

Where does one go on a Monday afternoon in Clarksdale to kill ninety minutes or so? I heartily recommend the Delta Blues Museum, which is housed in a former railroad depot just east of the Ground Zero Blues Club. A lot of thought, planning, and work have gone into this place and it shows. Their mission statement says it best: “The Delta Blues Museum is dedicated to creating a welcoming place where visitors find meaning, value, and perspective by exploring the history and heritage of the unique American musical art form of the blues.”

Unfortunately, photography is not allowed inside the museum, so the only photos I have are from the exterior. But within those walls is a vast treasure of exhibits, artifacts, and many, many stories of the blues from its beginnings down in the Mississippi Delta to the global phenomenon that it has become. Although I consider myself a blues aficionado, I really know only a fraction of the whole story. Places like this are where people like me can go to gain additional knowledge and a better perspective on the genre. In truth, we could have stayed longer. There is a lot to see in there! Very cool.

It was just over 90° in the shade when we returned to the shop to complete Matt’s purchase and believe me, we were feeling it. I sent Matt ahead to Deak’s and walked over to my car to fetch some bottled water. When I walked into the shop, I found three gentlemen inside talking. Matt was in an old upholstered chair by the door, Deak was seated at his work desk, and seated in another upholstered chair near Deak sat none other than Charlie Musselwhite, one of the greatest blues harmonica players of our time. A pivotal figure in helping revive the Chicago blues scene in the 1960s, Charles Douglas Musselwhite is a Grammy Award-winning artist who has also won 33 Blues Music Awards and has been inducted into the Blues Hall of Fame. And there he sat, smiling away and passing time with Deak Harp and my friend Matt.

When the opportunity presented itself, just to be sure, I asked, “Excuse me… Is that Charlie?” Everybody nodded, including Charlie. I tried not to gush too much as I stepped over to shake hands and introduce myself. The conversation continued about harmonica playing, life as a blues artist, and so on. Before we left, Matt and I took turns photographing each other with the two blues men, who then continued their visit after we bade them goodbye. I’m sure Matt and I were grinning ear to ear as we walked back to the car.

As we headed back to the Shack Up Inn, I made a point of stopping to snap a photo of a peculiar sight that we saw every day while in Clarksdale. On US Highway 49, between the inn and the city proper, is a railroad crossing at which a long line of freight cars has been uncoupled to allow highway traffic to pass through. What makes it odd is that the line of freight cars extends in both directions as far as the eye can see. And that line never moved or changed during the entire time we were there. The cars aren’t old or rusted. It just appears as if someone long-term parked a very long freight train down here.

We spent our last evening in Clarksdale at the Hopson Commissary, which is located on the same plantation as the Shack Up Inn. This 100-year- old building used to be the commissary for Hopson Farm in the early 1900’s. Now it serves as an event venue and on Monday nights, they feature live music and a homestyle buffet dinner.

The food was wonderful, my beer was cold, and the staff was warm and friendly. On stage, Marshall Drew, a local folk rock singer-songwriter with a pleasant voice and playing style, entertained everybody. This was an easy way for us to finish off our stay in Clarksdale, as we then had an incredibly short drive back to our shack, where we could kick back, relax, and ponder all that we had seen and done during our stay.

We still had one more city to visit on this road trip, but I’ll save that for next time. Thank you so much for hanging with me!

Getting the Blues Part Two: Down to 662

“There’s a sound oozing from the ground
And it cuts right through
You can only find it
Down here in the 662″
— from “662” by Christone “Kingfish” Ingram and Tom Hambridge

Matt and I woke up Saturday morning ready to continue our journey, but not before indulging in a Waffle House breakfast. When I travel, I prefer to eat at establishments that don’t exist where I live. That is, I don’t want to drive hundreds of miles only to end up eating at a Burger King. Yes, Waffle House is a chain, but they have no locations anywhere near my home. Quite frankly, I’d prefer that it stay that way because during my southern travels, that’s what makes eating there special to me.

I always order the same thing, every single time I stop at a Waffle House — pecan waffle, side of bacon, and plenty of black coffee — and for reasons I’m not even sure of, I always snap a photo of my meal before chowing down, usually to share, as I am doing now. I assure you that there is nothing fancy about either my recurring breakfast or the establishment that serves it, but I generally receive positive acknowledgements for fellow Waffle House aficionados. It’s almost a cult thing, like eating at White Castle, though I am seldom compelled to photograph a bag of sliders.

We spent the majority of our day, over five hours, on the road. The first 350 miles or so were on Interstate 55. Then as we got near Memphis, Tennessee we got onto US Highway 61, known as the Blues Highway, and continued south. We were now in the Mississippi Delta, part of the Deep South. The Delta is considered the cradle of the blues and we were headed for a city steeped in blues history as well as legend: Clarksdale, Mississippi.

We arrived in Clarksdale around mid-afternoon and after driving around to get the lay of the historic downtown area, we went south of town to The Shack Up Inn, an unusual and most incredible collection of modernized shotgun shacks, grain bins, and a converted cotton gin. Everything is corrugated tin and Mississippi cypress boards. On the inside, the furnishings are theme-appropriate, but quite clean and with running water, heat, and air conditioning.

We were supposed to get a two-bedroom shack called the Sweet Honey, but due to a ruptured hot water heater in one of the other shacks, they had to move someone else there the day before we arrived. So we got the Mule, which is a new addition to the property. Matt and I both had our concerns when we heard this, but once we saw our shack, our concerns evaporated. The Mule may be a renovated sharecropper shack, but the thing was more than large enough for the two of us. I’ve seen houses smaller than this!

I don’t know what the floors are made of but they’re as solid as all get-out. I could dance a jig in the hallway and not disturb Matt, unless I began singing. One of my favorite parts about the bedroom I took is the heavy writing desk that sits in one corner. It’s got ample room for my laptop, phone, power strip, charging cords, beer, etc. I am writing this update from that desk. Since my room is at the far end of our shack, and this desk is tucked into the far corner of that room, it’s just a cool place to sit and work.

When Matt first suggested staying at The Shack Up Inn, I wasn’t too sure about it. But after he pointed out that these renovated structures had been good enough for the likes of Tom Waits, Elvis Costello, and other celebrities, I became cautiously optimistic. After having spent the first of our three nights here, I kind of wish we could hang around longer. People from other countries who come to Clarksdale in search of blues history stay here. They get it. The people of The Shack Up Inn have developed a very cool concept here.

Once we got settled into our shack, we headed out in search of supper and the live music for which we had come all this way. After all, it was Saturday night. The premier music venue in Clarksdale seems to be the Ground Zero Blues Club, which is owned in part by the popular and talented actor, Morgan Freeman. The club occupies a long-dormant and un-remodeled building that had once belonged to a wholesaler called the Delta Grocery and Cotton Company. So anyone who comes to Clarksdale expecting to see some swanky nightclub is going to be sorely disappointed because opulence is not what the delta blues is about.

As soon as Matt and I got inside, the same young lady who had met us at the door brought us a couple of menus and took our drink orders. As they did not have any draft beers available that night, I asked her whether they had any local brews. She mentioned a few and I could not have gotten any more local than the one I chose: Red Panther Delta Kölsch. The Red Panther Brewing Company is based right in Clarksdale and the beer was delightful.

The band playing at Ground Zero was Chris Pitts & The Memphis Prime, a powerful blues band from Memphis, the northernmost point of the Mississippi Delta. They delivered big on their sound and the band played for hours. They had begun at 8:00 and were still going when Matt and I decided to call it well after 11:00.

We still had a lot left to explore in Clarksdale and I’ll tell you all about it in my next installment. Until then, as always, thanks for hanging with me.

For the Love of Poopy’s

Located on Illinois Route 84 near the southern edge of the city of Savanna, Poopy’s bills itself as “Illinois’ Biggest Biker Destination” and for good reason. The place is huge. The place is fun. And the place has earned its reputation as a worthy venue for motorcyclists to visit for food, beverages, and a wide variety of entertainment. Its owner, Kevin Promenschenkel, earned the nickname “Poopy” at a young age when a wayward bird let him have it, twice, during a Little League baseball game. The name stuck and the rest, as they say, is history.

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Well it seems history is being made again. Promenschenkel has been busy doing everything in his power to keep his business afloat during these trying times, including participating in a lawsuit against the state, asking his loyal customers to support him by ordering Poopy’s merchandise online, and most recently, opening the venue for Memorial Day weekend — a major weekend for his business, filled with events and entertainment. This was a violation of our governor’s current stay-at-home order, but with the support of county and local authorities, not to mention many loyal bikers who came from miles around, Poopy’s did indeed open. In addition to all this, a motorcycle fundraising run has been organized to provide direct relief to Poopy in this time of need.  I intend to participate in that fundraiser, assuming Mother Nature cooperates and I have people willing to ride out to Savanna with me. I am doing this not because I have excess cash to give away but because I have a great deal of respect for Kevin Promenschenkel, am sympathetic to his situation, and feel compelled to help him out in this small way.

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I’ve been stopping at Poopy’s since September of 2011. That’s the year my son went away to college in the Quad Cities area. A week or two after he left, I found myself missing the kid something awful and so decided to pay him a visit. My ride at the time was a silver metallic 2007 Honda ST1300, a sport touring rig that made short work of my 130-ish mile run out to the Mississippi River. After picking up my son, I asked if he had any interest in checking out this “Poopy’s” place that we’d heard others talk about. At the time, he wasn’t yet old enough to have anything stronger than a coke but the allure of visiting a real biker bar must have pressed his button that day. “Sure!” my son exclaimed and within minutes, he was onboard and we were headed north toward Savanna.

I should pause here and mention that Poopy’s is anything but a typical biker bar. Poopy’s is a destination, an experience unto itself. Sure, it has a bar — several, in fact — plus a restaurant featuring numerous namesake-themed items (e.g. “The Big Poop”), a gift shop, a parts counter, and more. They even had a tattoo parlor on the premises back when I first began going there. The outdoor portion of Poopy’s includes a sizable entertainment stage with overhead catwalk, a pool bar, even a campground. They host vehicle shows, combat sports events, and many, many concerts. As I said, Poopy’s is an experience unto itself and I have developed a deep sense of appreciation for this venue — and the man who built it — from the first time I set foot on the premises.

My son and I had ourselves a grand old time that day. Using my phone, our waitress took a great photo of us while we waited for our lunch. We walked the premises, admired the unique decor and ambiance, bought a few souvenirs, including my lucky Poopy’s bottle opener, and vowed to return.

And so we have returned a number of times. Not nearly often enough, because I don’t live nearby, but whenever the opportunity presents itself — and always with friends. I’ve made lunch stops, brunch stops, and “you just gotta’ come and check this place out” stops. And Poopy’s never disappoints.

My last trip there was a few years ago. My most favorite pillion companion in the world and I had ridden out to Iowa over Labor Day weekend to meet up with some friends from a few different states. During a wonderful all-day ride that we took, the group  had planned to visit Poopy’s for a mid-afternoon lunch. As we approached and entered the parking lot, my beloved friend rolled video, creating a very nice memento. We sat outside for quite some time, enjoying the live music, good food, and each other’s excellent company on that fine late-summer afternoon. Indeed, it’s been too long since I have enjoyed such a time at Poopy’s.

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And so on Saturday, June 6, 2020, I hope to join whatever companions I can assemble and ride west for the day. My motives have been questioned on several counts by different individuals. Without naming names, here are their questions and my answers.

  • Aren’t you afraid of getting sick… or worse?
    No. As the result of having worked in an essential service industry, I never stopped working during this pandemic. I have taken reasonable precautions, both at work and at home. And yes, I wear a bandanna face covering every time I go to the grocery store, pharmacy, etc. I will not likely go indoors on this trip and if I do, I’ll just don my bandanna. Also, as an avid motorcyclist, I am accustomed to tolerating a certain amount of risk. Believe me, it’s not that I don’t care whether I die. It’s that I dread not living during whatever time I have left on this earth.
  • But Poopy is a blatant Trump fan! Are you one, too???
    Does it matter? This is a fundraiser event for Poopy’s, not a political rally. Okay, here’s the plain truth: As an admitted member of the exhausted majority, I despise both the Democrat and Republican parties with a passion and in all candor, my opinion of “45” is less than glowing right now. But I am a real Poopy’s fan and therefore a fan of the man who has put so much of himself into that institution. Although I have never met Poopy in person, I like him and I suspect that if we drank together long enough, we would depart as friends. In short, I respect Kevin Promenschenkel and given that I, too, would not have been prepared to go more than a few weeks without an income stream, I am inclined to help him.
  • You’re just a badass biker with no respect for authority. I hope you get sick!
    Good day to you, too, ma’am! Yes, I am a biker. No, I am not. Okay, it depends on whom you ask and how that person defines the term. I am an avid motorcyclist and I have ridden across the country. My current ride is a 2012 Victory Vision Tour, a big-inch “full dresser” American V-twin, and I am no more loyal to any one motorcycle brand than I am to any political party. So there we are. If you fault me for riding a motorcycle, for respecting other riders regardless of what they ride, or for advocating for motorcyclist rights in general, then I am guilty as charged and your opinion does not move me.

In the end, I think it would be a dirty shame if Poopy’s were to disappear as the result of this horrific pandemic event and the shut-down of our economy — indeed of our society as we know it. I’m sure many businesses will not return as the result, through no fault of the independent owners themselves. So if I can help out one of them, this one in particular, by riding with friends for a few hundred miles on a Saturday and dropping some money in the till, I will gladly do so.

Whether you agree with me or not, I respect you for having read this far. And as always, thank you for hanging with me.

The Last Motorcycle on Earth: A New Dramatic Three-Part Series

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“Motorcycles are outlawed. Gasoline is $20 per gallon. Self-driving cars are taking over. Silicon Valley and the United States Government have collaborated to push society toward a fully-autonomous transportation system. Motorcycles and riders are an easy first target in the drive to ban human-operated vehicles. Impossible, you say? Not so fast.”

Could motorcycles be outlawed in our lifetime? This is the question with which we are confronted in The Last Motorcycle on Earth,  a dramatic series by Eric W. Ristau, a director, cinematographer and editor of independent films, documentaries, and television commercials. This series is co-produced by Geneva Ristau, who has co-directed numerous works with Eric, and Neil “Morto” Olson, who also plays the story’s central character. An Indiegogo crowdfunding site has been established for The Last Motorcycle on Earth, which has already been in production, albeit on a limited budget.

I have been a loyal and supportive fan of cinematographer Eric W. Ristau since 2013. That’s the year The Best Bar in America was released. Produced and directed by Eric and his brother Damon, that movie resonated with me in a big way and I wasted no time telling anybody who would listen about the film. Eric acknowledged my enthusiasm and thus began our casual acquaintance of the past five years. We attempted to meet for a beer once, but Eric was in Canada the one time I had managed to ride my motorcycle through Missoula, Montana. I would still like to have that beer, though. I believe that someday, we shall do so.

How feasible is the scenario presented in this dramatic series? Eric submits the following.

“Our current youth culture is largely focused on virtual experiences rather than the tangible, physical stuff past generations were drawn to– in this case, motorcycles, cars and expression of personal freedom through travel. More young people than ever are deciding against getting a driver’s license and interest in ownership of vehicles by that group is at an all-time low. It is said that the last person to receive a driver’s license has already been born.”

As an active member of three distinct Motorcycle Rights Organizations, I’ve read various position statements on the topic of autonomous vehicle technology. Before reviewing the background information and video footage from The Last Motorcycle on Earth, though, I never gave serious thought to the possibility of the rise of autonomous vehicles causing the end of the motorcycle hobby as we know it. Now? I’m not so sure.

Let’s think about this. The technology is moving forward at a faster rate than most of us would have expected. There is no small amount of corporate backing for the advancement of autonomous vehicle technology. Countries, as well as companies, are vying to become the clear dominant player in this arena. And today’s youth are tomorrow’s voting majority.

Displacing conventional automobiles will surely take time, but based on our smaller population and lesser popularity, the motorcycling community seems like a feasible target for elimination by those who stand to gain the most from our loss. Think about that.

Please take a few minutes to view the following video. Perhaps you will consider helping to fund The Last Motorcycle on Earth. If you ride or are a fan of the hobby, I would also urge you to consider joining one or more motorcycle rights organizations. And as always, thanks for hanging with me.