Tuesday, June 16, 2015

Day 21: Grommeter's inferno


Hello world. Grommeter here.

Our day in Greenville, Mississippi began as all days nowadays seem to begin: with me seal-posing off my Therm-a-Rest Z-Lite sleeping pad and admiring the hickey-like dappling that it'd lovingly imprinted on my skin in the night.

Our rest was certainly thermal, for when we awoke, canopied by our tents, the pressed metal Bimini top and a hazy, imperturbable sky, the thermometer read a scorching ninety degrees and I was left feeling like I'd passed out after a long night of drinking in the center of a Deli Meat Hot Pocket™ warmed in the pouch of an infirm kangaroo. It was certainly camisole weather, for the sun inspired my bones to wheeze and a crusty rheum to coat the undersides of my eyes.

But the Mississippi has no time for camisoles or kangaroos so we set to work washing the previous night's dishes and refilling our water coolers. Unfortunately this day was a Mon-day and it just so happens that the Greenville Yacht Club is closed on Mondays so, much to our chagrin, the gas pump so easily at hand was shut off for the day. 

And so it was decided that we would have to venture into town. But upon leaving the dock we quickly came upon the Cat-Sass crew's sworn mortal enemy: fences. It seemed that we were locked in, however Crimper, after some keen finagling, was able to find a way out, and so with Terrycans in hand we left our dear Cat-Sass to the mosquitos and the humidity. We trekked past the first riverfront casino of the day, one Trop Casino, and made our way into town where we came upon the dingy storefront of Jim's Diner and stopped in for a bite. Inside it was cool and dark. Pictures of old men, boats, and the cast of "O Brother, Where Art Thou?" adorned the walls, and we learned that the movie was filmed not too far from there. 



The meal kicked off with a complimentary appetizer of saltines dipped in a saucy combination of ranch and hot sauce. Dockenstein ordered poached eggs and rye toast and I ordered eggs over easy. All of our orders came with grits and we all got coffee which we agreed tasted like burnt corn. 

After our meal the kindness of strangers graced us once again when a man in a beat up white sedan named Frrf stopped outside the diner and gave us a lift to the gas station. We filled up the bellies of our Terrycans and scooted back to the boat. 

As morning went on and the sun rose with the temperature I began to feel like I was smelting, so when, after a refreshing and humid poop in the company's beloved poop bucket, Crimper discovered a swimming pool off the main building of the yacht club, I was heartily relieved. We dunked our heads and lounged in the cool water before taking an impromptu hose shower in an abandoned dockyard, where we all agreed that if we ran out of finances we could always start working as sunburnt car washers specializing in people rather than cars. Instead of "Car Wash" our signs would just read "Wash," we decided. 

The rest of the day was spent in various forms of navelgazery as we motored downriver. Crimper and River Hair cooked up some culinary fireworks consisting of fried potatoes, spam and pears. Eventually we pulled  into Vicksburg, Mississippi beneath an ascendant Venus and docked in a cozy nook about a half mile south of DiamondJack Casino. Michael Allen --resident frog- put in another nocturnal appearance, considerably boosting Cat-Sass morale. 

Once ashore, we had another run-in with our old nemesis, the fence. It seemed we'd docked in an Industrial Marine Yard guarded by barbed wire and surveillance cameras. Doing our best impressions of cool dudes who are totally not trespassing we weaseled underneath the front gate and started the uphill walk into town with the intention of catching a late showing of Jurassic World in three dimensions. Alas, our plans were foiled by the two-mile walk to the cinema and the little time we had to get there, so we settled on getting some grub downtown. 

Downtown Vicksburg has a sleepy southern/southwestern vibe, but as we treaded its meandering path we were distressed to find no restaurants openly. The only kitchen still flingin hash at the hour was one Fastway gas station, and with our stomachs mightily a-grumblin' we decided that we'd sup on some fried chicken therein and call it a night. 

While the rest of the town slept Fastway was busting with a nocturnal razzmatazz: at least twenty people entered in the time it took for us to wait for our Philly cheese steaks and fried chicken, all of whom seemed to know one another. We'd found the rumbling heart of the town and the vibe was fun, fun, fun. 

After picking up our orders we trotted off into the night, intending to sneak into the Marine Yard from the other side of where we'd weaseled out earlier. We took a shortcut down to the river and began to follow one of a series of roads along a railroad meant mainly for industrial purposes. And thus began the beginning of a two hour walk that Dockenstein describes as "miserable", Crimper as "hellish", and River Hair as "I can't think of one word to describe it." Infernal it was, reminiscent of Dante's journey through the dark wood that would begin his descent into the many levels of hell. For in attempting to circumnavigate the Marine Yard we ended up getting lost in a labyrinth of abandoned construction roads and industrial pathways threading through the forested riverbank. We came across a series of obstacles such as enormous gravel piles, the skeletons of beached barges, jacklit petroleum yards and swampy marshland, all the while very aware of how tresspassy our trespassing was. I made a note in my iPhone that read: "Every obstacle is infernal when you're wearing Tevas." We did, however, learn a lot about the gravel industry.

Another thing of note: at one point as we tromped through waist-high grass, all the tens and hundreds of bull frogs all around us stopped croaking all at once, and I wondered how they were able to coordinate such an operation. 


Finally we made it back to the Marine Yard, weaseled underneath our final fence of the night...


...and collapsed on the beautiful, beautiful poop deck of our dearly beloved Cat-Sass.

But the story doesn't end there. Not some twenty minutes after bedding down for the night we were awoken by a mighty jostling. It seemed we'd chosen an inopportune spot to dock as it was right near a tugboat refueling station, creating mighty waves that shook the foundation of our poor Cat-Sass. So, sleepy-eyed and grumbly, we decided we'd have to change locations for the night and began to motor further downriver where another boat landing awaited. As we approached the dock we realized that it was five minute walk away from Fastway. Had we chosen to dock there originally we'd never have had to walk through our own personal inferno. But, looking up at the stars, at the beautiful things that heaven bears, at the Big Dipper a'dippin away, I thought to myself that it wasn't all that bad. 

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