Jackson

I'm in a decent hotel room in Jackson, cranking away at work. It is centrally located near I-20, Walmart, Wendy's and Dollar Tree. No obvious flaws except for the desk chair. I already disabled one trying to adjust the height. The replacement chair sways and wobbles and projects a threatening, distrustful air. I straddle it as one would straddle a bad-tempered horse.

I patronized that Walmart in search of a better rain jacket. (The compromises that I have made on this trip out of concern for getting soaked through are kind of ridiculous.) I bought the finest rain jacket that Walmart offers, a $30 Frogg Toggs jacket that resembles an enormous gray Tyvek envelope (you know, those tear-proof envelopes that Fedex uses.) It's so big that I can just get it on over my bulky, Pillsbury Doughboy armor. The combination makes my shoulders look a hell of a lot more buff than they actually are.

Jackson has the sorriest streets I've encountered on this whole trip – certainly the sorriest streets of any state capital I've ever seen. I was already reluctant to ride after dark because of deer; here in Jackson you would be asking to get thrown from the bike just riding straight down the street at night. Even in the daytime it takes vigilance to avoid the epic potholes, one every 30 feet or so, for miles.

One odd feature of the South is that beer is significantly cheaper . Six pints of name-brand for $4.50? It's almost twice as much in California. Methinks the beer distributors in California have some kind of less-than-free market going on. And, of course, living in the South would save money on the water bill. Rain is predicted for today and intense lightning storms for tonight.

If I can get free at lunchtime, I'm gonna strap on that brand-new rain jacket and try out some supposedly very genuine Southern food, several miles away in downtown.