“This is one of the least remembered parts of the story,” the ranger said as I waxed enthusiastic about my stop at Pompey’s Pillar in Montana, a long held ambition.
Lewis and Clark and the Corps of Discovery have traveled with us since we crossed the bridge over the Columbia River and spent the night at a rest area on the Washington State shore. I stood and stared at the tiny bight where the explorers waited out a freezing storm for a week as they struggled to spot the Pacific Ocean a few cables away.
Above you see Grinders Stand, a recreation not entirely accurate according to the ranger, but a close similarity to the inn where Meriwether Lewis spent his last night alive, in October 1809. We had driven 11,000 foot Lemhi Pass in Idaho, where the corps struggled to get through the mountains to the Columbia River. I had stood on Pompey’s Pillar where Clark inscribed his name.
That was also where I bought a book by historian Stephen Ambrose on the life and expedition of Meriwether Lewis. I was in North Carolina when I got to page 484 of the huge paperback and discovered Meriwether Lewis was buried under a monument a few hundred miles away in Tennessee. Irresistible.
The broken column represents a life cut short and the structure was built in 1818, then promptly forgotten for a hundred years. You need to read the book Undaunted Courage to understand the politics of the time and the determination of President Jefferson to get the Louisiana Purchase explored. It was a struggle not quite equal to the difficulties of the journey itself. Thereafter Lewis and Clark were largely forgotten in the public rush to scoop up free land offered to white settlers ready to travel.
Not many people know Lewis died here but he did, by his own hand, with two shots, the first scraped his head and the second went through his body killing him slowly and painfully. The innkeeper and his servant and slave found him bleeding to death after he staggered outside and there has been talk of murder.
Ambrose dismisses such talk on the very sensible grounds that those who knew him, Jefferson and Clark above all, evinced no surprise that the 35 year old celebrity explorer killed himself. He had shown signs of personality disorders and drank massively and seemed unable to handle his status as most famous explorer of them all in the burgeoning United States. His love life fizzled and he died a single unhappy man. William Clark married and lived in the West as a high government official dying at the respectable age of 68 in his son’s St Louis home. Very undramatic compared to this mess. Consequently we have this monument to the sad end of a fascinating life.
The ranger offered it was fine to bring Rusty inside if he was well behaved. Perfectly behaved of course but not interested!
I am the history nerd so I soaked up the exhibits hardly able to believe the good fortune of being so close when I found out about this place.
There is a pioneer cemetery next to the monument, small marble squares inlaid into the turf, with as many “unknowns” as names. It’s fashionable to decry colonialism but I think these people were incredibly brave to carry their country into the wilderness.
I also learned from the ranger that the Trace was a major thoroughfare created to allow riverboat crews to walk six weeks upriver from New Orleans back to St Louis to pick up fresh down-river jobs. The old Trace was a major highway, hence Lewis’ journey here on his way to Washington to report to President Madison with his journals supposedly ready for printing at last. In his depression in St Louis Lewis failed to edit his journals and they were never printed before his death three years after he completed his journey of discovery.
I have ridden the Natchez Trace Parkway previously and I was not impressed. Compared to other roads we have driven even just on this long trip through mountains and valleys, round notches and along coastlines, the Natchez Trace is pretty tame. At a pullout I asked a motorcyclist what the view might reveal as we walked the parking lot.
“The power lines,” he laughed. His buddy comes up from Pensacola and together they ride his neighborhood including the Parkway.
I prefer a van these days I laughed. One of them was thinking along those lines. I had to have a jolt to get me off my motorcycle, plus my wife wanted to travel with me… that helped make the transition to four wheels.
The Natchez Trace will grow on you if you let it. Like Florida in some respects it’s not obviously spectacular. However it does have a particular low key rhythm if you can find it. Perhaps you need to have lots of time on your hands and the wisdom of age.
The Trace permits no commercial traffic so the 50 mph road is smooth asphalt easy to drive. It passes through woods and farmland with occasional rest areas and viewpoints.
It’s not flat but it’s not full of spectacular overlooks either.
It is a serene drive in mid October on a low traffic weekday.
And there are roadside attractions like the Lewis monument or this random stop I chose:
The forbidden cave, I needed no encouragement not to go spelunking! I could feel the cool cave breeze blowing out of the hole. Slightly weird.
For the first time in a long time, months maybe, the air in the woods was warm and moist on my skin. The cold air from the cave was very noticeable by contrast. In fact we slept that night at a rest area with the rear windows open for fresh night air to prevent stuffiness.
The free campground at the Lewis monument was full! Not a space left much to our astonishment. We drove east a couple of hours to a rest stop celebrating Huntsville’s role in the space race. A Saturn rocket parked right next to us.
This continent really is littered with places yes of beauty, but also of interest to captivate the inquiring mind. I foresee an old age of exploration without end in this country.
