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From Nashville to Tupelo on the Natchez Trace Parkway

With no billboards or gas stations, a fall drive along this winding, verdant All-American Road, is a head-clearing journey, offering encounters with history, nature, music and more.

A quiet two-lane road curves through trees just starting to turn orange and red as the fall begins.
Nashville to Tupelo, Miss., is one half of the winding, verdant, 444-mile-long All-American Road known as the Natchez Trace Parkway.Credit...William DeShazer for The New York Times

As I pulled away from the Loveless Cafe, near the northern end of the Natchez Trace Parkway, the rain clouds that had been brewing southwest of Nashville unleashed a shower over what, in the distance, looked to be tiny Bon Aqua, Tenn., where I once lived. There was a welcome touch of fall in the air, so I was willing to gamble on a little rain.

Nashville to Tupelo, Miss., 222 miles, is one half of the winding, verdant, 444-mile-long All-American Road known as the Natchez Trace Parkway. Overseen by the National Park Service, the route is free of billboards, traffic lights, stores, gas stations and commercial vehicles. It flows from Music City, where I now live, to the southern Mississippi town of Natchez, and memorializes the Natchez Trace, a frontier route used over the centuries by Native Americans, hunters, soldiers, early postal carriers, itinerant preachers and Kaintucks, traders who floated goods down the Ohio and Mississippi rivers from roughly the mid-1700s to the mid-1800s, then traveled north to their homes on foot. Thousands of years before its use by bipeds, the path was tamped down by what historians believe to be bison headed to the salt licks around Nashville.

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A wall is covered in signed celebrity photos in the Loveless Cafe, near the northern end of the Natchez Trace Parkway.
Credit...William DeShazer for The New York Times

I’d lived in Tennessee for years before I understood the significance of the parkway. A family emergency had upended my weeklong date with a Florida beach and I figured that a long drive unencumbered by traffic and signs would help me unwind while offering a close-up look at a travel route I’d heard about for decades. I had a mere two days to clear my head, and this road was built for head-clearing.

My original plan had been to attempt a carbon-reduced drive in an electric convertible, but as it turns out, there are currently no convertibles on the market. So I settled on a 2022 Hyundai Tucson Hybrid with a sunroof for $100 a day from Turo. I figured I would get a little of the quiet and fuel efficiency provided by an E.V., without needing to stop along the way for a recharge. Given my tight schedule, I was looking to save some time. (For those who are ready to hit the road in an all-electric car, the Natchez Trace Compact, a group of communities along the parkway that promotes travel, has compiled a list of battery-charging stations in nearby towns.)

About half an hour after leaving the Loveless Cafe, the rain was behind me. I rolled down the windows and slowed to electric mode — roughly the speed limit of a school zone — to listen to the surrounding woods. A commotion of birds and insects descended on the car that was so loud I felt like I was driving through a rainforest. During the warm months, the simple two-lane road is so laden with greenery that the narrower sections are under a canopy of maple, hickory, oak and other hardwoods. In the fall, their leaves turn varying hues of copper, crimson and gold, a spectacular drive. Spring on the parkway brings the pink flowers of redbud trees and the paper-white flowers of dogwoods.

The National Park Service manages the Trace like a 444-mile-long greenway/civics lesson. Information kiosks and free-standing podiums tell the stories of those who used the Natchez Trace, of the inns and river ferries significant to its function, and of dramatic events such as the death of Meriwether Lewis that happened along the way. To keep track, I used the NPS trip planner, which offers a complex history of the Natchez Trace.

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Outside the Leiper’s Creek Gallery in Leiper’s Fork, Tenn., which was once a trading center for those traveling the Old Trace.Credit...William DeShazer for The New York Times

At about mile marker 428, I motored past the entrance to the town of Leiper’s Fork, the only historic district on the parkway, settled in the 18th century by Revolutionary War veterans. Leiper’s Fork would become a trade center for those traveling the Old Trace. Today, a suite of art galleries showcasing local artists, shops and a few Southern restaurants make up much of the business community, but it’s the town’s village feel that is a magnet for country music stars who make Leiper’s Fork their home. It’s the barbecue and original live music at the former Puckett’s Grocery & Restaurant (now called Fox & Locke, its original name) that’s been a magnet for those stars and pretty much everyone else over the years. Open mic night on Thursdays has always been worth the drive; you never know who will show up.

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The singer and songwriter Tori Langham performs for a brunch crowd at Fox & Locke in Leiper’s Fork, Tenn.Credit...William DeShazer for The New York Times

By 10 a.m., an early morning brume had burned off. I slowed to let a bicyclist pass and opened the sunroof just as the sun rolled out of the lingering clouds and dappled through the trees. I set the cruise control to 50 miles per hour, the parkway’s speed limit, laid a forearm over the wheel to steer, and 20 minutes later my speedometer flashed an icon of a coffee mug because, apparently, my forward-thinking car sensed I was drowsy. I pulled over and polished off the last of an iced espresso.

By late morning, I was at the monument and grave of Meriwether Lewis at milepost 385.9, near present-day Hohenwald, Tenn.

Lewis, who was governor of Upper Louisiana at the time, died by gunshot in the early morning hours of Oct. 11, 1809 at an inn on the Old Trace, but whether the bullets were self-inflicted, or whether Lewis was murdered, is still unknown. I took a photo of the monument, a granite shaft, which, according to my trip planner, had been “broken in half” to represent a life cut short. A man with a salt-and-pepper beard wearing motorcycle chaps came next to me to do the same. I asked him what direction he was heading. “South,” he said. “All the way to the end. I take the Trace down and back once a year.”

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The Meriwether Lewis National Monument in Hohenwald, Tenn., just off the Natchez Trace Parkway.Credit...William DeShazer for The New York Times

The Meriwether Lewis compound offers camping and hiking trails, but I was interested in treading the same path of bison in search of minerals. The NPS notes on its app where you can pull off and hike or drive bits of the Old Natchez Trace, and this was one of those places. I followed the arrows past the interpretive exhibits to an opening in the woods. The broad flat passage was about 15 feet across and flanked by the same trees that gave shade to people who walked this way hundreds of years ago. This wasn’t a dirt road; this was thousands of years of silt, clay, leaves and rock crushed to near hardness from hooves, bare feet, boots and wheels. It brought to mind herds and horsemen, noisy wagons and bandits. With patches of sunshine marking the way ahead, it looked, and felt, cinematic.

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A section of the original Old Trace trail between Natchez, Miss., and Nashville.Credit...William DeShazer for The New York Times

I was driving past a wide grassy section in the northwest corner of Alabama, when I decided to have lunch in Florence, Ala., a short drive off my route. The 360 Grille is a slowly revolving restaurant, 20 stories in the air and overlooking the Tennessee River. I’ve had strawberry and pecan salads, but none came close to this ensemble: candied pecans, fresh strawberries, pickled shallots and a warm pistachio-and-goat-cheese crouton with an apricot vinaigrette.

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The strawberry and pecan salad at the 360 Grille in Florence, Ala.Credit...William DeShazer for The New York Times

Florence, along with three other Alabama towns — Muscle Shoals, Tuscumbia and Sheffield — makes up an area called the Shoals, which became a recording mecca for pop, rock and rhythm and blues in the 1960s and ’70s and exists to this day. “Muscle Shoals,” a 2013 documentary, brought international recognition to the region, now home to the Alabama Music Hall of Fame in Tuscumbia and the W.C. Handy Museum & Birthplace in Florence. (W.C. Handy is often referred to as the father of the blues.)

Two historic studios are still in operation in the Shoals: FAME Recording Studios in Muscle Shoals and Muscle Shoals Sound Studio in Sheffield. They beckoned Aretha Franklin, Wilson Pickett, Duane Allman, the Rolling Stones, Rod Stewart and Paul Simon, to name a few. More recently, FAME Studios had in Jason Isbell, Alison Krauss and Vince Gill. I just missed the last tour at Muscle Shoals Sound — so much for planning — so I got back on the road, knowing I’d be back.

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Chase McKinney, right, leads a tour through the historic FAME Recording Studios in Muscle Shoals, Ala., where Wilson Pickett, Aretha Franklin and many others recorded.Credit...William DeShazer for The New York Times

Near mile marker 326 in Alabama, about five hours from Nashville, the rain started up again, just as I hit a detour I’d been expecting. The park service is repaving a 33-mile section of the parkway near the towns of Cherokee, Ala., Belmont, Miss., and Tishomingo, Miss., expected to be completed this fall. But it wasn’t long before I was back on the parkway near Tishomingo State Park, arguably Mississippi’s most beautiful park and a worthy side trip with its hiking trails, campgrounds, cabins and a 45-acre lake.

The rain soon stopped and I pulled over to open the sunroof just as my iPhone’s shuffle setting landed on Patty Griffin singing “Heavenly Day.” The newly showered flora was aromatic and, mid-afternoon on a Tuesday, there was not another car for miles.

Roughly 30 miles north of Tupelo, I approached the Pharr Mounds at mile marker 286.7: eight gently sloping burial mounds built by Indigenous people some 2,000 to 1,800 years ago, according to the park service.

Spread over 90 acres, the mounds are one of the largest Middle Woodland sites in the southeastern United States. Four mounds were excavated in 1966 by the park service. Cremated and unburned human remains were found, along with artifacts from as far south as the Gulf of Mexico and as far north as the Great Lakes, which meant they had been imported through trade networks.

It was now 5:30 p.m. and dusk was bringing out wildlife. A Cooper’s hawk made a wide slow arc overhead. It’s not unusual to see foxes, coyotes and armadillos near the parkway. There have been black bear sightings, though they are rare.

As daylight gave way to nightfall, I entered Tupelo, Miss., home of the annual Tupelo Elvis Festival, held each June.

A room in Tupelo’s Comfort Suites for $132 a night fit both my budget and my needs. But Tupelo has a number of hotels closer to the action in the heart of the city, including the boutique Hotel Tupelo in Tupelo’s revitalized historic downtown district, with its simmering restaurant and bar scene.

The following morning, the skies were blue. I got up early for a trip to the Natchez Trace Parkway Visitor Center just north of town. Once inside the brick building, I was pulled in by a timeline of the old road, which began with images of herd animals and continued on to the significance of the Choctaw, Chickasaw and Natchez peoples, and to the passage’s heyday from the mid-1700s to the early 1800s. Its decline coincided with the introduction of steamboats around 1820. I was surprised to learn that the parkway’s construction, which began in 1938, was only just completed in 2005.

But my curiosity soon gave way to whom the parkway now attracts.

Jane Farmer, the manager of the visitor center, said both motorcyclists and bicyclists are drawn to the parkway’s ease. As a designated bicycling route, bicyclists are allowed to use an entire lane when necessary.

“Bicycling the parkway is a goal for seasoned bicyclists,” Ms. Farmer said. “I think it’s a bucket list item.”

For motorcycle enthusiasts, she said, it’s a dream ride. “We’ve had people come from all over, from Canada, from California. We’ve had people from Florida, from Texas. They can enjoy it without having to worry about other large vehicles.”

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The two-room house in Tupelo where Elvis Presley was born on Jan. 8, 1935.Credit...William DeShazer for The New York Times

After buying a huge mug to memorialize my own trek, I headed to one of the most popular sites in Mississippi, the Elvis Presley Birthplace. I’d been to Graceland in Memphis, so this visit to understand the origin story of the King of Rock ‘n’ Roll seemed fitting.

I got there just as the museum’s executive director, Roy Turner, was opening the doors to the modern, single-story building that is the museum portion of the complex. The birthplace campus pays homage to a more innocent Elvis than the one associated with wowing crowds in Las Vegas. Presley’s parents struggled financially when Elvis was young. After Vernon Presley, Elvis’s father, borrowed $180 to build the tiny, white shotgun house where Elvis was born, the home was repossessed three years later. The family lived elsewhere in Tupelo until they moved to Memphis when Elvis was 13.

But it was Tupelo where Elvis discovered gospel music while attending services at the small Assembly of God church, which was moved to the Birthplace campus in 2008.

After paying the $20 admission, I wandered through the small church, the two-room house, the Elvis Presley Memorial Chapel and the museum, which includes memorabilia and a theater that plays a 30-minute documentary on Elvis’s life.

At 21, Mr. Turner said, Elvis gave the City of Tupelo enough money to purchase the shotgun house and 15 acres to build a park for the then-poor children of East Tupelo, which came to fruition with the Elvis Presley Youth Center. The center served local children until it was turned into its current iteration as a museum.

“I was one of those kids,” Mr. Turner said.

The clapboard house is outfitted with items that reflect the era: a chenille bedspread, kerosene lamp, one small dresser. The comparison with the mansion at Graceland in Memphis is stark. One is a window into the rural South during the Great Depression while the other is a window into the over-the-top lavishness money offers those who, like Elvis, may have not had much growing up.

“Going to Graceland and not coming to Tupelo is like going to Jerusalem without seeing Bethlehem,” Mr. Turner said.

While still in town, I took a quick look around Tupelo’s historic and busy downtown, where the Tupelo Hardware Company, the store where Gladys Presley bought Elvis his first guitar, is still in operation. It stands to reason that Tupelo has a vibrant music scene; it sits squarely in the middle of the Americana Music Triangle that connects Nashville to New Orleans and Memphis.

I’d been gone for no more than 28 hours, but it felt as though I’d been gone for a week, which was my aim: to find something like a wormhole in time.

On the way back to Nashville, I let Tom Waits, Patty Griffin, Jason Isbell and Chris Stapleton — and Elvis — sing me home.

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A version of this article appears in print on  , Section C, Page 8 of the New York edition with the headline: Rambling Along the Natchez Trace Parkway. Order Reprints | Today’s Paper | Subscribe

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