On the Road Again - this has already become a theme song every time we get in the car. We start on the Blues Highway 61 towards Clarksdale, home of the Delta Blues. With a blues soundtrack playing in the car, the drive is at times scenic and at others, like being in a time warp. Long stretches of road with crops on either side. This is interspersed with rows of houses - many abandoned or falling down. Some houses were meticulously cared for while others looked otherwise unloved except for a plethora of children's toys all over the yard.

Arriving in the small town of Clarksdale, we visit a blues museum and immediately follow it up by entering a nearby seedy looking blues bar. From outside, the bar looked like it might collapse at any time. Inside, it smelt pretty bad but looked better than the outside and felt packed with atmosphere. It turns out the bar is part owned by Morgan Freeman and the barmaid tells us there will be a live band playing there that night. We decide to stay in Clarksdale.

A late lunch at another bar yields a barman who gives a recommendation for a cheap motel in middle of town. It's called the Uptown Inn but it seems less uptown and more downtown in style. A bit dodgy but has everything we need. We've come a long way since our 5 star days in Vegas.

Stepping out at 9pm, we start back at the bar where we had lunch. It's packed full of locals eating dinner who are hootin' and hollerin' at the guy playing on a guitar. The local women are made up beautifully and it looks like they just stepped out of a hair salon. We sit at the bar people watching for a while and listening to the music but it's not long before we get friendly with the locals.

The bar is owned by an Australian woman who bought it with her husband. The husband didn't last but the bar did. A man comes up to the bar, downs a shot of tequila and introduces himself as Samuel and asks if we've been to Abe's BBQ yet. I discover Fireballs - shots of cinnamon whiskey. The barman who gave us the motel recommendation pours himself a shot every time he gets one for me. Next, we meet Debbie and her husband who manage the local blues gallery when the owner is out of town. They are a fount of local gossip and full of advice.

While outside on a cigarette break with Mum and Jamille, Debbie's husband tells them Clarksdale is mostly safe but they should be careful. He carries a knife and pulls it out. It's less than 6cm long which gives them a giggle. They should have done a Crocodile Dundee.

Back in the bar, a storm warning comes on the tv. A few people seem concerned and tell us it's bucketing outside. A quick look outside reveals what I would call a light shower. With a shake of the head and muttering 'Americans', the Australian owner of the bar passes us an umbrella and says we will be fine. We end up nabbing a lift with a local in his ute to the dive bar we found earlier that day. A live band is playing and from the get go, 3 out of town women are fairly popular with gentlemen suitors in this local bar. Two men introduce themselves as Big Bit and Little Bit. Big Bit takes a shine to Mum who we have started calling Mama in a southern accent. Abraham, the guy at the door, constantly checks to make sure we are ok. The toilet doesn't lock and there is graffiti everywhere but everyone takes a turn talking to us and it's probably the most fun night we've had yet.

At the end of the night, several different people insist on escorting us back to our hotel, not trusting each other to keep us safe. We lock the door and tumble into bed. Not today Satan.

The next morning, on our drive out of town after stopping at Abe's BBQ for hangover food, both Mama and Jamille get phone calls and texts from their gentlemen suitors who they gave numbers to in a rookie mistake. One of those trying to woo Jamille texts a picture of a jar of vegemite in his house that nearly tempted us to turn around but onwards and upwards. Next stop, Memphis.