The Jimmy Hendrix that I know.

Although I have never met Jimi Hendrix, I feel like I know him somewhat.  He grew up in Washington State like I did. He served in the same Army units I did.  I live in a town that he lived in while he was in the Army. I've even met people who worked with him while in the Army.  Even though I don't really know him, I do feel a connection.  

"Jimi was a strange kid.  Jimi and the Army never got along with each other." - MSG Mosley, Jimi Hendrix's former Squad Leader when he was in the 101st Airborne Division.  I met MSG Mosley when I was first assigned to the 82nd Airborne Division.  He was a platoon sergeant in the company that I was assigned to.   

This last spring, we visited the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame, where Jimi is an inductee.  His contributions to music left an indelible mark on American culture.  Long before he revolutionized rock music at Woodstock, Jimi Hendrix honed his world-class guitar showmanship in the shadow of Fort Campbell, splitting his time between the 101st Airborne Division barracks, the streets of Clarksville, Tennessee, and Nashville's jumping rhythm-and-blues clubs.  During this pivotal, underreported period in the early 1960s, Private James Hendrix transformed from a struggling, self-taught paratrooper into a formidable professional musician.

From Paratrooper to the King Kasuals

In May 1961, given a choice by a judge between prison and the military after being caught in stolen cars, a 19-year-old Hendrix enlisted in the U.S. Army.  By November, he was assigned to the storied 101st Airborne Division, the "Screaming Eagles," at Fort Campbell, right on the Kentucky-Tennessee border.

Military life, however, did not suit Hendrix.  Superiors noted he was a terrible shot, frequently shirked his duties, and was often caught sleeping on the job.  His mind was entirely elsewhere.  Hendrix begged his father to mail him his red Danelectro electric guitar, and once it arrived, he never let it out of his sight.

The turning point came when fellow serviceman and bassist Billy Cox walked past a base service club and heard Hendrix playing inside.  Captivated by a sound he described as "John Lee Hooker meets Beethoven," Cox walked in, introduced himself, and a legendary musical partnership was born.  Along with saxophonist Charles Washington, they formed a band called the King Kasuals and began playing locally.

The Clarksville Hub and a Stranded Twist of Fate

Because off-base housing was affordable, Hendrix spent substantial time living in nearby Clarksville, Tennessee.  He and Cox rented a house locally to write and rehearse, quickly becoming fixture musicians at regional dives like The Palms and the Pink Poodle Club.  Hendrix was a familiar face downtown, often staging impromptu jam sessions inside Collins Music Store on Legion Street.

By July 1962, the Army had grown weary of Hendrix's lack of military focus and granted him an honorable discharge.  With $400 of mustering-out pay in his pocket, Hendrix intended to take a bus straight home to Seattle.  However, he decided to spend one final night partying at a jazz joint in downtown Clarksville.  By the next morning, he had been fleeced or partied away all but $16, leaving him stranded 2,000 miles from home.

With no money for a ticket, Hendrix was forced to double down on his only bankable skill.  He tracked down a soldier he had previously sold his guitar to, begged to borrow it back, and dedicated himself entirely to making a living on six strings.

Weekend Battles on Nashville's Jefferson Street

With Clarksville as his initial anchor, Hendrix routinely traveled an hour south down to Nashville on the weekends to plug into the city's blistering Chitlin' Circuit.  While downtown Nashville was famous for country music, Jefferson Street in North Nashville was the thriving epicenter of the city's Black live music scene.

Weekend after weekend, Hendrix and the King Kasuals served as the house band at the Del Morocco Club and played packed sets at Club Baron.  In these clubs, Hendrix developed the flashy showmanship that later defined his global superstardom—learning to play guitar behind his back, pick strings with his teeth, and experiment with heavy rhythm grooves.  He also worked as an elite weekend sideman, backing up iconic soul and blues acts passing through town like Sam Cooke, Jackie Wilson, and Little Richard.

The Nashville scene was highly competitive and deeply grounded in traditional blues.  Local lore notes a legendary 1963 guitar battle at Club Baron, where Hendrix was famously outplayed and humbled by local blues icon Johnny Jones.  Hendrix later credited this highly demanding environment as his true crucible, stating: "Nashville is where I really learned to play guitar."

A Lasting Legacy

By late 1963, frustrated by the limits of playing only as a background sideman, Hendrix left Middle Tennessee for New York, then headed to London, where he exploded into international fame.  But he never forgot his roots; at the peak of his career, he formed his legendary Band of Gypsys, drawing on his 101st Airborne days and bringing his old Clarksville partner, Billy Cox, on bass.

Today, the region proudly preserves this chapter of rock history.  Visitors looking to retrace his steps can find an official Tennessee Music Pathways marker dedicated to him at the Downtown Commons in Clarksville.  At the same time, Nashville's Musicians Hall of Fame & Museum features a dedicated "Nashville to Woodstock" exhibit honoring the exact spaces where Private James Hendrix first discovered his wild, electric genius.

Fast forward a few years, and I got my first Warrant Officer assignment in the 101st Airborne Division in Clarksville, Tennessee, where Jimi lived for a few years.  The apartment building he lived in is still standing.  The music venue he played in has since been torn down.  But if you walk downtown Clarksville late at night, you might hear a guitar riff in the distance or see a shadow that might be Jimi's ghost. 

The Sinai: The Sulton of Soda

DESERT HIGHWAY, SINAI — During my 9 months in the Sinai, I made the trip from South Camp Sharm el-Sheikh to North Camp el-Gorah once by Military Vehicle.  The 8-hour trip was long and hot.  It is a lonely trip, only passing a few other vehicles along the way with long stretches of varied desert terrain. Traveling from the Red Sea in the south, following the Egypt-Israeli border to the Mediterranean in the north.  It is full of ancient sites and war damage from the past Arab and Israeli conflicts.  One unusual stop is the Detroit Oasis, where we talk with the Sultan of Soda.

In the late 1980s through the late 1990s, international peacekeepers making the grueling eight-hour trek between South Camp and North Camp faced punishing 110°F desert heat as a constant. But on a barren stretch of highway connecting North and South Sinai along the Israeli border, you can find an unlikely sanctuary: a cold Coca-Cola, a classic rock soundtrack, and a chat with the "Sultan of Soda" himself. Officially known as the "Detroit Oasis," this open-air wooden shack has become a legendary mandatory stop for members of the Multinational Force and Observers (MFO). Run by Mark Farber, an enterprising ex-Peace Corps volunteer from Metro Detroit, the remote outpost defies incredible logistical odds daily to serve military personnel, Bedouins, and backpackers alike.

A Logistical Miracle in the Sand that operates in the middle of nowhere, Farber relied on a diesel generator and a constant rotation of ice blocks to keep his beverages freezing cold. He hauls the ice and crates of soda across the desert from the nearest town several times a week.

As a newly minted Warrant Logistics Officer during my nine-month deployment in this desolate landscape, I find that pulling up to the shack feels like stepping back into Western comfort. The simple structure is adorned with international road signs, flags, and graffiti from passing travelers. Inside, the menu features: Ice-cold sodas and beer, freshly grilled cheese sandwiches, and Hot coffee.

During the long journey between camps, it was considered a haven for peacekeepers. The outpost has built a massive reputation among soldiers navigating the long transit between the MFO's primary bases. With his stereo blasting classic rock, Farber provides more than just physical nourishment; he offers a psychological escape from the isolation of desert patrols.

While geopolitical shifts, problems with rebels, and an unstable Egyptian government made the Detroit Oasis untenable.  This forced its closure in the late 1990's.  The Detroit Oasis was a vibrant, free-wheeling monument to hospitality in the heart of the Sinai. For a number of years, the soldiers who passed through the Sultan of Soda made the long drive between camps a little more bearable.

Wild Motorcyle Roads in Illinios and Wisconsin

One of my favorite things to do is to break the day on a Motorcycle. The changing light in the morning is mesmerizing. I departed Tennessee at 0430; I'm on my way to Wisconsin on a 1,400-mile
odyssey. I'm in search of a River Road. This one is on the Illinois River between Peoria and La Sala.

The road is always calling my name. It's like a song I can't get out of my head. It's been that way since I was a little kid of 10, riding my Honda 50 around our neighborhood. I was always looking for new trails to ride. Today, it's no different. On the second day of the trip, I start on an unknown road, Illinois Highway 29/26.

It's a fast climb out of the Illinois River Valley onto the northern Prairie. Riding on the Prairie has its advantages. You can see the weather for miles; sometimes it is unavoidable, and sometimes it isn't. Today I skirt a squall line to the west, heading into Wisconsin, and only get a few raindrops. Riding on flat terrain gives you a peaceful, relaxing feeling. Then there are the windmills that fill the corn fields. Which, to me, brings an added beauty.

Once I get into Wisconsin, the terrain turns to rolling hills of the Driftless Area. A rare northern geographical feature where no glaciers were ever present during the last ice age. I make a turn to head north on County Road J, which turns into a gift from the motorcycle gods. Some of the best roads I've ridden, I have found by accident. This one was special, about 30 miles of switchbacks and S-turns.

It's been a good ride so far today. I'm stopping for an early lunch, and it's only an hour to Mom's house for a 4-day visit. After my 4-day visit with Mom, it's time to head home, another 700-mile adventure.  

After a 500-mile ride from Wisconsin, where I rinse and repeat County Road J, I thought about riding straight through to home. But the heat was getting to me, so I decided to stop outside of Mount Vernon in southern Illinois.  It's only a short 219 miles to the house.  

The next day I decided to leave the interstate to ride some more unknown roads.  Leaving the highway behind, Illinois Route 142 opened up into a rider's paradise, characterized by long, unbroken straightaways punctuated by wide, sweeping turns.  On this pavement, the heavy rumble of a classic V-twin engine smoothed out the tarmac, making the rural highway feel like pure silk. 

The final stretch promises a familiar rhythm.  The high-energy rock discography of the band Seether provides the soundtrack for the remaining miles, keeping the heat fatigue at bay.

Ahead lies Kentucky Route 109—a twisting asphalt ribbon that this motorcycle knows by heart.  The garage in Clarksville, Tennessee, is finally calling, bringing an end to an epic 1,400-mile journey defined by open roads.