Memphis

It's my last day in the South, and I am officially out of energy.

Green shag carpet, floor AND ceiling

Today I finally got to sleep in a bit, then headed down to Graceland, which just may have the gaudiest interior design in history. The mansion uses a guided audio tour that leads you all around the grounds. I really hate audio tours, and would have preferred to just wander through on my own, but without the recordings, there's little to no information given on the place. The tour ends at the graves of Elvis and his family, in the meditation garden. Since I was surrounded by other tourists, I couldn't really stop there and sing Heartbreak Hotel, a la Spinal Tap. Oh well, probably would've sounded reggae anyway.

The overpriced mansion tour alone was only $4 less than the everything tour, so I went for it all. However, after looking at the second small museum and the airplanes, I gave up. I was vaguely interested in the car collection, but it was a block down the road, and it was too hot to make the walk, especially after 90 minutes out in it already. I opted to get back in the car and visit Beale Street.

Before I did, though, I took a trip across the bridge to West Memphis, Arkansas, to get a closer look at the state of the Mississippi River. On the way over, the bridge walls were high and I couldn't see much of anything, and it turned out West Memphis is not really a destination for anything at all. Most every building I saw was run-down and/or closed, and that was on the town's main drag. I finally just turned back toward Tennessee, and that's when I saw the water level... long before I actually reached the river. Big Muddy is currently Huge Muddy. What a mess.

Back in Memphis, I parked on the east end of the Beale Street Historic District and walked down the closed off blocks. I was rather underwhelmed. The street has some old landmarks and lots of new clubs, each one with a different live band playing so that the street was a cacophony. I went into a couple of stores and stopped in at WC Handy Park, then gave up. The car claimed 98 degrees outside, but it felt more like 1000. Maybe 1200. I made my way back to the hotel to cool off before dinner.

My original plan was to relax for a few, then go down to Earnestine and Hazel's for a burger, since they sound so good, and this will probably be my only chance. But now that I'm here, I have no desire to move, even to grab something nearby. I'm bored and don't want to sit in this room watching Three's Company all night, but I also can't muster the energy to drive anymore, and am definitely not up to walking in the heat.

Maybe I'll caffeinate and see if that helps me perk up. I have more to do here!

Blues Traveling

So the sign is a bit crooked. It's not easy to take photos while going 70mph.

I'm back in Memphis tonight after another day on the road, about half of which was on the famous Hwy 61. If you have to ask, don't bother.

Anyway. I had around a dozen spots I wanted to visit along the Mississippi Delta, which I had carefully picked from hundreds that I could have seen. After the last couple of days' exhaustion, however, I cut it down to just a few. I planned to visit all 3 graves supposedly belonging to inventor of the Blues, Robert Johnson, but instead went only the one in Greenwood, most likely to include the man himself. While I was alone in a little graveyard amidst the cotton fields, it was clear lots of others had made the same trip. The headstone had lots of little tokens, from flowers and coins to drumsticks. I didn't leave anything behind; I just took a moment, and went on my way.

Next stop was Indianola, home of BB King -- at least for the few days a year that he's not on the road. I had planned to take a quick break there on the way to the Blues Museum in Leland, but instead stopped into the BB King Museum and Delta Interpretive Center. After perusing the exhibit, I continued on through Leland, spotted a Johnny Winter Blues Marker, but didn't see much reason to stop.

From there, I turned north toward Clarksdale, birthplace of the blues. In addition to its many other musical landmarks, it claims the legendary crossroads where Robert Johnson traded his soul to the devil in return for the ability to invent Blues music. What locals now call The Crossroads is actually the point where Highways 61 and 49 merge, not so much the dusty intersection where ol' Bob fell down on his knees. Chuck Klosterman did a great deal of research and thought he managed to find the "real" spot out in the country, but I don't have that much time, and I'm not writing a book, so I just went to Abe's Bar-B-Q at the Crossroads and had a nice pork sandwich.

I intended to go next to Helena, Arkansas, to the home of Sonny Boy Williamson, but I was road weary, and it was still 80 miles to Memphis without the detour, so I scratched that off the itinerary and went straight through back to Tennessee.

It's funny, I have a couple of guides leading down the Blues Trail, and they occasionally offer good songs for your road trip soundtrack. I always kind of shook my head and thought, I would never listen to that; it would be kind of like wearing the T-shirt of the band you're going to see. Who wants to be that guy? But at the last minute, I grabbed a couple of those CDs anyway, and I'm glad I did. Leaving Tupelo yesterday, I really did want to listen to Elvis. And racking up the miles on country roads, passing through one small dilapidated town after another put me in the mood to listen to the Blues. Of course, hearing Sonny Boy on the record made it harder to skip Helena, but it was still the right musical accompaniment.

I'm now relaxing with a bit of dinner and deciding what to do with my last day tomorrow. There's a lot to see here in Memphis, so I know it will be a full day, whatever I do.

Jackson, Mississippi

I'm such a nerd for places I've never been before. I got way more excited than I should have from driving over the Tallahatchie River, and I'm fascinated by the red dirt here. Even the roads are red!

It's good that I'm enjoying the roads, since I spent almost my entire day alone with them. There were long stretches where I didn't see another car, forget about houses, restaurants, or gas stations. Just when I was beginning to worry that I would have an empty tank before I saw a filling station, I came upon a Walmart surrounded by a few gasoline and fast food chains, collectively known as Louisville, Mississippi.

Most of the day was spent in BFE, though. Literally. I drove through a town called Egypt somewhere in East Mississippi. Although, to be fair, town may be too strong a word. There were no structures nearby to signify a city of any sort, just a faded sign at the side of the road, surrounded by trees.

My day was dominated by driving, but in addition to Main Street, Louisville, I did make a few planned stops. I started out heading to Tupelo, for Elvis' birthplace. I arrived around 12:30 and they didn't open until 1, so I wasn't able to go inside the tiny house or shop the gift store. I did wander around and take a few snapshots, but there wasn't enough to keep me there until business hours.

I also stopped at Veteran's Memorial Park in Tupelo, and then it took me 3 hours to reach Jackson, where I popped in briefly for a Whataburger and got back on the road. My next destination was New Port M.B. Church in Ebenezer, a small red brick building hidden far back on a rough country road, which has the grave of Elmore James in its cemetery. It sounds a bit odd to go 50 miles (each direction) out of your way to take a picture of a headstone, but much of my weekend will be just that. Unfortunately, most of the blues legends have passed, so the Delta Blues Trail includes many a side trip to their final resting places.

I'm now back in Jackson for the night, at the most depressing Hilton I've ever stayed in. I'm not sure how many miles I racked up today, but it's definitely in the hundreds. I'm wiped out, but still enjoying the best mood I've been in since... well, since my last trip out of town.

Tomorrow's trip will involve about equal miles and many more stops, so I have a pile of directions to look up before I can hit the road. It will be another exhausting day, and I really can't wait.

The Memphis Burbs

I've made it to the South. After waking up at 3:30am Seattle time. I'm tired. So, so tired.

It's hot here, and humid, but it's not the kind of tropical heat and humidity where I sweat and curse my frizzy hair all day. No, this is a stifling blanket of hot, thick air that engulfs me and holds on until I slink back indoors. I just don't have the energy to be out in it tonight.

That being said, I already like the small amount of time I've spent here. The people so far have been genuine and friendly, even the ones whose accents I can't quite always understand, and I have to admit, I feel a bit like Liz Lemon in Cleveland.

"Why, no, I'm not a model!"

My hotel is on the outskirts of Memphis, because it's insanely cheap for a nice room out here, and I have a rental car anyway. Sure, it's a crappy Ford Fiesta with slightly less power than a kitchen aid, but it has a CD player and the AC works quite well, so it'll suit me fine for all the mileage I'll be clocking over the next few days. 

Once I got settled, I ventured out to explore the vicinity of my hotel, but found pretty much nothing. When I figured that being incessantly lost and/or falling asleep at the wheel were both possibilities, I decided I'd been beaten, and pulled into the nearest store that might sell me some sunglasses (since I managed to break my previous travel shades in Texas). It was Target. I shopped there anyway, not because I've forgiven them their politics, but because I didn't have the fight in me to look for anyplace else. It was a gigantic store, so I also picked up some breakfast, and a 6-pack of Yuengling lager, which I have loved since I first tried it on a trip Baltimore. It doesn't exactly fit my local beer rule that I normally have while traveling, but it's just so damn good on a hot day, and I can't get it on the West Coast.

Then, just as I turned back toward my night's lodging and began wondering what to get for dinner, there it was. I swear I heard a choir of angels.

Chick-Fil-A.

 A quick trip around the drive-thru, and I had the dinner of the gods in my possession.

So here I am, back in my room for the night, belly full of spicy chicken, absorbed in Google maps, planning tomorrow's road trip. I'll spend the next 2 days in Mississippi before returning to Memphis for the remainder of my trip. Until then, it's time for a beer or two, some free HBO, and a good night's sleep.

The End of the Earth

It's nearly 6pm on May 21st, and everything in the world is normal. Is this a big deal?

It isn't. So why is everybody talking about it? 

Recently an elderly religious guy, whose name I refuse to learn, began using his radio network to share his prediction of the coming judgment day, where those of his ilk would be whisked off up a Stairway to Heaven, while the sad atheists like me stay here on Earth to suffer devastating natural disasters, and ultimately death. Crazy people make these kinds of proclamations all the time, for all kinds of reasons, so why did everybody pay so much attention this time?

I think there are a couple of reasons. First, this fellow and his group created a massive publicity engine to get the word out. They admitted doing their damnedest -- yeah, I said it -- to get the story on the news, feeding it to major media outlets in every country around the world. Second, most of the serious coverage seems to have been coming from the United States, which is one of the most religion-obsessed nations on the planet, despite constant claims to the contrary. I tend to read news from 3-4 English-speaking countries in a day, and the non-US reports were often a comic angle of the story in their Oddball News section, while Americans treated the subject with more gravity... while still hinting that the rapture probably wasn't coming, and it might be okay to joke about it, if you're so inclined.

Above all this, though, I think the story gave us all a good distraction and sense of togetherness that has been sorely lacking of late.

The United States is deeply divided over so many subjects right now: political leanings, economics and class, religious beliefs, even what constitutes a human right. This group, this small percentage of Americans devoted to an unusual interpretation of Christianity, brought the rest of us together. Just for a moment, we are all in it together, and they're the crazies, the other. We are the normal ones, we get it, so let's all wink and smile, and laugh together at their expense.

And while we're busy talking about this, we can forget everything else. Forget what divides us, sure, but also devote less of our brains to the bad things going on around us.

Why did everyone get sick of the rapture jokes? Because it was the only subject out there. Over the last week, while everyone (including me) was endlessly nattering about Judgment Day, I read How to Win a Cosmic War by Reza Aslan and Bill Bryson's African Diary, both of which discussed serious political and social matters around the world. Which made me realize I hadn't heard much of the same elsewhere since this frivolous End of Days story took over the headlines.

I have a Masters in Sociology of Religion, I enjoy a silly religious discussion more than the next, well, stadium full of guys. But I'm tired of this now. I only hope that come tomorrow, or Monday, when the end of the world still hasn't come, that we can get back to dealing with the real problems out there. Because there are so many, and so few working on the solutions.

Game Day in Calgary

I felt amazing during the game, until I lost all feeling from the cold, that is. Then I got back to the hotel and had no idea what to say about it. I stared at a blank page for 10 minutes before walking away to have some tea and contemplate. I could never do it justice. I may never try.

All in all, today has been exhausting. I got in around 7:30pm and felt like going straight to bed. How was it that Calgary so took it out of me today?

I woke up early this morning and took the train down to the city center and checked out what makes this so-called Cowtown tick. Evidently, on a Sunday, it's not much at all. It's interesting to me that the population here is larger than Seattle's, but there's a lot less going on downtown. Perhaps that's because the city sprawls out so much farther, not wedged in between water and mountains. At any rate, I didn't find anything there to amuse me.. except for the brief thought that one could understandably assume Canada has some sort of inferiority complex, given the requirement of an extremely tall phallic tower in every major city. Aside from that, nothing; very little shopping was open, no people were around, so I got back on the train to the hotel and set about counting down the minutes until the game that brought me here.

After dressing quite fashionably for the affair -- base layer (mountain climber long johns) top and bottom, jeans, long sleeve tee, Montreal sweatshirt, coat, scarf, Habs toque with ear flaps, gloves with hand warmer inserts, sock liners, wool socks, stick-on foot warmers, and shoes which I could barely reach to pull on after all those layers -- I grabbed my ticket and took the 5 minute walk down to the stadium with the other fans. Once inside, I grabbed a couple of cans of Molson Canadian (each one for the price of a six pack at The Liquor Box across the road), and found my seat.

With the warm-up skate finishing up, the sun shining on me,and the temperature a balmy 15 degrees, my excitement was running high. Pre-game festivities included a song by Five for Fighting, singing of the Canadian national anthem (as well as the US anthem, why?), and a flyover by the Snowbirds, the Canadian equivalent of the Blue Angels. All of this fanfare would make me roll my eyes and say start the game already in the States, but here I got into it, singing along, cheering the pyrotechnics, and feeling a sense of one-ness with everyone around me. Despite the hassle of moving across the border, I should end up back in Canada eventually. I just love it so much more than my native country.

Anyway. My elation didn't last long. While I loved  being at this rare game, always enjoy live hockey, and will forever be glad that I came, the experience became a bit less enjoyable as it went on. The Flames came on strong in the first period, while the Canadiens seemed to be unable to get their feet under them, which dampened the spirits of me and all the Habs fans around me. Then it got colder. The sun went down, and the wind picked up, bringing the temperature with wind chill down to around -5 F. To add to our ordeal, Montreal continued losing (ultimately being shut out 4-0) despite picking up their game and outplaying Calgary for the second 2 periods. Penalties and resulting power play goals plagued our boys. The concrete under our feet was much colder than the air, and my foot warmers quit working, making me unable to feel my toes for at least 35 minutes of the game. Beer sales ended before the 2nd intermission, and as the outcome became obvious, the drunken Flames fans jawed more and more at those of us there to cheer on Montreal. I stayed until the final buzzer, but then this frozen Habs fan skipped any after-game hoopla and got back to the hotel post-haste.

In the end, I may voluntarily forget how the game went. I've seen my Habs play live many times, and fare much better. But I'll never forget the experience today. It was like nothing I've ever done in so many ways, and not all of it was entirely pleasant. But I'd love to do it again. And again. And again.

When's the next one? I'm ready... let's go!

Indoors... Where it is Warm

After some TV and a brief nap this afternoon, I layered up and ventured out to the streets of Calgary's Motel Village to see what I could find. Within the distance I could walk without my face freezing off, I found a couple of chain restaurants, McDonald's, an extremely sketchy-looking bar, a little strip mall, and of course the entrance to McMahon Stadium. Not seeing anyplace I really wanted to hang around, I grabbed something to eat and headed directly back to the warmth of the hotel.

Gearing up for the game. Go Habs!

During my walk, I kept spotting Habs and Flames fans all decked out in their team gear, and was feeling good about the fact that I'll be among many other Montreal devotees at the game tomorrow. I just hope my seat isn't in the midst of a bunch of Calgary nuts, or I might get lynched. The closer I got to the sky bridge to McMahon, the more I was surrounded by fans, all amped up and heading across to some sort of event. Confused, I hit the search engines the moment I got back in my room, but couldn't find any information about Heritage Classic events happening today.


As soon as I turned on the TV, though, I found out what they were doing. Hockey Night in Canada was showing an outdoor Habs/Flames alumni game, and all of the hooting and hollering fans I had seen were in the stands.

Given the bitter cold -- I'm starting to believe they call it that due to the bitterness I feel when trying to go anywhere in it -- I'm in for the night. Right now it's 1 degree out, and rapidly getting dark. Since my exploration also turned up a C-train station nearby, though, I may spend the morning tomorrow taking the train downtown to actually see a bit of Calgary before the game. Even with several layers on, I'd prefer to wander around in the 20s more than the single digits, for sure.

On the plus side, I'm finally starting to feel like I'm on vacation, and definitely like I'm in Canada... And that always makes me happy. I love being here, in the True North, strong and free.

Yes, I will be singing along with that line and every other one in the anthem tomorrow. You may hear my voice straining all the way back in Seattle. I'm that excited. Can't wait!