Elvis, eat your heart out, because we somehow made it.
I napped as we left Kentucky and ventured in to Tennessee. For those who have never been to Tennessee, well, what you see is pretty much what you get. Endless stretches of beautiful forest border both sides of the highway. Other than that, Tennessee is a fairly lonely drive. Our only stop gave us the opportunity to wash the old chariot – likely adding 100,000 more miles to the car’s life.
Perhaps the coolest part of the trip was a Doc Brown-esque trip into Central Time. I looked down at my phone, and then quickly to the speedometer to see if we clocked in at 88mph. Without even realizing it, we gained an hour of time – a welcome surprise, given that we could now take our time instead of trying to beat check-in.
As we passed through Nashville, we eagerly anticipated our arrival to Memphis. Nashville, from the road atleast, is a nice looking city. Maybe the next road trip will lead us through the home of the Predators.
Probably one of the few exciting moments of the drive happened along a quiet stretch somewhere in Tennessee. I took a peek up from my duties as navigator to check the road, and noticed the cars in front of us suddenly parting ways from the center lane. Fearing the worst, I told Marc to get over as quickly as possible. My worst fears were confirmed: someone in a pickup truck had dropped a box of individual serving cereal containers all over the road. Crushed Cocoa Puffs interlaced with Trix across the highway; it was a damn breakfast club massacre. Luckily, no one was hurt, although Toucan Sam was reportedly, "a little upset about the whole thing."
Eventually, after several hundred miles of bleak trees and intimidating state troopers (we must have seen 20 between Shepherdsville and Memphis), we finally made it. I currently sit in a McDonald’s parking lot (thanks for the WiFi McDude), typing this out while residents sit in their cars and idly stare.
A few words about the Ritz Carlton where we are staying – remember in Vacation when they check in to the campground and realize it is, to say the least, not what they expected? It’s kind of like that. The Rest Inn is complete with two shady clerks, a few shady neighbors, and almost enough towels to take a shower. OK, it may be a little bit what we expected, given that we only paid $30 a person, but hey, would it kill to throw a few mini bars of soap in there
(Editor's note: we did find a mini bar of soap. Shortly thereafter, we turned on the TV to discover three...ahem...adult-themed channels among the 20 channels. There's nothing worse before bed than seeing heavily-graphic amateur footage of two overweight "performers." These channels confirmed my fears that this was actually an "hourly rate" motel, if you catch my drift.)
There were two things for us to look forward to in Memphis: barbeque and Eric Clapton. We satisfied one of these cravings in a nifty little joint called Payne’s Barbeque. Dear Lord - I know you’re up there - please send more places like Payne’s. Payne’s is everything we hoped it could be: a dilapidated, family-run shack complete with some of the best meat I’ve ever tasted. Six dollars was all it took to receive a platter full of chopped pork, spicy barbeque sauce, mouth-watering beans, and yellow coleslaw (mustard I guess? Who cares it was delicious). The meat tasted like it had been surgically cooked for the past 8 hours, while the sauce’s actual ingredients are likely under lock and key at Fort Knox. If you have the means, I highly recommend picking some up (thanks Ferris).
As much as I would love to continue, I have a date with the night. Clapton would hate if I stood him up, so until I find a faster WiFi connection than “GebrileOwnsAll,” it’s adios for now. Next update will have pictures of downtown/the concert.
Walking in Memphis,
CPS
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