A Quick Retrospective

Pennsylvania to
Ohio to
Kentucky to
Tennessee to
Mississippi to
Louisiana to
Mississippi to
Alabama to
Tennessee to
Virginia to
West Virginia to
Pennsylvania.

Nine different states.

Almost 2600 miles.

A stupid amount of gas money.

Memories that will last a lifetime.

That's how you categorize a road trip. What set out as a poorly-planned trip turned into the best week of my life. Sure, I could have known exactly how much I would have spent, exactly where I would have gone, and exactly what I would have seen, but that's not for me. I crave uncertainty. I long for adversity. I'm desperate for a new challenge.

This was our first road trip, and I promise it will not be our last. Roadsickness is a term not taken lightly. When you return from a road trip, I promise if you did it right, you will feel a longing for the road. While I was on the trip, I saw completely new things for an entire week. Every second my eyes were open, I was seeing something I had never seen before. Think about that.

"Miles to Graceland" is the record of a promise fulfilled - a promise made many years ago. It may have been a pipe dream at the time, but stranger plans have been made. I'm glad this one came to fruition.

Get a car. Get a scooter. Stick your thumb out on the side of the road. I don't care, just get out on the road. You will never fully experience life unless you venture outside of the norm. I say this not from a presumptuous position; instead, I say it as a word of encouragement. Go out and talk to a stranger. Go somewhere you have never been before. Go eat something you would never eat in your hometown. Go live..

Sure, I look forward to the future, though I can't help but look back on the past one last time. It was fun, but it's time to move on. I learned a lot on the road. If I could do one-tenth of what I did, for a living, I could not ask for a better life. To be honest, writing this blog was probably the most fun I've ever had writing. I wrote what I saw, and I was overwhelmed by how many people enjoyed it.

The next post will contain some of the hundreds of other pictures we never published. The thousands of words contained in these pictures are no match to anything I can write. Enjoy.

For those of you who have been reading: thank you. I never expected such a positive response. Who knows what the next blog will bring? For now, I can safely look back and call it a blog.

Thanks again everyone,

CPS

Memphis: Bury Me on Beale St.

As throngs of delighted fans departed the arena, there seemed to be an unspoken consensus among all the attendees. The amoeba of people gradually found it's way to neighboring Beale St., just past the Gibson Factory located directly outside the Forum.



Beale St., for those not from Memphis, is akin to Pittsburgh's Southside, New Orleans' Bourbon St., or Philadelphia's South St. The cops blocked off both sides of this two-block haven, making it the perfect spot to vent a little post-concert glee. Each side of the street is home to bars, music shops, live music outlets, blues gift shops, and more. Beale Streeters can purchase a "Big Ass Beer" for a small fare, and everyone is encouraged to walk around sporting their drink of choice.



As you walk down Beale St., you are hit with a blast of culture absent in most cities. Instead of seeing four different Starbucks in a one-block stretch, you see small businesses rich with culture as you hear blues music pour from the windows of the clubs into the streets. Essentially, it is one big party, but something about it makes you feel more refined than walking down the usual stretch of neon-signed bars.

Marc and I drank our beers while carelessly perusing the sights Beale St. had to behold. We saw what Marc referred to as "Bo's," a term for young, Southern gentlemen with top loafers, button-down shirts, and frayed-brim hats. I unknowingly dressed the bill by wearing the style of the South, minus the hat.

Our travels in downtown Memphis didn't last longer than a beer, knowing that we had a long day of travel ahead. In a different time (hopefully a warmer time), I would love to return to this place and participate in the party. Maybe, if the stars aligned, I would get to pick up a guitar inside one of these places and force my own sloppy version of the blues upon this crowd. Pipe dream? Maybe, but I guess future travels will tell. As for the sights, I'll let them speak for themselves.








Beale-ive it or not,

CPS

Eric Clapton Concert: "My Daddy Named Me After This Song!"

In lieu of depleting funds, we decided to pass on the ethanol we purchased earlier in the day and drive to the concert. Fresh off a blog post from the McDonald's parking lot, I scurried back to the Rest(less) Inn and prepared myself for the fourth Eric Clapton concert of my life. Marc threw on his Clapton/Winwood tee, and we hopped in the car and made way to the FedEx Forum.

First congrats go to the venue. The FedEx Forum is a vast, 18,119 capacity hall, and home to the Memphis Grizzlies. The inside is a combination of nostalgic blues paintings and contemporary design. We set up base camp and started out on a two-mile journey to the summit, also known as our seats. Seats 3 and 4 in row Q of section 215 are flush with the back wall, literally as far from the stage as possible. I think my ears popped on the way up.



Of course, being a half mile from stage didn't bother us from cheering as loud as the lucky fans in the front row. We made it to Clapton, and by God, we were ready.

The opening act, Roger Daltrey, was a blast. He played a a bunch of classics - Baba O'Riley nearly blew the roof off - as well as a Taj Mahal cover...a welcome surprise. The only thing that threw me for a loop was his Old School-esque interpolation of f*** during a few songs. Frankly Roger, I don't want to tell you "Who the F*** I Am."

As the house lights came back on the roadies masterfully recrafted the stage, anticipation grew. Several minutes later, after - in a show of Southern hospitality - I struck up a conversation with a 71 yr. old woman from Tennessee, the lights once again dimmed and the man himself walked on stage. Thousands of people were perched on the edge of their seats, prepared to go nuts upon hearing the first note.

Note: much of the following is based off of co-pilot/"Undisputed Clapton Expert" Marc's professional opinion.

This tour showcased Clapton alone. No other guitarists joined him on stage; instead, he was flanked by two keyboardists.



The night started, well, slow to say the least. Some rhythmic inconsistencies interspersed his usually flawless playing. Clapton seemed off his game for most of the opening songs, but really found his groove in "Old Love." Soon thereafter, the show exploded as Clapton unleashed all hell on a crescendo-ing solo during "I Shot the Sheriff." Marc and I were convinced: for a 64 yr. old recovering heroin-addict, this man knew how to shred.



Clapton really came in to his element during an acoustic set, where he delighted the audience with such classics as "Running on Faith" and "Layla." During "Layla," a beaming Southern girl turned around to share how she was named after this song. Simply adorable Layla, simply adorable.

The show predictably closed with three staples: "Wonderful Tonight," "Cocaine," and "Crossroads." Sure, it was nice to hear these favorites, but I have to ask...when did the encore become such a foregone conclusion? I would have liked to see a little bit more of an unorthodox set, but with so many people assigned to so many jobs, I guess a concert can sometime become a mechanical process.

Nevertheless, the show was a hit. Memphis loved it, we loved it, and I hope Clapton loved it. This could very well be the last time we ever see him, and we're happy to end on a high note.



Pentatonically yours,

CPS

Leg 1: Pittsburgh to Dayton

We started out on this journey with no plan whatsoever, and if all goes well, it will end that way. This road trip is the culmination of several promises made in the front seat of a stationary car many, many years ago. The goal of this trip, pure and simple, is to eat as much as possible, see as much as possible, and share as much as possible, so long as we don't plan anything more than about 6 hours in advance.

Road trip. Reactions are somewhat mixed when you hear those words. They range from: "Awesome! You guys are going to have so much fun!" (friend), to "How the hell are you morons going to get anywhere with no money and nowhere to stay?" (much more sensible Dad). Nevertheless, no amount of discord among our peers could dissuade us from embarking on our Lewis and Clarkian adventure. The trip was on.

We started with humble beginnings. Pier St., located in Oakland, Pa., is the place we call home. This would be the launching point for our journey. Unfortunately, there were no crowds bashing bottles of champagne against my 130,000 mile-ridden Camry while screaming "Bon voyage!" It was more along the lines of an unnamed landlord drearily staring at the back of my car while simultaneously thinking of ways to invade the apartment during our absence.

In essence, when we set out to plan this trip, we had a simple idea: head west. Knowing that we would likely not get out of Pittsburgh with two ADD-riddled minds and no direction, we decided to plan, if only a little bit. The first destination would be Memphis, Tn., via Dayton, Oh. Pittsburgh to Memphis is a bit of a haul (741.3 miles to be exact, hence the title), so we decided to make a layover in Marc's former alma mater.

The first leg of the trip was a familiar voyage for co-pilot Marc. Having attended the University of Dayton several years prior, he knew how to get there the same way David Hasselhoff knows how to get to the liquor store (low blow?).

We watched as the towering hills of Western Pennsylvania turned into the perfectly level planes of Ohio. We counted the billboards while eating Third-Degree Burn Doritos and listening to Lil' Wayne mixtapes. Never before have I been so far, but felt so close, to home.

There's something to be said for staring at an endless strip of dashed white lines. The road is a calm place, and I look forward to seeing as much of it on this trip as possible. 267.3 miles separate Pittsburgh and Dayton (give or take a few miles so I could figure out how to set the Trip counter on my odometer); plenty of time to relax and think about what we have seen, and more importantly, what we will see.

This is a road trip, meaning the importance of stopping at every road side attraction is an absolute must, but we were pressed for time. You see, Dayton is home to the first essential stop on our culinary quest: Dewey's Pizza. For those not familiar - get familiar damnit. Dewey's is little pizza shop located in the foodie district of Dayton's main strip. Dewey's BBQ Chicken Pizza is soft chicken interlaced with crisp vegetables, covered in delicious BBQ sauce, and resting calmy atop a pillow-like crust with a hint of sweetness. We managed to leave Pittsburgh at approximately 5:00pm, and woke up in pizza heaven around 9:35pm. In a rare moment of foresight, we called ahead and placed a pickup order, knowing the haven would close at 10:00pm.

Currently, I write this from a Flyer's house on the Dayton campus (thanks Steve!). Marc was lucky enough to secure us a place of rest for the night, but our rest will be short. Tomorrow we leave for the blues Mecca to see none other than the blues God: Eric Clapton. The trip starts at 8:00pm, and check-in to Bates Motel is at 4:00pm. Approximate time of travel: 8 hours. Approximate number of run-of-the-mill barbeque places we plan to stop at for what will likely be the best meal either of us has ever had: 3.

More updates to come soon, including pictures from the first leg of the trip.

No looking back,

CPS