Route: Around Memphis, TN
Good Day Folks,
I met four very interesting people last night. The two women were traveling together and were basically out to raise hell. The two guys were on the neighboring campsite. They were tatoo artists that were following local carnivals around the country. When I found them, the women were in the guy’s trailer, getting “temporary” tatoos (permanent marker). By the time I left, they were both pretty well covered with “temporary” art. The rowdiest of the bunch was Charlotte. She works as a flight attendant for Northwest; next time you fly, choose your airline wisely.
In the morning, I drove into downtown Memphis to check out an exhibit at the Memphis Pyramid. It was an exhibit of artifacts recovered from the Titanic. Most items were in remarkable condition, and some were downright spooky.
They had a steward’s jacket which was almost perfectly intact, save for the buttons on the front. They appear to hove been torn off, as if the owner took off the jacket in a hurry. Another item of interest is a small gold pocket watch. The watch was inscribed with the owner’s name. A search of the passenger list revealed that the owner’s daughter, who survied the disaster, was still alive at 87 years of age. They returned the watch to her, reconnecting her to her father 80 years after his death. She still remembers the incident, and last saw her father when he handed her to the occupants of an overfilled lifeboat.
Early in the afternoon, I took a drive past Graceland, home of the rock-&-roll God Elvis Presley. The mansion looked like, well, a mansion. If it weren’t for all the supporting fixtures of tourist exploitation across the street, you’d assume that this spread belonged to Mary Tyler Moore’s plastic surgeon (or some other rich and mundane individual). I turned around, and snapped a single picture as I drove back downtown.
Once back in downtown Memphis, I acquired some lunch at Sleep-Out Louie’s. The Blackened Catfish Sandwich was quite good, as was the old blues singer with a guitar & harmonica. Ah yes, the delta blues are a good thing.
I returned to my campsite (same as last night) just in time to witness the fat kid (every campground has at least one) in the neighboring campsite fall off his bike and do a face plant on the pavement. Being the neighborly type, I volunteered some of the supplies in my First-Aid kit to help clean him up. Thoroughly embarassed by the whole incident, Fat Kid insisted that the world would end if he wasn’t taken home (back to Memphis) immediately. His mother obliged, so I now have a significantly quieter campsite next door. The gods work in mysterious ways.
I can hear the old lady two campsites over playing her accordian. She’s quite good, but her dog always seems to be on the verge of howling whenever she plays.
Well, I have a long day (8.5 hours in the saddle) scheduled for tomorrow, so I must start thinking of calling it quits.