Americana and the Open Road

The promised update from the road every day was thwarted by bad weather in Memphis that knocked out our hotel's wireless connection, but we're alive and well on the Texas side of Texarkana, right on the border of, you guessed it...Texas and Arkansas. My thoughts from the drive across Tennessee and the drive through Arkansas, however, are similar, so a combined blog shouldn't hurt you too much.

The longest leg of our trip took place on Monday, which is also when I realized exactly how big America is. For seven hours, I drove and never left the state I was in. Bristol is in the north east portion of Tennessee and Memphis is in the south west portion, and diagonally, from corner to corner, was about seven hours in distance, give or take due to bathroom and food breaks. Before yesterday, the longest I drove on my own was from Forest Hill to Ocean City, about 3 hours, and even then I passed through another state to make it to my destination. Not in Tennessee, I was on I-81 the entire time, rolling on through mountains and truck stops, making my way to Memphis. We get so wrapped up in state pride sometimes, maybe we forget exactly how big we really are, but also how diverse. The last time I was a resident of "the South" I was young, but the stereotypical southern subtleties stuck out at me yesterday. Friendly people, yes ma'am, no ma'am and a Cracker Barrel at every exit stuck out at me. Really, though, the cultural aspects of the south are about as American as you can get, when you think about it. No one points out the hustle and bustle of New England states as 'Americana.' Americana refers to Little League, farms, diners and even trailer parks...'little pink houses for you and me.' Down here they know it to, I've never seen more American flags (or giant crosses) along the roadway anywhere else. It's nice, but certainly different from everything else I've grown to be.

Just as American as apple pie at a local diner is the fascination with Elvis and rock and roll. I told John this morning, while we were getting ready to head off to Graceland that liking Elvis doesn't always matter - he was sort of a big deal, and that was made even more apparent to me today, and it also made me very happy. Graceland was very pretty, in a very satisfying, un-MTV Cribs sort of way. I mean, for sure, in Elvis' time the place was extravagant, but it was nothing compared to some of the places I've seen, with 12 rooms and a fridge full of beer for one rapper. Elvis had a room for his parents. Not only that, but they closed off the entire upstairs, because Elvis kept that part of the house private, only having guests on the entry level. So, no one was poking around looking for the toilet where he died. In his meditation garden in the back yard, he and his family are buried. His grave site was filled with flowers, and notes and messages that also rested on his parents' and his grandmother's graves. People were standing over it, praying and meditating, paying their due respects to someone who really changed a lot of things. It warmed my heart in the greatest way. I had so much respect for him while walking through his house and seeing how other people were so moved by him. Our current icons and idols will never have this sort of response.

The ride from Memphis to Texarkana was quite different from the beautiful Appalachians that studded our path in Tennessee. Arkansas is flat, rural and has a very...bumpy and rough terrain on their highway system. We were making good time until we saw big clouds of black smoke and completely halted traffic. We sat literally in park on I-40 for an hour and a half while the smoldering remains of what appeared to be a tractor trailer were moved off the road. While waiting, I made friends with a group of four bikers on their Harley's with their wives who were traveling from the big bike ride in DC over the weekend back to Texas and also talked to a nice man parked in the car behind us. Truckers were getting out, letting the bikers rest on the back of their beds and everyone was talking, walking from car to car and (lucky for us) to and from the park/rest area that we were outside from. It was definitely a surreal experience, but one that I see often. People don't talk in lines when things are going well, but some of the most wonderful conversations I've had with strangers have been in long flight delays and traffic problems. We bond over disaster...I guess it's part of our nature and desire for, as I put it "blood and carnage" over desirable situations.

As I get farther and farther from Shepherdstown and everything else that I've called home for so long, I get sadder and sadder. It's going to be an incredibly lonely summer, but...like everything else on this trip, I have no choice but to make the best of it. In four hours driving time, we'll arrive at 14 Violetta Ct. in The Woodlands, my new home.

Stay Tuned.