I'm going to ignore the fact that I haven't written here in three months and just continue on with my road-trip story...
So Monday, October 27th, I woke up in my hotel room in Memphis, TN, and was too afraid to get out of bed to see whether or not my car, and all of my Earthly possessions, were still down in the parking lot. So I lied there in bed another minute, mentally bracing myself for the very real possibility that all my car windows would be shattered and all my stuff taken, never to be seen again. When I had become comfortable with the fact that (1) all my material things were gone but (2) I was still alive and well, and (3) that was all that really mattered in the end (I guess...), I walked over to the window to see my Toyota Camry, waiting patiently for me seven stories below, with all my crap safely inside.
The night before, I had planned out a few things to do that morning in Memphis before I hit the road. I wanted to see Graceland, Elvis's mansion, but I discovered that you couldn't even walk on the grounds without buying a tour ticket. Not really having the time, or willing to spend the money, I walked around the front gate where apparently other time-strapped, penny-pinched Elvis fans had done the same, only they brought their Sharpies with them. The entire brick wall in front of Graceland was covered in signatures and notes to the King. So since my camera zoom couldn't see through trees to get a good photo of the mansion, I looked around out front instead.
I walked to a souvenir shop down the street, picked up some Graceland postcards, and hopped back in my car. There was more of Memphis to see. I passed the University of Tennessee on my way to the historic district, and almost got ran over by a city bus while I was trying to get a look at campus.
Now I didn't have my blue suede shoes, and it wasn't pouring rain, but I walked along Beale Street looking at the old theaters, bars, clubs, restaurants and architecture.
Then I spent a little more time looking at some really magnificent Victorian houses around the historic district. Many of them had been turned into museums, but, of course, they weren't open the day I was there. The pictures I took of the Mallory-Neely House and the James Lee House don't do the structures justice, but the links do a decent job.
Once I got back on the road, around noon I think, there was still the issue of figuring my way safely out of Memphis. That city is one of the most difficult places I've ever had to navigate. The highway that loops around the city changes names at least twice, no one ever switches just one lane at a time, the speed limit is hardly even a suggestion for most drivers, and even the highway exits have exits. So it's really a miracle that I found my way out of that town and all in one piece.
Finally headed for Eastern Tennessee, I made a few pit-stops for winerys and antique stores, got stuck in traffic and hungry in Nashville, stopped for a late-lunch, early-dinner at an Irish pub there, and bowled right on through Knoxville. Around this time I came to the realization that when planning this day out the night before, I hadn't accurately calculated how much time I would have to sight-see and still get to Kingsport at a decent hour. Just after dusk it began to rain. Hard. I had just entered the hills and ridges of the Appalachian Mountains and was really wishing that I hadn't spent so much time in Memphis that morning. I'd also lost an hour entering into the Eastern Time Zone, and while I was upset that it was too dark to see the mountains I was going through, I was more bothered by the fact that I was driving around curves and bends with dangerously low visibility. I started listening to talk radio to distract myself, and around midnight I had reached my destination. Unfortunately there were two hotels with the same name, two towns apart. I found the wrong one first and had to backtrack an extra twenty minutes to get to the right one. But it wasn't bedtime yet...
I should mention that a serious concern for this drive was the mysterious leak in my sunroof. After a good rain, the floorboards of my backseat will often hold a small pool of water. The car ceiling is always dry, so I assume the problem resides in the drainage system somewhere between the sunroof and floor of my car. Happily, this drive was one of the lucky times that the roof chose not to leak. However, I wasn't taking my chances overnight and asked the front desk clerk at the hotel for a large trash bag, which I pulled apart to create a long tarp to stretch over the sunroof, and secured it by tucking the ends into the cab of the car and shutting the front doors.
I was so exhausted I went straight to bed, promising myself less detours for the rest of the drive.
