You people with your fancy indoor plumbing and private bathrooms have no idea what we Kings of the Road go through.

This morning, bleary-eyed and drowsy, maybe even a little hungover, I stumbled from the EM-50 Phantom Rambler and shuffled into the Wal-Mart for my morning constitutional.

It was early. I had the room to myself. Smelled a little funny. Oh well.

I sat perched on the throne, nodding off, hoping I could take advantage of this opportunity when someone else entered the men’s room.

I heard a little kid jabbering on nonstop, the way they do.

The kid was going a mile a minute. His parent was assisting him in his endeavor and told him, in Spanish-accented English, to hurry.

I shook my head. His stupid ass mother had brought him into the goddamn men’s room. Some people have no sense of decorum, I swear.

Still undeterred  (haha…un de-turd…haha…nevermind) another guy entered and sat in the stall next to mine. In my less than alert state, I remember noting that he had really small feet.

In no hurry…yet, I just lolled there, enjoying the free warmth.

The guy next to me gave sharp little cough.

My head snapped up, my eyes popped open and I pricked up my ears. That sounded like a woman’s cough.

As I was simultaneously wondering if it is racist to say you can tell the sex of a person by their cough and what the hell this little box was that was mounted on the wall, a thought occurred to me.

(Editor’s note: We were gonna say sexist instead of racist, but sexist and sex in the same sentence hits the ear funny. We went with racist. You get the idea.)

Is there any chance I bumbled into the cootie-filled ladies room?

Then another thought…why is it “ladies room” instead of “ladies’ room”? I mean, we say “Men’s room”, right? It’s not “Men room” or even, “man’s room”. Weird. I know.

Fully awake, I was now trying to remember if I had passed any urinals when I entered. Cripes!  I couldn’t recall.

On the verge of abject panic, I sought council from my life partner, Trixie. She’ll know what to do! (text related)

The restrooms open out to the registers…good thing they are never staffed (zing!).

I raced out of there, like a posse was on my tail, it was indeed, time to get the Hell out of Dodge….just like I said I wanted. I was wrong.

Without a plan, I jumped onto the nearest open road and made a run for the border.

Once my heartbeat slowed to an easy staccato,  I got another (albeit different kind of) thrill.  On the outskirts of Dodge City I stood witness as a tumbleweed broke loose and, well, tumbled across the road in front of me!

Flouting the local ordinances, I snatched up my phone to call Trixie and tell her about it. I mean, what are the odds?! A tumbleweed! In Dodge City! That is so western!

She didn’t answer. Gift wrapping her office, I think. But, just then, holy shit! Another! Soon…another.  It got so I had to swerve to avoid the constant barrage.

It was like playing a real-life version of Asteroids.

I wasn’t always successful. I hit one square with the grill of the Rambler. The tumbleweed exploded into confetti.

Eventually, the road took me to Garden City, Kansas – home of the world’s largest, outdoor, municipal, concrete swimming pool. That is way too many modifiers.

I went looking for a Bison refuge that is supposed to be here but got driven back by the smell. I passed a pasture.  My wild guess would be…oh, 50,000 head of cattle jammed in pretty tight. And, that’s no bull.

Don’t think I didn’t notice how she laughed at my predicament. Imma get her for that.

Children are amazing. Their imaginations and energy levels are such that they can find ways to entertain themselves in any setting. Provided, of course, they are not given the admonition to behave themselves in anyway whatsoever.

Hi. I just came from the laundromat.

While there, I considered opening my own coin-op laundry when I return. But, only because I hate to let the perfect name for such an establishment go to waste. I will call it…Riff Raff’s!

I’ve spent the day in Kansas, on a mission tonight to watch MNF – The Cowboys vs. The Redskins, in the best imaginable setting.  But first…

I began my day in one of the most nicknamed cities in the country – Peerless Princess of the Plains, The Air Capital of the World, and Doo Dah, to name but a few.

No one is sure why they call The ICT,  Doo Dah, but the best guess seems to be that someone there once thought that, “Witchita Doo Dah” sounded enough like, “Zippity Doo Dah” to make it stick.

It is called ICT because of its airport code, which it got back when the fledgling FAA, who people kept confusing with the FCC, tried to distance itself from that agency by banning codes that start with K and W…because of radio station or something.

It is “The Air Capital of the World” because it has built more airplanes than any other city and the marketing department thought “air” was much more kickass than “aircraft”. Whatevs.

There was nothing happening in that town, so I got outta Dodge.

Naturally, once I did so, it occurred to me that everyone talks about getting out of Dodge, but no one ever does it. I decided I would shut the posers up, once and for all by making good on that promise for all mankind.

In order to do that, I had to first get INTO Dodge. I saddled up the ol’ EM-50 Phantom Rambler and drove west into the sunset.  Actually, I drove directly into the sun long before it had set and got quite a headache from it.

Yes, what better place to watch Washington beat Dallas than, “The Cowboy Capital of the World” – Dodge City, Kansas.

If there is anybody at all out there who has read all of my posts, then they may have noticed that I have visited many places and added, “…Capital of the World” to it. For the record, those are all genuine appellations (nicknames, dipshit).

It is a long, straight, flat trek west from Witchita to Dodge City – I don’t know how the pioneers did it. I mean, I stopped several times for supplies along the way and to rest my weary eyes and bones. Back when they did it in covered wagons, all they had was the occasional Stuckey’s.

But, I’m not doing this to make a straight shot anywhere. I stop to see the sites that make this land great! Things like, the Hot & Cold water towers of Pratt, Kansas. (pic related)

That’s actually pretty much it. It is only 153 miles between the two cities and nothing else of note to see.

In fact, it is that lack of things to see and do that gave us these marvels. They don’t really have hot & cold. They just have water. The townsfolk painted them that way as a joke because there was nothing else to do. Apparently, the cows had already been tipped.

So, when I stopped to snap this pic, I also did my laundry.

And, in case you are looking to save a few bucks, kids – Pratt has the 15th cheapest college among those colleges polled. (pic related)

The sign changed messages. I sat there for a while. No mention of its academic ranking.

Pratt also has brick streets. (pic related)

because, apparently,  in a town this small, folks can spare the time it would take to install.

I fluffed. I folded. I moseyed on, pardner.

I made it to Dodge City with time to spare before the game started.

I went to Wyatt Earp Dr and wondered why they named the main street after a black-hatted pimp instead of a white hat like Marshall Matt Dillon. I mean, “Gunsmoke” is one of television’s classic shows. It ran almost as long as “The Simpsons” has…so far.

Wanting to fit in, I walked bow-legged to the local druggist (Walgreen’s). I ambled in and drawled to the pharmacist, “I need a new toothbrush…yella.” Don’t worry, I smiled when I said it.

He just gave me a funny look and pointed to aisle 5. A sign read, “Dental Care”. I moseyed over and got me one.

I now reckoned it was pert near time for the game. I quickened my pace into something of a mosey/trot to the nearest saloon, which is also a comedy club on the second Wednesday of every month.

The bow-legged gait was starting to hurt my upper, inner thighs, so I switched to Chester-style limp and went inside, not taking the time to be disappointed by the lack of swinging doors.

As a joke, I ordered a diet coke and asked the barmaid, who told me right away to stop calling her “Kitty”, to put it in a dirty glass. I got a chuckle out of this. But, my soda tastes funny and I’m afraid to drink it.

The game is 3 to 3, like Trixie on our wedding night – all tied up.

My goal for tomorrow is to make enough trouble that the sheriff tells me to leave but not enough to get tossed in the hoosgow. Wish me luck!

HTTR!

If there’s one thing I’ve noticed since I’ve been on the road, it’s that, when one is on the road, one tends to notice a lot more stuff than they otherwise would.

I think it has to do with not being bombarded by adverts all the time.

No TV, no radio, no news. I listen to recorded books as I drive and just notice stuff. Maybe a lot of it is because Trixie isn’t around.  When I am with her on a daily basis, I have to focus all my noticing energy on her hair so that I can remark positively if she changes it, or else suffer the consequences.

I left Planet Fitness at about 1:45 this afternoon and noticed that, at that strange hour on a Saturday, all the surrounding eateries were devoid of customers except one – Taco Bueno. They had a line at their drive-thru that wrapped around the building and their lot was full. Weird.

In case you’ve never noticed, ever since my discharge from the army, I don’t stand in line to eat.  The paranoid kook in me…ok, that IS me…thinks it is some kind of ploy. I won’t eat at, say, Cracker Barrel unless they seat me right away, which they never do.

I am suspicious that there is plenty of seating but they make everyone wait in the gift shop to get them to spend money.

Also, I won’t buy a pair of shoes from a shoe store that doesn’t have their wares all on display because I have never asked a salesman to get a pair from the back without him returning to say they don’t have it in my size and he then wants to show me something else. Not sure what he is up to, but I just leave. Of course, I notice that this has put me way off track.

Anyway, I broke my own rule and queued up.  The tacos were great! I ate my fill then cussed Taco Bell for being. Just being.

Enough about noticing stuff. I’d rather go back to being oblivious.

I was in Broken Arrow, OK today and I thought to myself, “That’s kind of an awful name for a place in the heart of Cherokee Nation.”

So, I checked my sources and drove to somewhere more American – meaning, based on a television program from my youth.

The truth is though, the TV show was based on a book – maybe a series of books. I don’t know. I never read it. Or them. Or whatever. But, that’s ok because I never watched the TV show either. But, I do have the home version in game form. (pic related)

I don’t feel bad for not watching it. Recently, when I was at Graceland,  in the King’s TV room they listed his favorite shows (pic related)

and he didn’t watch it either.

Curiously, they also listed his favorite movies…

“Smokey and the Bandit” came out, like, a few minutes before E allegedly died. No way there would have been enough time for it to make it onto his all-time great’s list. Busted.

The problem this left me with is, when I got to this prairie in Kansas, (pic related)

I didn’t really know what I was looking for…you know, other than a little house. So, I took pics of everything.

Here is the childhood home of Laura Ingalls Wilder…

It really is tiny. But, I don’t know if it was featured in the show or not. And, that is the history that matters.

Here is a post office…

And a schoolhouse…

And a wagon…

They have a sort of a museum here, but they close for the season on October 31.

There really aren’t any neighbors to speak of. I wandered around and finally found a young girl with curly blonde hair. She was Amish or something, I’m guessing because she was dressed kind of funny. She looked like a sneering version of the kid on packages of Blue Bonnet margarine.  Anyway, she wasn’t helpful at all and rather unpleasant actually.

Though she looked nothing like her, I got the sense that this is what good ol’ Trixie was like when she was 10 years old or so.

I ramble on.

The Natural State doesn’t get a lot of attention.  It pretty much stays beneath the radar when one tries to call to mind places they would like to visit. Or, when one considers the origin of anything important; or even, when you want to make fun of people based on stereotypes associated with their locale, Arkansas doesn’t readily leap to mind. It is just quietly there.

Odd, when you think about it since Arkansas has given us a U.S. President – Bill Clinton, country music legends like, Johnny Cash, Conway Twitty, Glen Campbell, and Lefty Frizzell. And was even the starting place for huge corporations Wal-Mart and FedEx, which opened for business in Rogers and Little Rock, respectively.

Then there are the Ozarks – not high, but really old. Modern estimates put parts of the Ozarks at 1.5 billion years old.  But, back in the day of William Hope “Coin” Harvey, they were thought to be the oldest on earth.

Harvey was a financier who chose a spot on the White River in Arkansas to build a resort called, “Monte Ne”.  He built a couple of hotels, (the ruins of only one still stands) an amphitheater with carved stone furniture (now submerged by the building of a dam to create Beaver Lake) and marvels of technology like the first indoor swimming pool. (gallery related)

Monte Ne was even the site of the 1932 Liberty Party’s National Convention. Harvey ran for president that year, but he never really had a chance. His hopes and dreams had been dashed long before then. The stock market crash of 1929 was really what finished him, though.

You see, ol’ Coin Harvey was something of a myopic visionary. Like so many of his time, W.H. was convinced that the human race was done for because of bankers. According to him, they manufactured debt by charging interest, which devalues money, the only fair representation of a person’s labor. Eventually, all the money would end up in their hands – specifically,  The Rothschilds.  Haha. What a crackpot! Right?

So, Harvey, acting on the principle that, “a man can’t just sit around” took action.

He began construction of Monte Ne in the early 1900s, to raise funds for his big project – The Pyramid.

You see, he was going to build this 130′ tall obelisk here at Monte Ne, with this capstone pyramid thing and fill it with all the collected knowledge of mankind and some modern wonders of technological advancement like, a Model T automobile, and a phonograph. Sort of a modern day Library of Alexandria.

He chose this spot because, according to his calculations, when the Ozarks finally crumbled to dust they would fill the area with silt, dust and debris and put his pyramid right at eye level for future archeologists.

Things were humming along nicely when in 1922 Howard Carter cracked open the tomb of King Tut.  A pyramid frenzy swept the nation. The masses flocked in droves to Monte Ne to throw cash at Harvey. (pic related)

Construction began and then…the Great Crash of ’29 brought it to a halt.

Thus, Monte Ne became…the Greatest Thing that Never Was.

And, in the immortal words of an anonymous artist, “I was here fuckers”

Smooch to Trixie :*

I awoke in Springfield, MO and decided that when it comes to being healthy, I would fake it until I make it.

So, I pretended I felt fine. I did not.

Everyone agrees that superlatives are the greatest, so I went to find me one.  How does the World’s Largest Fork grab you? (pic related)

I don’t know about you, but it made me hungry. I considered for quite some time going to this place that I vaguely recalled hearing about – World Famous Lambert’s Cafe, “Home of Throwed Rolls.”

I researched to try and figure out why they were familiar…world famousness aside.

It turns out this place chucks dinner rolls across the room at its customers. It’s quite a hoot!

In the course of my research I found out that a lawsuit was filed against them this year by some guy who took a dinner roll to the face and he claims that he almost lost an eye.

I set out to find why I love America. Unfortunately, it is during this time that I also find what I hate.

I’m not cussing this asshole who somehow managed to get his retina detached by a flying bakery item, soft though it may be, during what is supposed to be a night of family fun and frolic. I mean, what would I do if I was in his place and faced with a hospital bill of $25,000 that I couldn’t pay?

Everything costs too much.  Medical care is through the roof, of course.  And, Obama Care was just a blank check to the insurance companies, I dont care what anybody says…And, there are more lawyers than there is work to support them, so they go about suing the crap out of everybody and everything…and the legal system is comprised of lawyers, so they encourage that everything be brought in for them to decide on and…the whole thing is exhausting. Soon we won’t be allowed to leave our homes, let alone engage in madcap antics like this throwing bread across a room.

I didn’t want to go to Lambert’s anymore.

I went to Marionville, Mo instead.

Marionville is a small town (pop 2,000). And they are involved in a fight with some other towns in Missouri (and one location in Tennessee, but frankly they dismiss the Volunteers as frivolous wannabes) over a title they claim is rightfully theirs – “Home of the White Squirrels.” I shit you not. I mean, yeah, they have white squirrels, (pic related)

but I am serious about arguing over the title.

I pulled over to consult my map and decide my next destination. I eventually chose to see everything in the 50 mile stretch between Marionville, MO and Eureka Springs, AR (spoiler alert – there’s nothing. Farmland after the harvest and before the planting).

I chose Eureka Springs because it claimed to have a Guiness Book of World Records record holder.

The World’s Largest Musically Tuned Wind Chime!

The “musically-tuned” part is important, otherwise your run-of-the-mill dipshit could just hang a bunch of clanging metal scrap and declare himself a winner.

I’ve been on the road for a couple of months. And, I have hunted down some pretty obscure stuff. I tell you now, nothing gave me more difficulty than this one. My GPS dumped me off at an intersection about three miles away. I checked the internet for clues and, still didn’t come close.

I drove all over that town. By the way, Eureka Springs is a mountain resort town that first came to prominence because the local Indians claimed the many natural springs had healing and rejuvenative powers. So, we took it from them.  Then, Daniel Boone camped there. Now, it is Swiss Alpine-themed village thing with TWO haunted hotels. Including one, The Crescent Hotel, that calls itself  “The Shining of the South”.

I was learning all kinds of stuff as I drove around looking. This “Windchime of Destruction”, as she has been called by those who have stood directly beneath her when a breeze picked up, was proving quite elusive.

It was said to be in the parking area of some hippy joint called, “Celestial Windz Bizaar” but, damned if I could find it.

When I finally gave up and decided to press on, I shot right past it, hooked a quick U-ey and whipped into the lot. (pic related)

The place was closed.

Until further notice

Oh well. I didn’t want to buy anything anyway. I came for The World’s Largest Musically Tuned Wind Chime!

This is the tree is was hung from…

You know, back when it was still on display and whatnot.

Here is the bumper from a car that was kind of buried in leaves…

And, here is a trippy, windchimey kind of thing that is on the porch…

Ok, truth be told, I was a little disappointed that The Windchime of Destruction was no longer there and all the other pics of their stupid crap was not going to make up for it.

I needed something to save the day. I needed to rally.

I didn’t have to go far before coming upon Razorback Tower. (pic realted)

My first thought when I saw it was, “I’m gonna tackle this bitch.” (text to Trixie related)

The tower was completely unattended and, by means of inserting 4 quarters into an ancient coin slot, one can get the turnstile to spin. The above referenced problem came when I got stuck in said turnstile. It was quite snug.

Sheer panic gave me the squirt of adrenaline needed to allow me to buck and wriggle sufficently to make it through, but then I remembered I am sick and have to get back through again to exit. I had no more adrenaline.  I was caged.

Oh well. Might as well check out the view from the top. (pic related)

I came up here to show Trixie how high my love for her is…and to spit

When I made it back down to ground level I was feeling the full force of whatever it is that is ailing me – rasping and wheezing. But, I made it back through the turnstile without having to call an EMT with a cutting torch.

Rally successful.

I ramble on.

I’m still sick.

With each dying breath I curse Trixie for doing this to me. But, then it turns out I wasn’t dying, just passing out from Nyqil.

I’m in Springfield – “Missouri Capital of the World”

I drove right past Branson – too sick to enjoy the rustic charm of their down home country comedy shows that appear to be franchise outlets for the same stuff they had in Pigeon Forge, TN.

So, I don’t have much to report. I saw a Ford Pinto. (pic related)

That’s pretty rare. Like my old man seeing an Edsel or something, I guess.

There is a convenience store here called “Kum & Go”

I don’t waste my time with the easy ones – make your own jokes. I’m going back to bed.

You know how people are always saying,  “They can put a man on the moon,  why can’t they cure the common cold?”

And, have you noticed that the last time you met somebody who copped to having a simple common cold was about the last time they put a man on the moon?

Coincidence?  Please.

Everybody claims to have the flu,  or “flu-like symptoms” or strep or they say they “feel like shit.” But,  no one gets a cold anymore.

I woke with a cold this morning,  so I’ve been giving it some thought.  Being on the road I am free of normal distractions like work,  TV, radio,  household chores,  hot food,  clean drinking water,  bathroom privacy and anything to actually do all day, so I am able to really devote my thoughts to it. Here is what I came up with:

I considered the notion that the medical lobby and Big Pharma had conspired to create a world in which we believe doctors know what is going on instead of just Googling our symptoms in the back room.  And, we are required to go to them for all ailments.  Nothing is ever allowed to just run its course anymore because we have to have a doctor’s note to get paid for being sick. And, if we go to the doc and he tells us we have a common cold, we will respond, “They can put a man on the moon…”

Soon we would realize that it is silly to go to a doctor if they, admittedly, can’t cure us. So, the entire medical community, as one, have started pretending the common cold does not exist just to keep the whole system from falling apart.

But, I never go with my first idea, so I dismissed this one.

I then considered that it is not a common cold that I have but something much, much worse that is merely in the beginning stages. Those beginning stages resemble a common cold from the old days.

I dismissed this for being too unpleasant to warrant further consideration.

Next,  I thought about Trixie and how in the days leading up to Memphis she was probably heart-sick from missing me and, thus, her resistance was low.  She contracted a common cold, then infected me during the goodbye kiss.

Yes.  Something about this had the “ring of truth”, as my father would say.

It is not completely accurate because we know common colds only exist in the marketing department of OTC remedies so they can add another symptom and ailment that their magic elixir treats.

But, that part about it being Trixie’s fault was definitely  making more sense the more I thought about it.

In the end,  I went with the only logical answer:

My wife is a Harpy,who,  during our goodbye kiss at the airport,  tried to suck the life force out of me.  And,  it would have worked, too, but clean living and a pure heart have given me extra defense.  So, instead of shriveling up and returning to the dust from whence I came,  I merely developed cold-like symptoms and am a bit cranky.

Even still, I’m over the moon for her.

Women are strange.  But, you know that.

It is still raining in Memphis, which I like. It does not deter me from doing what I otherwise would have done. So, I’m up for whatevs. But, Trixie, on the other hand, is on vacation. So I asked her what she wanted to do on her last full day in town.

“Clean out the van.” She said, meaning my trusty EM-50 Phantom Rambler.

See what I mean about strange? Cleaning out someone’s mobile abode while I am on vacation rarely ever cracks the top 10 for me.

But, she’s my girl and if that is what she wants to do, then that is what we will do.

Of course, it’s pretty crowded back there with two people. So, I mostly sat in the front seat playing a game on my phone while straightened piles of debris and rooted around beneath the seats.

I’m among the first to admit that I am not tidy, in the conventional sense. But, when her hand emerged from under the back seat with this item… (pic related)

this is what makes the title so funny

…even I was surprised. I may be a bit disorganized, again, in the conventional sense, but ordinarily I would remember how I came to possess a hunk of bark.

My astonishment alone should be all the reaction to this find that there is, and then it can be tossed aside.

But, good ol’ Trixie had to knock it up a notch by giving me that look. You know she has THAT look… (pic related)

I mean, it’s not like I did it on purpose. That would be weird.

Once upon a Memphis lunch break,

While I pondered hungry for hungry’s sake,

Over many a quaint and curious volume of pulled pork menu,

Suddenly there came a grumbling,

As if my tummy was a’rumbling,

Rumbling for a burger venue.

“I wonder if they have b-burgers” I stuttered, “in this house of bar-b-que”

Aah, distinctly I recall,

It was in the early Fall,

When each separate  mealtime call,

Wrought that meat within my core,

Eagerly I wished the waiter,

Bring me food! Be the cater!

Cater the food I will adore!

The medium rare and radiant beef among this Porky Pig decor.

Alas, burgerless here forever more.

And the predictably, sad, uncertain,

Way I watched Trixie and her scan,

Slowly, SLOWLY as she read while I silently swore

Filled me with a sense of dread,

When to the waiter she finally said,

“I’m gonna need just a minute more”

Presently my hunger grew stronger,

Trixie said, “Just a moment longer”

’til I could wait no more!

“Madame”, I said, “Your forgiveness I do implore”

“Feed me now! Right this minute!

Give me a sandwich!

I don’t care what’s in it”

But, FOOD, I must before I pass out on the floor!”

The shedevil glanced up and said,

“Almost ready. Now don’t get sore.”

Deep into her dark eyes peering

Long I sat there wondering, fearing,

If she would ever decide on a plat du jour.

When the waiter returned the silence was unbroken,

And I felt like chokin’

With the echo of  the words then spoken…

“Just another minute more”

This I whispered and the waiter murmured back to me…”Sure”

And, my Trixie, never flitting,

Still is sitting. STILL is sitting,

Reading the menu they gave us at the door.

And her eyes have all the seeming,

Of a demon’s that is dreaming,

With no intention of ever of selecting either or.

And my soul has given up hope as I am passed out on the floor.

I just wanted a burger, which I will get…nevermore.

Its always Day 1, because when I’m with her time stands still. (Pause while all the ladies reading this swoon and glare at their husbands)…

…The road used to be quiet solitude occasionally interupted by edge-of-the-seat,  life-and-death adventures that the hero survived using nothing more than his wits and whatever he had packed in his EM-50 Rambler, driving from place to place as determined by the fates and chance while “Carry On My Wayward Son” played on a continuous loop to serve as a theme song for the travels.

Now I drive from fabric store to fabric store while my wife Trixie talks non-stop about curtains for “the van.”

Ok, it’s not really that bad but she has threatened several time to give the Rambler a good cleaning before she leaves. I don’t understand girls.

On the drive to Graceland yesterday we had a disagreement in discussion form. I posited that the Home of Elvis would be overrun with a throng of sorry-ass, no-good bastards whose only purpose for being there was to get in my way. She countered that we “would be fine”.

I continued to gripe and grumble about the expected teeming mass of humanity who have run out of ideas for entertaining out-of-town guests during this extended holiday.

Graceland is laid out so that you can’t see how crowded it is until after you have paid $10 to park. Shrewd.

It was a very long walk from the parking lot to the ticket booth. My feet were actually starting to ache. Fortunately,  the good people of Graceland had taken that into consideration and provided instant relief… (pic related)

…tour packages priced so high that your whole body instantly goes numb.

As expected,  I was right.  All these assholes were doing some stupid touristy crap, preventing me from doing it.  Unimaginative dicks.

“Told ya” I said to Trixie.

“Shush. We’re fine.” She said without looking at me as she snapped pictures of blue Xmas trees.”

Eventually she agreed that it would be wiser for us to come back after these dorks had left town and a whole new set of dorks emerged to take their place.

We walked over to the Rock & Roll Cafe and had lunch. We agreed to eat lightly so we would be hungry for authentic Memphis BBQ on Beale St. We split the fried peanut butter and banana sammich and a hamburger. She would pretend to take bites and sneak food over to my side of the plate. Whatevs.

We discussed what to do next.

“Beale St!” She fairly shrieked.

I said that Beale would be overrun with a throng of sorry-ass, no-good bastards whose only purpose was to get in my way.

She countered that we “would be fine.”

I grumbled.

She asked, “Ok, well, what would you do if I wasn’t here? Where would be your destination?”

Great question!

I pulled up a few apps on my phone: Roadside America,  Field Trip and (my favorite) AtlasObscura.com.

I flipped through some nearby stuff and finally declared, “About 40 miles northwest, in Arkansas, there is an old Greyhound Bus Terminal that was built in the 30s. It cost a fortune at the time and is done in Art Deco.  I would go there!”

She took my phone and scrolled through it. And finally said, “Ok, let’s compromise. Let’s go to Arkansas to the GREYHOUND track, drink 30 oz of whiskey out on the DECK, served by a bartender named ART. What say?”

And,  so we did.

While there she said,

“I haven’t really been able to drink since you left because you haven’t been there to watch out for me. Can I?”

Having been there before, I replied, “Uh oh.”

We watches the greyhounds race.  Or, as she put it, “The doggies.” And her assessment was, “They all tried sooo hard! I wanted them all to win!”

“I’m not sure how that would work.” I said.

“Oh shush.” Was all I got as a reply.

Eventually, I was able to drag her out of there and back to the room. She kept claiming I was oppressing her. Stifling her fun and vacation. When I nudged her in the direction of the exit she went all “Dog Day Afternoon” on me and started chanting, “TUNICA! TUNICA! (The name of that casino town in Mississippi that we went to yesterday). She demanded I take her there.

I got her back to the room and told her it was “pajama night” at Tunica and that she better get changed. She muttered, “This better not be a trick.”  Even as I snapped this picture…

I love the road, but it is nice to have a bit of normalcy and routine back in my life.