"Remember the Alamo" - Southern States  DAY 4 - Tue., 12 March 2002

I actually got up feeling quite relaxed, surprisingly.  After taking Tubby's little green blankey, I slept like a duckling until he finished in the bathroom.  Owing to being a duck and all, it takes me only a few minutes to smooth out the ruffled feathers (both mine and the pillows soft, soft down) and being ready.  After filling up and the boy buying a soda at the neighboring stop-and-rob store, we were already on our way.

It seemed like only six minutes before the clear day turned gray.  Seven miles, and then nothing but fog, for hours. At mile 67 into the fog, the sun found a gap to peek through, and then gray once more.  The fog didn't lift until we were nearing the Oklahoma/Arkansas state line, and once across that fragile little political boundary, no worries.

Just before the state line is a cute little town, but be cautious, for if you sneeze, you'll miss Moffett, Agent Starling.  The fact that it considers itself to have a business district is amusing; the downtown area I was able to locate consisted of two buildings, and I'm presuming the one with the rusting vehicles out front is not actively engaged in mercantile activities.  They are no-nonsense about speeders, though.  From the looks of the sign, local law enforcement will actually force your car to slow down using their radar guns.

After hopping the river into Arkansas, Fort Smith was before me.  Including, Fort Smith's fort.  The biggest complaint I have about local historic sites is their conservative operating hours; many are open from 10am-5pm, or something similar.  For those of us that wake up with the rooster to accomplish this journey, well, we're just missing out on finer things in life.  Of course, I'm a colonel, so until they elect some... never mind.  Hence, no tour of the fort, but I did get to see a choo-choo at the neighboring Fort Smith train museum like place (which, of course, wasn't opened yet).

It seems that naming things has always given you humans fits.  Parents struggle over the name for their unborn prodigies, politicians over the same of some damn dam (Boulder Dam?  Hoover Dam?  It took an act of Congress -- literally -- to work that one out), or the name of a country club.  I can only guess what board game the founders of this country club were playing when they hit on their name selection... and what they thought of the game itself.  The town itself was cute, and even had a somewhat amusing billboard (in my view, although the message itself doesn't please me).

So, back on the road with me.  We head over to Little Rock, Arkansas.  I have to admit having a bit of trouble finding my way around (and yes, we both (a) had a map, and (b) know how to use it).  The trouble itself was in finding anything interesting (to me, anyway) to be photographed with.  I settled on a landmark commemorating the war of northern aggression as it touched Little Rock.  And there's what I think would have been an awesome name of a coffee shop, but it turned out to be a bar and grill. 

There's even a President Clinton Avenue, but as things go, the street had to share the full distance with another, "real" street name.  I'm sure it's completely arbitrary that the end of the street not being shared dead-ends in a gravel lot with broken glass strewn across the area.  Sheer coincidence.  I have no idea what this building is, but if the slides of the boy's family's European trip in '87 taught me anything, it that historic places are often entombed in scaffolding... and based on that rule, this building must be important, for some reason. I'm also in front of some bridge, with the A..? Arena in the background, but I'm too lazy to look up the name of either at the moment.  Needless to say, Little Rock didn't do "it" for me; I'm sure it's a lovely town, but I didn't really manage to get into it during my visit.

The one idea I like is how Arkansas chooses to punish those who pump gas and then leave without paying for it.  Granted, it's an imperfect solution, but how about how other states deal with it -- let's see here... you didn't pay for the gas, so let's give you a fine.  Now, if they had the money in the first place, wouldn't they have likely paid for the gas versus getting arrested, booked, fingerprinted, see a judge, get sentenced, and pay ten times or more the value of the regular unleaded would have cost otherwise.  Right...

So, we landed in Tennessee around 3 p.m. or so, but it seemed much later given the reforming of clouds (we're no longer in Arkansas, after all).  It seemed that it had just rained, and I had forgotten my blue suede shoes, but those two events aside, it's just like that song by that guy about walking in Memphis.  (For the geographically challenged, Memphis is all of about 50 feet into the state of Tennessee from Arkansas.)  We proceeded to Graceland for a photo opportunity, and little else.  Since I'm not a huge Elvis fan, and there are rumors of a return trip for the purposes of visiting the King's home, I didn't bother with it today.

Three observations about Memphis.  First, they should do something about the graffiti; I couldn't get from here to there near Graceland without stepping on someone's heart.  Second, I love the fact that the Piggly Wiggly is still around, just as it was during Driving Miss Daisy.  Third, did Elvis' planning folks strike on pure genius by building Graceland on Elvis Presley Boulevard, was it coincidence, or did the city name it so the King could figure out what street he lived on after partying too intensely?  Or is there a fourth option I'm just not seeing?

So, it's only 3:30 p.m., feels like 7 p.m. with the weather, but Tubby and I are still fully awake.  So, we decide to take on Nashville.  Yes, I felt a bit like General Sherman during the aforementioned war of northern aggression.  We roll into town after dark, but not overly so, and find that Nashville is the home of Vanderbilt University.  Yes, call me stupid, but I didn't know that.  I also didn't know that night pictures of a poorly lit educational institution would come out about as well as a photograph with the lens cap on.  As such, we'll return once the shroud of darkness has been lifted.  Tomorrow, obviously.

The boy secured shelter at the Days Inn, and got a AAA discount (we're so proud of the cheap-skate at times), and the then stowed me into the duffel for a night at Chili's.  The big spender left me in the bag the entire time as to not have to feed me, although I did get a peek around to meet our server, Mattie.  Upon her departure from the table, and before his evil hand stuffed me back in, I gathered he didn't have me on the table (as usual) because he wanted to loss less "weird," as to not scare off the attractive, slightly built brunette working the section across the aisle from our table (for those of you familiar with the establishment on West End Avenue in Nashville, we were seated at table 65 I believe.)  Of course, being as the boy is a coward and with questionable social skills, didn't even attempt to say hello to that lovely brunette, but chose instead to stare awkwardly.  Typical.

Soon after that, and before the noted brunette could summons police, we left and returned to the hotel for an evening of.. well, nothing.  Just this.  And now, sleep.