Epic Road Trip Extravaganza Winter 2010 Gala Celebration Party Oh-Ten Day 2

Did you ever have the desire to go to Athens and see some old, beat up temple that was once used to store gunpowder? Why spend thousands of hard earned American greenbacks going to some foreign place just so some dirty commies can get their mits on it? Go to Nashville instead! They have a full scale reproduction of the Parthenon right there! And it's in pristine condition. No nicks or scratches of any kind. I'm just saying. They didn't have to unsuccessfully ask the British government for their frieze back.

Anyway, DAY2 began like any other day that begins by being greeted with an impending snow storm. The only difference was that we had to get on the road. No dirty nature was going to stop us. So, our first stop after the wonderful Knight's Inn continental breakfast was seeing the Parthenon in the snow. Does it even snow in Athens? Psh.

The highway between Nashville and Memphis saw the most rigorous portion of General Mosby's final exam thus far, but the colors flew all over the snowy sky as she handled it like a champ. There were no less than nine accidents in that 200 mile stretch, along with may different types of snowy conditions. Tennessee cars seem to get cocky and fall off the road or tip over or whatnot, but not General Mosby. No no. She never lost her cool under pressure. It went from snow to rain to hail back to rain and not once did General Mosby ask if enough was enough.

So, the trip to Memphis took six hours instead of three and a half. I had no complaints about that, as we were still one of the cars on the road and not flipped over on the side of it. I did, however, have a complaint that fucking Graceland was closed due to the weather. How often does one get to Memphis to see the King? And the guy at the Walgreen's down the street said that kind of thing only happened maybe once a year. Lucky us. Oh well, that put us right back on schedule to get to...


Now, this next anecdote explains Mississippi very well. We crossed the border and we see no sign. You know when you cross a state border and the exits are suddenly totally different numbers? Well, that happened, and things were obviously Mississippian by the difference in the signage. So, we were both bummed that both Graceland was closed and that we thought Mississippi couldn't even afford a welcome sign. Well, turns out 10 miles later, the welcome sign shows up randomly and abruptly. Doesn't that just explain to everyone who enters that Mississippi is just a little behind the ball there? I thought it was very fitting. Anyway, we drove down Highway 61, the fabled birth of the Blues where Robert Johnson sold his soul to the devil to play the guitar. And you know what we listened to on that highway? You guessed it: Lady Gaga. And Bob Dylan's Highway 61 Revisited. I mean, come on. How could you not?

So, it's my first time in Mississippi, and hopefully my last. It's just so much work to spell out in blog posts. Impressions: um, well. There isn't anything in this damn state. Oh, except for the most awesome thing of all--a town named after me:

It was a town sooooo cool that it got its own stop sign. Trust me, that's rare down here. Sorry the picture is so crappy. It was dark and raining. They just discovered electricity down here so none of the signs (deemed non-essential since literacy is below 20%) are lit up. Anyway, imagine a single lane road going through a massive field that is partially flooded, no houses anywhere to be seen, trees in the distance, and crows. That's Mississippi. Incredibly desolate of life. Coming from Virginia, I kept waiting to see a new subdivision around every bend, but nothing. Just fields. We are right outside of Jackson, so I'll let you know how that is when we pass by it and give it the finger tomorrow. Seriously, the only life we passed here was a penitentiary and a mental hospital. No joke.

Actually, that's not entirely true. We stopped at a typical gas station on Route 49 S (off of Highway 61, where those silly blues men roamed aimlessly while most likely bitching about what they don't have). This mom-and-pop style cinder block gas station was peculiar in that a) it had the old style manual gas pumps b) it had a cashier with all gold teeth and c) the bathroom was in some back room where there used to be a segregated eating area (for those wily darkies, I'm guessing). And the cops were eyeing me. They got nothing.

So, we're three hours from New Orleans and well into the South. I have been more scared in my life, but this is definitely a code orange or so. It's a different world down here than even the rural parts of Virginia. Or, maybe it's all in my head. I'll let you know how day 3 goes at some point. Pray or hope or wrestle snakes or do whatever it is you all do for spiritual guidance for General Mosby with me. She is such a Godsend.