I go to sleep

15 A.D.

Our bus journey was timed at 6.30 p.m. out of Chicago to 5.10 a.m. in Nashville. Providing we could stay on the bus, that would mean several hours of unbroken sleep with which to justify this overnight trial, providing we could stay on the bus. We couldn’t stay on the bus. What happens is that every time it calls somewhere, EVERYONE gets off, even if it’s not their final destination. Then there’s between 20 minutes and an hour of hanging around the terminal while the bus is “serviced” before being called back on to retake our seats. It’s a lot of faffing about, but as a system I suppose it works, but it does mean you don’t get more than about three hours straight kip. And, although the very act of getting on one of these oversized war chariots now automatically induces slumber vibes within me, the lack of legroom for my lanky pins isn’t ideal. So, we got off at Indianapolis, Indiana, then Louisville, Kentucky, and finally Nashville, Tennessee. While waiting at Indianapolis, an Amish man and his son walked past us in full retro religious gear – the son gawped at Tim and I like WE were the odd-looking ones!

So, we arrive in Nashville at 5 a.m., but cannot check into our hotel until 2 p.m. What the ruddy heck do we do for the next nine hours??? S.L.E.E.P. After attaching ourselves to our luggage with our bikelocks, we kip on and off for the next four hours as the Tennessee folk come and go around us. The accents are considerably stronger down here and it feels like we’re already in the deep south, rather than the Midwest. Also, the “hick-o-meter” is on the increase and we spot plenty of people who look like they wrestle alligators in their spare time. We seem to be the only genuine travellers (apart from mysterious old man, but he doesn’t count because he’s a native of this great nation).

Come 9 a.m. we decide that we have to get moving. The heat’s predicted to be in the late 90s by midday, over 100 by 5 p.m. Damn these red hot June records that are tumbling left, right and centre! We get halfway to the hotel, realise we haven’t had any breakfast and call in at a cafe-cum-general store. A quick glance at the shelves shows us that the beer prices have FINALLY tumbled! We also earwig a conversation in which the old dame of the store asks a ropey-looking customer for a “state ID” with which to purchase the two gigantic cans he’s brought to the counter. Obviously not possessing said ID, he counters with, “If a 99 year old man came to the store would you ask him for ID?” The old dame counters with the argument to end all liquor-purchasing arguments: “State law requires it, Sir.” Let’s hope our driving licences / passports count as “state ID’s”.

The Knights Inn was, so we’d hoped, a pretty good deal. Again we’re paying hostel prices for a private room in a hotel with two double beds (two singles would be fine, but there you go). As we complete our journey, we understand why the low prices – though not exactly in the middle of nowhere, it’s surrounded by vast empty parking lots and not much else. Looks like getting to downtown’s going to be a hike! But despite that, the room is our biggest yet, it’s got its own bathroom (with bath), a fridge and even a microwave...oh how we’d tried to steer clear of pot noodles!