Rockin` in the free world

[Picking up from Friday afternoon...]

It was around 2 p.m. when we finished our dip in the pool (no diving, no “whirlpools”, no fun) and the temperature clocked its high of the day at 109 degrees...ONE HUNDRED AND NINE??? That’s, like, 43 degrees in decimal! The weather forecast segment on the local TV channel normally lasts a couple of minutes, but today it clocked up over 20 as the host quoted records held since 1952 and scarily predicted it might be even higher tomorrow. Today Nashville was the hottest place in the whole country, even beating Arizona! Apparently we are right in the centre of the “ring of fire” and it’s going to be at least Thursday before the edge of that ring moves over the city and they get a thunderstorm. We’ll be long gone by then.

It was Friday night and, despite the heat, we wanted to hit the Nashville nightlife (there hadn’t been much to see in the day, hopefully after dark it would be more entertaining). Nevertheless we staved off the hunger pains and waited `til seven to head out, trying to walk reasonably quickly while resisting the urge to perspire. We’d picked up a flyer in the hotel lobby for a place called Jack's Bar-B-Que that looked to have the ideal combination of low price and high popularity. And it turned out to have both, with a big queue to get served, standing beneath the large ceiling fans which acted as poor excuses for aircon. Feeling the when-in-Rome vibes, Tim and I both ordered a Tennessee Pork Shoulder, and for some reason I got a side order of mac `n` cheese. But all in all it was a damn fine meal, boy! Yeehah!

Before...

After...

Next stop was B.B.King’s Blues Bar, which is a chain of five venues across the country which the great man has probably visited once in his life. It was a classy place where you can get a table to see the show, or just linger by the bar which ran the whole length of the venue. We lingered, as is our custom. Ever since we got a deal on Blue Ribbon beers for a dollar each in Philadelphia our opening line to bar staff has been, “Do you have any specials on?” When they say no, it then gets a bit embarrassing as we ask what their most “economically-priced” beverage happens to be – invariably it’s Bud, Bud Lite or Miller Lite (“American crap”) which usually comes in at $4 - $5 (plus the tip, of course).

So, we bought our Miller Lites and made conversation while waiting for the show to start (at this point we still have things to say to each other). As soon as he heard our quaint accents, the guy on the next bar stool spun around and enthusiastically asked us where we were from. Cue the usual come-from-England, crossing-USA-to-travel-world, lots-of-fun, you-guys-are-so-lucky, etc., etc. This guy was from Wyoming (population 550,000, total area 12 times the size of Wales) and was living in the back of his truck and heading down to Austin, Texas to start grad school. Texas had been the big unanswered question for us for some time – do we stay in Dallas, Houston, San Antonio, Austin or Fort Worth? Mr. Wyoming had plenty of positive things to say about Austin, so it’s currently top of the list, but it all depends on how quickly good old Greyhound can get us there. The other recommendation this guy made was that we head next door to the Coyote Ugly bar (you may have seen the film, I only caught the trailer). He said that he was happily sitting there minding his own business as the craziness took place around him, when suddenly the waitress grabbed his bottle of beer, shook it up, then sprayed it all over him! If he’d only been privy to our economical beer policy then he’d have known that was a recommendation we weren’t prepared to take him up on!

The band started playing, the noise level went up and it was too loud to talk to our new friend (he staggered out after a couple of songs, looking a little tipsy), but the music was great. Soul, blues, funk, jazz – it had it all (no idea who the group was though). All this time we have been sitting there making our Miller Lites last, telling the barmaid no when she asks if we’re ready for two more. During a break in the band’s set, a large guy and two girls arrive. I spot that there’s only two stools next to Tim and a free one next to me at the end of the bar. I suggest to Tim that we move along and Tim gestures to the guy that him and his lady companions have all the seats they need. We continue to talk (remarkably, still with stuff to say to each other). Suddenly the barmaid puts two more beers in front of us and we look at each other in bemusement – “Did you ask for another beer?”, “I didn’t ask for another beer!”, “Did she mishear what we said?” She gestures to the large guy and says that they’re courtesy of him. REALLY? We give the guy a barstool and he buys us both a drink? We look his way and match his gesture of cheers with our bottles. Is he Nashville's criminal kingpin flashing his cash? Is he trying to impress his two ladyfriends with the size of his wad? Who cares! I just LURVE this town! And then it hits me – damn, should have ordered an expensive beer in the first place.

[We didn't go in here!]

As we walked along Broadway earlier, I was given a flyer to a place called ‘Hay There’ where they supposedly had draught beers on for $2 a go. Cha-ching! It was right across the road from B.B.Kings so we hurried over, trying to hide our chuckles as the alligator-wrestling bouncer eyed our English driving licences with intrigue. The beers came in plastic glasses, they weren’t English pints, but we didn’t care. Also didn’t care about giving the barmaid a dollar tip which she earned by saying, “Yeah?”, passing across two pre-filled glasses, and saying, “Thanks, Y`all!” I lurve this town. I also loved the band they had playing at the back of the bar beneath a colossal American flag; it was more rock than country, and it was just a tiny bit too loud, but boy could they bang out a tune! We resisted the urge to dance, but I reckon we were about one drink away from getting up and stompin` down. Although it was a rough `n` ready place, the atmosphere was full of happy Friday night vibes as the rednecks “danced” at the foot of the stage, some of them looking like they’d come straight off their combine harvesters which they’d parked along the next street. And one thing we noticed was that Nashville fashion for ladies seems to be summer dresses and cowboy boots, but we wisely refrained from taken any photos, lest we breach the good ole southern standards of etiquette. Even the lavatories in this place were pretty darn good (which is important when it’s still 90 degrees outside after dark).

An aside – American toilets have got it going on (if you’re having your lunch or cannot stand the smallest reference to the scatological, you’d be advised to skip this paragraph). I went to Spain a lot in my early twenties and saw public toilets that were not of this Earth. Those pathetic little European flush mechanisms were powerless against the human waste that attacked those u-bends. But here in the states I have yet to find an unholy “restroom”. Sure the Greyhound Gents are not the places you want to hang out in for longer than 20 seconds at a time, but the toilets themselves are always clean. Why? Because they are full of water. They’re like ponds! But those ponds clear everything away with nothing left over. I think I should stop now (can you tell it’s a slow afternoon?), but I think I’ve made my point. Sometimes it’s the little things that make a holiday worthwhile.

We walked home from Hay There with a slight ringing in our ears and the fulfilment of a fun evening deep in our hearts. Nashville at night was better than Nashville during the day. It’s now Saturday afternoon and too hot to be outside for longer than 15 minutes at a time. We’re camped out in our hotel room at the moment, but it gives us time to get things done (the hand washing’s hanging up from wall to wall and drying while we give the mega-turbo-aircon a break). Although we’re not doing much with the day, it’s good that we’ve got this third night in Nashville because up until now it was getting a little too hectic – two nights in a city is okay if there’s not much to see, but it gets tiring when doing overnighters on the buses in-between stops. So, there ain’t gonna be much more to write about our time here, but stay tuned for the next instalment in Birmingham, Alabama, followed by three nights in New Orleans. However, it may take a little longer than usual to get the next entry up on the blog, so please bear with me and know that it’s just a temporary delay and I’ve not camped out permanently in the best little whorehouse in Texas.

Luv to you all, keep on truckin`!

Mamas don't let your babies grow up to be cowboys

16 A.D.

Let’s go Grayboys! Dun dun du-du-dun! Let’s go Grayboys! Dun dun du-du-dun!

Yesterday evening we waited for the sun to set a little and headed out for a walk around the disparate neighbourhoods to the north. Instead we ended up going halfway along the freeway and coming back again like a couple of pedestrian plonkers – stoopid sidewalks that end up disappearing after several hundred metres! We did eventually find a pleasant little housing estate to walk around, the type of place where they have those mailboxes at the end of the drive that mischievous teenagers in the 1950s put cherrybombs in before running away hooting with laughter. We just smiled admiringly and strolled on by, enjoying the peace and quiet of Anytown, USA.

In our room we have the biggest air conditioning unit in the world – it even has a sleep function which we left on overnight. The Knights Inn's version of “complimentary breakfast” consisted of cornflakes, multi-coloured cheerios (going up in the world!), toast, and some do-it-yourself pancake grills which had the remains of previous peoples’ pancakes around the edges. We wisely avoided those.

Nashville ain’t just famous for country music; it also has more churches per capita than anywhere else in the country. The place is bustling with academies that train preachers to go off and spread the word (but not via a second-rate travel blogs like what I do). We strode off across the river, keen to be back on the sightseeing trail, but we had just one tiny problem...it was predicted to hit 108 degrees today. ONE HUNDRED AND EIGHT??? That’s an all-time record for this city! Roll on cold and rainy New Zealand!

We headed towards the capitol building, taking in the bicentennial park on the way. This featured a rather moving World War II memorial for all the young Tennesseans who went off to fight in Europe, as well as a stars-on-the-floor monument featuring plenty of country and western performers’ names. The wartime connection continued as we got further towards downtown and ducked into the war museum, but this was more a strategic move to get some aircon down the backs of our shirts. Afterwards we sat outside eating our apples and were approached by a friendly-sounding, dodgy-looking guy who said he needed a favour. “Are you 21?” he asked me, unaware of the continuing saga surrounding ID that I’ve been writing about. Before he could get into his spiel about how he’d left his Florida state ID back home, I told him I wasn’t from round here and therefore I didn’t have any ID whatsoever. And he bought my lie which an exclamation of, “Dang!” before sloping off to look for some other sucker to buy him some beer.

Downtown Nashville is pretty tiny and all of the main bars and honky-tonk shops are on Broadway, which is not even half the size of Lord Street. Rather tellingly, the first bar we passed on the corner featuring a live band had a song pumping out into the street entitled Take this job and shove it. Hmmm. In the souvenir paradise of “Dixieland Delights” they had every kind of gift with Elvis printed upon it, but I wasn’t sure why they had a whole section devoted to Beatles merchandise. Oh, thanks to everyone who voted in the poll, by the way.  

We took in a few more stores on Broadway, threatening to return in the evening for some beers and steaks and whatever else it is that cowboys do for entertainment. Speaking of cowboy boots, there were some absolute beauties in one place we ducked into, but none of them were priced under 200 dollars. Same went for most of the hats, but judging by the picture below, you probably won’t lose any sleep over me not buying one.

It had only just gone 1 p.m. when we concluded we’d seen pretty much all we wanted to see, and the sun was leaving us sweltering even in the shade. And so, we headed back to the Knights Inn, Tim with his shirt off and me even daring to undo the buttons on mine (and if you’re expecting to see a picture of that you can forget it!) When we reached the hotel, we noticed that the pool was totally empty, and so we took the opportunity to strip down to our shorts for a quick dip (and if you’re expecting to see a picture of that you can forget it!)

Hurry on sundown!

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!