rock 'n' soul

beale street in downtown memphis is a happenin' place. as we drove through on sunday evening, i vowed to come back to it, and today, i did.

on the way, however, i stopped to see the ducks; you know, the ducks at the peabody hotel who come down from their penthouse palace at 11 a.m. each day to entertain the tourists in the lobby fountain, then return to their palace at 5 p.m., weary of adulation and flash cameras. as the ducks entertained the masses of tourists in the lobby, i slipped into the elevator, pushed the "s" button, and swished up to their rooftop palace.

it was a beautiful palace, fit for the cute ducks who inhabit it. from the skyway, i also could see a view of the mississippi, barges pushing who-knows-what down the waterway. in addition, on the top floor was a huge ballroom, reminiscent of times gone by. i almost could hear glenn miller tunes wafting out the door--or was that elvis singing "blue hawaii"?

moving on toward beale street, i spied the fed-ex center. i feel like i paid for at least a small part of it. right next to it was the rock 'n' soul museum, originally funded by the smithsonian, but now solely supported by people like me who wander in, put on mp-3 player earphones, and transport ourselves back to the beginning of blues and country music in this neck of the woods. on the mp-3, i could press a three digit number and hear any piece of music i wanted in its entirety. i listened to "just a closer walk with thee" by the blackwood brothers, in honor of my dad, who loved those guys.

i saw elvis' gem-encrusted performance outfit and punched in the number for "blue suede shoes"; i heard minnie pearl yelling "how-dee", followed by a funny one-liner she was noted for; i saw and remembered many of the vintage juke boxes on display, bringing back memories of feeding quarters to the one at the snack shack in liberal.

the whole experience was mesmerizing, ending with the asassination of martin luther king and a hope for a better tomorrow race-wise.

riding through a relatively unfamiliar part of the country has been educational. i have viewed nearly every stalk of corn in louisiana and mississippi, not to speak of every catfish farm. i have a better grasp on the ol' south, though i still don't know why they talk funny. their history is bedded in acrimony. their present is riddled with hurricane damage.

no matter where we go, everyone is kind to us and curious about what we are doing. they probably don't get the "why" part, tho. neither do i. it's just another adventure.

like the well-dressed, glamorous woman in vicksburg exclaimed when she heard about our journey, "oh, my gawd. i can't even ride around the block. if i did what you are doing, i'd have to have surgery to remove that bike seat from my big fat butt."

some days i feel the same way.