Day Fourteen and Fifteen : Muskogee, OK - Memphis, Tennessee

I wake up in a pretty rough motel where I crashed for the night and discover my bed is wet and stained with an off-white yellowy colour. All around where I am lying....soaked....much to my delight, I then discover the half empty bottle of iced-tea I had not secured the lid of, before passing out. I regained my confidence discovering I hadn't wet the bed I still had to explain it to the cleaning lady who. She seemed to neither believe me, nor be in any way bothered by a bed covered in another stain she has to deal with (I stripped the bed for her).

My Shadow and I

As I leave this town of nothingness, I continue on the interstate towards Memphis, little do I know what awaits me. I never really anticipated the quality of music despite being told a few times on the road that Memphis would reward me well. I guess I was lucky that nobody hyped it up too much for me although words can never describe accurately the quality of music. 

It was another relatively uneventful ride on I40 but the day was still rewarded at the end  by taking out my map and marking in the another day closer to the East coast. This was my ritual everyday after getting off the bike and getting settled. I take out my map and my permenant marker, which were always together and the feeling was great seeing this thick black line get longer and longer as it stretched across my map of the states. I'm fairly sure now I've passed the halfway mark.

Beale Street

I get in at 8pm and head straight to Graceland, the home of Elvis Presley, after searching for an hour I find it is closed for the evening. It is amazing just seeing house from behind closed gates. The walls, lamposts and side-walks all around the grounds are covered in graffitti from fans and well-wishers. I believed Graceland, Tennessee would be out in the countryside surrounded by acres of open fields, I thought Elvis was a real country boy. In fact Graceland is in quite a suburban area less than 3 miles from the city centre (picture it in the middle of Harolds Cross or Phibsboro). I find Pilgrims House which doubles as an AA centre and a religious retreat centre and all sorts of other things, the people there are nice. After two days of ignoring the speeding ticket, it is here I discover it has been issued to Mr. Asam Gaine. It opens up a little debate among the fellow travelers in the room. We all come to a loose conclusion that I am paying the fine! I take the bike into the city of Memphis put it in a parking lot and I spend the night in dozens of different bars on Beale Street listening to some of the most amazing live music I've ever heard, and there are no admission charges anywhere. Different bar, different band, different genre. Funk, rock n roll, jazz, blues, the lot. I'm ecstatic, I'm in my element. 

The one thing I didn't do before leaving Los Angeles, was fit a set of waterproof automobile-speakers which plays MP3 and radio. I don't know why I didn't fit the speakers having brought them from Ireland. I guessed it may have been a bit of a distraction at times but I regretted it for the most part. I was nervous before leaving LA so I didn't want to tempt myself by any unnecessary distractions. I am obsessed with music and spend hours a day listening and actively discovering new music at home. On vacation however, I will only get to listen to music in the odd bar or listening to whatever music is playing in the diner or gas station I am temporarily visiting. I had earphones but never put them in under the helmet for the same safety reasons. In one way, the road was entertaining in it's own right so I didn't need music. Sometimes you stop hearing the sound of the V-twin roaring beneath your butt (it is a like a constant white noise which fades to the back of your conscious, like the smell of fart in the sulfur baths). You only hear the bike again when you drop gears. Sometimes the sound of your ride accompanies the journey better than any music would, and the sound of tar under rubber tires. 

Jeff Jensen in purposefully blurry photo 

This all emphasized the appreciation I had for the music in Memphis. Jeff Jensen and his band were probably the highlight of Memphis for me. Jeff himself is an amazing guitarist. His bassist and drummer are also remarkable and together they create mind-blowing music. After my now two weeks with very little music, The Jeff Jensen band along with the rest of Beale Street refueled me. The quality and standard of music here is second to none. The second night I spent in Memphis, I went back to see Jeff Jensen band again, I've befriended the bouncer at this stage who is minded my bike and helmet. They play for hours and they play hard, they mix up a little bit of Jimi Hendrix with their own stuff. I hate to say it but I was all about their Jimi covers. They perfected them, the solos were album quality. They reach their last song and it's go big or go home, or should I say, go big, then go home. Jeff was spitting out a heavy but nicely distorted solo. The outro for their set lasted minutes and nobody wanted it to end. Jeff plays his electric for another few minutes and everyone seems a little committed at this stage. As Jeff strikes the very last chord one of his strings snaps. The timing couldn't have been more perfect. He looked at the audience in disbelief and we all know at that moment that we've shared a special moment. Rock n roll!

Elvis' Home

I spend the next morning in Graceland which was now open for the day and thriving. It is a huge attraction with long queues but it is very well run. There are little speakers scattered around everywhere in Graceland and you can always hear the King singing in the background everywhere you go. It actually sets the tone quite well. It was a treat to see the home of Elvis, his basement, his games rooms, kitchen, tv room, the 'Jungle Room' (shag pad), his cars, his bikes, his awards, endless rooms of trophys, his outfits (hundreds of them), another squash room, FULL from floor to ceiling all the way around with thousands of awards, Gold and Platinum records and an endless list of accreditation. 

Elvis has left the building....

Elvis' remains lay to rest at his residence in the back garden. His grave-site, beside his parents is a site of great importance and sadness. It is mostly silent in this Meditation Garden (as it's called) asides a few clicking cameras and some whispered questions.  Being in Graceland makes you realize how important Elvis was, not only as a musician but as one of the great leaders of America as described by a woman I met in the sulfur baths. Elvis was a role model internationally, he was an extremely charitable and loving man. This is how the King is portrayed in Graceland, and this is how he should be remembered.




After a night of drinking (mostly) non-alcoholic beers on Beale Street and listening to the most pleasantly erratic gathering of amazing music, I'm informed that the following night is 'bike night'. It is a MUST to bring your bike to bike night if your in town. It's a weekly event. Everyone brings their bike to Beale Street which is primarily a pedestrian street. Imagine Grafton Street (only bars instead of shops) with 700+ bikes, all shapes and sizes, 80% Harleys, the rest were all sorts of Japanese cruisers, stretched crotch rockets, rat bikes, evem a Honda Ruckus (scooter) with a 4 foot exhaust and hugely extended swing arm. All this followed by an international bikini contest which I heard announced from the street. I zombily wondered towards the bar where I overheard the event being announced. I had the world famous Rendezvous BBQ ribs that night and enjoyed plenty more music. I hung out with three other bikers who were all riding Japanese bikes. Pinky and two other people she had met that day. Pinky was one of the only other Honda Shadows on Beale Street that night (I think I saw two others but hers and mine were the nicest ones there). Her bike was pink and yellow and covered in rhine stones and pink ostrich leather which she made herself. This was my first time feeling part of the biking community. I sat with Pinky and her pals for a few hours drinking beer and soaking up the atmoshpere and the beer as riders continued riding onto Beale Street on their thrones. Tonight I also learned how stuck-up Harley riders are.... 

Elvis' Kitchen. Seemingly, the tv at the end of the kitchen was always on
and food as we know, was a large part of Elvis' life.

It was not for the first time on bike night that I was informed by a Harley rider that I had chosen a great bike to transect America. Most Harley riders admit a Harley Davidson is not comfortable enough to cross America and the amount of maintainance that Harleys 'generally' require would not make the journey worthwile. I slowly learn to hate Harleys for what they are truly worth. A clique, a membership to cool parties and an unreliable, awkward machine. I will later learn that they are weighty as hell.

Lessons:

Harleys suck
Memphis ROCKS