Memphis On The Half Shell

Guess who got to sleep most of the day away while her mother drove across state lines fleeing the po-pos?

Ok, I'm kidding about the po-pos part. I curled up into the fetal position, which of course means my arse hanging way off the seat. If she would have stopped fast, I might have rolled off and been forever wedged in the back of the Rav-4 until they got the jaws of life to extract me. Dangers aside ... the napping sure felt good.

Why, you ask?

Because Grandma's snoring is something of mythical proportions. I swear, the rumblings in that woman's nasal passages are enough to wake the dead. I've taken the necessary precautions: pop a sleeping pill ... turn the air conditioner on ... put ear plugs in. Yet I still have to put my head under about two pillows to drown out the freight train sleeping in the next bed.

What's worse is that she has sleep apnea, which means I can't totally tune out the thundering roar. Especially on nights when she's really tired. She'll just suddenly stop breathing. I wait for what seems a normal span of time for the next breath to occur, then sit bolt upright when it doesn't. Then there is is ... that raspy gasp for air.

It's alive -- it's alive!

Needless to say, it's not conducive to restful sleep.

We stop a few times for gas. Thankfully after I chastised them yesterday for continuing to fill the tank every time it's just half a tank down, we are waiting a little longer between fill ups. The girls are ecstatic about the cheaper gas prices. The lowest we've seen it is $2.19 a gallon. My Mom feels so vindicated when she gets the cheapest gas at home that I don't have the heart to tell her the 20 cents she saved is completely negated by driving 20 miles out of her way to get it.

I digress. I've discovered a scam at the pump. These gas companies advertise unbelievable savings across the street from their competitors -- a full 10 cents cheaper per gallon. The trick is -- it's often for plus. Who it their right mind would think that plus would be cheaper than regular? So you pump regular without really thinking about it. Then see you've actually paid MORE than what it was across the street. Very sneaky.

While we're driving, we pass a sign for "Toad Suck Park" in Toad Suck, Arkansas. It's amazing some of the names of places we've passed through on this trip. Here are just a few:

• Peculiar, Missouri
• Eclectic, Alabama
• Cutt-Off, Louisiana
• Ding Dong, Texas
• Smackover, Arkansas

While we're back on the subject of Arkansas ... today we stopped in Little Rock for lunch at a place called Sim's Bar-B-Q. They've been in business since 1937 and I'd heard the ribs there were amazing. When we get off the highway, Mom and Gram are eying the rather sketchy looking neighborhood with concern. We roll up to the original Sim's to find the location closed down, but notice a sign for their new location. In a strip mall. Next to a Sav-A-Lot food market.

Now I'm a little skeptical.

For absolutely zero reason, it turns out. We all order pork ribs in some form or another, and I swear -- the meat melts like butter in your mouth. But the best part is the wonderful Southern hospitality we get from Leroy and Michael. They wish me a happy birthday and send us on our way with a slice of sweet potato pie for the road. I've never tried it before, and can assure you -- it didn't last long. Yum.

We rolled into Memphis a lot earlier that I had planned. Got a nice room for our free night with Hotels.com at the Westin off famed Beale Street. Beautiful room and great recommendations from the staff for dinner at a hidden restaurant called Itta Bena. There's no sign, which is how they keep riff-raff from Beale Street where they belong. You kind of have to know it's there. 

They bring us a round of champagne for a birthday toast (will post pics tomorrow). Mom and Gram order the She Crab Soup, which they both oooh and aaah over. I have scallops which come over a cheesy grit concoction and a lemon caper cream sauce that is to die for. The scallops aren't as good as Mr. Colicchio's, but the mushroom pasta is divine. I could have skipped the chicken, which was a wee bit overcooked. but the MUST get at this place is our server Mark's Guava Mojito. It's not on the menu, but it is so good I consider offering him my first born child for the recipe.

Mark also gives me some tips on the way to make what he says is the best bloody mary on the planet. I'm skeptical, given my out-of-body bloody mary experience in New Orleans, but I thought I would include the recipe here for you to try.

Mark's Super Simple -- But Ultimately Perfect -- Bloody Mary

• Squeeze half a lime into a glass
• Add Absolut Peppar vodka to "here", you'll have to eyeball it. Mark doesn't use a jigger, but where he points on the glass looks like about a shot and a half to me
• Top it off with Zing Zang Bloody Mary Mix

Let me know how you fare. Or better yet ... have one waiting for me when I visit next.

We pull out a card for the website and blog that we've been passing out during the trip, and I tell Grandma to give it to Mark. She says, "You want ME to give it to him?" So I stick it in her shirt a little and tell her to have him go fish for it.

She says she doesn't do that sort of thing without getting beads in return.

The truth comes out. I need another drink.

Birthday Meanderings From Amy & The Girls

AMY

Aunt Pam told me a story yesterday about the first time her and my uncle went out.  Their first date was to go pick out Christmas presents for my brother and I.

It made me wonder about my parent's first date. 

They met while working at Beaumont Hospital in Royal Oak, Michigan.  He was an escort (get your mind out of the gutter) and she was a nurse's aid. The way Mom tells it, she made the first move. She loved how tall he was and his broad shoulders.  She followed him into the timecard room one day and put her hand on his shoulders, squeezed, and said, "What a hunk!" I guess Dad was a little shy, but that broke the ice. 

They started chatting, and then she began giving him a ride home from work.  Mom told him it was no trouble, but it was pretty far out of the way.  Eventually she asked when they were going to go out. Dad said pick a day, so she did.  Mom asked what they would go, and he said pick a place.  She picked the Detroit Zoo.

I think it's cute that my parents first date was at the zoo.  Mom said they  had just started staying open at night, and when they went, it was snowing.  There was no wind so the huge flakes were just falling straight down.  When they got to the camel enclosure, she said a camel walked toward them, then stopped short and started dancing.

Maybe it was the great camel warning dance.

No really.  Are you tired of hearing me say this yet?  Everything happens for a reason.  Divorce sucks, but as a result, my family has expanded.  I mow have three beautiful half-sisters, and although we don't talk now, I hold high hopes for the future.  For Dad, the third time was the charm and my alternate mother, Leslie, is absolutely fabulous.  And because I've waited to get married until a later age, focusing instead on my career, have created relationships with wonderful circle of friends.  

Family isn't always about what you're born into ... it's also something you create.  

MOM

Dear Amy,

Happy Birthday Little Princess!!! I cant believe its 35 years since I first saw your precious little face.  When you were just six months old I prayed that you would "go and see and do, all the things that you possibly could." And here you are ... toting your grandmother and I along on your journey through the United States! I must say I would have never guessed that you would have grown up so totally organized, tidy and efficient.  Wow, I am very impressed! It has been a lot of fun, talking, laughing and sharing as we journey through the countryside. I wouldn't have missed all the laughs for anything!

 

You have grown into a amazing woman!  I am so proud of your talent, your determination, your sense of adventure and spontaneity. You are creative, witty and as we have seen often on this trip, extremely outgoing ... all the things that I had hoped and prayed for so many years ago! Your heart is as big as Texas, your potential unlimited, and your ambition enormous! You go my little girl, hope this birthday is one you will cherish always, and that you have many, many, more!

Love Mom

PS  What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas! Same goes for the car ...

GRANDMA 

Happy day little girl . you are so special to me . this has been a trip of my lifetime.May you have all the love and fun times we shared. God bless and keep you always. Remember honey, it is never the destination -- but the journey that is important.  

Thank you for sharing this journey with us. 

Love Gram

There's No Place Like ... Family

Today we drove about 550 miles. I can't feel my butt anymore.

We left Sioux Falls somewhere around 8:30 this morning, jockeying the line between Iowa and Nebraska down Interstate 29 most of the day. We were hoping to eat steak in Omaha for lunch, but decide the folks at Omaha Steaks are in cahoots with the Mormons. Is there no truth in advertising? I assumed, given the name of the company, that I could get steak in Omaha. Just like I assumed the Tabernacle choir really would open their practice to the public on Thursday evenings as their website indicates. Now I just think it's a ruse they both use to get you to stop in a town you would otherwise have no reason to visit.

To top my steak-less disappointment, Flat Stanley is peeved because we couldn't find the "welcome to" signs for either Iowa or Nebraska. I think that little one-dimentional man is getting a little big for his britches.

Our destination stop for the day is Kansas City, Missouri. I have family there that I haven't seen in quite some time. I get to sleep for about two hours as Mom drives in the morning, and when we switch off, Grandma helps me navigate. But between trying to read the map upside down, and confusing Kansas City with the state of Kansas, we're a little directionally challenged. We do pretty well, but it's still about 4:30 before we arrive.

This is my father's brother's family. I really loved my Uncle Chris. He was a big man with a big personality and an even bigger heart. He died of cancer 20 years ago, and since then, I haven't seen my Aunt Pam or my cousins, Andrea and Kimberly more than once. I wish my parents had made sure we spent more time together, but you know how things go. Two summers ago, their youngest son, Christopher, and I got to hang out. It kind of inspired my desire to form a closer bond with my family. A desire which bore the first stirrings of the idea for this trip.

There's something magical about family. No matter how much time passes, when you get together -- it feels like home. It was so wonderful to catch up and see that despite the distance between us, we still have much in common. Andrea's sense of humor, Kimberly's passion for travel and Christopher's reflective quality ... the things I love most about them are traits I also see in myself. And despite this being my Dad's side of the family (my parents are divorced), we all felt welcome. That's my aunt's charm in action. It was a wonderful way to start celebrating my birthday.

Sadly, we had to get back on the road to make the three hour drive to Springfield to stay on target with getting back home before my plane leaves Sunday. My brother, Ryan, wishes me a happy birthday on the phone, then proceeds to go into graphic detail about how I was "made". Graphic is an understatement, and I have to say -- there is something about considering your parents actually doing it that gives me the heebie-jeebies. Thankfully, my mother reassures me that I was indeed immaculately conceived.

The streets south of Kansas City are all named with letters, like "O" and "AA". Very original. The problerm is, it's causing me road hypnosis. Zzzzzzzzzzzz. When we take a wrong turn that requires us to cut across a very dark and rural country road to get back on track, we play a game using the alphabet to help keep awake and alert. The first person comes up with two words using the first two letters of the alphabet. The next person uses the last word and adds another starting with the next letter of the alphabet.

For example ... "Apple Butter" becomes "Butter Cookies".

But we get more creative, and then it's all "Dog Fart" and "Fart Growing" and "Growing Hard". This may not seem funny as you're reading this post, but when your 86-year-old Grandmother comes up with some of the stuff she comes up with -- laughing so hard she can barely get the words out -- it's pretty comical. What makes it hysterical is when Mom stops laughing and tells us to knock it off.

Because if she keeps laughing ... she's going to have an accident.

If there's anything I've learned on this trip so far, it's that the bond between family is incredibly strong. Who else can make you want to kill them one minute, and then make you laugh so hard you think you'll pee your pants the next?

Sprint Sucks ... and Other Oddities

I'm sad to say there were no bison out my window this morning. Mom says I'm turning into a bison junkie. She's right. I just can't get enough ... in my eyes or my mouth.

Tasty tasty, pretty bison.

We do see a few while driving out of the park. This one didn't look so pretty. Kind of scraggly. Mom said it looked like a young one. Grandma said old. I just think it had mad bison or chronic wasting disease.

Just ahead, there are a few more. I'm in bison heaven. These big shaggy beasts walking down the side of the road. It's so cool. But it makes Mom nervous. I think she might get sick every time we pull up next to one.

Looking for wildlife with her and Gram is a trip in itself. They are having a hard time seeing. Yesterday, Mom tried to convince me that a large brown box on the side of the road was actually a group of deer. Both the girls point out deer "stumps" in the woods so often that I start pointing them out to like they're some new novelty.

Look ... a wild black stump!

People would think we were nuts if they heard half the conversations that go on in this car. Like the one today about Grandma's colonoscopy. I'm supposed to have one when I get home and wondered what it's like. What I'm really wondering about is the anesthesia. It's my first time, and I'm a bit anxious. She goes into a 10 minute graphic -- and I mean graphic -- conversation about the entire process. She didn't have anesthesia, so she remembers all the gory details.

"And then my lower bowel ... "

Mom and I are both trying to tune her out. Why is it that older people think their personal body functions are a worthy topic of conversation?


We stop by Mt. Rushmore again since I want to get the most out of our shiny new $10 annual parking pass. Just kidding -- I think the light might be better ON the monument instead of behind it like it was last night. I'm right, but you can decide for yourself. Here is a pic from today, and I've posted one on yesterday's blog, too.

We drive through Needles Highway (GREAT suggestion, Dr. Selva!) We really enjoyed the winding road and beautiful rock formations.

Next up ... Wall Drugs. This place is a stitch. On a 45-mile stretch of road between where we get back on I-90 and off in Wall, South Dakota, there are at least 50 signs for this roadside attraction that consumes an entire city block. From what we gather reading these signs, this place offers free ice water, a new T-Rex, a six-foot jackalope and coffee for 5 cents. Although veterans and newlyweds get theirs free. With a doughnut.

Then it's on to the Badlands. Mom is terrified of heights. And when I say terrified, I mean really terrified.

I made this poor woman accompany me a few years ago when I went bungee jumping. I didn't understand the severity of her fear until I jumped ... and she screamed. I can't lean over walls, and when I was trying to take a picture in Yellowstone a few days ago and sat on an embankment wall, she started knocking furiously on the window until I got back in the car.

At the Bandlands, there is a five-foot wide walkway leading out to an overlook. She clutches my arm and closes her eyes the entire walk out. She says when she was a kid, she walked out there by herself. They didn't have railings then, so she got out pretty far. Then she looked over the edge and froze. My uncle had to go out and collect her. My brother inherited this fear, but I can't wait to go skydiving.

Just don't get me near any small spaces.

Like the back of this damn Rav-4. I finally get a chance to take a nap, which seems to coincide nicely with Mom blaring her music on the stereo. I bury my head deeper into the pillow and scrunch up in a slightly less uncomfortable position. And I mean slightly ... I'm nearly six feet tall, so I'm knees to nose back here. Then Mom starts making phone calls at a decibel not found in normal conversation. We haven't had cell phone service for two days. No contact with the outside world, which means we've had to actually talk to each other.

Lord, help us.

Mom finally broke down today and put her roaming on. I refuse, but guarantee Sprint and I will have a heart-to-heart when I get back home. How can they not have coverage across an entire STATE?

Sadly, it's too late to see the inside of the Corn Palace in Mitchell, South Dakota, when we arrive. But their corn corn rendition of Mt. Rushmore on the outside of the building was fabulous. I leave you tonight with this question -- do you think global warming could ever make it hot enough to turn the corn palace into popcorn?

Pass the salt and butter.

Where The Road Never Ends

Today we drove ... and drove ... AND DROVE. To my surprise, Mom got behind the wheel first.

But before you get all excited about me being wrong in last night's post ... we got in the car at 8:30 am. Mom pulls over three hours later and asks me to drive. I'm playing captain until we stop at 7:30 pm.

Anyway, we roll into Buffalo, Wyoming (named after the city in New York State, not the animal), and we pass a highway -- only I don't catch if it's 25 or 90. We're looking for 90. There's a lot of construction, so it's a bit confusing. I'm looking at the map and giving Mom directions, but so is Grandma with her own map. That's upped the ante on confusing, and I calmly ask if there is any way just one person can be the navigator.

Grandma loses her cool a little. She says she'll just shut up. And she does -- for just about the rest of the day. You could have heard a pin drop in the car.

Do you know how bad it sucks when your sweet-as-pie Grandmother gives you the silent treatment?

There's a small period of thawing when we stop at Fort Devil's Tower Bar & Restaurant for lunch. This place is GREAT. It's a log cabin style building, with a loft view of Devil's Tower National monument. It's literally a one-man operation this time of year. The owner, Rick Nelson, takes our order, cooks our food, and brings the yummy tex-mex style bison burgers out to the table. When he asks what we want to drink, Grandma asks for coffee. I ask him to put a shot of whiskey in it. She says I probably want to put arsenic in it. I explain to Rick that Gram is mad at me right now, and he says he can't believe I cause any trouble. The girls start cracking up.

Obviously, he doesn't know "trouble" is my middle name.

While we wait for our food, we start chatting with the only other folks in the place when we arrive. They're classic car enthusiasts from Arizona that have joined about 30 others to drive their cars about 3,000 miles to spots near Mt. Rushmore. Jan tells me a story about Guam's legendary mermaid, "Sirena". To read about the legend, CLICK HERE.

Rick sits down with us for a spell to chat while we eat. He's selling shares in his business for $1000 a share and a minimum of ten shares. He'd like to expand. During the motorcycle rally at nearby Sturgis, he says he gets 60,000 bikers through his doors. There's one thing Rick says that I just love:

"You stop moving, you get complacent. Then you get more complacent. Then you die."

He's 69 and says he plans to live another 200 years.

We roll by Devil's Tower and check out the prairie dog colony at it's base. Really makes me want to play Whack-A-Mole.



Next, it's off to Mt. Rushmore, where Grandma is thoroughly disgusted by the commercialism. She says when she was here last, none of the stuff was built. The parking garage ... the gift shops ... the ampitheatre. It's all new. She says it takes away from the magnitude of the experience, and I can see what she means. It's more like an exhibit than an experience. I imagine what it would be like to be hiking here in the Black Hills Forest and look up to see these huge stone faces staring out from the mountainside. And I will say this is the first national park that charged for parking ($10). It was a little off-putting.

We head down the road to the Crazy Horse Monument, but since they want $27, plus additional for the ride around to see the face, we skip it. I take a profile picture as we turn around. Once you've see one face carved in stone, you've seen them all. I'll come back when it's finished.

Then it's on to Custer State Park. They're supposed to have LOT'S of bison, so I'm psyched. Our twilight tour through the park is eventful -- with tons of deer eating dinner roadside, wild turkey escorting their chicks across the road, and bison hiding in the trees.

I hoped we could stay in the park, if there was a room available. As we pull up to the lodge, we are absolutely dumbfounded to see at least five bison roaming around the grounds munching their grassy dinner. I almost feel like I'm at a Walt Disney World attraction. They are so close they don't seem real. We take pics, and Mom seems to loosen up a little around the big shaggy beasts. We get our very own cabin -- complete with fireplace. I won't tell the girls how much we paid for it until they see it. They're convinced we'll have to sleep in the car the rest of the trip given how absolutely fabulous it is. Must be expensive. They just about faint when I tell them I got it for $100 bucks.

After dinner at the lodge, where I have bison meatloaf, Grandma tells us a story about how the cook of a wagon train. She says he would carry sourdough bread in his shirt to keep it warm and continue the fermentation process. They would use some of it to make biscuits that day, and the rest for starter. Eeeew. I ask her how she knows this, because frankly I think it's just plain unhygienic and wrong. She says, to Mom and I, "Don't you two read anything?"

Mom ignores her. She says it's because Grandma was there. It was right before they moved the Alamo.

Poor Gram. We really do tease her a LOT.

We're heading back to the room. I have a surprise -- smores to cook in the fireplace in the room.

I hope I get to see more buffalo when I wake up in the morning. Bison.

Whatever.

We Want To Hear From YOU!

Friend, or foe ... new acquaintance or old ... we want to hear from you.  Please comment on the blog or send us an email at mermaidstograceland@gmail.com. We've enjoyed meeting folks all over the United States on our travels, from our Texas gals (Joanna, Kay and Taste No Evil Muffins' Karisa), to our Montana cowboy Jim -- and one special friend we haven't even met yet, but hope to someday -- Rex from England.  Rex, we'll give you a special shout out when we reach Graceland!

Enjoying the blog? 

If so, and even if not, please feel free to share the site with others.  I'm writing a book about this experience and word-of-mouth is the best advertising.  Hey, grassroots organizing got President Obama elected! Can you blame me?

We'll have a way for you to join our mailing list posted on the website soon.

Thanks for sharing our journey!

Amy & the Girls

Rest Your Weary Head

You might think this is funny.  Two nights ago when we couldn’t find a hotel in Yellowstone, the girls suggested we sleep in the car.  Mind you, this is after out wild west buffalo experience. After seeing elk with horns as wide as the car and about three feet tall.  The same elk I might ad, that we were warned are very aggressive this time of year – if you catch my drift. Armed with the knowledge that bears and wolves and mountain lions all live in this park ... they want to sleep in the CAR.

Now, I was driving.  The windshield was littered with bugs, so many that it’s almost like trying to drive while looking though a kaleidoscope -- in the pitch black darkness. After driving all day -- about 400 miles -- we stop around 9:00 pm.

Today, Mom’s driven about half the miles, is complaining about the bugs on the windshield in broad daylight, and at 6:30, she thinks we should stop for the night.  Her argument is valid for three reasons.

1. She’s tired.
   
2. Grandma’s tired.
3. I’m tired.

But we’re still more than 200 miles short of our goal -- Newcastle, Wyoming.  And guess who I bet is driving much of the day tomorrow?

Tisk, tisk … I’m such a bad daughter.

Let me tell you what booking rooms is like.  The girls set a budget of $70 per night.  That’s $70 total. Do you know how hard it is to find a place you would want your own Mother – let alone Grandmother – to sleep for seventy bucks?  I mean, I have standards, but I’ve also been to India, where the carpet is wet and the bed bugs bite and leave welts.  There’s a strange correlation here with Grandma’s insistence that they moved the Alamo. 

They moved the hotel prices!

The hotels where we’ve stayed that fell in the target price range were definitely frill-free, but not bug free.  With the exception, of course, of that GREAT place in Deming that was about the same price Gram paid for a top-of-the-line place when they went out West half a century ago.  And the only reason we got it for that price was because there was no working TV in the room.  Apparently, to the average clientele, a TV is worth about $25.  Frankly, I’d rather not have one at all.

I’m off subject.  My point is – it’s a pain in the butt to try and get a decent hotel for under $100.  First, I call Hotels.com.  They have a loyalty program where you stay 10 nights and you get one free.  I thought it would be a great way to get us a free night somewhere. But it’s not always cheaper.  So I cross-reference it with the hotel itself. If neither of those prices is close, we pull over so I can pirate someone’s internet.  That’s definitely a crap shoot worthy of thousands in Vegas.  

Will Amy get on line, or won’t she? Place your bets ...

Tonight, Hotels.com has a Comfort Inn located in Worland, Wyoming for $109 per night.  The hotel quotes the same price.  After three attempts, I get internet access and find that Priceline is offering the same $109, so I try their bidding option starting at $50.  Nothing.  I call the hotel back and negotiate $93.99.  We save $15. 

Not bad, considering that at my current stress level, I’ll need a $100 massage to get back to normal. Or a martini, but I think this is the sort of town where you’d get shot if you ordered one in a bar.

I'll settle for a muscle relaxer and a nine-hour love affair with my ear plugs.