April 23, 2015
Elvis Presley--American Icon
Memphis, Tennessee
The T.O. Fuller State Park is technically within the city limits of Memphis (pop. 650,000) yet, with its multitude of trees and its quiet atmosphere, it seems like any state park found in the deep woods of, say, Minnesota.
There is one exception though. Last night it was directly under the flight path of jets taking off from the Memphis airport. Memphis is the major hub for Fed-Ex and I suspect their jets are the ones dominating this hour of the night. The planes were frequent and they were loud, but I'm not complaining. I thought they were fascinating in the same way as I thought the refineries of Louisiana were fascinating--techno-industrial wonderment. That was especially true in the darkness of night. I woke up at 12:30 a.m. needing to use the great restroom outdoors, and one of those flying behemoths was overhead. With its blue and red and yellow flashing lights and the long beam of white light ahead, it was astoundingly beautiful. I stayed up for another half-hour watching them fly over every couple of minutes.
I had a big day in front of me after I finished my morning coffee and the first order of business was to ride on over to Elvis Presley Boulevard. Personally, I don't much care for Elvis's music. I respect his contribution to, and his influence on, our musical culture, but his songs aren't my cup of tea.
Yet, somehow I felt the pull of Graceland--Elvis's mansion--the most famous tourist attraction in Memphis. I just had to go there even if it was for no other reason than to SAY I did. I was even prepared to go inside if the admission fee was $5.00 or less, but I was pretty sure it would be closer to $20.00.
Considering the legendary extravagance of Elvis's lifestyle, I should not have been shocked at the ACTUAL price. After all, Elvis was known as "The King," but the king of what? The King of Gluttony? The King of Excess? I know Elvis didn't set the prices, but an adult admission ranged from $32 for the basic self-guided tour through the mansion, to $77 for the deluxe, all-inclusive tour that includes access to his cars and his airplanes and his concert films and who knows what else. I'll tell you one person who doesn't know what else: ME.
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The stretch of Highway 51 that runs past Graceland is called Elvis Presley Boulevard. Over the past ten days I have also been on Bob Dylan's Highway 61, which parallels Mark Twain's Mississippi River. I know there is a bunch of Mark Twain cheesiness up in Hannibal, Missouri, but where is the Bob Dylan stuff?
Here's an unrelated and unasked-for opinion: Like Elvis, Dylan was a little before my time, but I have a much better respect for Bob Dylan's art. Dylan wrote great songs and great lyrics. Get this--I even like his VOICE better. Just think how big of a star Dylan would have been if, like Elvis, he had taken leading roles in such high quality films as Girls Girls Girls, Kissin' Cousins, Girl Happy, and Tickle Me. Certainly there would be a "Desolation Row Hotel" and an "Everything Bob" souvenir store out there.
Okay, I said it. I realize words have consequences--especially sarcastic words. And tomorrow I have to go back out on the road . . . on my bike . . . alone . . . vulnerable to vicious retaliation from die hard Elvis fans. Yeah, I'm a little worried.
Onward to downtown Memphis I rode. I stopped at a library to write up the last couple of days, I cruised up and down the streets, and I saw all of the popular sites--the sports arenas, that pyramid thing, Beale Street, The Peabody Hotel, St. Jude's Childrens Research Hospital, etc. I liked the city and I liked the nice mix of old buildings and new.
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The thing I was most looking forward to in Memphis was BARBEQUE--MEMPHIS-STYLE BBQ! I was given a recommendation to visit Charlie Vergos' Rendezvous by a friend of mine who used to live in Memphis. He said Charlie Vergos pretty much invented dry-rubbed barbeque ribs. Whether or not that is true, I trusted his barbeque knowledge.
I don't know if you can imagine my disappointment when I arrived at his back-alley location and read the restaurant's business hours on the door. It said, "Monday-Thursday: 4:30 to 11:00." It was noon. I was there for lunch. I simply could not wait until 4:30 p.m. "NOOOOOoooooo!" I cried.
Now try to imagine my hopefulness when I saw two guys walk right into the unlocked door. I chained up my bike and followed them in. Finally, I ask you to imagine my elation when I saw several people eating in the lower level of the restaurant. Suddenly I felt like I had discovered, and was soon to be a member of, a secret society.
"Are you open?" I asked the gal at the front desk.:
"Not officially," she replied. "The only thing we serve for lunch from our menu is ribs. You can get the small order or the large order, with baked beans and cole slaw."
"RIBS?" I repeated idiotically.
"That's all."
"BUT THAT'S WHAT I CAME HERE FOR! AWESOME!" I did a poor job of disguising my enthusiasm.
I was pointed to a table and quickly a server came and asked, "Large order or small order?"
With surprising self-restraint I said, "Small order."
"ONE SMALL ORDER" he shouted back to the kitchen.
The food arrived quickly and I scarfed it down. It was delicious. To be honest though, they weren't the best ribs I've ever had (those would be the ones I grill at home) but it felt really special to be eating a truly original American recipe among a bunch of locals during unofficial business hours.
Today's ride: 29 miles (47 km)
Total: 573 miles (922 km)
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