My fears from Charleston were realized: I returned home and
fell behind. Not right away, of course but once I went back to work. I wonder
if I’m one of those people that can’t multi-task. Or, at least, not multi-large
task. I.E: have a job and a hobby? That sounds ridiculous; surely I’m capable
of managing both. I think I just lost my motivation, my inspiration. Well, 2013
brought on a new project that I intend to blog about and I refuse to start a
new project without first finishing this one. So, without further ado, I give
you Memphis, Thanksgiving, the return to my starting point and final thoughts
before bidding 13 in 30 adieu!
Memphis
I dreaded leaving Dallas. Not because it was absolutely
wonderful, though it was a comfortable city, but because I knew the drives
ahead of me would be long. One morning in Dallas, as I watched Kathy Lee and
Hoda or Kelly and Michael or one of those “housewife shows,” the realization
that Thanksgiving was coming hit me. Thanksgiving is the beginning of family
holiday season. It would be my nephew’s first. An overwhelming sadness struck
me and I considered what it might take to travel home to surprise my family for
Thanksgiving that week. I knew I would have to stop in Memphis, partly because
I had never seen Beale Street and partly because it was en route to both my
childhood home and adult home. So, I set out on the nearly eight-hour drive
from Dallas, through the nothing that is Arkansas (sorry, Arkansans) and into
Memphis. A sight to see as you cross the Mississippi at night. My time in
Memphis gave me the opportunity to see an old friend for the second time in a
month. One of my boys from the early post-college years, Hyung. It was quite
serendipitous, because even though I had arrived on a Tuesday, Hyung had just
received great news from work and wanted to go out to celebrate, plus it was
the week of Thanksgiving so the next day wasn’t all too important at work
anyway.
He and a friend of ours took me to Main Street to his
favorite non-tourist, non-Beale Street bar. After some cocktails and
conversation, I told the boys I’d had enough dilly-dallying; I wanted Beale!
So, we walked a few short blocks until there it was: protected by police cars,
music pouring out of buildings like some sort of rhythmic flood, lights illuminating
the road as though I was a star on stage. It was Beale Street and I was Walkin’
In Memphis! I was famished from my drive, so we went to Blues City Café, which
boasts the “best meal on Beale,” I decided to go all out and had fried catfish.
It was quite possibly the best meal on Beale, although I didn’t exactly see
many other restaurants in the few blocks that we walked. After our late dinner,
we decided I had to go to at least one bar on Beale. To our disappointment B.B.
Kings was closed (guess that means I’ll be returning to Memphis for that
adventure), so we went to Wet Willy’s, which has a full wall of slushy machines
filled with alcoholic Slurpees (7-11 with a bar!). Basically, it’s brain freeze
and a buzz in a plastic cup. More disappointment, though, Wet Willy’s closed
shortly after we arrived. No need to finish our drinks in a hurry because we
could bring them on the street and finish them at our leisure! How fantastic!?
As we traced our path back from Wet Willy’s to our starting point, it occurred
to me that the police cars were merely a barricade to keep people from driving
in a high foot traffic area, that the rhythmic flood coming out of the bars was
just the same old Chris Brown song I’d heard a million times before and my
stage spotlights were merely streetlights – one with a flicker. Beale Street
was pretty much just a road with bars; I’d seen that before. There were
homeless people and drunk people and homeless drunk people, like anywhere else
I’d been. Yup, one drink and one brain freeze later, the magic of Beale Street
dissipated. The magic of Memphis, however, had not. As we walked back to the
car we saw the Orpheum Theatre, which has seen stars like B.B. King, Dolly
Parton and Tony Bennett. The rich musical culture that makes Memphis thrive is
palpable as you walk the streets of downtown. 
In the morning, Hyung insisted we have Gus’s Famous Fried
Chicken for lunch, so I knew my Memphis run would have to be a good one to make
up for what I was about to ingest. Hyung had shown me this part of the city
called Mud Island, it’s just over a bridge and it’s literally an island where
the people with money live. He showed me what he thought was Justin
Timberlake’s house. So, when I set out for my run, I decided to try to run to
JT’s house (that’d get the 12-year-old in me moving). There was a nice bluff to
run on, so I was able to look down on the river. I felt alive! Running above
and looking below on to something so large and magnificent, like the Mighty
Mississippi River made me feel immortal; like a Greek God looking down from a
cloud. Seeing the old riverboats on the shore reminded me of Tom Sawyer and
Mark Twain, making me remember my mortality and that all I have is the legacy I
chose to leave behind. It was quite the juxtaposition and made for a remarkable
run. I couldn’t find the footbridge to mud island, though, thus never did make
it to JT’s house. However, at that point I’d run 2.5 miles and figured turning
back and making it an even five for the day would allow me the gluttony of
feasting on Gus’s fried yumminess!
We stuffed our faces and it was, in fact, famously
delicious. It’s possible the building is smaller than my apartment and the
kitchen may be the size of my walk-in closet, so how they manage to produce
such fried golden, melt in your mouth, breaded goodness is pure magic. However,
I’ve learned not to question a good thing and merely enjoy.
I set out from Memphis determined to make it home to New
Jersey for Thanksgiving. GPS wanted to send me back through Knoxville and up
the route I usually drive, however, I feared that if I did that, I might stop
for the night and never leave. So, as is the purpose of the trip, I went off
the beaten path and opted to venture through Kentucky.
Paddle faster… I hear banjos!
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