Walking in Memphis

I’m not sure where to begin. Two days is a long time in my weird life. I’ve officially lost track of the day, the state – not only of the country but also the state of my hair. I’ve stopped worrying if I have mustard on my pants. I’ve stopped wearing makeup. I’m slowly becoming a trucker. This lifestyle would eventually get to me I think. I like feeling clean… at least a little bit.
Yesterday I started out in Memphis – with a Starbucks’ coffee and a whole town of kitch. I had the best time cruising the streets of the city that the greats of soul and rock roamed. Unfortunately, America has an uncanny ability to turn everything into a phony show. Just when you think you’re somewhere, you realize it’s an illusion. Despite that realization that everything I saw and touched was created to sell me a dream, I drank beer and ate BBQ pork in a little bar called Blues Boogie Café. It took a few hours before I was okay to hit the road again – on to Kansas City.
I drove and drove and drove and drove. Finally, grumpy and hot, I pulled off the interstate and discovered the second thing America does well. She conceals her beautiful secrets from the masses by erecting massive concrete planets of speeding vehicles. Behind these monuments of speed and efficiency, I discovered the most incredible country scenes. I was amazed at my own amazement. Who knew I, self proclaimed left wing socialist, could love America? But I do. It’s an incredible country. Barry White and I drove through town after town along rolling Missouri hills and vast, plush corn fields. We were seeking the winery we’d seen advertised from the I60 – but soon could care less.
Finally, I could no longer take the mournful sight of the swampy Mississippi river winding around me, the quaint iron bridges that embraced her nor the inviting front porches with rocking chairs that overlooked her. I had to be in the scene. I pulled off the road at a road side picnic table in the middle of nowhere. There I spent an hour in holy communion with my guitar in the vast sanctuary of endless countryside. It was perfect. I was Leonard Cohen, I was Neil Young, I was perfectly content and free from the demon interstate.
Unfortunately the interstate is a means to another end. And so, today is testimony to my own hypocrisy. I spent an entire day today on the I35. I just pulled into Minneapolis around 12am. It was an uneventful day but I am sat right now in the window seat of my motel room that overlooks the one edifice that single handedly embodies American ideology and worship -WalMart, sipping my $8 raven’s wood zinfandel (I know! $8! What a steal from the local Target). Surprisingly this WalMart is not 24hours, so the scene is somewhat barbaric. However, I’m dealing with it in stride. Good thing I don’t suddenly need something I can’t wait to get in the morning.
Tomorrow is dedicated to zero progression. I’m going to read, wander, maybe, maybe head to Duluth along Lake Superior. Whatever I do, I plan to enjoy sweet, sweet life and freedom. I need to have a Sabbath after all this. I need to get some perspective. Despite a week of nothing, I’ve spent surprisingly little time in prayer and reflection. I have a sneaking suspicion that could be what I’m meant to do.