We went to bed late last night after the concert so we slept in until 8 am and woke to the sound of hammers tapping and construction workers calling out to each other, mostly in Spanish. It reminds me of our time in San Miguel de Allende, Mexico last winter where we were wakened each morning to the sound of work at the construction site immediately beside our airbnb.

Anyway, we quickly get ready and get out on the road. We are heading south towards the Gulf and stopping in Tupelo, Mississippi tonight. We have to get through the centre of Nashville in order to catch the highway south. We want to travel on the Natchez Trace Parkway at least part of the way but Goggle wants to direct us otherwise. Rudy puts me in charge of navigating, using Google as a backup. The long and short of it is that Google and I fail miserably. There are a lot of u-turns, wrong turns, and missed turns. When we finally get ourselves back on track in Franklin, Rudy is thoroughly exasperated. Not only has he missed the opportunity for a breakfast sandwich, he has not had his morning coffee. Franklin looks like an incredible Civil War Era historical town and I would love to wander around and experience the beautiful buildings and stories associated with them. There are log homes still inhabited, front verandahs galore, and other old frame and stone houses. It all reeks of Southern gentility. But the driver is  not in the mood for a stop so we press on.

The new mansions south of of Nashville is just what you would expect from watching TV. Huge multi-storied with large columns in front, huge verandahs, swimming pools, etc. etc. As we continue along the curving roads there are miles and miles of  rail paddock fences, beautiful horses, estates, and mega churches. There is a lot of money here. Eventually these places give way to more modest houses and even some trailer parks. We eventually hit the Natchez Trace Parkway and the driving is slower and there are no houses along the road. After a time on this Parkway we head across country along a busier road. I get the great idea that we should visit the childhood home of Helen Keller. Rudy is not as excited. But I remember the story written about her with great fondness so I insist on it. It takes a lot of winding down roads and streets in Muscle Shoals, Mississippi. Muscle Shoals has seen better days. This is an understatement. There are so many abandoned malls, gas stations with rusty pumps, and parking lots covered with weeds and dead grass and other signs of decay. We finally make it to Ivy Green, the childhood home of Helen Keller. There are magnificent massive trees (Magnolia) and a huge grounds. We wander around. It is super weird. I guess the Lions Club had become of huge supporter of Helen Keller and blind initiatives  when she spoke to a club as a young woman. The result is a garden filled with curling rocks from the Scottish chapter and Maori sculptures from New Zealand. An it went on an on through the gardens surrounding the home. It is a mishmash of so much junk and we leave feeling like it may have been a waste of time.

Oh well, off we go to Tupelo and the birthplace of Elvis. we get there and find the museum closes in 20 minutes so we don’t get to see the inside of his house or the church he went to. What a bust. Both Helen and Elvis did not deliver and so we head to our hotel.

Some days it feels like we are a touring band. We just see the inside of the hotel rooms and the road between them. Unlike bands however, we don’t have the fun of doing a big show for anyone. One day melts into another and I can hardly remember which hotel we stayed in and when. The roads stretch out before us each morning and we need to head on to the next stop down the road. Some days this is exhilarating and somedays tedious. Today as we sit in our hotel room, the TV blaring depressing news from the Gaza Strip and Israel or the ridiculous news about the clown show in the US government as they try to vote in a speaker for the house,  I am tired and depressed and wonder if  this road trip is too long. I know I probably won’t feel like this in the morning. At least I hope I won’t.