Boogity, boogity, boogity...

The day started off well, if a little late, after a fantastic nights sleep - always a nice way to start a Monday morning! After a couple of days of being woken by my alarm clock I finally woke up at 9am. By the time I’d showered and repacked the car I was the last person to check out of the motel. I really should have left earlier as I was on a reasonably tight schedule to get down to New Orleans and have a good look around but my heart wasn’t really in it, maybe because of all the horror stories that I had heard of the aftermath left when Katrina blew through.

I’m not sure why but, when I realised how close I was to Florida, I decided to head over there… just because, I guess. Pensacola was the nearest town, and somewhere I’d never even heard of, so off I set to find out what was there. I hasn’t looked at the map properly, so didn’t realise just how far it actually was and the drive took quite a lot longer than I was expecting. Why is it that the signs off the interstate don‘t actually inform you how far a destination is until you‘ve turned off and driven ten miles across county? It certainly noticeable the way that the scenery changed in such a short distance, after I’d headed into Florida. After a brief look at Pensacola I headed off in the direction of where I should have been all along: New Orleans.

On my previous visits to the US I’d always ended up taking home armfuls of cheap clothes so this time I deliberately packed light. But the pre-planned visit to the designer outlet center in Dallas was a total washout - and I’m not just talking about the weather. Without a plentiful supply of new clothes I’d started to run out of fresh ones and had started to keep an eye out for another shopping mall. Passing Gulfport I spotted another outlet center and quickly spun the car around. It proved to be another total waste of time but I end up talking to a local for twenty minutes about Katrina and, predictably, England.

As I headed on towards Louisiana I started to notice increasing amounts of storm damage. Not anything huge but things such as those huge advertising towers alongside the road having been torn down by the storm and large lines of trees having been totally upended. But I’d been assured, both by the guy at the outlet center and the lady at the Louisiana visitor center, that all the reports were exaggerated and New Orleans itself had been fixed up and was now better than ever.

It had been suggested that I entered the city via the Lake Pontchartain Causeway and I thought, hey why not but, to force my mapping software to take me that route I had to enter a waypoint to the north of the causeway. Looking at the map I noticed that the Fairview-Riverside State Park was the perfect place to detour via and, as I was passing, it made sense to pop in to ask about camping. “Yes, sir, we have camping plots, $12 a night, hot showers and a good nights sleep guaranteed” - I couldn’t lose - and paid up there and then.

Having put up the tent I decided to face my demons and head into New Orleans to see if it was any better than the image that I’d picked up somewhere.

As I drove onto the causeway I couldn’t see the other side and thought to myself, oh my god those guys were lying to me, it HAS sunk into the sea, but looking over at my laptop explained the situation, “Continue on Causeway Boulevard South for 24 miles” Holy hell… that’s pretty much the same distance as crossing from England to France! It has to be said, after the novelty wore off, it was actually quite a tedious drive, even if the surroundings were pretty impressive. I wonder how many people manage fall asleep on that stretch of road, I know I almost did!

The road system on the other side of the lake was like a bowl of spaghetti, and forced me to wake up fast, but I managed to find myself passing the infamous Superdome and heading into the French Quarter. Streets & Trips took this moment to throw a wobbly, first crashing, then being unable to pick up any of the GPS satellites due to the high buildings, so it was purely good luck that saw me driving straight into Bourbon Street. Either that or bad luck. Cos it was full of nutters who seemed intent on kicking in the side of my car or, even better, the underside of the car… at least that is the only reason that I could come up with for them all trying to get me to drive over them.

After six or eight blocks of madness I got a bit bored and headed down towards the waterfront where the lady in the welcome center had suggested I would find a lot of parking. There was indeed lots of, erm, lots. It’s just my luck that the entry barrier on the one I turned into was broken and unable to give me a ticket. Remembering that the LDW insurance on the car didn’t cover tyre damage I did what the big sign said and didn’t ‘back up’ over the spikes and proceeded straight to the exit to explain the situation. The two muppets stood in the booth wanted to charge me $6 just for having driven through and, when I said I wasn’t going to pay for doing that, one of them pretty much threatened to get the boys down to sort me out! Eventually we reached an understanding that, in return for a hand written ticket, she would get the queue behind me to ‘back up’ and I would indeed park there for the duration of my stay. Unbelievable.

If my image of the city being full of nutters wasn’t confirmed by what I’d witnessed so far then it certainly was when I actually got out to explore on foot. If it wasn’t mad old women coming up to me, shaking my hand and telling me ‘god bless you’, then it was drunken guitar players taking offence when I declined their offer to donate to their personal pension fund. After an hour I was done and headed off for a drive down St Charles Avenue where I’d been told I would find lines of impressive houses.

After a few blocks I realised that, yes, they were very nice but that I’d seen plenty of nice houses in my lifetime and so I headed towards the Garden District to look there. As I turned off St Charles Avenue my jaw must have hit the floor, the entire scenery changed, it was like stepping into a war zone. People were living by the side of the road, in the rubble of their entirely collapsed houses or, if they were lucky enough to have a house, they had entire walls or even roofs missing or covered by blue tarpaulins. Street after street totally destroyed, it felt like I was laughing at them driving through gawping out of a flash car. My camera had actually stopped working earlier that day but, even if it had been working, I’d have been too ashamed to take any photos. I will never understand how probably the worlds richest country can leave those guys living like that after so long.

I had planned to return for a second look in the morning but, with this bad taste in my mouth, I decided I’d had enough of New Orleans and got the hell out of there. As I left I noticed a whole load of signs with encouraging messages like ‘Thou shall not kill’ and ‘Take it out on the government, not each other’ - I felt like crying for those people who’d been abandoned. I was glad to get back to the campsite and turn in for an early night.

I was supposed to be meeting four friends from London for breakfast this morning but they weren’t able to get to the Cracker Barrel where we’d planned to meet so I left the hotel at 5am and headed straight back to Talladega; making sure that I took a better route back to the interstate than I had last night!

I’d signed up for the ‘Pit Lane Experience’ which, the name suggested to me, meant I got to have a quick look round the pitlane. Now I’ve been in plenty of pitlanes in my time, mostly in Europe, and I was keen to see the differences otherwise I’d not have bothered. When I collected my race tickets I was surprised to discover that it actually came with full hospitality, driver talks and infield parking. I was impressed. Not as impressed as I was this morning when, whilst walking down pitlane, I got to meet Dale Earnhardt Jr!

I’ve never been one for ‘celebrity’, especially with racecar drivers. In my day job we work for so-called big names on a regular basis and I never understand how some of my colleagues get so excited about it. But Jr is just a HUGE name and it was really cool to actually have a conversation with him, albeit brief. And, yes, he did ask if I’d ‘come all the way from Scotland (!!) for the race?’ I got a couple of photos and even got him to sign my pitlane pass. It may be sad, but that really made my day!

I think it must have made my friends jealous or something, cos I never heard from them all day after sending them a message to tell them! Haha, their loss, I spent the day chilling out in hostility, eating and drinking (soda, sadly, I was driving after all) and chatting with dozens more people who wanted to know what it was like to be British!

This is my third Nascar race visit and, on the previous two visits, the locals have generally been pretty out of control and a little worrying. This time, maybe because I treated myself to some real good seats, the guys around me were a real pleasure to be sat near. A couple of guys to my left had flown don from New York and a group of five bikers to my right had ridden down from Indianapolis. They were all impressed that I ‘had come all the way from Scotland’ (!!) and one of the bikers suggested I should go to the Brickyard 400 at Indy and ‘come stay at my place’ - I wasn’t sure whether to be grateful or scared. I went with grateful, but I managed to sneak off at the end without taking their contact details anyway - phew!

Talladega is renowned as being ‘Earnhardt central’ - Jeff Gordon isn’t welcome - especially after the controvesy he last weekend. After winning his 76th Nextel Cup race, equalling Dale Seniors number of victories, he’d flown the number 3 flag from his car on his victory lap. This had angered some of the rednecks who took it to be some sort of insult and started pelting his car with trash and beer cans.

Initially I presumed that they must have been unable to understand the tribute as they were probably drunk but all week they’d been phoning in to Nascar Radio on Sirius (fabulous service incidently) whining and bitching about it. The idea that he could surpass Dale Seniors tally of victories at Talladega was something that must have been giving the organisers sleepless nights as a repeat of the post-race hooliganism was very much on the cards. Before the race the Chief of Police (I think) was shown repeatedly on the big screen pretty much telling people that, should they choose to misbehave in his town, they’d be lucky to escape getting shot. It would have intimidated me into behaving, but would it work out that way for the more volatile spectators?

It all looked reasonably safe that it’d be a peaceful end to the race. Jeff Gordon was way back in 20th place and Dale Jr was running fifth. It was even possible that Dale could take the victory. But, somehow, the number 24 car sped through the field and took the chequered flag. The locals went nuts and started hurling trash onto the track, followed by beer cans, full ones. Some of the cans didn’t even make it over the catch fencing and were starting to rain down on the innocent spectators at the front of the grandstand.

Being British, we have an unfortunate reputation for being hooligans, due to our football fans going on the rampage over the years, and I’ve seen it in person on occasion, but that is nothing compared to these morons. Thankfully, as I decided to get the hell out of there, the local police started wading in with batons and clubbed a few of them over the head. Much to my amusement this caused a round of applause to break out!

Getting out of the track was a breeze and I found myself in Montgomery a couple of hours earlier than expected. I was down to visit the Civil Rights Museum but it was sadly closed by the time that I did roll into town, so I spent twenty minutes admiring the fantastic Civil Rights Memorial which is a moving tribute to those killed in the movement. When you compare the way people handled themselves in the face of such unbelievable treatment, it really showed the rednecks back at the track up for what they are - utter morons.

Montgomery itself was a nice looking town which I would have liked to have stopped and explored but, with it getting dark it meant staying overnight, and I was keen to press on in order to give me more time for the last few days of my trip. So I pressed on until I finally pulled off the interstate at a Days Inn down on the Florida state line.

Another eventful day!

Today was all about Talladega. Left Birmingham and headed off down the I-20, picked up my tickets at will call, then headed into the parking lot. Where I ran into one of the parking attendants - literally!!!! He just appeared from no where, right in front of my car, so I ran into him. Ooops. No broken bones and (more importantly? ) no damage to the rental car.

It was just as exciting on-track, a fantastic race, and several large wrecks. Most of them caused by Tony Stewart. When I commented to the woman next to me, ‘you gotta love Tony!’ I thought she was gonna punch me. Thankfully the woman to my right (who’d won her tickets in a competition) was a whole lot more friendly and we started cheering for each others drivers - my driver was Montoya and hers was some guy called Huffman. They both ran okay but both finished pretty average. Which is far worse than the Navy band playing in the trade area outside, surprisingly for these sorts of things, they were fantastic and I stood for over 1/2 hour watching and listening to their show. Fantastic!

I’m now in yet another state - Georgia. Although Microsoft tried to liven up the journey, by sending me round what seemed like every street in one little town, there’s no getting away from the fact that it’s a pretty boring drive from the track to my hotel. I even tried to liven it up myself, by stopping in Anniston to check out the Worlds Largest Chair, but in the end gave up and just put the pedal to the metal to get to the hotel.

From the comfort of my armchair 5,000 miles away, I got myself into a minor panic about a room as everywhere I looked was fully booked. I had a choice of Birmingham, 50 miles to the east, or Cedartown, 75 miles to the west… in the middle of nowhere. I’d have chosen Birmingham but it was 3 times the price. Now, had I thought about it logically, I’d have realised that those 50 miles to Birmingham were door-to-door on the interstate whilst the 75 miles to Cedartown were most definately not. Lesson learned!

I did stay in Birmingham last night but, whilst it was a very nice hotel, they didn’t bring me hot cookies and milk when I arrived. That was really very agreeable and, as you can imagine, they went down a treat!!  Kudos to the Holiday Inn in Cedartown - if you’re passing be sure to stop by!  It is unfortunate that their internet access doesn’t work but, thankfully, it’s a return to the usual lack of wi-fi security and I have a choice of three different networks to log on to.

Up early tomorrow, so should try and sleep, I guess.

Before I left home I took the advice and suggestions of the users of the RTA forum, read books and spent hours online putting together an itinerary for this trip. It’s not something that I ever wanted to - I really liked the idea of ’making it up on the ground’ - but there were just so many ideas that I really had to put them down in some sort of order. Long after coming up with a definitive itinerary I kept adding more ideas and soon it was looking like I needed to tag an extra five or six days to the end of the trip.

Amazingly though I seem to have arrived at day number eight a whole day ahead of schedule - I never would have believed it possible - but looking at my map and guide book didn’t really present any obvious destinations to fill the spare day, so I decided to cool the pace and chill out for the day.

The perfect way to start a chilled day would be wake from a solid eight hours sleep, then unzip the door of your tent and realise the only thing you can see is the sun glinting off a pretty lake. And that is exactly how I started the day - so much better than the view yesterday morning. Leaving the door open, I lay there and admired the view for a bit, played some of the past week back in my mind, admired the view, fell asleep again and then finally got up. After a hectic week it really was fantastic to just slow right down like that.

I didn’t leave the campground until dinner time and, when I did, I turned out of the entrance and straight onto a five mile long gravel track. Back home in Europe, where I drive a small front wheel drive car, we don’t have gravel roads. Fullstop. Or period as you say. So, being in a Mustang, you can probably imagine my smile… Dukes Of Hazzard? The only difference was they weren’t in a Mustang!

First stop of the day was nearby Tupelo to visit the house where Elvis was born and brought up as a kid. Not much to say really apart from it being a whole lot smaller and less impressive than the other house which I visited yesterday. The gift shop was pretty impressive though, at least as big as the one at Graceland but, hey, it’s all about giving the fans what they want, right? I’ll do what Tony Stewart should have done last Saturday night and respond with a ‘no comment’ answer!

I still had several hours to fill and kept a keen eye out for interesting looking destinations along the highway. After passing into Alabama I found that destination in a sign reading ‘Natural Bridge Park’ which intrigued me enough to make a 30-mile detour. It cost $2.50 and, although it was a long way (I’m not talking miles) from Arches NP, it was real nice to get out of the car and stretch the old legs. Talking of old legs, the old girl manning the gift shop (no Elvis goodies, surprisingly) was totally mad and was rambling incoherently about Oxford when I left. I presume she was talking about Oxford in England, which is just south of Birmingham, kinda spooky as Birmingham (in Alabama) was my next stop.

Not really sure where to head I did a couple of laps of the city trying to find an open wi-fi connection but, alas, they must have been preaching to the locals about the importance of securing their networks and no access was to be found. What I did find though was Kelly Ingram Park, which was another key location in the Civil Rights movement, and now home to a number of thought provoking sculptures. Normally I run a mile when I’m approached by those guys who come up to you, give you a bit of information, then hold out their hand for ‘payment’ but I happily handed over a couple of spare bucks to some guy who came up and gave me a really fascinating tour of the park and pointed out several other landmarks that I should see including the Sixteenth Street Baptist Church.

And that brings me to here, the Holiday Inn on the outskirts of Birmingham, for that is the first hotel I spotted when I left town. Before leaving home I found that every hotel in a fifty mile radius of Talladega was fully booked, so I thought it wise to stop in Birmingham before heading onwards to Talladega tomorrow morning. The price came as something of a shock, after the Super 8, but it’s a real pleasure to be treated well and to have a clean and pleasant room. So far I’ve not managed to spot any of those strange stains, there don’t appear to be any bugs living in the bed and no one has stolen the TV remote control. I guess there’s truth in the saying ‘you get what you pay for’ and, after years of being a tight arse when it comes to hotels, I am starting to realise why people spend fortunes on them!

My cold is finally starting to wear off, but that didn’t mean that I managed a good nights sleep, the noise from that truck stop was incredible. How do the truckers themselves sleep?! Oh, and I’m sure there were nasties living in the bed itself… eww! I woke up itching this morning so had a very good scrub in the shower before getting the hell out of there. I think I’ll be laying off the budget motels for a bit…

Having listened to everyone’s advice to head to Graceland as early as possible in the morning, so as to avoid the crowds, I chose to totally disregard it! I don’t like to appear rude (something anyone who has met me may find hard to believe) but the weather most definitely was appearing rude. Very rude in fact. Despite the announcers on Elvis FM boasting that the sun was out in Memphis, the truth of the matter was quite the opposite, huge black storm clouds hung menacingly overhead.

Deciding to play safe I thought it best to leave Graceland til later and do the outdoor thing whilst it was still dry. So I drove straight to Sun Studio. Closed. After a couple of photos of the exterior I hopped back in the car and headed to the top end of Beale Street and started walking back the way that I had come. Despite it all being very colourful, everywhere was closed. Doing great here. I then spotted the stadiums of the FedEx Forum and Autozone Park and went to investigate - both closed. I found myself outside the famous Peabody Hotel (home to the ducks) but couldn’t really be bothered to visit them as a) I don’t really ‘get’ it and b) they were probably asleep like the rest of this town.

Back on Beale Street I was soon at the end of the ‘tourist’ area and in the middle of some sort of inner city wasteland which, although I’m sure was a thriving area once upon a time, was now entirely closed down. It figures.

Having come this far I decided to ’get a feel for the real Memphis’ and continue walking in the direction of Sun Studio where, I thought, I would treat myself to that nice cooked breakfast that I had missed out on in Dallas earlier in the week, Well, having never been in Belfast in the 1970s, I now have a fair idea what it was like, and now realise why they run free shuttle buses between the various tourist sites, tourists getting caught up in a war zone is obviously going to be bad for trade. But I am sat here this evening, rambling, so they obviously felt bad for the lost looking tourist and left him be whilst they went on with the important business of shooting each other.

Back in Europe, the Germans are infamous for staking their claim to the best sun loungers around the hotel pool by getting up whilst it’s still dark and putting their towels on them and then going back to bed. Personally I never understand why the other guests don’t simply throw their towels in the pool and sit themselves down, but I’m getting away from the point here somewhat, that point being that the Germans can be quite rude and overbearing.

The promise of the breakfast had kept me going as I walked across town but, as I rounded the corner and the building came into view, I was greeted by a bus load of German tourists streaming into the building. Oh hell, I thought to myself, purposely putting the stereotypes to the back of my mind. As I entered the front door I was barged out the way by one of the group who reminded me of a contestant on Supermarket Sweep, she was that desperate to get inside! Having stepped inside it didn’t get any better. With that many people crammed into the tiny building there was no chance of getting a table so the idea of breakfast was out the window. Awesome.

Having walked the streets of death once more and arrived safely back at my car I headed off to the National Civil Rights Museum. I visited the MLK birthplace in Atlanta last year and was really impressed with it, so had really been looking forward to visiting this place. A friend who had visited previously had told me that it was on the ‘dodgy side of town’ and, having now experienced the ‘good side of town’ I decided to lock the laptop securely in the trunk, out of sight, and follow the directional signs. Which was a great idea except someone had apparently stolen the signs! I went round in circles before accidently heading back into Arkansas. Twice.

Once I finally arrived I soon realised that the supposed terror of the area around the Lorraine Motel had been vastly overstated! I could have been there an hour earlier but, never mind, at least I got to cross the Mississippi several more times. And discover that there is a museum devoted to metal. Fascinating, I’m sure, but I didn’t stop!

Just like the Book Depository, back in Dallas, I had seen a thousand photos of the Lorraine Motel and it was a strange feeling when I finally laid my own eyes on it. I made my way straight into the museum itself and, once again, was accosted by a local who wanted to know all about England. ‘Aargh, leave me alone, I don’t work for the tourist board’, I thought to myself, as I patiently explained about the entry requirements and work prospects in the UK. I’m just too kind!

The museum was, as expected, very powerful. It was far far too long though and it was a good two hours before I finally saw the light of day again. And that was merely to cross the street and enter the second building. If anyone has actually read every word in these daily rambles, they’d appreciate my frustration as I dragged my aching feet and empty stomach around the exhibits. Don’t get me wrong, I really did enjoy my visit and learned a whole lot, but they really need to find a way to split it down into more ’bite-sized’ parts in my opinion. I don’t actually have any specific suggestions on that front though.

I won’t bore you too much with my trip to Graceland, as it has to be the most over-hyped and over-reported tourist trap in the world, needless to say I was surprised by it. Elvis has never factored much in my life, apart from that time I met him working in my local Burger King and sold my story to the newspaper, of course, but you gotta admire the guys style, so Graceland was one of the first places on my ‘to-do’ list for this trip. My thoughts after the tour? It’s just like the life of the guy himself - over the top and in your face - but I did actually enjoy the experience, even if my wallet did not.

I had no idea where I would be sleeping but, with the weather having turned a corner and looking like it would be dry overnight, I decided that getting the tent out again was the way to go. But where? Thankfully, as with everywhere else I had been on this trip, I had no problem logging on to the internet via an unsecured wi-fi connection and quickly found the Trace State Park, just outside Belden in Mississippi, and sped down there, stopping only at a very scary gas station full of rednecks, hunters and (I am sure) murderers. The gangster rap blaring out as the guys inside played pool and drank bottles of Bud was kinda worrying but I made it to the campground in one piece and settled in for a nice quiet evening.