November 17, 2013

Morning:
           Beaumont, TX. It's hard to figure the place out. It has distinct good and bad parts of town, but I found a great Internet pub with live entertainment. More on that later. After another deep snooze, compliments of Walmart, I was on the road early. A good 232 miles to Hammond, LA. Beaumont was nice, a sprawling city with distinct sections of society and no good-looking women. So I headed for Memphis. Here is a photo of me waiting for the Amtrak, read on for details.

           Today has special significance for me. Yes, a woman. Forty years ago. I said I'd call today, but I've no way to find her number. I might find it yet, it is only 6:30 PM here, Judy. Sweet Judy Blue Eyes. I suppose it could have worked but the song says the first cut is the deepest. Strange, isn't it. She's a grandmother and I'm on a sidecar eastbound on I-10.
           And that sidecar is acting up. Throwing off more heat than usual. I'll make it home but heat problems are always serious. Most states require slower vehicles to stay right meaning the rest of this trip will be with some cowboy ten minutes late for work riding my ass to the next off-ramge. But I-10 is the only road through here.
           I tanked up in Lafayette, one of those cities that is just there. I met a cashier who reminded me of Sharon B, from the phone company. I dropped five hints but she was not picking them up. Too bad lady, I could have taken you away from there. But after 25 days on the Honda, myu throttle arm and shoulder are feeling the strain, so I have no patience for Lafayetter, LA. My fingers and wrist tire after a couple of hours, even with my scheduled coffee breaks.

Daytime:
           A drizzle of rain made for a muggy ride into Hammond, LA. There, after I gave it a full two minutes thought, I parked the batbike and hopped "The City of New Orleans" for a seven hour ride to Memphis. That's where I am now. At their Front Street library. Where guests are given fifteen minutes on the computer. That's correct, in Memphis you are a guest for that amount of time only. I rode coach class, my first time on a US train since I can barely remember. But get this, I remember parts of this journey. Strange as it seems, I recall stretches of this track. Little items I could not "misremember", like knowing ahead of time just when a branch line splits to the left.
           Could this be the same train we [the family] left Texas on? There are very few passenger lines through the swamp. An age tally says I was just under two years old, well past the age I remember other events. I remember the cave and the army troops with free train passes.

           That trip was the first time I hear the work Mississippi. I'm in the lounge car and we cross the Mississippi state line in an hour. If this train goes through any vertical cuts, I'll know for certain I've seen this before. Meanwhile, here is a photo that, I think, reflects the lonliness of trying to find a good partner later in life. I took several of these during this long trip, but this one shows just the right amount that I'd want the world to see.
           This train ride cost $151 (round trip), lasting from 3:00 to 11:00PM so half the ride is in the dark. I've not got my "sea legs" so I stagger into every wall and door. Rather than Chicago, I opted for Memphis because I know I'll have fun. That special day thing again. Beale Street is a copy-cat of Bourbon Street. In around six hours from now, I'll know which one is better, won't I?
           There is a private car being towed on this train. It is at the very back, furthest from the engine. Oddly, the "sleeper" cars are at the front, where the whistle can best keep you up all night. The rear was restricted, or I'd have taken a photo. Those private cars are huge and expensive. Why don't they make smaller cars, around half the size of a caboose? Or a motel car with several units. Big trains with an aisle down the middle are an American innovation. And this train is only 15% full.
           Two hours into the trip, I've had my coffee. The leg room is great, and compared to an airline or a late model car rear seat, fantastic. The ride is a little bouncy and coach class doesn't attract the most considerate bunch. Like the lady who sneaks that crinkly bag of pork rinds into the movie theater is not only on this train, but sitting directly behind me. I was ready for her with my ear plugs, but people, when you get on an uncrowded vehicle, please spread out and don't sit behind the man who is writing. Ear plugs? Yes, noting bothers a peasant more than you being prepared to ignore her.
           Not only are the seats spacious, they really recline. Unlike Greyhound, Amtrak can't really strand you without amenities. I skipped the dining car upon hearing the prices. Twenty-five bucks for a stead? Maybe on the return leg, but for now I'll wait until dark and grab a sandwich in the lounge.

Evening:

           I finally made it. Beale Street, at the "Blues Hall". Budweiser = $4.50. Boy, them fat women can really bend them floorboards, especially when they stampede in cadence. This is the area I missed on the return from Colorado last year because I could not find parking. Here I am, 30 years too late. But I am still the skinniest guy in the room.
           Just so you know, this jog up to Memphis has already cost as much as my entire trip to Seattle, but consider this is near enough to my birthday to be considered a present. Yes, some joints really pushed the ID thing. Imagine me being refused service, so I have a selection of valid ID to present, as would any true patriot. When bars insist on people over 40 showing documents to get service, don't pretend it has anything to do with the drinking age, Sally.
           So I did Beale Street. No Karaoke, too many locals, and dead on Sundays. But I made it and am glad I chose Memphis.