usa2015.html

United States of America

December 2015

When I was 16 years old (1976), I dreamed of visiting the USA. I only knew two people who had been there – my schoolteacher who went to Los Angeles in 1967 and a Scottish auntie who had settled in Ontario, Canada near New York State. I had been raised on American T.V; the Banana Splits, the Monkees, the Brady Bunch, Kojak, the Dukes of Hazzard...Two years later I got to spend ten months in Buffalo, New York State as a Rotary International Exchange Student. I lived ten miles from Niagara Falls.

This was followed in 1980 with a two month Greyhound Bus tour of the Western USA after Freddie Laker had introduced the first cheap fares to the USA which were Ł112 to LA, Ł99 back from New York. A friend and I travelled from San Diego to Seattle taking in the Grand Canyon in Arizona, Las Vegas Nevada etc and Mt St Helens volcano which had just erupted. In 1981, I spent the summer in San Francisco and the Rockies in Canada and bussed down to Colorado and across to Florida to meet a College girlfriend, followed by a semester in New York at a College as part of my American Studies degree course.

In 1986 I hitchhiked from Revelstoke, British Columbia, Canada where I had been working to Toronto via North Dakota. Wisconsin, Indiana and Illinois back into Ontario via the Windsor Tunnel. My last visit to the USA had been in 1988 when I went with my brother Richard for a couple of weeks to New York City and Washington DC.

Then I got bored with the USA. I wanted to see the rest of the world and never went back. The fact that George ‘Dubya’ Bush was President for 8 years was another excuse not to go. But in 2015, 27 years and 132 countries later, I was coming back. Wendy had never been to the USA and we fancied a road trip. When I found affordable flights to Atlanta just before Xmas, we had the perfect excuse to explore the southern states some of which I had only seen from non-stop bus windows en route to Florida and back to New York City.

We left London Heathrow airport on Saturday December 5th around 9.30am with Virgin Atlantic (although Delta Airlines was our carrier). After about 10 hours of food, drink and movies, we arrived at Hartsfield-Jackson Atlanta International airport at 2.30pm local time. I was surprised to get fingerprinted by immigration but at least our ESTA visa worked. On all previous visas I had had a visa in my passport. The airport was huge and it took a bus twenty minutes to drive around the edge to the Car Rental area where a queue was processed slowly. My original choice of car would not have taken our two suitcases so we upgraded to a Honda Elantra and set off for Charleston, South Carolina 300 miles away, En route we saw a great business name “Poo B Gone Plumbing”.

To be honest, having got up at 3am to head to Heathrow, then the long flight and the fact that it was 9pm (UK time) by the time we set off, we were keen just to find somewhere to crash. Following Interstate 20, we turned off at Madison and found a Super8 hotel. These came with King size beds, a fridge, microwave, TV with lots of channels, a coffee maker and a decent help yourself breakfast in the morning. I ate waffles every day! Super 8 hotels became our staple choice of accommodation on the trip. Other cheaper motel chains such as Motel 6 didn’t even offer a cup of coffee in the room let alone food.

When we checked into any motel, they wanted a home address and of course when it came to our ‘Zip Code’, our post code was incompatible and couldn’t be recorded. The receptionists ended up inputting a false address every time. I had the same problem when filling up on fuel. If you tried using a credit card on the pump, it asked for your zip code which I didn’t have. So on my first fill up, I gave my credit card details for $20 ‘pre-paid’ gas. Except that our tank was small and it usually only took $15. So I had to walk back to the shop where the cashier refunded the initial $20 credit and then dod another for $15. After it took around 15 minutes to fill up the car using this process, for the rest of the trip, I just walked in with $10 or $15 in cash and ‘pre-paid’ saving me a return walk. How I missed our ‘pay at pump’ at home.

Madison was famous as being one of the few Confederate places that the Union General Sherman did not burn to the ground on his long march south near the end of the Civil War. A local told us that he was supposedly seeing a local lady from here and spared it. With the time change, we were awake by 4am (around 9am our time) and unable to sleep so the following morning we left early and went to have a look at the old historical centre which was deserted. There were lots of large wooden houses and everywhere was covered with Xmas decorations.

Interstate 20 took us to the South Carolina border. We would use a lot of interstates on our trip. These were usually dual carriageway with a wide central reservation in between. Gas, food and lodgings were advertised on a regular basis – although it was the same franchises throughout our trip and mostly fast food on offer. The speed limit raged from 55 to 75 (in Texas). Occasionally we’d see a state trooper rescuing a stranded car or monitoring speeds. The interstates were full of large fast trucks barrelling around the USA. Not having the most exhilarating of scenery, these roads did allow us to cover vast distances quickly.

The Rough Guide said of South Carolina “The relatively small state remains with Mississippi, one of the most impoverished and rural in the USA. It was the first state to secede from the Union in 1860. The region’s main fascination lies in the subtropical coastline, also called the Low Country and its sea islands.”

We skirted around Columbus on Interstate 20 and decided to take a more direct route to Charleston. It was a back road (78) with just local traffic. The plots of land were large but no one seemed to have a proper garden with flowers and plants. There were lots of hunting areas where ‘wild turkey’ and ‘wild boar’ hunts were advertised for the forthcoming Friday and Sunday nights. It was a Sunday morning so everything was quiet. We saw a sign for a place called “Gopher Tortoise Heritage Park” and wondered what a gopher tortoise was. Denmark was a small town that declared itself as “Home of the Dogwood Festival”.

Ironically, our backroad led us directly to Ashley River Road which was our first destination. “Only a 20 minute drive northwest from Charleston, there are three spectacular plantations” (Lonely Persons Guide). Middleton Place had the oldest planned gardens in the USA (designed in 1741) while Magnolia Planation was set on 500 acres owned by the Drayton family. This seemed to be more a theme park. We opted for Drayton Hall up the road. This 1738 Palladian brick mansion was the only plantation house on the Ashley River to survive the Revolutionary and Civil Wars and a great earthquake in 1886.

The leaflet said “The oldest unrestored plantation house in America open to the public, Drayto Hall stands alone as the only authentic survivor of Ashley River’s colonial past – intact and in near-original condition.” We were given an interesting tour of the unfurnished house set in nice grounds and a background into the development of the rice plantation with black slaves. I thought the $22 admission each was too high for what you got.

Charleston is “one of the finest looking towns in the USA, its historic district lined with tall, narrow houses of peeling, multl-coloured stucco, adorned with wooden shutters and wide porches. The palm trees and tropical climate give the place a Caribbean air” (RG). But not in December..

We pushed onto Charleston and headed for the old historical centre. Police cars were blocking off roads everywhere and the kerbs were full of parked cars. Unbeknown to us, there was a Xmas Parade underway which snaked its way around the old district. It went on and on. Every time we took a turn, we‘d be directed on a detour or get stuck in blocked traffic. After an hour of this and failing to find a parking space, we abandoned Charleston. It was just the wrong day to visit.

Heading south for Savannah on Interstate 17, I took a side road (Hwy 21) heading for Beaufort. I had read that quite of bit of the ‘Forrest Gump’ movie had been filmed around here. “The darling colonial town is often used as a set for Hollywood films about the south. The streets of the historic district are lined with antebellum homes and magnolias dripping with Spanish moss” (LP). Based on Port Royal Island, this area was indeed lovely but yet again, we found another Xmas parade going on. Using backroads, we managed to get in and park just as the tail end was coming past with fire engines. It just seemed an excuse for every local to get in their car and follow each other around town blasting their horns.

Since it was getting dark, we looked for accommodation and found a Super 8 motel just outside Beaufort. We also found a Mexican restaurant up the road which did massive fajitas and excellent margaritas. Result.

On Monday December 7th it was raining. We crossed a bridge thinking that it was headed south for Savannah but we were actually going east following the Sea Island parkway/Hwy 21 which connects a series of marshy, rural islands including St Helena Island and Hunting Island State Park which has acres of spooky maritime forest and where the Vietnam war scenes for ‘Forrest Gump’ were filmed. .In the surrounding area, wide views stretched out across vibrant green marshes patterned with small salt creeks. There was an unfortunately named ‘Gay Fish Company’. Nearby, a road sign warned of ‘Terrapin xing’.

We ended up at Fripp Island and realised that it was a dead end and we’d have to go all the way back to Beaufort to Hwy 21 to get out. There were no signs and I had to call into an educational institute to get directions. These took us past the Marine Corps Recruit Depot on Parris Island made notorious by Stanley Kubrick’s ‘Full Metal Jacket’ and where 20,000 young men and women go through boot camp each year. This film had one of my all-time favourite quotes when the drill sergeant asked a recruit “Where are you from son?” “Texas”. “Texas?” the sergeant barked “There ain’t nothing in Texas ‘cept steers and queers and you don’t look like a steer boy.” Finally we were headed for Savannah but it had been a nice unexpected detour.

“American towns don’t come much more beautiful than Savannah. The ravishing historical district formed the core of the original city and boasts examples of just about every architectural style of the 18th and 19th centuries, while the cobble waterfront on the Savannah River is edged by towering old cotton warehouses.” (RG)

Savannah sits alongside the Savannah River about 18 miles from the coast amid low country swamps and large oak trees. “With its colonial mansions and beautiful squares , Savannah preserves its past with pride and grace... it is a little gritty, lived in and real” (LP). Strange as it seems, we had really only come to see one thing – Forrest Gump’s seat in Chippewa Square (where the film was based as he waited for the bus). But it has now been relocated to the Savannah Museum. We grabbed a cup of coffee in one of those trendy cafes full of books, comfy chairs and intense people staring at their smartphones rather than making conversation.

The squares in Savannah were lovely leafy affairs breaking up the gridiron layout of streets. At the northern end on River Walk, by the, er, river were the old warehouses now converted to tourist shops. For some reason, maybe the overcast weather, Savannah didn’t grab me on this trip. Like Charleston it fell a little flat. Maybe it was because they were our first two cities and we were getting used to navigating around and dealing with heavy traffic. Maybe it was having to use parking meters. I’m sure I’ll return again at a different time of year.

We decided to push on for Florida. Savannah to New Orleans was officially 644 miles but we would take a longer route. Interstate 95 took us south on a fast flat road and into Florida, our 3rd state where we called in at the Welcome (Visitor) Centre. The sun was out here and it was already much hotter than Savannah.

The Rough Guide said of Florida “Brochure images of tanning tourists and Mickey Mouse give an inaccurate and incomplete picture. Although the aptly nicknamed “Sunshine State” is indeed devoted to the tourist trade, it is also among the least understood parts of the USA.” What is difficult about understanding sea, sand and sun?

Reaching the large city of Jacksonville, we skirted around it on Hwy 295 and joined Interstate 10 heading west into the Florida ‘Panhandle’ all the way to Texas. When we arrived at Tallahassee, the capital of Florida (151,000 pop), just before dusk, we pulled off to find a motel and came across a Travel Lodge. We use these all the time in the UK but they seemed to be few and far between in the USA. It was our cheapest night ($45) and it had gardens and a swimming pool. Just down the road was the ‘Melting Pot’ specialising in fondues. The staff were very attentive, friendly and interested in our trip. We gorged on cheese fondue and salad followed by chocolate fondue, washed down by a microbrew beer. I found eating out to be expensive in the USA especially having to add a tip. Often the receipt would have tip calculations starting at 15% upwards.

The following morning, we re-joined Interstate 10 until we saw the Hwy 231 signposted to Panama City. On the coast we passed through Panama City Beach with its gaudy fun fair area and made for Hwy 30A. This is a little known byway along the ‘Emerald Coast’. The Lonely Persons Guide proclaimed “The Panhandle’s Gulf coast is blessed with some of the most blink-to-be-sure-your-eyes-aren’t-deceiving-you beautiful beaches imaginable. Crystal clear turquoise waters and powdery white sand so pure it ‘sings’ – or at least squeaks – under your feet...Between Panama City Beach and Destin, the Hwy 98 is shadowed by the enchanting scenic Hwy 30A. This 18 mile stretch of road hugs what is referred to as the Emerald Coast because of its almost fluorescent, gem coloured waters lapping brilliant white beaches of ground quartz crystals swept down over centuries from the Appalachian Mountains and bleached and polished by the surf before washing back onto shore.” They weren’t kidding. The beaches were stunning with an emerald green sea lapping the sugary white shores.

The area is known as South Walton (Goodnight John Boy!) with around a dozen mostly new individual wooden hamlets decorated in pastel colours. It started at Inlet Beach where we parked and walked down to the sea for our first views. Narrow low lying sand dunes provided a natural barrier as did a beach sign pretty much forbidding everything on earth (No this, no that...). We passed through sleepy Rosemary Beach, Seacrest and Seagrove Beach until we reached the picture perfect village of Seaside.

The Rough Guide said “The squeakily clean cut town of Seaside was used in the 1998 movie ‘The Truman show’ where doll-like, sorbet coloured cottages clustered around a model town square was filmed here. A planned community was begun here in 1981 and it has won international design plaudits and redefined town planning trends by creating a pedestrian friendly enclave that evokes regional architectural styles.” We went to explore it. The residential areas seemed to be designed for bike riding with single lane brick roads linking the enclaves. Large two storey wooden framed houses were painted in various soothing pastel colours and had small gardens with white picket fences. But the strangest thing was that we saw no one on the streets (apart from a couple of gardeners). It was like a ghost town. Xmas decorations were also absent. We discovered later that they are mostly holiday homes and obviously no one was on holiday. The place is pricey. At an estate- agents, the cheapest property for sale was $750,000 but most were between $1-2 million. In the small ‘downtown’ area, there was more activity and a school. I walked to the beach where a ‘sand man’ had been built with a carrot nose and stick arms. No snow in Florida but plenty of sand. It was another glorious beach but like the others, virtually deserted at this time of year.

Pushing on, we stopped at Grafton Beach for a picnic lunch, sun-tanning and dipping our toes in the rather cold Gulf of Mexico. We came north on 87 to Hwy 98 to skirt around Pensacola and crossed over into Alabama .Although the wrong season, the agriculture was usually dominated by pecans, peaches and watermelons which flourish on the gently sloping coastal plain.

We started to look for somewhere to stay but ended up crossing a long causeway to Mobile, a busy industrial seaport. There was a spectacular orange sunset and to our left lay the gigantic silhouette of the moored USS Alabama. We tried downtown Mobile which looked unexciting and got back onto Interstate 10 until we came across a large commercial park at Theodore which had a Super 8 Motel. Wendy was a bit burnt out by all the travelling so far and we could only muster the energy to visit a ‘Waffle House’ where the waitresses with their gorgeous southern accents cooed over our accents and told us of their dreams to visit London.

The USS Alabama had looked so impressive that the following morning, we decided to backtrack for a visit. We arrived at the USS Alabama Battleship Memorial Park well before the 8am opening and we pottered around the aeroplanes and war memorials “dedicated to honouring all Alabama Veterans who have participated in al conflicts of the US armed Forces.”

The Battleship USS Alabama was commissioned in 1942 and earned 9 Battle stars for escaping nine major World War Two battles unscathed. The crew also shot down 22 enemy airplanes. It is a 690ft long behemoth with a width of 108ft and height of 194ft.. It normally had a crew of 2,500. It was covered in armaments. You could do three self-guided tours on this monster and as the first and only visitors on board, we didn’t see anyone else for 90 minutes. Below decks we poked around and took in the crew’s living spaces, galley, bakery, brig, barber shop, laundry, Warrant officer’ and Marine Corps living spaces, post office, sick bay, engine room and radio room. On the main and upper decks we saw the officer’s living spaces, main guns, anti-aircraft guns, ship’s bridge nad the fire control tower. It was an excellent experience. Recommended. We also toured the nearby submarine USS Drum (1941) 311ft long and 27ft wide. It had 7 officers and 65 men. It earned 12 battle stars during World War Two.

We made for Louisiana which “is the land of the rural, French-speaking Cajuns (descended from the Acadians, 18th Century French-Canadian refugees) who live in the prairies and swamps in the south west of the state and the Creoles of jazzy, sassy New Orleans.” (RG). The Welcome Centre just across the border did free coffee. I asked a man about finding a specific cemetery where the actor Nicholas Cage had already built a strange memorial to himself. The mane drew a route on a map entering New Orleans and then said “You will need to find the tourist office near the cemetery and join a guided tour.” “Why can’t we just go in ourselves?” I asked. “It’s a rough area and too dangerous. At least if you go with a guided group its safety in numbers.” It didn’t sound an attractive proposition and we dropped the idea.

New Orleans known as the ‘Crescent City’ nestles between the southern shore of Lake Pontchartrain and a horseshoe bend in the Mississippi River making the city’s layout confusing. It was quite an exciting journey across the lake on low lying causeways which stretched for miles in both directions. The Rough Guide may have cheered that “Infused with a dizzying jumble of cultures and influences, New Orleans is a bewitching place” but I had never dreamed of going to the ‘Big Easy’. Even the nickname wasn’t catchy. The Mardi Gras festival held no interest and when Hurricane Katrina flattened the place in 2005, it gave me even less incentive to visit.

Touring the submarine in Mobile, we got chatting to the custodian about our trip. He had mentioned the St Charles Avenue streetcar. “It’s the best tourist thing in Nor’Leans and only costs $1.50. Don’t bother paying for a tour. You’ll see the place using this old public transport”. Since we were passing by it seemed rude not to drop in for a ride. Upon arrival, we even tried to book a hotel downtown but when they wanted $17 to park the car overnight, we decided to get in and out. I drove the car a mile further down St Charles Avenue and we parked for free, crossed the road and caught the streetcar.

When this route opened in 1835, it was the nation’s second horse drawn streetcar line. It was also one of the first to be electrified in 1893. Now it is one of the few to have survived the automobile era. The dual set of tram lines sit in the middle of a wide boulevard with a road on either die. One tram heads for the French Quarter, the other comes back heading into the suburbs. We just jumped on the first one that stopped, not sure what direction we were going. It was heading for the centre. It wasn’t exactly the first streetcars we had used and I had used similar one sin San Francisco for months, but it felt right to see some of the city in this fashion. The streetcar filled up with black women carrying shopping or other tourists. Leafy St Charles Avenue contained some lovely wooden mansions, many decked with Xmas decorations. It must originally have been one of the most affluent streets. Eventually we reached the shopping area and rather than get off, stayed on and let it retrace it’s way back to the car. It was late afternoon and the place looked rather grim under overcast skies. The damage wrought by Hurricane Karina had long been cleared up downtown, but the outlying poorer suburbs were still suffering even now,

We drove towards the French Quarter heading for Jackson Square and the Mississippi River where apparently “The beautiful French Quarter is where New Orleans began in 1718. Today, battered and bohemian, decaying and vibrant, it remains the spiritual core of the city, its cast iron balconies, hidden courtyards and time stained stucco buildings exerting a fascination.”, That fascination soon wears off when you are stuck in traffic gridlock due to road works all around the French quarter and barley move for an hour because the traffic lights are not synchronised and four lanes of traffic is filtered down to one. We glimpsed some of it from the car, but Jackson Square was also gridlocked and the Mississippi River hidden behind giant concrete levees. It brought to mind the red light district of Amsterdam without the women in the windows.

An executive decision was made to get out of New Orleans as soon as possible. The cars were just crawling but at least I had time to get my bearings and find Interstate 10 again. Lengthy causeways took us back out over Lake Pontchartrain in a north westerly direction. I thought the entry into and exit out of New Orleans was the best bit. I know I never gave it a chance. It may be a distinct city in the USA but it was still another grimy, overcrowded and unappealing place. The older I get the less I like city traffic. I just can’t be arsed with it.

With darkness falling, we had 355 miles to Houston and the Louisiana capital Baton Rouge less than two hours away. At the start of the trip, we had agreed that we should try and find a motel before dark because it was so much easier, but tonight, as with Mobile, we were still on the road in the dark with no clue about accommodation. Getting low on fuel and probably tired, I took a wrong exit and ended up on another highway. It was 7 miles to the first exit and then we had to come back to the original junction where I spotted a garage. “I don’t care what it costs but we are staying here” Wendy commanded. There was a “Days Inn” motel which looked up market from the Super 8 chain. The chirpy proprietor was an Indian woman. When she said it would cost $90. I was thinking “we’re in the middle of nowhere”, it was cheaper in New Orleans. She read my mind and said “The Blair Witch Project was filmed only 4 miles up the road and lots of people come to do the tour. And Brad Pitt, you’ve heard of him (er, once or twice), is directing a film up the road and the hotels are full of film crews. I will upgrade you for free.” The room was indeed nice, but the hotel we discovered was indeed virtually empty. The middle of nowhere was called ‘La Place’. She did her best though.

First she said there was an offer on ‘Trip Advisor’. If we both did a review on the hotel, we would get $10 each. This was problematic since we didn’t have internet access. The following morning, she logged in herself as us and made two individual entries and refunded us $20 which brought it down to an acceptable price. When she asked what we wanted to say about the hotel, we didn’t mention that the breakfast was far substandard to the Super 8 motels and some of the food was out of date. Secondly, she pointed out that if we got hotel receipts, we could take them to an office at the airport and get back the state tax. So we collected our receipts but back in Altanta when we checked in, I couldn’t locate the ‘office’.

Finally, when we asked if there was anywhere to eat, she pointed us up the road three miles into La Place proper, where there was a giant Wal-Mart. This was excellent news to restock on road food and alcohol. There was a Submarine fast food place attached and I had my first Submarine sandwich (yes I realise we have them in the UK but I hardly eat fast food in the UK) – a meatball sandwich with all the trimmings. Things were looking up.

All of our hotels would have CNN on TV. During our stay, they seemed obsessed with Donald Trump’s presidential campaign. Talking head after talking head would witter on and on. I think it was around this time that Trump in his infinite “wiggy” wisdom decided to announce that all Muslims should be temporarily banned from the USA and CNN went into overdrive. Other than this, we got local news stations that did not acknowledge the existence of the rest of the world and the occasional movie channel. As always, the TV in the USA was unwatchable due to the incessant commercials every three minutes. I found the medication ads the most amusing. Someone would appear and say “If you have xyz, take xyz to improve it”. Then while someone danced around on screen or did something active, a voice over would rapidly spurt out about two pages of legalise in 30 seconds such as “May cause this, may cause that.” They had to cover themselves for every eventuality. I’m sure I heard one say “This medication may be a serious cause of death.” Is it just me, but if you die, then it was probably serious. These annoying and no-stop voice overs took away any semblance of logic for advertising the medication in the first place. By the time the happy and well looking person came back to remind us what it was that made happy and well, I was thinking “What? Since it may cause all those problems, I’d be healthier not to take it”.

On the morning of Thursday 10th December after our substandard breakfast but which cost $20 less than the night before, we set off in good spirits. Back on Highway 10, we were heading for Texas. As Rich Hall said in his documentary on Texas “Texans only know of two places – Texas or TAFT. TAFT stands for ‘This ain’t fucking Texas!”. We passed through Baton Rouge with its impressive art deco skyscraper town hall and onto La Fayette and Lake Charles. It was flat country full of lakes by the side of the interstate.

Texas had a Visitors Welcome Centre just over the border and we pulled in to pick up as many leaflets as possible. The helpful staff told us the quickest way to get to the Space Centre in Houston and publicised Galveston on the coast even though we had no intention of going there. She also recommended a BBQ in Beaumont which the next town about 90 miles from Houston.

More exciting was the fact that the centre was built next to the Blue Elbow Swamp. There was a 600ft long walkway that took us out over the swamp and from which we could spot snapping turtles (3 spotted) and maybe an alligator (failed). What did come as a surprise was to see a non-venomous Yellow Broadband snake resting on some swamp vegetation. We hadn’t noticed that the Interstate had been built through this swampland. It made for a nice entrance to our 7th state.

The Rough Guide proclaimed “Still cherishing the memory that it was from 1836 to 1845 an independent nation, Texas stands proudly apart from the rest of the USA. While the sheer size of the state – 700 miles from east to west and more than 800 from top to bottom – gives its great geographical diversity, its 25 million residents are firmly bound together by a shared history and culture. Though the fervent state pride on show just about everywhere might seem a touch extreme to outsiders, Texas undeniably has a lot going for it.” The Lonely Persons guide agreed that “Texas is as big and sweeping as can be imagined. If it were a country, it would be the 40th largest and as big as it is geographically, it is equally large in people’s imaginations.” In our limited time we had lots to see.

Beaumont is a famous Texan oil town. Wikipedia says “The Texas oil boom, sometimes called the gusher age, was a period of dramatic change and economic growth in the U.S. state of Texas during the early 20th century that began with the discovery of a large petroleum reserve near Beaumont Texas. The find was unprecedented in its size and ushered in an age of industrialization that has few parallels in U.S. history. Texas quickly became one of the leading oil producing states in the U.S.” The story goes that on January 10, 1901, a well at Spindletop struck oil and this gusher blew for nine days at a rate estimated at 100,000 barrels of oil per day before it was capped. Yee-haah. There she blows. Beaumont and Texas never looked back.

Surrounded by road works and lines of traffic, we also didn’t look back at Beaumont deciding to pass on its former glories and the BBQ lunch and head for the Space Centre. I managed to find the most direct route (Hwy 146) and following it expected to see the Space Centre, well sign posted. We drove and drove and saw nothing. I noticed a road to our right called ‘NASA Parkway’ and thought that we must be close but where is the sign?. It was only when we reached Texas City on the outskirts of Galveston that I realised there were no signs. Maybe they had originally tried to hide it from the Russians and never put up signs after the Cold War was over. So I followed our limited map and my nose. We took a right and headed north on Hwy 3. There was still no sign. I pulled into a Mexican Restaurant and asked a waitress. “Take the next right – NASA Parkway. It’s down there”. So we did and we still didn’t find it. But we saw a Super 8 Motel!

It was 3.00pm. We could check in, ask them for directions and then squeeze in a visit. The guide books said it closed at 7pm. The friendly owner was originally a Londoner. She was training a new receptionist. She upgraded us to a suite but we said we’d move in after visiting the Space Centre. “I think it shuts at 5.30pm” she said’. We said “We’ll give it a go.” When we did find it a mile up the road, we only noticed a sign for it at the last moment meaning I had to cross 3 lanes of traffic to get to it – of course I could have noticed two small aircraft pointing skywards at the entrance but I was expecting rockets. The woman at the entrance said ‘You need about four hours to visit and you’ve missed the last tram tour. We close at 5pm.” (7pm is summer closure).

No matter. After over 300 miles and this introduction to Houston’s traffic directions, we didn’t mind an early finish. Our ‘suite’ had a couch in a separate area, the main bedroom part with a large space rocket picture over the bed and then the bathroom area. It was the second cheapest place during our trip ($ ). Later on, we visited a local restaurant just outside the Space Centre. After giving our order, the staff kept walking past to listen to us before one plucked up the courage to come over. “We just love your accents. Please talk to us.” One of the waiters was a Dr Who fan and we chatted about the TV programme thinking it was strange to think of Americans watching Dr Who but he knew the last three Doctors.

“The fourth largest city in the USA, Houston is an ungainly beast of a place, choked with successive rings of highways and high on humidity.” (RG). We were so far south but still in Houston that we hadn’t even seen the downtown skyline yet. Humidity wasn’t a problem in December.

Our mission on Friday 11th December, should we accept it, was to visit Houston Space Centre. The first good news was that when we arrived 30 minutes before opening, the woman at the entrance waved our $6 parking fee. As we drove into the car park, the second good news was that one of the original Space Shuttles ‘Independence’ sat on top of its large NASA 905 Shuttle carrier aircraft. Back in the summer of 1981, I had visited the Kennedy Space Centre in Florida where the very first Space Shuttle was due to launch, but it was postponed on the day I turned up. Now 26 years later, the Space Shuttle had served it use setting up the International Space Station and had been and gone. But all those years later, I got to see one at last.

“NASA has been controlling space flight from Johnson Space Centre at Space Centre Houston since the launch of Gemini 4 in 1965. The first word spoken on the moon was ‘Houston’. A working facility and the nerve centre of the International Space Station, it offers an insight into modern space exploration with tram (trolley) tours giving behind-the-scenes glimpses into various NASA compounds.” (Rough Guide). Space Centre Houston is a space and science museum featuring more than 400 space artefacts, including a moon rock you can touch. Located on 1600 acres, Johnson Space Centre is the home of Mission Control where human space missions and the operations of the International Space Station are monitored. It is also where astronauts prepare and train for missions.

When it opened at 10am we went straight for the tram ride but had to wait 20 minutes to be the first on board. We were taken around the massive complex past ‘Rocket Park’ and various buildings to the original Mission control. Anyone old enough in 1973 or anyone who has watched the ‘Apollo 13’ movie with Tom Hanks will remember the immortal words of “Houston we have a problem“ after an oxygen canister exploded and the capsule started leaking oxygen. The mission was aborted but somehow they got back to earth. We were told by the guide that all the small computer screens (which were new in those days) were all linked to a mainframe which had the memory of 64K. It seemed remarkable that they got astronauts to the moon and back with less computing power than a mobile phone today. The current Mission Control (out of bounds to Joe Public) is under the old Mission Control

We were then taken to a huge building and climbed up to a platform to stare through the glass panel and walked a quarter of a mile past space hardware stimulations such as the new Orion stuff being planned for a manned trip to Mars. There were robots which are intended to be used a Artificial Intelligence to aid real astronauts. These looked a bit creepy with their skull like heads and spindly legs. It was a vast warehouse of toys and a few staff trying to look busy.

Returning to Rocket Park, there were some space debris outside – an old rocket engine, an old gantry and a couple of small rockets but in another vast building, on its side, lay an old unused brilliant white Saturn rocket which had been used for the Apollo missions. Starting at the five massive main boosters, each section had been divided so you could see the separate sections that drop off as the rocket hurled into space. Down one side was a presentation on each of the Apollo missions. The Apollo 11 mission (landing on the moon) and Apollo 13 were of most interest to me.

Back in the main complex, we tackled a variety of attractions including two excellent movie presentations in the Space Centre Theatre which had one of the largest giant screens in Texas and the Blast off Theatre which was a look at life and science on the International Space Station and the future of human space flight. There was a mock-up of the International Space Station with artefacts, space hardware and a model of the orbiting laboratory. Most interesting was the Starship Gallery which was a history of the space program. There was an old retired NASA project manager who was taking round a group of schoolchildren. They were interested in looking at the stuff but not in what he was saying. But he had loads of stories from the Apollo missions which were very interesting hearing it from a person directly responsible. I listened in while the kids looked bored and ignored him. When I suggested to him that the Russians had actually led the Americans in the Space Race pretty much up to landing on the moon, he almost choked and said “No way. Their entire project was led by one man and when he died, they never caught up. They got the German rocket scientists after the war which gave them a head start.” This was the section where you culd touch some reach moon rook. It was a thin smooth black slither. You stuck your fingers in to touch it. I’m sure I previously touched some moon rock at the Space Centre outside Canberra in Australia.

Five hours after arriving, we finally exhausted ourselves. It had been worth the long drive from Atlanta. Recommended. That was the only attraction we wanted to see and finding Hwy 45, we headed north and drove right through the centre of Houston which was just a sprawl of conurbations and miles of slow moving traffic. Dallas was around 260 miles away and by the time we escaped the northern part of Houston, it was obvious that we wouldn’t reach the ‘Big D’. I expected to see endless landscapes of cattle country in Texas but on the eastern side under overcast skies, it was rather non-descript.

Late in the afternoon, we pulled into a small place called Buffalo and checked into an America’s Best Value Inn which was a motel where you could park the car outside and there was a decent breakfast. Next door was a Dickies BBQ shack. I guess this is a semi-fast food BBQ chain where once you got your BBQ you served yourself with everything else and paid at the end of the line. We had good eating there with pork and ham BBQ and sides of coleslaw, fries etc. The carver even gave Wendy little taster buckets of the BBQ so she could try before making a decision. Free ice cream was thrown in dessert.

On Saturday morning, we re-joined Hwy 45 for the remaining distance into Dallas which the Rough Guide reminded us “Contrary to popular belief, there’s no oil in status-conscious Dallas. Successive generations have amassed wealth here through trade and finance using first cattle and later oil reserves as collateral. The city’s image was tarnished by the assassination of President Kennedy in 1963 and it took the building of the Dallas/Fort Worth International Airport in the 1960s, and the twin successes of the ‘Dallas’ TV show and the Cowboys football team in the 1970s to restore confidence”

Hwy 45 took us right past downtown on elevated roads. Dallas is a paean to commerce. There was an elegant modern skyline with many famous skyscrapers. The Fountain Place Tower had sharp edges reminiscent of a blue crystal while the Reunion Tower looks like a giant 1970s microphone. We joined Hwy 75 heading northeast out of Dallas for the town of Parker. Wendy had been a fan of the ‘Dallas’ TV soap opera and I had promised to take her to visit ‘Southfork Ranch’. The leaflet said “Experience television history and Texas hospitality at Southfork, the world’s most famous ranch. Internationally recognised as the filming location for the long running Dallas series. Tour the famed Ewing mansion. See the gun that shot J.R, Lucy’s Wedding Dress and Jock’s Lincoln Continental.” Well who could resist, even if I had never watched Dallas in the late 1970s and early 80s. The episode which revealed JR’s shooter was still the second most watched TV programme in both American and British TV history. I never watched Dallas and could care less.

When we walked into the ticket office/shop we found a line of people waiting for someone. Linda Gray (who played Sue Ellen – JR’s alcoholic wife) was coming to sign her autobiography. Wendy couldn’t believe it. While she popped to the toilet, Linda Gray arrived. For a 75 year old she looked pretty good. She said it was her diet and lifestyle. I couldn’t possibly comment. As she seated herself for the signings, Wendy and I walked up. “We’re from England” and shook hands. She replied “I was over there last year doing pantomime in London.” This is where I wanted to say “Did you say to the audience “Where’s my acting career?” and they all yelled “It’s behind you.” But I was polite and civil and didn’t embarrass Wendy who was meeting a hero. Wendy bought the book ready for signing.

With the long line, we decided to do the tour of the ranch first. A friendly old guide Wilson complete with Stetson hat, attempted to round up anyone for a tour but most people were there to see Ms Gray. Only half a dozen of us boarded the tram which took us around the ranch and over to the Ewing’s House. The farmhouse was lived in by a family and they had agreed that exterior location shots could only be filmed between June and August which was the hottest part of the year. The rest of the filming took place in studios in Los Angeles. Various rooms had been themed to specific characters – Lucy’s room, Bobby’s room etc. Larry Hagman (JR) had died during the latest version of Dallas and they had to write him out. He was murdered in a Mexican hotel. A room in this farmhouse was used as a the pretend motel room and it had the murdered body outline on the floor. The whole place had been done out in Xmas decorations and looked very festive. Wendy was in her element. We strolled around the ranch to see the token long horned Texas cattle and some horses and Jock’s Lincoln Continental. I had my photo taken in front of the sign indicating a ‘Stud Farm’.

Back in the shop, I was dismayed to see that the line was no shorter. To give her, her due, Ms Gray did take time to speak to each fan, pose for photos, sign everything presented but consequently, it was slow going. As we stood in line, I started speed reading her autobiography while Wendy made friends with people in the queue. I didn’t know that we would spend THREE hours waiting to meet her. She was supposed to be in and out in two hours by 1.30pm but the line was still long and she kept going. I would pop out to walk around the ranch and then come back and keep reading the book. As we got closer, I finished the book. We were all getting on like a house on fire with lots of laughter. Someone ahead of us had a pile of stuff to sign. “Maybe he’s trying to sell her insurance” I quipped. I was getting more impatient and bored and made humorous comments to keep myself entertained.

A sheriff had been standing near Ms Gray throughout her visit. He had obviously been listening to us crack jokes and comments. Finally, after all the waiting, it was our turn next. Just as Ms Gray looked up to wave us over, the Sheriff stepped in front of Wendy and said ‘Sorry Mam. That’s it. There’s no more time.” Then he burst into laughter. “If you could have seen your face”. Everybody cracked up. As we approached Ms Gray said “I wondered who was making all the commotion, I might have known it was you two.” So we had a chat about her time in London and had the book signed and a photo of us all together and we got our five minutes of Dallas history and it made Wendy’s trip. Which was nice. Ironically, on my trip schedule, we were running a day late and we had been due to visit here on the Friday. Thank god we didn’t.

On the way out of Dallas on Hwy 75 I had seen a sign for the George W Bush Presidential Centre. Our Southfork guide had commented “While I didn’t agree with his politics, he was a nice man and his Presidential Centre is really impressive.” So heading back into Dallas, I followed the signs and we pulled in for a rapid visit of 75 minutes before it closed.

Located on the campus of Southern Methodist University, the $300 million Bush Library and Museum built in 2013 is home to the presidential archives. The website said “You are invited to visit America’s 13th Presidential Library and Museum located in Dallas, Texas. As the Nation's official record keeper, the National Archives and Records Administration (NARA) serves as administrator for records of the United States Federal Government. NARA's Presidential Libraries and Museums are repositories for textual, electronic, and audiovisual Presidential records as well as domestic and foreign Presidential gifts. With its state-of-the-art interactive exhibits, the George W. Bush Presidential Library and Museum gives visitors an in-depth look at eight years of American history, the American Presidency, and important issues. Experience the interactive Decision Points Theater that takes visitors "inside" the President’s decision-making process during major crises.”

To enter it, we had to show ID and go through the usual airport security machine but the guard was friendly. We walked from the imposing entrance lobby into Freedom Hall. This 67ft tall area “encases a one-of-a-kind, 360 degree, high definition video wall that orients visitors”’. This was superb. It was a rolling show. We didn’t have time to watch it all but it showed landscapes and people of Texas.

There was an introduction movie where Bush and his wife outlined their backgrounds and values. This was well done and he did come across as a decent man. Since the biggest event in Bush’s presidency was the bombing of the World Trade Centre on Sept 11th 2001, there was a lot on this including footage of the event and a sculpture made from some of the ruined steel. There was another section on the fall-out from the event and eventual invasion of Iraq. Another section detailed his achievements. I didn’t realise there were any. I noticed that the New Orleans disaster after Hurricane Katrina in 2005 didn’t get much press. He was heavily criticised for his delay in getting any emergency support there. There was a full scale replica of his Oval Office and we were allowed to sit behind the Resolute Desk to have our photos taken. I could have spent another couple of hours there but it was closed at 5pm. Recommended.

“Often dismissed as some kind of poor relation to Dallas, Fort Worth has a buzz largely missing from its neighbour 35 miles to the east. Distinctly western in character and history, in the 1870s it was a stop on the great cattle drive to Kansas, the ‘Chisolm Trail’ when more than 10 million head of cattle tramped trough the city and when the railroads arrived it became a livestock market in its own right. Cowboys and outlaws populated the city in its early years and much of that character remains. (Rough Guide). Dallas and Fort Worth have now merged together anchoring a giant megalopolis of 6 million people known as the Metroplex.

Leaving the Presidential Centre, we took Interstate 30 to Fort Worth and headed for the Stockyards area where “with its wooden sidewalks, old storefronts, dusty rodeos and beer-soaked honky-tonks, the ten block Stockyards area, centred on Exchange Avenue, offers an evocation of the days when Fort Worth was “the richest little city in the world” (Rough Guide). The Cowtown Coliseum holds rodeos every weekend and prides itself as the longest continuous rodeo in the world. Wendy had never seen a rodeo so it seemed appropriate to attend one since it was so close to Dallas. Wendy had even bought a Stetson hat at the Southfork Ranch just for the show. The Stockyards area had a lot of character and was obviously a popular place for nightlife. It would have been nice to explore it properly but tonight we only had time for the rodeo.

The Cowtown Coliseum was a moderately sized indoor arena and you did feel close to the action. The audience was mostly tourists. It started with a man holding the American flag who charged around the sandy arena. This was followed by the American national anthem. The announcer had a great Texas drawl and a good sense of humour. There were a number of events over the next couple of hours (with an interval).

Bare back riding is one of the most physically demanding events in rodeo. Cowboys had to ride a bucking horse for 8 seconds holding nothing but a single handed rigging cinched around the horses girth. His free hand was not allowed to touch anything. Saddle Bronc Riding was the Rodeo’s classic event. A bronc rider synchronised his spurring action with the animals backing style for 8 seconds to gain points. Ranch Saddle Bronc was a variation of this but it all looked like bucking horses to me. These three events were very dynamic to watch. There was an excellent rock soundtrack to accompany it all.

There were also roping events. With Break Away roping the cowboy’s goal was to throw their rope as fast as they could. Both calf and cowboy started behind a barrier. The cowboy threw a loop and caught the calf around its neck, while simultaneously stopping the horse. The rope was tied to the saddle with a piece of string and when horse stopped the calf kept running and broke the string. Blink and you might miss it. It was over in seconds Tie-Down Roping was where a mounted cowboy gave a calf a head start, then chased and roped it. They then dismounted, lay the calf on its side and tied any 3 legs together.

Team roping requires precise timing and anticipation between the ‘header’ and ‘heeler’. This was the only real team event in the rodeo. The header’s job was to rope the steer around the horns or neck, then turn the steer left so that the heeler could rope both the hind legs. No one succeeded tonight. Barrel racing looked simple but requires precise skill. The contestant and horse circled three barrels in a cloverleaf pattern as quickly as possible without knocking over the barrel. Each knock down was a 5 second penalty. Only cowboys did the bare back riding, saddle bronc riding and ranch saddle bronc but female riders did some of the roping events and the barrel racing.

The final event was Bull Riding where a cowboy tried to ride a bull for 8 seconds while holding a simple rope looped around the bull’s midsection. They couldn’t use their free hand. While not as dynamic as the bucking horses, it was still impressive to watch a massive animal trying to get a man off its back. It was a really enjoyable evening with entertainment for all the family. I’m not sure how many ‘cowboys’ were locals just doing a part time job and how many were there for the competitions. The scoring system was complicated but who cared. We just wanted to see the skill factor no matter who was best.

Around 10.30pm we left the busy Stockyards area and tried to find the Interstate 30 back to Dallas. Road works sent us where we didn’t want to go. I tried to follow my nose and thought we were on Interstate 18. We were looking for a motel and nothing was obvious. I pulled into a garage to ask if there were any nearby. A customer got on his smart phone and located a Super 8 a couple of miles away in Bedford on Hwy 183. We were relieved. It was nearly midnight by the time we checked in.

On Sunday December 13th, we followed Hwy 183 to downtown Dallas. The Dallas Marathon was underway and the area around the Convention Centre was shut down for the event. I managed to take backroads and end up near our final destination. We parked near the restored red-brick warehouses of the West End Historic District. A few blocks south and west lay Dealy Plaza, forever associated with the Kennedy Assassination. A small green space beside Houston Street’s triple underpass, it has become one of the most recognisable urban streetscapes in the world. Rather than down play the events that sent the city reeling in 1963, Dallas gives visitors a unique opportunity to delve into the shooting.

A leaflet said “It has been more than 50 years since President John F. Kennedy was assassinated in downtown Dallas, yet his legacy lives on. The Sixth Floor Museum presents the social and political landscape of the early 1960s, chronicles President Kennedy’s assassination and its aftermath and reflects upon his lasting impact on our country and our world.” The Texas Schoolbook Depository is now the Dallas County Administration Building, the penultimate floor of which houses the Sixth Floor Museum. This was an excellent place with an audio guide. The displays build up a suspenseful narrative, culminating in the infamous juddering 8mm footage of Kennedy being shot. It is full of historic television and radio broadcasts and the voices of reporters, police and witnesses to the assassination. The ‘gunman’s nest’ has been recreated where Lee Harvey Oswald supposedly shot the President.

It is not until we peered down on the route that it seemed strange what had happened. The motorcade had initially approached this building on Elm Street and the sniper would have had a perfect shot before the car turned to head down towards the underpass on Houston Street where the President was shot. We could see two crosses on the road where he had been hit. But it didn’t make sense. The target after the car had turned was further away than head on and in the footage, Kennedy’s head goes back when he is hit by the second bullet. How could that have happened if the bullet came from behind. The museum was very informative on all the conspiracy theories and subsequent investigations. There was also the original FBI mock-up of the scene with string indication the path of the bullet oming down from the gun nest to where the president was shot. I thought it was an excellent museum and we spent nearly three hours there. Recommended.

On Dealy Plaza at ground level, we saw the plinth where Zapruder had shot his footage of the assassination nearby to the ‘grassy knoll. .’Anybody shooting from this area would ave had a clear and close shot. I came away from Dallas with the impression that two shooters were involved but that Lee Harvey may have got off the first shot.

In the afternoon, we followed Interstate 30 East heading for Little Rock, Arkansas. It was 320 miles away and there was no way we would get there today. The overcast skies broke into heavy rainstorms which did nothing to improve the ride when overtaking all the large trucks and spray blinding us. One of the traffic signs overhead said “Water on the road. Don’t drown. Turn around”. We drove until we reached Texarkana on the border. The Super 8 motel was on the actual border with Arkansas. We feasted on Italian food at the Olive Garden restaurant which had the spiciest prawns I had ever tasted. We had really enjoyed Texas. I think it was my favourite state. There was so much to see and do. The people were friendly and laid back and I think we will be back to tour the rest of the gigantic state.

“Hiding out between the Midwest and the Deep South, Arkansas is America’s overlooked treasure” (Lonely Persons Guide) while the Rough Guide said “Historically, Arkansas (pronounced Arkansaw) belongs firmly in the South. It sided with the Confederacy during the Civil War and its capital Little Rock was, in 1957, one of the most notorious flashpoints in the struggle for civil rights. Geographically, it marks the beginning of the Great Plains.” We would only be driving through but there were three sites we wanted to take in.

In 1992 local boy Bill Clinton’s accession to the prudency catapulted Arkansas to national prominence. He was born in Hope which was just off the interstate within thirty minutes of entering the state. We turned off into the small town and located his ‘birth home’ at 111 Hervey Street Hope. This was a sizeable two story wooden house near the railroad track. He spent his first four years here though his father had died before his birth. From the size of the property, it wasn’t a poverty stricken childhood.

Throughout our trip, I had usually kept between 70 and 80 mph on the interstates which was usually above the speed limit. In Texas you could do 75mpht, even though overhead signs told us that Texas had had 3079 road deaths in 2015. As I passed a state trooper sat in the central reservation, I slowed but I was still doing well over the 65mph speed limit. He pulled out and his mickey mouse ears started to flash red to pull us over. I had to reach back into my bag behind my seat to get my ID and I had visions of him thinking I was going for a gun. But I had turned the engine off. We waited for the fine.

He was a friendly guy. Once he had inspected my passport, driver’s ID and car rental agreement and asked us about our trip, he drawled “You need to tone it down a little. I’m going to give you a written warning” and disappeared to his car. He was back a few minutes later. “Our system doesn’t recognise your driver’s licence number so I’m just going to give you a verbal warning.” I had mentioned that we were just doing the speed that everyone else was doing, which we were. “Yes, I appreciate that but when they come past me, they should be doing the speed limit.” I also mentioned we had been used to the faster Texan speeds. “Yeah, well….” He drawled “Them Texicans are a world until themselves.” I thought ‘Texican’ was an excellent phrase – a cross between Texan and Mexican since Mexicans were the majority in Texas. It had been a close shave but we got off. I kept to the speed limit for the rest of our time in Arkansas.

We drove on to the capital Little Rock which is the geographical, political and financial centre of Arkansas. It had a relaxed, open feel. Paraphrasing the Rough Guide, in 1957, Little Rock unexpectedly became the battleground in the first major conflict between state and federal government over race relations. At the time the city was generally viewed as progressive by Southern standards. All parks, libraries and buses were integrated, 30% of blacks were on the electoral roll and there were black police officers. However, when the Little Rock School Board announced its decision to phase in desegregation gradually after the Supreme Court had declared segregation of schools to be unconstitutional, local politicians including the Governor started to campaign against it. The first nine black students were due to enter the Central High School that September, but the Governor ordered the National Guard to block the them. President Eisenhower reluctantly called in the 1200 strong 101st Airborne Division and amid violent demonstrations the nine entered the school. The High School is now a National Historical Landmark so we went to have a look. It is an enormous brown crescent shaped structure and the biggest school I have ever seen, though I think it had broken up for the Xmas holidays. We only saw three black students. I think it can hold 2500 students and it even had its own American football stadium.

The dazzling William J. Clinton Presidential Library and Museum forms an anchor for the River Market District. It is an elevated, glass and metal building glinting above the Arkansas River east of downtown. It houses the largest archival collection in Presidential history including 80 million pages of documents and 2 million photographs. Clinton’s limousine was in the lobby, having been put into service when he became President and donated to the Presidential Library when he left office. After the obligatory introduction movie with his background and values, Clinton’s library had massive charts detailing the major incidents during each year of his presidency whether political, economic or social and what he achieved during that year. There were examples of his normal day with all the meetings. At the start of his Presidency he was jogging at the start of the day. Later it was always TBC (to be confirmed) in the daily diaries. Unsurprisingly, there was no mention of Monica Lewinsky.

There was another full scale replica of his Oval Office and we got our photos behind the Resolute Desk for a second time. A cabinet office from the time had been built with lots of interactive stuff about the decision making processes. In the upper floor were some of the gifts given to him including a White House made out of Dollar bills. There was also a really funny ‘Last days of President Clinton in the White House’ film – check it out on YouTube where Clinton sends himself up. Yet again, I could have spent hours there but Wendy dragged me out after a two. We chatted with the staff who were all very friendly. Recommended.

After driving downtown to see the Governor’s Mansion where Clinton declared his intention to run for President and where he made his first speech once elected, we headed out of Little Rock onto Interstate 40 for a 130 mile drive to Memphis. We stopped in West Memphis which was technically still in Arkansas and booked into a Super 8 motel for two nights. We were able to walk to an all you can eat restaurant next to it. It wasn’t until I looked at the guide books that I realised that the main tourist attractions were closed in Memphis on a Tuesday. Tomorrow was Tuesday! Doh!

The Rough Guide said “Perched above the Mississippi River, Memphis is perhaps the single most exciting destination in the south. “ Except on a Tuesday. The Lonely Persons Guide added “It doesn’t just attract tourists, it draws pilgrims.” I had a cunning plan. Just south of Memphis, Tennessee was the state of Mississippi and the fabled Highway 61. We had only driven non-stop across the narrow southern section of Mississippi after Alabama on the way to Texas so this was an excuse to check out the Mississippi Delta. To enter Memphis, we had to cross the Mississippi River but there wasn’t much of a view from behind the barriers on the bridge.

One of our thing to see in Memphis was Graceland, the home of Elvis Presley. Neither of us were Elvis fans but it is a famous sight. We had to drive south and a minor detour would take us there. Even though it wasn’t open on a Tuesday I thought we might as well check it out anyway. Nine miles south of downtown on Hwy 51 (Elvis Presley Blvd), Graceland is a surprisingly modest home for the world’s most popular entertainer. He was just 22 when he paid $100,000 for it in 1957. Built in 1939, the stone–clad house was then considered one of the most desirable properties in Memphis.

When we arrived, we were surprised that we could park out on the street next to the garden walls. I had read that it cost $10 to park your car at the Graceland Plaza. The famous ‘musical gate’ etched with musical notes and Elvis’s silhouette was open and we could see the mansion up at the end of the drive. There was a female security guard in her box. We asked if we could go in. Yes, just stay to the right. Result. It turned out that the mansion itself was shut on a Tuesday but you could still enter the grounds. A Christmas nativity scene had been set up on the lawn and a ‘Merry Xmas from Elvis’ sign. We walked up to the mansion which didn’t look half the size that I had expected. Then we moved on to the ‘Medication’ garden where Elvis (8/1/35 – 16/8/77), his mother Gladys, his father Vernon and his grandfather Minnie Mae lie buried. We had the place to ourselves until a few others drifted in. We weren’t that bothered to have missed the opportunity to tour the mansion itself and it did save $33 each!

Across the road from the mansion was Graceland Plaza. This contained a bunch of souvenir shops selling all things Elvis. One of his 1950s convertible cars stood on a pedestal. There was the Elvis Presley radio station playing Elvis 24 hours a day and large posters of the King on various walls – usually the young version and not the ‘he died on the toilet’ versions. Off to one side, stood one of his personal aeroplanes – the Lisa Marie, a Convair 880 jet customised inside with a 24 carat-gold washroom and velvet The place was almost deserted and most of the shops closed. This was fine by us. We got to have a glimpse of the massive commercialisation involved and get out with our wallets intact. The ‘Heartbreak Hotel’ stood next to Graceland Plaza. Give me a break.

Elvis ticked off, we found Highway 61 and headed into the state of Mississippi (pop 3m). The Lonely Person’s Guide said “One of the USA’s most misunderstood(and yet most mythologized) states, Mississippi is home to gorgeous country roads, shabby juke joints, crispy catfish, hallowed authors and acres of cotton.” The Rough Guide had better information “Before the Civil War, when cotton was king and slavery remained unchallenged, Mississippi was the nation’s fifth wealthiest state. Since the conflict, it has consistently been the poorest.” It is still reliant on cotton but legalised gambling in the 1990s has stimulated the economy somewhat. “From Reconstruction onwards, Mississippi was known as the greatest bastion of segregation in the south. It witnessed some of the most notorious incidents in the civil rights era, from the lynching of Emmett Till in 1955, to the murder of three activists during the “Freedom summer” of 1964 which exposed the intimate connections between the Ku Klux Klan and the states’ law enforcement officers. Not until the 1970s did the church bombings and murders end. The Gulf shoreline suffered appalling devastation from Hurricane Katrina in 2005 and the BP oil spill of 2010 also took its toll “

In the cultivated flood plain, along Highway 61, American music took root. Deriving from African slave singing, it mutated into the Blues which then evolved into Rock and Roll. The town of Clarkesdale seemed to spawn many of the earliest Blues musicians and from there the musicians headed up Highway 61 to the industrial cities to find work in the music clubs.

The Mississippi delta was flat as a pancake. Errily so. Highway 61 was dead straight. Outside Tulisa was a Blues Visitor Centre, an old wooden building on a platform. Blues music was being piped out of loudspeakers and it sounded wonderful with the non-descript scenery all around. Wendy was taking her photos in ‘sepia’ and the yellow/brown shots seemed to capture the moment as if the photos had been shot in by gone times. The Mississippi River was off to the right a few miles away, but no roads seemed to accompany it. We turned off for a town on the other side of the river and crossed the Mississippi and then back over again so we could take in the immense body of water.

The Rough Guide said that “Clarkesdale, the first significant town south of Memphis, has an unquestionable right to claim itself as the home of the blues. It has a phenomenal roll call of former residents, including Muddy waters, John Lee Hooker, Howlin’ Wolf, Robert Johnson, Ike turner and Sam Cooke”. The town also contained the famous ‘Crossroads’ (at the junction of Highway 61 and 47) where Robert Johnson made a deal with the devil and became America’s first guitar hero. This was immortalized in his tune “Cross Road Blues.” I had visions of the crossroads being in the middle of nowhere, but it was in the southern section of town. At the Crossroads which had a twin guitar sculpture to commemorate the event, was an old BBQ joint called ‘Abes’ which had been there since 1924. Inside, its walls were full of photos of various celebrities and press clippings of reviews of the place over the years. It felt like it hadn’t changed much in decades. We had excellent BBQ washed down by Budweiser beers. Unlike any fast food place, this restaurant had ‘character’. Recommended.

We drove around Clarkesville which had various signs indicating where someone had lived or something happened. It was one of those places you needed a day to explore on foot. There were also a selection of Blues Museums. We didn’t have the time and took Hwy 278 via Batesville to Oxford. The Rough Guide said “19,000 residents and 20,000 students enable Oxford, an enclave of wealth in a predominantly poor region, to blend rural charm with a vibrant cultural life. Its central square is archetypical small town America.” As we entered Oxford, quiet residential streets were sprinkled with antebellum homes including William Faulkner’s (an American novelist) old house. Oxford’s central square was probably the most charming I have seen in the USA. The white courthouse/town hall dominates the centre and surrounding it were two storied brick buildings with wooden balconies on the first floor. The oldest Department store in the south was on one side. I was taking a lot of photos and managed to drop my camera, destroying it. Fortunately Wendy had her camera for the rest of the trip. Back to Batesville, we returned to Memphis via Hwy 51 North for a second night at our motel. That night the final Republican Presidential candidates’ debate was on CNN with Donald Trump as the elephant in the room.

On Wednesday December 16 we drove back to downtown Memphis which was open again to visit the National Civil Rights Museum. The Rough Guide said it “provides the most rewarding and comprehensive history of the long and tumultuous struggle for civil rights to be had anywhere in the South.” It is built around the turquoise exterior of the former 1950s Lorraine Motel, where Dr Martin Luthur King Jr was assassinated by James Earl Ray on April 4th 1968. Dr King was killed by a single bullet as he stood on the balcony, the evening before he was due to lead a march in Memphis in support of a strike by black sanitation workers. Apparently, the Lorraine Hotel was one of the few places where blacks and whites could meet in Memphis during the segregation era. The song ‘Knock on Wood’ was written here by black singer Eddie Floyd and white guitarist Steve Cropper. Dr King was also a regular guest.

The Museum inside had a succession of impressive galleries that recounted the major milestones of the black civil rights movement right up to the Black Panthers. There was some horrifying and very emotional footage, but it is when we reached Dr King’s bedroom (Room 306) still laid out as he left it with coffee, cigarettes and room service, and saw the spot on the balcony outside where his life was cut short that we were most affected by the place. A historic moment in American History took place here. You can see the boarding house across the street where the gunman allegedly fired. I thought it was one of the best museums I’d ever visited. Recommended.

We only had two days left and decided to push on across the entire state of Tennessee to visit the Great Smoky Mountains National Park before returning south to Atlanta. “A shallow rectangle just 100 miles from north to south, Tennessee stretches 450 miles from the Mississippi to the Appalachians.“ (Rough Guide). We would be driving most of that.to Gatlinburg. Interstate 40 took us to Nashville, but we had no interest in Nashville on this trip and to avoid the heavy traffic, we took a southern ‘ring road’ (Hwy 80) bypassing the city before re-joining Interstate 40 East. It was overcast or raining and a good afternoon to travel. About an hour before Knoxville, we found a Super 8 motel at Cooksville and feasted on another Mexican meal.

It was still raining the following morning. Before Knoxville, we turned onto a small road to Lenoir City and the Maryville rolling ontoTownsend and entered the western side of the Great Smokey Mountains National Park. The Lonely Persons Guide called it “a moody magical place with landscapes ranging from deep dim spruce forest to sunny meadows.” Situated on the southern Appalachians which are the world’s oldest mountain range, there are endless miles of deciduous forest (about 815 square miles to be precise). Stretching for seventy miles along the Tennessee-North Carolina border, the park lies just two miles south of Gatlinburg on US-441. It attracts more than 10 million visitors a year, more than twice as many as any other national park in the USA. “These spectacularly corrugated peaks are named for the bluish haze that hangs over them, made up of moisture and hydrocarbons released by the lush vegetation – the park is home to the largest swath of old growth forest left standing in the east and is one of the most biodiverse places on earth. Sixteen peaks rise above 6000ft, their steep elevation accounting for dramatic changes in climate”. (Rough Guide). Which sounded great and it was and probably why they call it the Great Smokey Mountains National Park.

We headed for Cades Cove via the Rich Mountain Road. The 11 mile driving loop passed deserted barns, homesteads, mills and churches (e.g. the 1827 Primitive Baptist church) that all stand as a reminder of the famers who carved out a living from this wilderness before National Park status was established in 1934. A week before Christmas this section of the park was virtually deserted. There were other tourists but not enough to get stuck on single lane tracks. I can’t imagine the gridlock when the leaves turn in the autumn. We went looking for black bears and did see trees which they had scratched their claws against. There were warning posters in the major car parks about approaching and feeding bears but we only saw white tailed deer and wild turkeys. Supposedly, there are more than 1500 kinds of flowering plants in the park but in winter we saw none of them. It was a nice peaceful place, where you could park by a fast flowing river and stroll across a bridge, or sit by a meadow and look for deer. We were very impressed with the park and liked it very much. It made a change to see some of America’s natural wonders.

Before dusk, we headed for Gatlinburg. We knew there was a Super 8 motel there but after driving down the main street and out of Gatlinburg, we had not seen it. We tried again in case we had missed it. In the end, I popped into a Visitors Centre on the outskirts for directions. It was on a side street off the main street. Doh! Wendy got chatting to the friendly motel receptionist and discovered that they had ‘Honeymoon suites’. These contained real gas fires and jacuzzis. So we treated ourselves to one on the third floor. The terrace overlooked the town including the blue neon lit observation tower. Gatlinburg is one of those places that is geared to tourists and has loads of strange and meaningless entertainments to keep them occupied. They come and go depending on how awful they are. Since this was the week before Christmas, it was very quiet and much of the town shut down. Fortunately, the hotels and shops had the Christmas decorations up and in the light flurries of snow, it looked very festive.

We ambled out for dinner around 8.30pm. The nearest restaurant was closed and also the next one after that. This was strange. It turned out that we had gained an hour in Gatlinburg and it was really 9.30pm which was why so much was closed with no tourists. But the ‘Bubba Gump Shrimp Company’ was still open and doing good business. This was a Forrest Gump themed restaurant with posters on the wall and his phrases. I had been carrying around the quote from his friend Bubba about shrimp just for an occasion such as this. “Anyway, like I was sayin’,” Bubba informed Forrest “shrimp is the fruit of the sea. You can barbeque it, boil it, bake it, saute it. Dey’s uh, shrimp-kabobs, shrimp creole, shrimp gumbo. Pan fried, deep fried, stir fried. There’s pineapple shrimp, lemon shrimp, coconut shrimp, pepper shrimp. Shrimp soup, shrimp stew, shrimp salad, shrimp and potatoes, shrimp burger, shrimp sandwich... That’s about it”

On the table were two signs: a red “Run Forrest Run” to attract the waiting staff and a blue “Stop Forrest Stop” if you didn’t need anything. It was quite expensive so we had the cheapest shrimp dinners and a beer/cocktail and the ambience was nice. During the meal, a waitress came and asked us and a neighbouring Kentucky family if we wanted to play a “What do you know about Forrest Gump?” quiz. I answered most of the questions on my own before the other family even attempted. “We’ve only seen it once and that was years ago” they said. Suffice to say, it was a lovely night out, and you could pay for your ‘Bubba Gump’ pint glass as a souvenir. And that’s all I’ve got to say about that.

The following morning after a final jacuzzi and breakfast, we headed south out of Gatlinburg on Hwy 441. Officially it was 200 miles to Atlanta, Georgia if we went the direct route. We travelled through the park along a twisting forested road which had surprisingly little traffic. Climbing up, we reached a lookout of wonderful forests and a sign that said “North Carolina-Tennessee State line 5046ft.” North Carolina was our final state, the 10th, but we were only just popping in and out of it. Down the other side, I saw a sign for the ‘Blue Ridge Parkway Drive.’ This was a famous twisting mountain road that runs all the way from the Great Smokey Mountains National Park to Virginia. It was largely built in the 1930s by President Roosevelt’s Civilian Conservation Corps which was an employment project to give people work during the depression. I had always wanted to drive the Blue Ridge Parkway Drive. Checking on the map, I saw that we could do 30 miles or so of it and then turn off to head to Atlanta. It was a delight to drive through the vast panoramic expanses of forested hillside on constantly curved roads. The trees were either green or silvery which made it all look very festive. We stopped to admire various ridges. The best named one was ‘Thunderstruck Ridge’ at 4780ft. One day. I’ll be back one day to do it all.

We were flying home tomorrow and we intended to reach Atlanta today so that we could do some sightseeing tomorrow. We took Hwy 64 which joined Hwy 23 to Clayton and then Freeway 985 which turned into Freeway 85 taking us to downtown Atlanta. We stopped at a shopping mall in a smaller town and did our final shopping.

Around 50 miles north of Atlanta, we saw a Super 8 motel off the freeway, but I thought there would be one closer to the city. We ended up getting stuck in horrendous Friday night rush hour traffic, crawling along the dark four lane highway bumper to bumper and we didn’t see any motels, let alone a Super 8. In retrospect we should have stopped at that other one. I ended up turning off the 85 and taking backroads to Interstate 20 heading east. Surely there would be a motel on this road. We spotted a couple of motels off slip roads but they didn’t do breakfasts or even have coffee machines in the room. Another slip road and another motel and it was the same story. We drove on and finally at Decatur which is an Atlanta suburb, we found a Super 8 motel with all that we had been used to on the trip.

Saturday December 19th was our final day in the southern states of America. Atlanta beckoned and at least the traffic was light around 8am as we retraced our way back to the downtown area. We were back in Georgia which the Lonely Person’s Guide said “The largest state east of the Mississippi River is a labyrinth of geographical and cultural extremes; right leaning Republican politics against liberal idealism; small conservative towns merge with sprawling, progressively financially flush cities.” Atlanta with five million residents in the metro and outlying areas and the so-called capital of the south continues to experience explosive growth. Without natural boundaries to control development, it keeps growing which explained the terrible traffic. We were warned about Atlanta’s awful traffic in northern Georgia.

We had time to fit in two final sights. These would not be the Coca-Cola Headquarters or CNN’s Headquarters both in downtown Atlanta. Firstly, we headed for the Carter Centre which was located on a hilltop overlooking down town. Our third Presidential Centre, it featured exhibits highlighting the Presidency of Jimmy Carter between 1977 and 1981. When I was an undergraduate at London University in 1981, I had written my dissertation on ‘The Political Rise of Jimmy Carter’ so he was a subject close to my heart. His Presidency had been derailed by two things. The American economy was tanking and petrol prices rose beyond public belief. At the same time, 50 American hostages were taken at the American Embassy in Iran and held for over a year. It seemed to paralyse the country when I was living in the USA in 1979I had read that one of Carter’s problems was that he insisted on reading every document and every piece of legislation rather than delegating it like Reagan and George W Bush had done. They let others deal with the details. He was an honest and sincere man, originally a submarine captain in the late 1940s, then a peanut farmer/ businessman from Plains, Georgia. Who went onto be first Governor of Georgia and then President which was quite a rise.

His Presidential Centre, now over 30 years old had an interesting exhibit of an average day in his Presidency. It went through from when he got up and had meetings from 7am right through to 10pm on international issues all over the world and domestic problems. It made you think ‘how on earth could one man keep up with all this?”. I guess this is why Obama has greyed in his 8 years in office and a President just has to stay focused. What was more impressive about Carter was all his work for the third world since leaving the presidency. He and his wife Rosalyn had set up a Foundation to help and they had been doing it for 30 years ridding countries of diseases or checking up on new elections in previously anti-democratic places. He had been awarded the Nobel Peace Prize for his work and achievements. This was in the Centre along with a replica of his Oval Office as President – but you couldn’t sit at the President’s desk! As you entered the Centre, there was a sign saying ‘No firearms”!

The Martin Luthur King Jr National Historic Site was a short drive away. This vast complex commemorates the life, work and legacy of the civil rights leader and one of the great Americans. The centre takes up several blocks and it is free. The Visitors Centre had an excellent exhibition of his life and put the civil rights struggle into context ending with some life size figures on ‘Freedom Road’. It also contained the old wooden wagon that was used to carry his body at this funeral. In addition, there was a touching introduction movie to the man and his struggle. Outside the Visitor Centre was the First Ebenezer Baptist Church. MLK, his father and grandfather were all pastors here. It has been restored to look like the 1968 version when King Jr was co-pastor with his father. A couple of blocks away, his 1929 birthplace was a large two storied wooden house. His father obviously got a decent income as a pastor and I think he would have been classed as middle income.. Across the road were a row of colourfully painted and original ‘Shotgun’ shacks where poorer black people had lived. The buildings with front porches were narrow but long. Also within the complex was the ‘I have a Dream’ World Peace Rose Garden (none blooming in December), the inspiring ‘Behold’ monument of a naked black man holding a baby up in the air and finally The King Centre which had a long water feature, in the middle of which, stood MLK’s and his wife’s majestic white tombs. Recommended. I felt on this trip that I re-discovered a lot about the black civil rights movement. On the plane home, we were even able to watch the new ‘Selma’ movie which was a major event in MLK’s life.

We could have spent a lot longer at the historic site but we had a plane to catch. I managed to find the freeway for the airport and just before entering, refilled the car for the final time. We dropped off the car at the Car Rental complex which was a painless experience and caught a monorail to the Domestic Terminal. After checking in, there was time for a beer before boarding a 4pm internal flight to Philadelphia and changing straight onto a return flight to London Heathrow arriving back around 8am on the Sunday morning.

Final thoughts. It had been 27 years since my last visit to the USA but to be honest it seemed as nothing had really changed apart from the advent of the digital age with mobile phones and the internet. The fast food franchises and motel chains were all still there as was the friendliness of all Americans we met. For all the horror stories we hear about on our British TV, the United States remains a very conservative country. I know that we did a lot of interstate travelling (over 4000 miles in total) so we didn’t see as many backroads which would have been more interesting but I think it was a useful introduction to the southern states and we saw some world famous sights. It was a comfortable holiday where language was no problem, a credit card cured anything (except at a petrol pump) and commercialisation is still alive and well. The trip whetted our appetite for another visit to see more of this massive and influential country. Maybe Donald Trump will be President by then. Not!

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