.... People CD to fuel this soul train so we made a necessary pit stop in Memphis to procur some vintage Elvis, Johnny Cash, Muddy Waters and more BBQ Spaghetti from Neely's than humanly possible to eat. The birthplace of Rock and Roll proved to be clean, interesting and groovy. But before we knew any of that we spent the night before the blues chillin' like villians....with hairy side-kicks that suffer from motion sickness. Being like-minded individuals with exquisite taste in value-friendly hotels that afford pet acceptance policies and are strategically located near a Perkins we retired early in the day at said location just outside of the city to unwind the cat, water the dog and regain the controled fall in our trip. So far the grape-vine we've been performing sideways across this great nation of ours has consisted of a lot of night driving and gluttoney at the continental breakfasts which are to the morning what discount g-strings are to a wardrobe.....skimpy, poor quality and uncomfortable but what they lack in style and substance they make up for in price. No I don't really want a 6 week old muffin and some raisin bran dressed in warmish milk and nor do I enjoy flossing my rear-end with cheap elastic and thin cotton but in a pinch, less IS more. Okay, enough of the crappy analogy and on to more pleasant things - the blues! After re-charging for a night we headed downtown Memphis to tour Sun Studios where our incredibly informative tour guide told us all we could ever hope to know about the birth of Rock and Roll. It was Sam Phillips (founder of Sun Records/Studio) that really discovered Elvis.....he walked in to record a song for his mother's birthday (which was a lie to sweeten up the secretary behind the desk in the front room) and it worked. His southern charm and buttermilk voice enticed the secretary to secretly make a second recording of Elvis' song to slip to her boss, Sam - who, as it turns out didn't think he was anything special and thus took a year of badgering from Elvis and his secretary to give him a shot on his label. Moral of the story: squeeky wheels and lying musicians with a shaky leg get oiled, fat and rich...in that order. We saw micraphones still adorned with the dried spit of such greats as Roy Orbison (first recorded at Sun at the age of 17), Johnny Cash and ole hound dog himself, Mr Presley...to name a few. The studio still has the same sound tiles, walls, floors, light fixtures - you name it - as it did back in the days when, then unknowns, Jerry Lee Lewis and Muddy Waters walked through the door. In fact, it's the same door. We learned about the very first recording with guitar distortion because an amp was dropped and the sound cone was broken so newspaper was stuffed in with it to attempt to fix it and instead started a wildly followed trend. This historic landmark is still a working studio and such musicians as Jack Black, U2, Billy Bob Thornton (yes, Billy Bob recorded there, trashed the place with food, beer and cigarettes and wrote on the door: Mustard and Biscuits) and Abba (just kidding!) have come to this little studio to stand where Elvis stood and bounce their sound off the same walls and tiles as those that first began to influence the music we all know today. It was great. Later we strolled Beale St and hunted and gathered sunglasses, souvenires and oddities that shout Bluesville USA. On a recommendation from Martini we punched in Neely's on the Garmin and found the best goddam BBQ on this planet. I thought BBQ spaghetti would be like the popcorn flavored jelly bean in with all the flavors you know and love but I was wrong. It was not a gimmick nor was it immediately disliked after sudden disapointment. It was - OFF THE HOOK GOOD! Once you've had this amazing dish you will be forever changed and this I promise you. Not that the ribs, fresh off the grill sausages, pulled pork, smoked turkey and melt in your mouth beef was shabby, in fact they were the best I've ever had, it's just that they were familiar albeit unexpectedly most excellent, whereas the bbq spaghetti gets the trophy for combining two favorites in one bowl. Barely able to walk JayR removed his belt and I undid my bra (so we could breathe) we oomphed ourselves back in the van where we tortured our fur-kicks for the next 300 miles with smells of left-overs in, cruely, deceptively named, Doggie Bags. Eating those leftovers was like a bank recieving a ballon payment on trillion dollar mortgage - doesn't happen every day and leaves you feeling laden with goodness. I tossed back a five hour energy drink and proceeded to pedal to the medal Rte 40 West through TN, AK and Oklahoma City, OK where we found our usual well appointed, pet tolerant, tiny fridge boasting accomidations where JayR, Gunner, Juno and whatever makes the noise that comes from his throat when he lays on his back, pile into one bed and me and my laptop in the other. The cat meows periodically for no apparent reason until I throw a crock at him and Gunner's farts have yet to become endearing. I'm thinking of corking his rear for the last leg of our journey.....maybe diapers? Tying a dryer sheet under his tail? Duct-taping the cats mouth shut and his.....ok - I'm clearly delirious and have made you all suffer long enough. Until the next lashing we'll be OK, as in Oklahoma.