Memphis

And so the finishing line drew closer, as we completed the most mammothonian of driving double legs, zipping from Denver down, round and up to Memphis.

Downtown was eerily quiet but Beale Street was alive with bars competing with each other for everyone casually strolling down the middle of the street. Blues rang out. Bike night, dozens of Harley's tore up any last remaining quiet corners, revving simply to rev, lined up along the street the riders sitting watching revving. Weird little midges look like ash flakes plagued the night. Cicadas here had a different cadence to their song than their Japanese cousins.

We had great barbeque in Memphis. We did the tourist route, visiting the Civil Rights Museum (and also sight of the slaying of Dr Martin Luther King), Sun Studio and Graceland, in that order. At the museum, we saw an English couple who'd sat near our table the night before at the (guidebook recommended) barbeque joint. The guide had said Memphis was a small place, chances are you'd see the same people around town.

A day or so in, calamity struck again. Champ realised he had misplaced his bank card somewhere, maybe in Denver. Frantic calls to Barclay's back home followed. Talk of emergency transfers of funds was soon put to bed as first a Tennessean bank, then larger and more banks refused the service. From here on out, it was all to be charged to the credit card(s) for Champ.