July 24:
Nick was up early to head off to lecture, so I headed out to explore the city. I cleverly hid my camera and guidebook in a large purse and went for capris over shorts. That, plus the absence of a fanny pack (I will never understand why they are popular; you might as well walk around with a big sign that says "I am a tool.") almost let me blend in with the locals. I just needed to carry a pair of heels in one hand while walking in flip-flops and I could have been on my way to my overworked, underpaid government job.

So anyway, there I was, just another face in the millions, feeling quite comfortably anonymous as I wandered around the Mall. I popped into the American History museum on a whim, came around the corner. . . and ran into my assistant volleyball coach from Colorado College. I haven't seen the man in 3 years. He doesn't even live in DC- he was in town for a wedding, was flying out that afternoon, and thought he'd see a couple sights before heading to the airport. Somewhere in the background, I could almost make out strains of "there's so much that we share that it's time we're aware. . .it's a small world after all. . ."

July 23: We spent a couple leisurely hours on the stunningly green and peaceful Blue Ridge Parkway. Wildlife spotted: a deer and fawn, two marmots and one Appalachian Trail thru-hiker.
We hit the big city by mid-afternoon, smelling like camp smoke and road trip, bearing a resemblance to modern-day Beverly Hillbillies. ("Whooo-eee! Hey yall, we sure is glad to be here!") A shower made a huge difference, as did the dinner with my lifelong friend Kelly Schultz and her fiancee, Nick Skupnik. Kelly and I have known each other since we were five or six. While we were growing up, even though we went to the same school, we lived about 30 miles apart. Completely by accident, Nick and I ended up renting an apartment about two blocks from Kelly. It's fabulous to be so near, yet ironic that the closest we will ever live to each other is in a city across the continent from our hometown.

July 22: After a morning wander around downtown Knoxville, we pushed on to Roanoke, Virginia and camped along the Blue Ridge Parkway. Just about the time that we were finishing our dinner (baguette with bleu cheese and wine. . . marshmallows and turkey dogs. . .not as bad of a combination as you'd expect), a big rain came rolling through. Unfortunately the weather didn't stop the college-age "camping equals drinking heavily" crew occupying a nearby campsite. I can sleep through anything, but Nick didn't get a lot of rest.

July 21: We timed our arrival in Memphis, quite coincidentally, with the morning parade of the Peabody Ducks. If you're not familiar with the Peabody Hotel's famous Mallards, you can read their full story here. The short of it is that Mallard ducks have paraded from their rooftop home to the lobby fountain every day since the 1940s. They come down the elevator and parade down a red carpet, Academy Award-style, their every move covered by 100 tourists playing papparazzi. I'm a sucker for cheese and I loved every minute of it.

For lunch, we checked out Rendezvous, the rib joint where President Bush and Japanese Prime Minister Koizumi ate after their hip-shaking Karaoke tour of Graceland. According to one of the managers, Secret Service agents had been in the restaurant for a week before the visit, checking every nook and cranny of the mazelike basement eatery. Ribs don't really fit into my Meat Rules (violating both the visible fat and meat on the bone clauses), but Nick polished them off with a smile.

We intended to camp, but world-ending, ark-floating rains in Tennessee changed our minds and we ended up in a Knoxville hotel. If you're ever in Knoxville, I highly recommend the Cumberland House Hotel near campus.

July 20: We left Austin via car on July 20, shooting for Little Rock by bedtime. Texas has many beautiful, scenic regions, but the northeast corner of the state is not one of them. It's flat and crispy brown, thanks to a long, hot summer that started in April. We took the backroads around Dallas on the advice of a sexagenarian Dairy Queen cashier who recommended that we avoid "them spaghetti things" (a.k.a. freeway interchanges) in the city. No 'spaghetti things' in sight on the county roads, not even an Italian restaurant. The most interesting thing we saw was an exit sign for the Lone Star Army Ammunition Plant. I was under the impression that Texas had joined the Union about 150 years ago, but maybe they are maintaining a militia just in case this whole "statehood" thing doesn't work out.

I had never been to Arkansas and wasn't sure what to expect. I've now driven right through the middle and still don't know anything about Arkansas. The freeway is lined with tall, thick trees, suggesting that the Arkansans are deliberately hiding something. I'm not sure if it's a land of stunning beauty or a sea of rusty cars on blocks in the yard, but whatever it is, they'd prefer that you just keep passing through.