Memph Is Absurd.

I know I passed through Cairo yesterday, but?

Memphis, TN – Yesterday was about history.

Today, it seems, more about a theatre of the absurd.

It began with a trip out to a massive reflective glass pyramid tucked into a concrete pretzel of intersecting highways and a bridge to Arkansas.

Naturally, it's a Bass Pro Shop.

Inside, there are large pools of fish and ducks. And, of course, alligators. You can even stay in a hotel ringing the upper levels if you really can't get enough of the swamp. Don't worry: there's a bowling alley should you tire of shopping.

It's actually one of the world's 10-largest pyramids, and former home to the NBA's Memphis Grizzlies. But, it's still incredibly odd. Really, who needs a six-basket fryer with their camping gear?

Land of the Rising Sun.

We carried on to the Peabody Hotel for its twice-daily duck march. (I told you the day was absurd, no?)

At exactly 11 a.m., four ducks were escorted from their $200K penthouse (again, absurd, right?) by a duckmaster – and two honorary duckmasters, bronze duck-head canes in hand – out the elevators, over a red carpet and into the central lobby fountain. The drake didn't show today.

They'll enjoy an afternoon spent circling the marble sculptures to an adoring crowd before ducking out in the same ceremony, in rewind, at 5 p.m.

I proceeded to tuck into a shrimp po' boy at Trolley Stop Market and visit the birthplace of rock-and-roll, Sun Music, before venturing down a rapidly improving Monroe Avenue dressed with neat historical sidewalk signs describing businesses that had previously occupied the buildings.

The old Wonder Bread factory is currently being surgically rebuilt into something modern, saws sending sparks dancing into the sky.

Yesterday's history is welcoming rebirth.

Even if some of it is absurd.

Stuck in Time.

Putting the tacks in tacky, at Graceland.

Memphis, TN – There could be absolutely no question.

The day had to begin with Paul Simon's controversial classic, Graceland.

It would end, however, with live music reverberating from every corner of Memphis's legendary Beale Street. Home of the blues.

Given some of the city's history, the blues make absolute sense.

We spent the morning at Elvis's former home, sweat dribbling down my brow. Graceland is surprisingly modest in size – but in nothing else. Bedecked by green shag carpet and folded fabric ceilings, gold taps and plush white leather sofas, the house is a faded Polaroid of seventies kitsch.

But, you can't got to Memphis and not visit once.

Just incredible. Nothing witty to say about this.

By contrast, we visited the Lorraine Motel  – and the attached National Civil Rights Museum – where Martin Luther King Jr. took his last breaths in 1958. It's similarly locked in a time warp, with an old Dodge and Cadillac standing sentry beneath the balcony where he was shot. You could take a photo in black and white and few would know it was from today.

The museum visit also includes a visit to the room from which James Earl Ray took the shot that fateful day. In terms of museum concepts, it's breathtaking.

It seems I always end up at the heavy sort of museum that makes you reflect. Given how little things seem to have changed in this day and age, that may not a bad thing.

At night, live music pours out every doorway along Beale Street. So does the beer.

Snare drums of cicadas fill the trees as sighs of brass horns rattle through the humidity.

Beale Street may not be the longest, but its neon-clad bars have been witness to a disproportionate amount of music history.

It's the home of the blues in a gritty city that has seen its share of heartache.

Vitals:

• Time: 1.5 hours
• Distance: 177.4 kms
• Weather: Sunny and hot
• States: Missouri, Arkansas, Tennessee
• Wildlife: None

Blues & Suede Shoes.

Graceland, graced.

Hayti, MO – After an early start, we rattled along Michigan’s bone-jarring highways, zebra-striped by countless tar repairs.

To our left, a mosaic-stained hot air balloon slumped in the heat, dropping over a red barn.

It would be the prettiest thing we’d see all day.

But, not the best.

That distinction was reserved for our pit stop at the 3 Floyds Brewpub in Munster, IN, which offered tempura-fried cheese curds, brisket steam buns and Buffalo pretzel knots that had greasy bleu cheese sliding into every nook. The Battle Priest American wild ale, too, was tremendous.

We’re off to Memphis, TN, to Graceland and the National Civil Rights Museum. And, maybe – just maybe – some barbeque. The city is usually described as one of the regional epicenters (with North Carolina, South Carolina, Kansas City, East and South Texas – and sometimes Alabama) of America’s love affair with barbeque.

And, I'm okay with eating them all.

As we dropped farther south, the temperature continued to climb, hitting a pre-humidex 34.5. Approaching Cairo, IL, even the clouds started to sweat.

After all these years, the gravelly voice and the mournful mouth harp of the open road continue to draw us onto these journeys.

Every bend in the road remains a question mark.

•     Time: 14.5 hours
•     Distance: 1,345.2 kms
•     Weather: Sunny and increasingly hot, with a brief rain shower
•     Province/States: Ontario, Michigan, Indiana, Illinois, Missouri
•     Wildlife: None

SW-Sees-Seals.

Ice cubes.

Howe Sound, BC – The cold smacks like an electric shock as we flop into the waters of Howe Sound.

Pulling away, our Sea Dragon Charters vessel belches a tobacco-like puff of smoke that tints the air before circling back with the next group of swimmers. Howe Sound may be one of Canada’s southernmost fjords, but it’s April and the water’s still only 10 degrees.

I’m thankful for the wetsuit, even as my hands begin to curl from the chill.

We’re eyed by black oystercatchers, whose long red beaks peck at the mollusk-encrusted shore. Others caw their warnings as two bald eagles drop from their perch with a thunderclap. It’s obvious a couple minutes later some form of prey didn’t heed the warning.

By now sharply awake, we glide around the corner of the rock with a gentle flick of our flippers. Countless purple, orange and white sea stars cling to surfaces above and below the water. Kelp sways into tangles at our feet.

With a splash, we’ve been spotted.

Seal's-eye view.

A herd of harbour seals shimmies awkwardly over the rock, barrelling into the sea in a series of thud-like splashes. The quake leaves a wake.

On land, these animals will never be confused as graceful; in the water, however, they’re definitely balletic.

Spotted white, brown and grey babies scamper on their bellies, unsure of where to flee the sudden intrusion. Their family members spread out into a security perimeter around us, heads bobbing in and out of the waves like maritime prairie dogs.

We bob the same, watchers being watched, all taken by the same beauty of nature: animals in an ocean playground untainted by development – just jagged, prehistoric rock scarred by the season’s snows, set against a cool blue sky.

Majestic.

Not to be Cowed.

Ben & Jerry's: eat your face off.

Waterbury, VT – After days of rain, the sun shone over the white steeple at the main crossroads in Stowe, the melt making it a treacherous walk along the river.

But, even at two degrees, the sun brought out the short sleeves.

We took a short drive to nearby Waterbury, home to Ben & Jerry’s ice cream. It may have been short-sleeve weather, but the frozen treat was a little too reminiscent of the snow still scooped over the hills.

Throughout our brief tour, the guide endlessly cracked one-liners and bad cow puns. “Let’s moove along, now,” was a common quip.

The young woman had obviously led groups more than a few times. And, may have consumed some sugar.

At the end of the tour, she explained staff receives unlimited samples and can, at the end of each shift, take home three pints. Every day.

“As full-time, we also get gym memberships and twice-annual cholesterol checks.”

The crowd chuckled.

For once, she wasn’t joking.

It's a Trapp!

In a rut.

Stowe, VT – A few intrepid birds dot the grey sky as we wake to aromas of wood smoke and mountain air. There’s a chill in the crispness as we pour ourselves coffee and stare out the large picture window overlooking the mountains.

After feasting on Dutch pancakes filled with roast chicken, apple and cheddar at the Grey Fox Inn, we bank through the mountains, fog falling in sheets thick enough to obscure the rain. Patches of sunshine are like mirages, vanishing over each rise.

By this time of year, the highways have been jackhammered by the frost, and they threaten to chew the tires off the car.

We have decided to pay a visit to Hillsboro, home to Hill Farmstead Brewery, which has been named the world’s best four of the past five years.

It’s also located in the middle of nowhere.

Pulling off the pitted and cracked main highways, we skid on the hills’ silty, rutted roads. It is, once again, a reminder it’s muddy season in Vermont. 

Even behind spattered windscreens, we can see 4x4 drivers laughing at the MINI grinding past holes large enough to engulf it. Each tentative step forward is like driving on bloated worms following a rainstorm.

The trenches threaten to swallow us; in turn, we spit mud for miles.

But, as we arrive, a creamy, salted chocolate stout – on nitro – awaits. And we’re left to admire the beauty painting itself over the hills before we head to the Trapp Family Lodge for the night.

The beer is certainly better than the journey has been.

Even if it is nearly the same colour.

Frozen Heros.

It was a Heady day.

Stowe, VT – Standing in the fog, the trees seemed like seventies tweed. Brown, everywhere.

Below, soft mounds of snow clung to the crevices, a season’s receding hairline on the rocks of the Canadian Shield.

And now, the U.S. Customs and Border Protection agent, perched in his kiosk, boomed: “Welcome to the United States” with a big smile. As he offered travel tips, it quickly became apparent he hadn’t had the busiest of days.

“Ah, Vermont! I was there last week. It’s lovely.”

While the crossing is into New York, you can literally see Vermont from where he sat. I’d imagine he’s there most weeks – but, he was a riot.

Five minutes of small talk later, he actually seemed saddened to see us go.

We wove through North Hero and South Hero and on to Stowe, where it’s apparently mud season. Snow, now like smoker’s teeth, lies clumped in the bush as we pull into the historic Stowehof for the night.

But first, the real reason for visiting Vermont: beer at the Alchemist and cheese, this time in the form of Bayley Hazen Blue cheese balls at Doc Ponds.

And here I thought I couldn’t stand blue cheese.

Vitals:

• Time: 9.5 hours
• Distance: 959.3 kms
• Weather: Fog, rain.
• Provinces/States: Ontario, Quebec, New York, Vermont
• Wildlife: Deer