Foul.

A monumental homerun.

Washington, D.C. – I’m greeted by the fetid smells of a humid city on trash day.

It seems I’ve been here enough the past couple years to fall into the city’s rhythms and to navigate the bustle of the off-to-work crowd and the heat alike. To know the roads well enough to know the ‘do not cross’ signal is a mere suggestion.

But, to watch out at roundabouts.

To find coffee, food and good beer (best of the lot: Churchkey).

It still doesn’t prepare me for how large my peppered salmon bagel from Bethesda Bagels is going to be – the thing must be four inches thick. Naturally, this is the one time I’ve forgotten to grab some napkins.

At least the pigeons, pecking around me with a suspicious and eager eye, will love me as I clumsily eat it in installments, first at a tiny pocket park at Dupont Circle, then at the Washington Monument. It does, however, fuel my six-mile walk to the ballpark, where I find myself surrounded by the snap of ball-to-glove and square-shaped fans clutching tall cans.

I must be getting old: I’ve opted for shade over proximity to the field of play. As the day drags on, the usher pushes the crowd farther back and under the overhang. Then, a storm brews in the distance.

For the moment, however, the only brews at the game wear jerseys like Budweiser and Shock Top. So much for the craft beer invasion.

I may have found my rhythm, but it turns out it doesn’t matter what city you’re in: baseball is still boring.

Heated.

No lower cases tried here.

Washington, DC – Sweat beads on my arm in shapes that seem to spell out how hot it is, even early in the morning.

It’s not long before I drip with a clatter against the pavement – noises lost to the sounds of the city.

Crossing the road, a man carries a half-eaten banana, a box of cookies and another freshly pressed shirt. He knows the one he’s wearing won’t make it.

A line of men with the same idea follows – this must be a drycleaner’s dream.

The city’s past, meanwhile, is reflected in countless glass structures being erected in the southern sector of the city. An old red-brick church stands forlornly, temporarily displaced into the middle of the street.

It’s hard to imagine it’s the only thing being displaced during this period of rapid gentrification.

I venture down to the East Capitol Street area, one of the district’s oldest and priciest neighbourhoods. Flowering trees form awnings over the sidewalks, but I preferred gawking at the homes in Georgetown.

As I make my way back behind the Capitol Building, though, I’m struck by how much – even with my distaste for the politics – this building, and this area, are awe-inspiring.

Quite a Row.

I flagged in the heat, too.

Washington, D.C. – Even in the full force of heat, gas lamps dance in daylight – exclamation marks framing monied porch stoops.

You can almost imagine the buxom trees surrounding them to shed $100 bills onto the walkway.

Wandering through Embassy Row and on to Georgetown is a wonder for architecture lovers, even amateur ones. There’s a history told in these pillars, alcoves and archways.

Some of these buildings are so old and tied to intrigue their stories only come out in whispers.

Many are dressed in fresh coats of paint and with modern numbers or open concept interiors that allow the timepiece to shift somewhat, but they retain the beauty of their neo-classical and beaux-arts styles.

Turning toward Georgetown, under the university’s towering structures atop the hill, a group of jovial homeless people tucked into a theatre entranceway spin conspiracy yarns about declassified CIA files. Some things never change.

I’m grateful for the canopies of foliage that shield me from some of the brooding heat. My path is drawn by closely cropped waxy greens and buckled red bricks, crooked like misplaced teeth.

Centuries of roots laid down are now trying to surface.

There’s a parallel to be found in today’s political climate in the U.S., of course.

Fin.

The heat got to this place, too.

London, ON – Much of the morning's drive through Kentucky was like climbing into a Bob Ross painting: happy little clouds dancing over green hills.

It helped we were able to make the final push home with leftovers from Memphis's famous Gibson's Tastee Donuts and from The Stillery in Nashville.

It turns out Brussels sprouts are an underrated pizza ingredient.

One province and eight states, including one new one (Arkansas), and a great time in Memphis. Down to four contiguous U.S. states I've yet to visit.

But, the car still smelled of beer.

Vitals:

• Time: 8.5 hours
• Distance: 641.9 kms
• Weather: Sunny and hot (Detroit, the hottest point on the trip: 34.5 degrees), with a brief storm
• States: Kentucky, Ohio, Michigan
• Wildlife: None

The Can Can't.

How hot was it? Hot enough for Nashville Hot Chicken.

Louisville, KY – The first let loose with a crack that shot across the parking lot.
Then, another.

And another.

It's a wonder nobody ducked for cover.

How hot is it? Well, upon opening the trunk in the parking lot of a random Nashville McDonald's, four cans of beer exploded all over me, spinning on the ground in pinwheels of sweet and sticky spray.

We had wondered for several miles about the aluminum clicking sound coming from behind us.

It was as though we had pulled the pins and tossed grenades that soon rolled under the adjacent car. The kid inside must have wondered what was going on.

The car and I reeked like we were on a week-long bender.

Fourth of July fireworks, it seems, had come early.

Vitals:

• Time: 8 hours
• Distance: 641.9 kms
• Weather: Sunny and hot
• States: Tennessee, Kentucky
• Wildlife: None

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