Into The Great Wide Open 2

My Memphis Sunday was spent sleeping. Alot. Then we had a little Apocolypse Now party (if you can call that) while the remnants of Rita ripped through the city. I got out of my PJ's only when it was time to go to dinner and jazz at Young Avenue Deli around 9p.

It was good to hit Cooper Young before leaving. Yet another world of Memphis memories lies within. After a tasty burger and a pint of Amstel Light, we closed out our tab and got ready to go.

Then suddenly Alan exclaimed, Look at that tap wall over there! Low and behold, there she was, within state lines. So we ordered a round and I enjoyed my first Tennessee bought Stella Artois. On my last night in Tennessee. Irony? I think not. Get it while it's hot, people.

Then came an episode of The Office, a good night's sleep, and a long drive on Monday. Eleven hours to be exact. Oddly enough, time flew by. Once you get past Little Rock, Arkansas is actually quite beautiful. Driving through the Ozarks was really pretty, though if you live in Tennessee it's nothing really out of the ordinary.

Oklahoma surprised me. I had no idea that their entire theme revolved around Indians and buffalo. Shows what I know. It was one Indian reservation after another. I was excited about Cherokee nation since it's in the blood. Okay, and because of the song. At the end of all the reservations, or "nations" as they call them, things just turned to red clay dirt and prairies as far as the eye could see. I did pass a few of these windmill things. Some sort of power generators, I suppose. They have the same thing on the way to California from Phoenix, except on a much bigger scale.

(Insert cool picture of windmill thing once blogger stops sucking.)

And then came Texas. Woo hoo!! Remind me never to move here. Desolate, desolate, desolate. The sunset was beautiful, though, but I couldn't get a good picture through my bug-gutted up windshield. There was this cool cross that you could see from about ten miles away. Unfortunately, my shutter wasn't quick enough for me to get the perfect angle, as I was trying to not run off the road while doing a photo shoot at 80 mph.

(Insert cool picture of cross once blogger stops sucking.)

Seven hundred and twenty-five miles later, I arrived at my home for the evening; the hotel (with wireless internet!) in Amarillo. And now, only seven hudred and fifty miles to El Casa de Ciaobella for three days of madness in Phoenix.