THE AMTRAK TRAIN
First impresssions - The seats on this thing are comfortably HUGE!!! There was enough room when the seat was reclined and the foot rest was up to lay out almost totally prostrate.
My neighbour for the Chicago stretch was a kid called Matt, from Florida, grown up in Brooklyn, 16, streetwise, even though he had just been robed at knifepoint outside of Union Station for $100. He told me some stories about him growing up in New York, and I soon cae to the conclusion he was lucky to have made it this far through life. I spent some time in the viewing car watching the world drift by as the train snaked into the setting sun to the west and the cool misty greenery of the Virginia Mountains. I chatted with a guy called Tim who was happy to share his crackers and cheese, and another guy, bit of an arse in my opinion who described his bear attack experience as, and I quote, 'spiritual'. Perhaps he should have tried to mug my young companion for his wallet, I'm sure the experience would have given him a feeling of most highest piety and absolution.
The train chugged and whistled on through the West Virginia Mountains, the windows snap shotting the backyards of the back of beyond, lots of broken rusting cars giving up to a carpetting of flora. Someone had a lifesize cut out of Jesus as the sheperd, facing the tracks and guiding us on to journey's end. And his right hand man? Elma Fudd.
As we passed close to a banking, some redneck mooneyed the whole train, which I think is worth credit for endurance if nothing else - the backdraft from a passing locomotive can be quite chilly.
The train rolled on through the night to Chicago, where I spent a few hours hanging out with Matt at the Science Museum, shallow of content, before I had to catch the overnight train down to Memphis.

MEMPHIS
The train rolled into a dreary looking beat up hole of a city, known as the birthplace of rock 'n' roll - Memphis Tennesse. I got a taxi out toward Elvis Presley Boulevard where I had booked into a hotel I couldn't find, so I had to stay in another. After a monster breakfast at an old style diner I made my way on foot, like the pilgrims of old, along the mile and a half motel flanked road to Graceland and the last resting place of The King, Elvis Aaron Presley.

Graceland

I decided to go for the Platinum tour, which took in a tour of Graceland itself, Elvis' cars, clothes and aeroplanes. Its strange, you get to see every aspect of The Big E's life, but you come away learning nothing new. Far more rewarding was the tour of Sun Records, where besides rare recordings of The King I also got to hear some flawed gems from Jerry Lee Lewis, Carl Perkins, Johnny Cash and a whole host of other unsung heros making rock 'n' roll what it is today.

The Grave Of Elvis Presley

The thing was, all the sight seeing was over by early afternoon. There was nothing left to do but check out without ever sleeping in my bed, and chat to the Indian desk clerk who explained to me that in America there are such things as, dare he say it, naughty adult chat lines! No! Surely not?
The taxi I'd ordered some hours ago was late. When it did arrive it was piloted by a young guy, maybe only sixteen. When I explained that it was a race against time he said it was no problem, and we sped off, him throwing the road slaying rust bucket through the blind corners and back alleys of twilight Memphis like it was on rails. We got there with about ten minutes to spare.
Good Work Fella!

I now had to look forward to another cold sleep on a train back to Chicago, staring out of the storm lashed windows into the American night.

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