Time to partake in that great American tradition, the road trip. I need to get my new airport car down to Memphis to replace its predecessor.
What's an "airport car"? In my case it's a car I keep down in Memphis for those times I have to be there. Since I arrive and depart at odd hours there's no way for me to get a rental car. I doubt many Uber drivers would want to come get me at the Memphis airport at 2:00 AM either. It's in kind of a rough part of town. So I keep the car down there. I see it as the cost of doing business.
I actually don't mind a long drive. I find it to be therapeutic sometimes. After a couple hours on the road I almost find myself in a zen-like state as the miles just unwind.
So read on if you want to hear me talk about cars, driving, roadside food and the general lack of decent radio stations.
I need to be in Memphis on Tuesday morning for my semi-annual simulator training. My plan is to get there Monday morning so I can deal with my "housekeeping" issues like getting rid of the old car. Then I can do my training and catch the jump-seat home. It's always complicated when you have to commute.
Columbus Ohio to Memphis is right around 600 miles. It can be done in a day but it's an easy two-day drive. There's no good halfway point. Louisville and Nashville are at the 1/3 and 2/3 points respectively. I elect to drive to Nashville, spend the night, and then make Memphis the next morning.
The cat knows what the suitcase means and she immediately starts sulking. I go to pet her and she runs off. We go through this every time I leave for a trip. She finally lets me pet her and I head out the door.
I carefully ease out of the parking spot. I'm piloting 18-plus feet of 1997 Lincoln Town Car. I feel like I'm driving my living room. The Brits would call it a "Yank Tank".
I'm going through this exercise because my venerable 94 Buick Roadmaster is sitting dead in the employee parking lot down in Memphis. My last test drive made it exactly once around the parking lot before it stopped running and refused to start again. I can't complain. I got nine good years out of a $4500 car. It looked rough when I bought it and the years haven't been kind. It's deteriorated to the point where I don't think it's worth fixing any more.
The Lincoln was a lucky find. A two owner car with 137,000 miles on it. Other than a little faded paint it's in good shape. For $2500 I think it was a steal. I threw a new set of tires on it just to be certain.
Normally I prefer something a bit sportier, but the Lincoln has its charms. It's insanely comfortable, like going down the road in a Lazy-Boy recliner. It's smooth, quiet and has a nice sound system for 1997. It feels heavy and it is. Looking out at that huge expanse of hood makes me think "damn this thing's big".
It drives the way you'd expect a limo to drive, smoothly and sedately. Nothing happens in a hurry with this car.
It rides like it's on marshmallows and handles about the same. There is no sporting pretense whatsoever. It's sole purpose is to coddle the occupants.
I can imagine myself as a "made man" driving Tony Soprano around in this thing. Yes, I have an active imagination.
It's a beautiful Sunday morning and traffic is light. I make it to Cincinnati with no problems. I normally expect to see two Ohio state troopers between Columbus and Cincinnati but they're making themselves scarce this morning.
I stop for lunch just South of Cincinnati. One of my guilty pleasures is Cincinnati style chili. Now for those not familiar with this dish, it's nothing like Texas chili or New Mexico chili or whatever chili was like where you grew up. In fact, calling it "chili" is stretching the definition a bit. It's basically a thin sauce of ground beef, flavored with Mediterranean spices on top of spaghetti. It's then smothered with far too much cheddar cheese to make a "3 way". Ad beans or chopped onion and it's a "4 way". Add both and it's a "5 way". Probably not the healthiest thing in the world, but I only eat it once every so often.
It's quick, cheap and filling. I'm back on the road in no time.
I-71 through Florence Kentucky is like a race track. I'm going 70-ish and getting passed on both sides. Some guy in a pickup truck cuts in front of me and my thumbs hit the imaginary firing buttons on the steering wheel. My imaginary 20mm cannons tear him to shreds. What, you've never done that? Really?
Heading towards Louisville I start scanning for radio stations. Not many choices.
Sports? Meh.
I'm sure I could find a right-wing talk station, but then I'd need a sharp object to puncture my eardrums with. No thanks.
I can't handle classic rock any more. Most classic rock stations have a 12 song playlist and I'm way over my lifetime limit of Bob Seger. Besides, I really don't want to spend the rest of my life reliving 1977.
I mostly like "alternative rock". Now that covers an awful lot of territory, anything from 70s punk to today. Some of it's good, some isn't. At least it isn't the same stuff I've been hearing since the 7th grade. You can't always find it on the radio, however.
When did all these Christian Rock stations pop up? I count two or three of them all playing the same syrupy sweet stuff. Note: if it sounds like alternative rock but you don't recognize it, it's probably Christian Rock. I try to listen for a bit. Some of it is musically pretty good, but it's all got the same sappy lyrics. I find it, ironically, soulless.
Hip Hop? Sorry. I'm a middle-aged white guy and try as I might I will never be able to "get" hip hop. Now you kids get off my lawn!
What have they done country music? Most of what I'm hearing today sounds like bad 70s pop with a little twang thrown in. It's like every bad Eagles song that didn't make it onto an album back in 1975. I'm convinced that every male country singer today has the same voice. There must be an assembly-line somewhere in Nashville cranking these guys out. To me they're all trying so hard to sound masculine that it comes off as forced.
Thanks Clear Channel. If it wasn't for NPR I don't know what I'd do.
I have one last trick up my sleeve. A little gizmo that lets me hook my phone up to the car's cassette player. Bet you haven't seen a cassette player in a while. I play MP3s through the car stereo the rest of the way.
I make a quick stop for gas just outside of Louisville. I'm getting 25 mpg. Not bad for a car that's the size of my first apartment. Say, do you think anyone actually eats those hot dogs at the gas stations? The ones that have been spinning around on rollers for who knows how long?
Back on the road I'm surprised at how many motor homes and large trailers I still see. I would have thought high gas prices would have really put a damper on them. I guess some people must really want one.
Alright buddy, how about you just pass me and get it over with instead of camping out in my blind spot like that? That's it, I knew you could do it.
Kentucky and Tennessee are really beautiful this time of year. The trees are just about at their peak color. It's a nice day and I'm actually enjoying this.
So why a "Yank Tank" for an airport car? For one they've usually been owned by older people who've taken care of them. Secondly they're Jurassic technology and any shop anywhere can work on them. Since the car will mostly sit I don't worry about the gas mileage that much.
I'm not really brand loyal either. I've owned just about one of everything over the years. I've never identified as a "Ford guy" or a "GM guy". It's a car company, not a religion. If the car meets my needs I'll buy it. If it doesn't I'll get something else.
Coming into Nashville I get stuck behind a slow moving semi while traffic passes me in the left lane. Story of my life. I wait for a hole to open up. Finally! There's a couple car lengths ahead of a 7-series BMW. I put my turn signal hoping he'll cut me some slack. No such luck. In fact he speeds up to close the gap. You prick! The thing is, I know his car cost as much as my house and I'm driving an airport beater. I'm coming over, deal with it pal. People in Nashville are usually pretty friendly. This guy must have been from out of town.
I always enjoy staying in Nashville. Nice city except for the traffic. At dinner I try something called Nashville Hot Chicken. Kind of a hot, sweet and spicy fried chicken. Quite good actually. I'd definitely eat it again.
The following morning my options are: fight rush-hour traffic and get to Memphis before lunch or wait it out. I opt to take my punishment and go early. Morning traffic in Nashville can be pretty ugly and this day is no exception. On I-440 a minivan shoots from the on-ramp, across three lanes of traffic, right in front of me. I'm now thanking that used car dealer for having put new brakes on this thing.
I-40 between Nashville and Memphis is crawling with law enforcement. I'm keeping the speed down anyway. They're probably fracking a couple of extra wells for all the gas I'm using.
Okay pal. I know driving an 18 wheeler is a tough job but would you mind putting your trailer back in your lane? Thanks. Much appreciated. I don't much like the view from over here on the shoulder.
I've actually lost count of how many Tennessee state troopers I've seen by this point. I figure at least ten since Nashville. The last ten to twenty miles of I-40 before you hit Memphis are always heavily patrolled. Keep that in mind if you ever head that way.
I maintain that Memphis has the worst drivers in the country. Now some of you will try to convince me that it's Boston but I'm sticking with Memphis. Here's why.
Boston drivers are tough, aggressive, ruthless and cutthroat. No holds are barred. No quarter is asked and none is given. I can live with that. At least they're predictable.
Memphis is just random stupidity. Half of them are aggressive and the other half are in no great hurry to get anywhere. It's Boston meets Mayberry. I've never had so many "Whoa! Didn't see that coming!" moments as I've had while driving in Memphis. Like the time the guy came at me wrong direction on an on-ramp. I took the shoulder, he kept right on going. Now you know why I like big cars down here.
I finally get on the outer loop around Memphis. Time to get my game-face on. I doubt they've become better drivers since I was here last. I'm going 10 over the limit through a construction zone. Why? Because to go any slower would get me run over. I'm getting passed on both sides - by the police. I hate driving in this town.
Finally I'm at the employee parking lot. I transfer all my crap from the trunk of the Buick to the trunk of the Lincoln. Yep, I've got junk in my trunk.
I give the old Buick a once over. The years have not been kind to it. A couple pieces of trim are missing. The paint is badly faded. The rust is bad. I pop the hood and can see the fenders are rusted all the way through. Even if I could get it to run I wonder if it would be safe to drive. The battery and windshield washer reservoir are being held on with bungee cords because the brackets rusted away. Time for it to go.
I make the call and a while later a guy comes by with a flatbed truck. I sign the papers over, he hands me $350 in cash and hauls it away. I feel like I just shot Old Yeller.