This day, like no other on this trip, made me love my scooter.

I will confess that there have been several moments when I questioned the sanity of my decision to ride the scooter.  Not today.  Like riding though a postcard, the road that leads into Nashville through the Natchez Trace State Park is breathtaking.  In one day, the colors exploded and I spent the entire ride with my jaw agape.  It was a good day.

For the first time, interviewing was a bit tough.  Part of the blame is mine, and part belongs to the University of Tennessee.  See, during the day, I was having so much fun that I was more interested in riding than lingering to talk.  However, I fully expected to make up for it in the evening.  That is, until I started to see several cars and trucks sporting flags with big orange T’s. 

I slowly put it together that it was football day.  Tennesse was playing Alabama.  What I did not know was that it was an evening game.  Moreover, and this should come as no surprise, Tennessee takes their football seriously.  As far as I can tell, talking and eye contact are off limits during game time.

So I was particularly thankful to find Mayuri (she requested first name only).  Mayuri moved to Lebanon, Tennessee 7 years ago at the age of 14 with her family from India.  This will be her first Presidential election and it was refreshing to hear her unique point of view.

Mayuri

Oh, and for the record, Alabama won.

Arriving in Tennessee almost at the moment that the autumn color was about to emerge represents probably the greatest unintended and certainly the most welcomed consequence of this trip. 

This seasonal saturation of color is something that many Californians quietly envy.  There is good reason.  It warms you to your core.  And it doesn’t stop at the colors.  After enduring 5 states of iceberg lettuce*, I find myself awash in a sea of rich vegetables prepared in the most decadent and heart stopping ways.

* Lettuce clarification - After consuming more iceberg lettuce (or, as I like to call it, crunchy water) in the past month than I have eaten in my entire adult life, I ordered a Caesar salad at the first restaurant that offered one.  My hopes crushed when the waitress placed a bowl of iceberg lettuce with Caesar dressing and a packet of Parmesan cheese on the side in front of me.  I miss home.

My time in West Memphis was amazing.  On my first day, Debra Rieves had introduced me to Dixie and Ralph Carlson.

Theirs is a remarkable story.  Married for 60 years this coming April, they are first generation farmers who purchased 320 acres at the age of 19 producing cotton, soybeans and oats.  Along with Ralph’s brothers, they built that farm into more than a 25,000 acre enterprise in three states.  In 1966, they succesfully obtained a charter to start the first community bank in Crittenden county.  Along the way, they raised 4 children, Ralph won 3 gold medals for tennis in the Senior Olympics and Dixie became a master gardener.  More, Dixie is an elected State delegate for the Republican Party and attended this year’s convention.  She also serves as a State Commissioner on the Keep Arkansas Beautiful Commission and on the County Election Commission.

Dixie and Ralph graciously opened their home and their hearts in the greatest southern tradition. 

Dixie and Ralph Carlson

It is no accident that our most poignant moments happen when we least expect them.

Yesterday, facing limited time and a plethora of tourist options, from Graceland to the ducks that stroll through the lobby of the Peabody Hotel, I set out by bus to see Memphis.

Let me start my stating clearly that, unlike my hero Sarah Vowel, I am not enamored of historic assassination sites.  My inclinations are toward places of achievement (Monticello), accomplishment (Independence Hall, Philadelphia) or beauty (Taj Mahal).  Assassination.  Not so much.

And so it was that, as my bus turned the corner on a nondescript street in Memphis and the familiar motel came into sight, my reaction was unexpected.

I was not quite 10 years old when Martin Luther King was assassinated at the Lorraine Motel.  Though I would have to wait several years to grasp the significance and full weight of this national loss, it strikes me today that it may be impossible to really conceive.  The car that Reverend King was driving that day is parked, timelessly, and the site is maintained so meticulously that, for a moment, you are there.

And while I can study the history and the context, the full measure of that single event is impossible to grasp.  I left feeling very small.

The next day, I reconnected with Debra Rieves.  Debra was the first person that I met here in West Memphis and, as you will hear, it was a blessing and a joy.  She is a walking testament to southern hospitality and a delightful force of nature.  What I did not know was the significance of this moment in her life. 

Debra Rieves

I left feeling very moved.