I arrived in this magical city of BB King and the allure of its history and great food seduced me into a day of playing tourist.  Tomorrow will be a rainy day here in Memphis, so I promise to post early.   Wishing you all a wonderful end to your week!

It should come as no surprise that there is a direct correlation between the songs that a person sings into their helmet and their mood.

In the weeks before I left on this trip, my motorcycling friends offered extensive advice on subjects ranging from safety to comfort. All appreciated and mostly complied, there was one suggestion that was made almost unanimously, that I rejected. It was to equipt myself with a bluetooth enabled helmet. This would not only allow me to use my cell phone, but also my ipod and a radio.

I knew almost the moment that I conceived this trip that one of the benefits would be the long periods of silence being on the scooter would require. While it was never a monastic impulse, after years of filling every non-scheduled moment with the Daily Show/Colbert Report, 24 hour news and NPR (yes, I secretly love you Ira Glass) it was clear that part of my personal journey needed to include some quiet time.

It has been remarkable. For now, I will spare you the personal revelations, but here are some general learning’s about singing on the road.

1.  Know more than one verse - No matter how much you love a song, repeating the same verse over and over is just, well, sad.
2.  All Motown music will result in head movement which other drivers will find unsettling - Just take my word for it.
3.  Show tunes, particularly early Sondheim or anything from Guys and Dolls, are good.
4.  If you find that you are lapsing into the Battle Hymn of the Republic, take a break. It is not a good sign.

Special note: If you have not heard it, I invite you to listen to Sarah Vowel tell the story of the Battle Hymn of the Republic (This American Life , Sarah is Act two, approximately 22 minutes into the episode). Priceless.

Today was mostly show tunes and Van Morrison. I was mid-Moondance, and pulling off the interstate when I noticed that I was being followed by the only other scooter rider that I have seen on this trip.  He was riding a Suzuki Burgman 650, which is over twice as powerful and heavy as mine and it was nice to meet a kindred spirit.

Meet Raymond Fowler.  A disabled veteran, Raymond lost his leg in service to our country.  We talked outside the Exxon station in Clarksville, Arkansas and, even through the road noise, I think you can hear his genuine concern and love for our country.   

Raymond Fowler

Are we still doing convoys because I didn’t get the memo…

Within minutes of merging onto the interstate this morning on what promised to be the best riding day of this trip, I was beset with, conservatively, twenty semi’s traveling in what can only be described as coordinated vehicular terrorism.

I recognize that at this point in my blog, I risk appearing obsessed about wind and wind related phenomena. But there is a particular combination of wind gusts that I feel compelled to share with you. It occurs when the turbulent wind that bounces of a truck that has just pulled back in front of you after passing, is followed one moment later by the first gust off the second truck that is now is passing on your left.  A truck gust two-step, if you will.

Convoys represent the opportunity to experience this horror serially for their duration. Upon seeing the endless line of trucks that appear in your rear view mirror, there is instant clarity.  Breathe or die.  

And then it is over.

As I continued my ride through Oklahoma, taking in the incredible foliage that is just beginning to hint at a color change, it was hard not to wax philosophic.  All of the recent convolutions on the campaign trail, from Ayers, Acorn to the ‘real’ America, start to feel just like the wind gusts from a convoy.  As we enter the final days of this election, my message from the heartland is, breathe.

Please listen to Kenny Fields and I think you will understand. 

Kenny was born in Illinois but spent the last thirty years in Texas.  Doing rodeos and ranch work, he made his way to Henrietta, Oklahoma four years ago. Here he went into partnership on the Tiger Mountain Ranch, a guest ranch where visitors get to live the cowboy or Indian experience.  Married with 3 children, Kenny is completely unaffected by this campaign turbulence. 

Kenny Fields

Hold on. It will pass.