9:19 PM |
Woke up in fine fettle. Looked for remote control for curtains in case they are motorized. I saw that in a magazine once. I have three sinks, one outside bathroom, one inside bathroom and a little stainless one in the bar area. Since I have this screwy setup, I thought I would flip all the switches in the room to see what would happen. Voila! Curtains open. Very pretty view, as far as indoor hotel views go. I have a table and chairs and a very pretty seating area, ignoring the sofa bed.Since I haven't been here long enough to find a hairdresser, I washed it myself. Problem is, my hair takes a boatload of time to dry. I usually wash it at night, wait until the morning and blow dry it then. I was too toasted to do that last night, so I figured I'd do it this morning. I'm in a decent hotel, so I called for room service. $25 coffee and danish. The lovely Indian woman who brought it to me unwrapped each piece and told me what it was. Milk, yogurt, danish, knife, fruit, and so on. Then she said flower. There is a little flower in a little vase on the tray. Ok, maybe the coffee was $5 and the flower $20. Dried my hair while drinking coffee.
I put some makeup on, just a little, in case I finally get to see college boyfriend in person. Checked out. Went to concierge to find out how to get to Bolton's Spicy Chicken and Fish. The Teutonic automaton looked at me with one eyebrow askew. I said, okay, I want to go to the Hermitage and Belle Meade. Which is closer to East Nashville (knowing that Bolton's is in East Nashville)? She whisked away the brochures for both Belle Meade and Hermitage, saying that I can't do both. Okay, show me on a map. The brochures reappeared. I am going to the Hermitage and then praying my GPS will stay on long enough to get me to chicken. That's really all I want out of Nashville.
College boyfriend called. Left phone in car last night. Has to see daughter cheer. Maybe we can get a coffee or a smoothie. Smoothie? Bought Exclusive Reopening Key Chain from gift shop. Got in Woody. This is Katherine. She likes him. So do three twenty-something girls, one of them quite fetching in a Pucci-esque tunic. We all like it, she said. I was hoping for Taylor Swift, whats-her-name Cyrus (Hanna Montana all sexed up) and Dolly Parton, but there you have it.
Took me 10 minutes to get from hotel to road. This doesn't seem like a lot, but I was going directly to the road I came in on. It dropped me on some road that has no choice where to go. I took it. I knew this was most certainly not the way the little map on the brochure showed, but never one to be constrained by the correct directions, I let fate lead my way. I passed Hechter's Bakery, next to Jimmy's Shoe Repair (y not ie, must have been a regional thing). Big!Lots. I know there are lots of Big!Lots around. There's even one in the next town from me. But there's nothing like a Big!Lots near Opryland! It's a festival of exclamation points. Billboard for lots of f.... I thought it said fried foods. Hey, the picture had a lot of fried stuff on it. And like magic, the arrow for the Hermitage. Andrew Jackson's plantation is in a strip mall. Kind of. It's in between apartment buildings, big box stores and the freeway. Nevertheless, my imaginary boyfriend and I came to see it. They wouldn't let Brad in even if I paid the very real ticket price for his very imaginary body. This is Brad sulking in the parking lot.I hate audio tours, so in the museum I actually looked at the exhibits and asked questions. This is what I know as fact about Andrew Jackson's personal life. His wife wasn't divorce when married him. She died from lung and heart stuff and also depression. He adopted a kid. A male friend moved into the White House with him. Here's my interpretation. Rachel was a beard. She got tired of it. They had to adopt his bastard. He and his boyfriend Ralph Earl lived happily ever after.
Jackson had 150 slaves. After he died, his head slave bought some of his stuff. Before that, one of his slaves emancipated herself by walking away. Rachel collected silver spoons in New Orleans before hitting Florida. My grandmother did that, but her spoons had different states on their handles. Also, hers were smaller, and not really silver. Andrew had a carriage made of planks from Old Ironsides. Went to gift shop and bought t-shirt and another key chain. I need to put a lot of these suckers on the one remaining key so I don't lose it. Also box of Nashville toffee because I am starving after those two tiny danish, a flower and no spicy chicken.
Turned on GPS and quickly wrote down directions to spicy chicken. The drive was taking me west, not to East Nashville. Again, I am up for an adventure and just go with it. It actually was the right way. Here is Bolton's:
That is the side you don't get to go in. This is the one you do. You knock on the pink door when you are ready to order. The door is inside the restaurant. An opaque smokey window opens and this guy takes your order. He then shuts the glass and comes out the pink door when your food is ready. He is not Mr. Bolton. I met him later. The door and the window are next to each other just like below. The whole thing is about 8 feet wide, including menu.
There are three tables at Bolton's. One is about 7 feet long and has wooden benches on either side. It has a very warm heater next to it, so everyone that sits there eventually moves somewhere else. There are two other tables with formica seats, about 4 feet long. These are some white males with runny noses. I think it is probably a white male thing to see how hot you can eat it. He really hurt me this time! Uh, why eat the chicken? Chug a bottle of tabasco instead.I got some help from nice black guy in kitchen on what to get. This was my chicken. I had turnip greens and mac n cheese with it. The former were the best I have ever eaten. I dipped the white bread in the juice. They had a dirty sign from some magazine that said it was one of the 101 southern food places you had to eat in before you die. Probably right. Nose not running much.
In his usual bad timing, Woody wouldn't, even after the two new water pumps and new battery. He was on an incline, so I rolled him back to see if I could get fuel into his motor better. I got stranded crosswise in the only entrance to the pizza delivery guy behind Bolton's. After calling AAA, the nice Boltons guys pushed the two tons of steel up the mountain, and I waited. Texted college boyfriend re last chance. Boltons is 6 minutes from his house. Nothing. I now have an imaginary boyfriend, an almost-real imaginary boyfriend, and now a used-to-be-real imaginary boyfriend. Almost-real imaginary one texted in response to my chix pix. Man v. food. He's amusing. Call college boyfriend. Got Donnie. Not college boyfriend Donnie. Checked the number again. Right number, wrong Donnie. Well, I guess that one didn't really want his smoothie.
This is Big Mike:
He came from AAA with a starter pack. That's his white car on the left. Anita was in it and getting very bored. I was too. I looked around the corner and saw an old truck. Usually guys with old trucks like that know how to fiddle around with flatheads. I looked up and saw:
I couldn't believe my eyes. A flathead guy. Right there. And he is closed until Monday. It is Saturday, getting dark. I thought I'd try to call the number on his building. I had to ask a pissed off fat white man in Boltons what the area code is. They don't use area codes here. I saw a sign that said if you need prayer call (seven digit number). I guess you can only get prayer locally.I could hear my phone ring in the shop. Obviously not there. I left a begging message anyhow. Just in case. This is Big Mike calling Phillip. Big Mike knows Phillip from the tattoo shop. Phillip knows Greg's cell phone number. Big Mike calls Greg for me. Greg is just over at the fairgrounds and will be over in five minutes.
Dolly from Boltons comes over and gives me a bottle of water. The guys from Boltons watch. Everyone was very nice. I mean really very nice.
This is Greg. He agreed with my friend that you can just bypass the key. Greg told me to get a set of alligator clips up the road at O'Reiley's. Oh, heck, just drive it on over here to my shop. I did.
But not before saying goodbye to nice guys at Boltons. They told me they would take care of me any time I was around. Listen, if we're not here go down the street to the bigger one, he motioned. They have a shop there. Ha! College boyfriend says other shop makes even better chicken. It's the SAME DAMN CHICKEN.
Greg gave me a really good pair of alligator clips and showed me his poster of Indian Joe, the famous motorcycle guy. It was signed. Greg also thinks I should write an article for one of the hot rod magazines about my trip. He showed me the one in the motorcycle magazine with the naked girls in it. He shares it with his friend because his wife (the friend's) won't let him have it. Greg's wife buys it for him. I think that's a good move. Offered Greg bottle of whisky (sorry other guy who helped me with car before I left). He said he doesn't drink anymore. Used to start Friday and end Sunday night somewhere he didn't know where he was at. Got gas. I now know how to hot wire my own car, 1942 style.
Went to Memphis. Boring drive. Spent it thinking about what was cool about the day. Glad I didn't bring anyone with me. Decide to live dangerously and take picture of pretty sunset while driving. I figured it was okay because I passed two big blue signs saying to call 511 for traffic updates.
This is Nathan Green and his friend I don't remember who. I met them at the Johnny Cash Rest Stop. Old guy says he's 80 and remembers those cars. Wood cars, he said, shaking his head. Sign for Loretta Lynn's RV Park on highway. Later, Loretta Lynn's Dude Ranch. Loretta Lynn sure does like real estate just off the highway.
This is Keisha. We met at a gas station. She works there.
After interminable driving, I kept on telling myself I'd get off at the next stop. I always balked because I didn't like the hotels. Too close to highway. Trucks welcome. Not chain. Not chain I know. Falling asleep.
Then Holiday Inn Express! It was nice. I asked the lady how old the hotel is. About a year. I said this is the nicest Holiday Inn Express I've ever been to. It's a real Holiday Inn, not a Holiday Inn Express. Oh. They have a bar and a restaurant. The manager's first name is Beat. I said I've never met anyone named beat. It's be-at. He's Swiss. The room is pretty much the same as at a Holiday Inn express except the pillows have tags on them instead of embroidery to show you which are the soft ones and which are the medium ones. The soap is Citrus Mint. I can't tell the difference. Couldn't open it with my bare hands. You can never have too many scissors. It smells like Arm & Hammer carpet cleaner in Baby Fresh or something.