I have every intention of slowly filling in the blanks on this blog, but, for now, I want to give a quick update. We made it to New Orleans!

We spent three days in Memphis. Punctuated by visits to the River to stare out wistfully and imagine canoe-shaped dots on the opposite shore, we were a bit sad.

But Memphis claims to be the heart of the Blues. ‘The blues ain’t nothin’ but the truth set to music’ she sang at the only band we saw -for free in a dilapidated park.

From Memphis, we got nervous in a down-and-out neighbourhood on the outskirts of the city. Then a woman wordlessly bought us lunch at Subway. We got a ride with Mike, the former meth dealer with a shotgun and a kind heart, to Grenada, Mississippi (at least 60 miles out of his way). In Grenada, Dan, a middle aged man, in a pickup truck picked us up and drove us to a truck stop in Winona as night fell. We held our sign up near the pumps in the fluorescent glow of the gas station, but with no luck. We camped behind rows and rows of sleeping truckers.

Your appreciation for your surroundings changes when you feel like you have no choice but to be there. A highway is a marvelous thing, it’s a backdrop for adventure, for swallowing up miles and flying across the countryside. It’s a gateway, a passage, it’s an escape route or a way home.

But, when you’re standing on the side of it watching it take so many other people to where they want to be, it’s stubborn. It’s mean. It’s a clique you’re not a part of. Stone cold faces rush by, one after another, occasionally whipping their necks around to have a look at the strange phantoms on the side of the road.

The vehicles take on personas of their own. Some pass by smugly, acrimoniously. “Look at what you can’t have” they seem to sneer as they pass. Some are oblivious. Some are nosey.

We lovingly named her Georgette, after Kevin’s dad, who gave her to us. She was steadfast. We often remarked on her reliable nature, how she held her head high as she glided elegantly through the water. Equally dependable was she in cresting waves, in surging swells, and in all weather. She guided us fearlessly through rain, sleet, ice-rain, snow, and even broke through a thick layer of ice one frosty morning in Illinois.

And then, three nights ago, with no fanfare or fuss, no bustle or bedlam, she made her graceful exit. Slowly, silently, on a beach on the Tennessee border, she slipped into the night. In water gently lapping against the eroding sands in rising water, she gradually headed southwards. Pausing on rocks, swaying in the current, she carried on without us.

She’s gone.