Small Worlds, Cross Country Travelers, and Australian Accents

Last year I took a month off and set out on my bike (VTX 1800R) to see the country. The plan was to spend half the day riding and the other half exploring the small towns along the way, hoping to meet a few intersting people in the process. And the very first day, it started happening.

I checked into a downtown hotel in Memphis--the Peabody was full, so I went next door to the Hampton Inn and found a nice room. Then I found my way to the best place in America to eat ribs.

I was sitting at the bar in the Rendevous, throwing back cold Bud Lights and devouring the best ribs I've eaten in my life. Another guy sits next to me and orders the exact same thing. After a few minutes into the ribs, he started.

Him: "Where you from?"

Me: "Pensacola. You?"

Him: "Texas."

Then we talked about ribs and traveling. He worked for Texas Instruments testing a new inventory system and was in Memphis for a few weeks. He managed to make a few trips each year to get away, and this time he lucked out and got Memphis. Then I began to tell him about my plans--Florida to California to Montana and back to Florida with plenty of stops in the process.

"And this is your first day," he asked.

"First day."

"Then let's go drink a few beers," he said with words twisting my arm behind my back.

We paid our tabs and lit out for a night on Beale Street, but as soon as we stepped into the street, we saw the lights of the stadium. The Memphis Tigers were playing at home so we grabbed a seat behind home plate and watched the last few innings. A couple of beers later we were on Beale Street popping in and out of bars, hanging a little longer at the ones where the women were just a little more attractive. But it seemed no matter how many we went into, we couldn't find the perfect fit. I was beginning to get discouraged when we found BB Kings.

Inside a band was jamming, and the upstairs was a little less crowded so we picked up a couple of beers and stood looking down, surveying the crowd below. It had a great mix inside with people from all walks. We saw guys in suits talking to secretary types, Japanese tourists talking with each other, Memphis locals all grouped together, and hairy backed bikers imposing on two young women.

"That doesn't seem right," my friend said.

I looked closer and could see the curl of the thick matted hair covering the guy's shoulders like moss on a rock. And the black Harley tank top he wore did nothing to help control that massive field of black pubes that sprang up way too far north. "It's not right," I agreed.

He looked at me as if suddenly the responsiblitiy of the world was going to be on my shoulders. "It's up to us to save them," he said bravely.

"That's too easy," I said. We were a couple of handsome intelligent types. "Let's add a little challenge to it."

"Like what?" he asked.

"Let's be Australian?" I waited for him to balk at the suggestion.

Some guys don't have the stamina to keep an accent going all night and possibly into the next day.

"Good on ya', mate, " he said. "We'll be a couple blokes from...Brisbane. Rugby mates." His aceent was absolutely flawless.

"Beauty! You're working for T.I., and I'm writing a book about crossing America on a motorcycle."

"They'll love it," he added. And so we began our journey down the stairs and across the floor.

BB Kings has a large area for the band and a nice-sized dance floor in front of the band. The girls were off the the right, sitting at a table with a Wookie perched over them, and a couple of his Wookie buddies nearby. The guy was leaning over the table, bracing himself with his hairy arms.
If you're trying to save a woman, the only way to do it is to be decisive and execute flawlessly. The idea is to seperate the girl quickly from the danger, so in this case, my solution was to go straight up to the table and open the conversation in a non-confrontational way. The guy had not established rights to the girls because he was still standing. If they were interested in him, they would've offered him a seat, or joined his buddies at the next table, so I felt pretty confident I wouldn't be challenged.

"G'day, ladies. This is my favorite song in the world next to Waltzing Matilda, so me mate and me wanted to know if you two wanted to dance?"

The Wookie not only looked like a Wookie, but had there really been Wookies, I'm sure they would've smelled just like this guy. He glared at me, but held his words. But the girls...they were up in an instant, snatching us to the dancefloor by the hand.

As we danced, I could see the guy's buddies giving him a ton of shit--so much so, I could see the big guy getting a little more upset with each song that kept us on the dance floor.

After working up a nice sweat, we fell into the chairs and ordered a few drinks and began with the stories. They were from New York, working their way west to either pick up or drop off a car or something like that. And as we talked, it was clear they were just a couple of really nice girls...girls I'm glad I helped. These guys behind us were not the nice types, and they certainly didn't have the best interest of the girls in mind...But then again, after a few more beers, I might not either. So we talked for a few hours with them asking about Australia, and me and my mate making shit up along the way, trying to recall Ayers Rock, Mad Max, Prisons, and Aboriginals...and of course, the favorite, "I think a dingo ate your baby."

But in the end, we all had a good time. We all drank too much, and we all went our seperate ways. They told me to make sure I get to Santa Fe even if it's out of my way, and I promised I would.

The next morning I checked out of the hotel and caught a cab to the Pyramid for a motorcycle exhibit. By the time I got out it was around 1pm, and my head was still throbbing from the drinks the previous night.

It wasn't until I was halfway through Arkansas and had ingested a dozen Extra Strength Tylenol and 10 gallons of Gatorade that I began to feel 25% human again. And 475 miles after leaving Memphis, I rolled into Oklahoma City. The sun was setting, the wind was calm and I was spent. All I wanted to do was find my hotel in Bricktown, grab a quick shower, and chase down some chow. I didn't want to be Australian, American, Erican, or anything. The only thing I wanted to be was fed.

I was out the door twenty minutes later with no road grime on the face, neck or hands. I was feeling closer to 60% human by then. I had decided on Nona's--a place with a nice rack of lamb--for dinner. I was all set for a cocktails, dinner, wine, and whatever else came. But I was not ready in the least bit for what I saw as I walked out into the summer night air of Oklahoma City.

I looked up and saw the two girls from Memphis walking across the street, headed straight towards me. And suddenly occured to me I had to be Australian. Then as we caught up, they pointed out that I was no longer a stranger to them. And because we had never even talked about OKCity, it was such an odd coincidence that it must be fate. So now it was their duty to rescue me from having to spend my evening alone.

Two women, one Aussie alone in Bricktown. The dinner was served, the wine poured, and dessert was presented.

As I said, some guys don't have the stamina to keep the accent going all night, and possibly into the next morning. But on that calm summer night in Oklahoma City, I wasn't one of those guys.

At least that's the way I remember it.