At least once a year, I leave the safety of Florida’s flat land and subtropical climate headed for Memphis, Tennessee. Whether I trek down wide interstates, winding state highways, drive in the dark of night, or pack blankets for the temperature change, there is no pleasant route to reach Memphis. Every time I pull into the sultry city with all its bright lights and endless churches and hearty restaurants, I feel as if I’m near death.

This year, I selected the smallest, most disjointed, roads to the Mo-town of Rock’n’Roll. With my husband, youngest child and two dogs, we exited the Sunshine State easily, however, our luck faltered once we reached Tifton, Georgia.

My Yankee husband, Zip, wanted fresh vegetables. I told him, in the South, eating vegetables doesn’t necessarily mean you are eating well. We stopped at a greasy steakhouse decorated with adorable ironwork shaped like buccaneers and cheerful saddles dangling from the ceiling. My son asked why the children’s menu offered three low-calorie dishes. Unless it was low-cal, it was loaded with animal fat. Even the steamed asparagus was doused in a heavy sauce.

We disagreed on what to do at 9 o’clock at night. Zip won, so we did not stop to refill the tank and headed toward Birmingham, Alabama.

We didn’t make it. Along the unlit highway, every gasoline station was closed. We panicked when the gas mileage announced we had twenty more miles worth of fuel. Even if the stations were closed, we tried using our credit cards to purchase gas, but they were shut down for the night. We passed one tiny motel, and another, all too offensive for us to stop. With three miles worth of gas in our tank we reluctantly pulled up to what used to be a Days Inn. The establishment had lost its franchise.

The motel required cash up front, hourly rates and a copy of my husband’s driver’s license. The dogs refused to sleep in bed with us and stood guard at the door, growling until 6 am when our neighbors finally got quiet. My husband insisted bugs were crawling on him and there was a brawl outside our door. There was one towel and washcloth and definitely the rooms weren’t cleaned between cash up front customers.

In the morning, my husband was thrilled the car drove 100 mph without our feeling it. We zigzagged our way across Alabama and think we saw the plant where ghosts were featured on Ghost Hauntings. Flashing lights demanded my husband pull over. Tension in the car was mounting. Thank goodness for headphones and a good book.

We missed the exit down highway 78 and decided the Cullman route was more scenic. Every fifteen minutes my son asked, “How much longer?” It was a long haul full of grumpy faces, when we crossed into Tennessee.

Like a pack mule spotting a red barn, Zip gunned the engine as we crossed the line. One of two sheriffs spotted us and patiently stood in the rain as I tried to find where my husband had thrown his driver’s license twenty minutes earlier when he received the previous ticket. This Tennessee sheriff was kind and chose not to arrest my husband for reckless driving.

Once we were showered and rested, we appreciated the calming energy in Memphis. Steady rain fell upon the lakes around our room as we rallied for fun. There are many museums in Memphis, one for every taste. The Pink Palace was built by a man who was declined membership in the local country club, so he went bankrupt building Xanadu to prove he deserved to be a member. The Dixon Art Museum has masterpieces and outstanding shows. Even the University of Memphis art museum offers a special display of mummies and Egyptian art. Because Memphis was named for an Egyptian town, people who collect Egyptian artifacts seemed to settle there long ago, and then buried their treasures in their backyards. The Science Museum is an interactive play zone for kids.

Music lovers head downtown for Beale Street for an afternoon and night of blues. Bands play on the sidewalks and the nightclubs are for letting your hair down. Most every bar in Memphis has live bands.  It’s the best thing about the city.

Restaurants cater to health conscious people who enjoy hearty meals. They are packed full of handsome, outdoorsy folks who love to talk, talk, talk, talk, talk. The energy is comforting.

A trip down to the river is a must. Old Mississippi River boats stayed docked at the cobblestone ramp. The show HeIlcats captures the mood. Memphis Beat romanticizes any bad boy atmosphere.

Outside Memphis is fertile farmland – proof Tennessee deserved to win awards for being the most beautiful and cleanest state in the country. The small town restaurants provide the traditional form of vegetables: fried ochre, fried beans, fried corn. Even bread is fried. Zip got his vegetables and every one of them was fried. I opted to stick with the salad bar. Low and behold, my choices were Cole slaw or shrimp.

To return home, I decided to try the age-old advice – “You got to go North to get South.” The theory about how the interstate to Nashville and Chattanooga is faster than the disjointed roads across Alabama is false. It rained and we drove 50 mph. Despite the traffic lights and low speeds, and the tornado spinning through Alabama, it still was a better drive. With no driving visibility, we stopped in Elizabeth, Tennessee, hardly passed Nashville. We couldn’t unpack the car and my husband was dismayed to learn it was unlawful for liquor stores to sell bottle openers.

Late the following morning we dragged ourselves out of bed and moaned when we saw snow. It was a long haul over the mountains and down the state of Georgia. Zip lost his fancy pants in the hotel. He already had a speeding ticket from our previous Tennessee trip. I drove the speed limit home, listening to my husband complain at every mileage sign. There is nothing like seeing that first palm tree even if it is at a truck stop. We didn’t make good time, but thankfully we were alive when we arrived.

I thought my husband would never visit Memphis with me again.  Alas, family life is good.  He forgot all the bad times as soon as we walked into our house and is planning our next trip.