I exchanged a round-trip ticket to LA for a chance to sit with Elvis (and this is what it taught me)

I have struggled with how to start this; I even battled a few different titles. But during the days that followed my trip back to Toronto from Memphis, I have shared both my accolades and missteps of my solo road trip in a converted, extended 16 foot Tony Miceli van.

Eleven days ago, as I prepared to pack nothing but a ‘carry on’ suitcase and a bin of non perishable foods, I was wrapping up work and sharing my adventure to come with my coworkers and some close friends and family. I heard a lot of:

“Be careful, trust no one.”

“Don’t you think you should take someone with you?”

“Do you want me to back that out for you?”

“Why are you doing this?”

“Memphis, then you’re just going home?”

“Not knowing where you’re going to sleep is the scary thing.”

“Be safe… be safe… be safe… be safe”

A returned my round trip airline ticket to LA, my beach house in Oceanside, and the many tourist tickets (including a three hour boat ride on the Pacific to search for whales) for a trip I had imagined doing most of my life. But, I had never imagined it would include a 2005 utility van, a king sized bed in the back and a bucket for my over-40 sleep mid-night lavatory breaks.

I mean, who could imagine that?

This was to be a pilgrimage to Graceland; a trip in honour of my late step dad who was, through and through, a die-hard Elvis fan. Having most tacky 70’s Presley memorabilia in the home my mom and I moved to, Elvis was all around us. I was five years old and this man with whom we now lived was bigger than life (and he ate dinner without his shirt on). He emulated the great entertainer, sideburns and all!

He took me in as his own and I will forever be indebted to his love, humour and values he taught me.

The trip would be two days on the road, three days off, two days on the road. My hotel was my rental car and my rental car was my hotel. I had to learn, very quickly, how to drive with no side windows and not allow the speedometer needle to hover over 100 too often. The drawers would open at every turn, the Coleman stove, although carefully secured in a make shift holder on the doors, raddled without pause making it difficult for me to hear the Elvis tunes on repeat.

But I did it.

I gassed up, often, with a small tube of pepper spray in the attack position nestled in my hand, carefully concealed in my pocket.

I rear-end parked, often with no less than two attempts, but did so at every opportunity. I got caught in a Trader Joe’s parking lot and had no way of navigating that beast around to get out of a tight spot, I backed it out the entire way, sweaty and proud by the end.

I secured it every night, ensuring windows were covered, keys close by, and an easy path to the driver’s just in case I had to get the heck out of where I may have been staying.

I stayed in a close friend’s driveway on night one – stumbled as I tried to figure out how to get dressed and ready for bed in a cramped space, things I would learn to do much more efficiently as the days went on. I woke to the most amazing sunrise as she and I had coffee and avocado toast as the morning escaped us.

I stayed beside a corn field in deep country Kentucky. The blanket of stars I witnessed that night was like nothing I had ever seen. Not a street or house light for miles.

I was welcomed to an RV camp in Mississippi where 135 out 140 spots are occupied by full time families. Many stopped by as I had my doors opened and I cooked my first meal. They visited, chatted about life on the road in a state I had never been before. There was ease and comfort as I put on my parking break and kept my windows open as I listened to life outside come to a close for the day.

I pulled up beside two other almost converted vans at a farm house in Arkansas. The sounds of the coyotes and barking dogs echoed over the vast fields of harvested soy beans and cotton.

I parked out front of a beautiful home in Indiana – the best night’s rest I had experienced, but was up at 5 to set my coffee maker and start my final stretch home. Those early morning drives I welcomed the sun and the incredible pink, fall skies!

There is so much I could write about – the museums, what I learned about US history, the music, the food, the hour I spent in the Meditation Garden alone, tears streaming down my face as I sit only 10 feet from Elvis’ grave. But, this trip was much more about the tourist things I did, it was about facing self-doubt, it was about tuning out the fears of those around me when I felt bombarded, it was about the moment I crossed the border and the agent looked at my van and said – you are really brave for doing this.

This trip was for Len; but in the process of honouring him and the King, during the moments when I couldn’t believe where I was, or what was around me, I realized I did this. I got me here, I kept myself safe, I rested, I practiced quiet and reflection and remained open to the people around me.

I kept my door open.

There had been only two other times in my life (birth of my babies aside) that I had this feeling in my gut, beyond butterflies, that something monumental was about to happen. Like, I said to myself, this is so weird I am here and I am in this.

The first time was meeting a penpal I had never met in person, after 10 years of communicating. As I turned the doorknob I said… can you even believe this is happening? I said this often during the few hours we spent together. The night was one that will stay with me forever.

The second time was my high school reunion. I could not stop saying to everyone that night how incredible weird it was to see everyone after 27 years. The joy and love I left that night are feelings I will never forgot.

As I reflect on these moments, I realize now the common thread was an initial period of heavy, intoxicating self-doubt. What if the person I had been during the last decade isn’t congruent with who I am when I open that door? What if everyone shows up to the reunion and no one talks to each other? What if I start my journey to the South and I get so scared, I have to turn around?

Fear is a boner-killer. It always will be.

There were SO many people who projected their fears onto me before I had even left. I battled what I was hearing from the outside with the immense assurance internally that I was doing the right thing.

Now, there may be some reading this today that may think, Big deal – you drove an old van with no toilet down to Tennessee and back. There are bigger, scarier things happening in the world.

Well, you’re right. But my bigger, scarier thing was what I embarked to do for 7 days in October in 2022. Where the beauty of the cotton fields and the smell of BBQ became home for me. Where several moments during my days in Memphis were met with divine serenity and calming silence.

And for those of you who may have those around you doing things that make you scared, some advice…

Before you say Safe Travels, consider saying Tell me when you get to your next stop

Before you say Stay Safe, consider saying Tell me if there’s anything I can do to help

Before you say Be Safe, consider that the person you’re talking to is probably ONLY thinking of their safety.

I am happy to say, I got home safe, with a few bumps along the way, but I did it my way! (<– click to listen).