The Pilgrimage(s)

The long American highway is a desolate and lonely place. Endless tarmac, silent gas station forecourts and the relentless anaemic hue of soul-berating Burger Kings permeate the landscape with a slow, unforgiving mundanity.

Lone truck drivers pit their solitary hopes on the Teddy Pickers – whose prizes stare their beady eyes zombily into nothingness – grasping for the thrill of everyday excitement and interaction denied them by the open road. These rest points are their hermitage; where they thumb at inane glossy magazines to distract from their toil.

But for us it’s different. Over Karaoke in Nashville, TN, one guy who heard of our adventure and our involvement in 2008’s iconic America, summed it up: ‘you guys are living the dream.’

And we are. Aside from Drive for Obama, this journey is our exploration of the country that’s been our home for over a year and one that’s fascinated and inspired us all our lives.

And so, in the midst of an ever-thrilling and exhausting campaign trail of repeating our message and engaging with individuals about why this year and this election matter more than any other, it’s also a pilgrimage to the music and politics on which we were both reared.

Nowhere has this been more pertinent than in Memphis, home of Elvis Presley and the Blues, and the place of Martin Luther King’s last steps forty years ago on that long march for justice that still continues in 2008.

Today, we were enthralled at Graceland, disappointed by the flat refusal to record music at Sun Studios and subdued all over again at the Lorraine Motel where Dr. King fell and which is now the fitting home to the National Civil Rights Museum.

Last night, we met a guy called Richard Johnston, and agreed he conjured the most universal and impressive music either one of us had ever encountered, from two broomstick handles and a cigar case, and a foot that simultaneously played kick drum, hi-hat and snare. In Memphis or through the internet, you've gotta check him out...

Tomorrow, the search for understanding and symmetry continues, into Little Rock, AR, and the Clinton Library.

As we travel, we are aware that the innards of our white saloon hire car are, frankly, not a relaxing place.

If there’s rest bite from the mountain of discarded Cheetos, it’s only for the occasional scattered Skittle or two-day-old coffee cup. If there’s refuge from the constant hum of spiky drumbeats through cheap speakers, it’s only for the more painful lament of a King or Kennedy speech.

But as we are reminded by every Obama bumper sticker on the freeway, every lawn placard, or each person we speak to whose raised eyebrows wither to knowing nods of approval as we explain why we are doing this, or every symbol of Hope delivered here by past generations, we cannot forget Mike’s words:

‘You guys are living the dream. Keep doing what you’re doing. We need you.’