It was called Side Street Burgers.
A little place in downtown Olive Branch next to the railroad tracks.
An idea turned reality turned into awesome memory.
Saturday was pool play and we went undefeated after a two and a half hour drive across I-40 to Memphis and a hop south into MS.
The games were good, but I needed to relax because traffic was not.
The speed limit on that particular stretch of highway was 75, but we spent 40 of those miles behind two big rigs doing 50 in lockstep.
Maybe they were road raging each other, maybe they thought they were rolling road block to protect other drivers.
Except on every curve, I could see ahead and there was nothing but other cars rolling faster.
Nothing on the net about anything happening.
Just two big trucks blocking the road, jockeying for position as miles of other trucks, cars and more piled up behind them.
I’ve argued before that the most highly travelled corridor in America should be a six or eight lane Interstate.
When I travel it, I use the amount of trucks as a rough estimate for the state of the economy, and it usually works.
More trucks means more goods delivered, means consumers are buying and that’s 70% of how good we are doing.
Lots of trucks on the road this weekend, both there and back.
I just wasn’t sure we were going to get there on time.
My motto is, if you’re on time, you’re late, and I like to leave a few minutes early for the “just in case” moments.
Like driving 50 instead of 79.
The truck in the right hand lane got caught by his own machinations just before the White River bridge.
Another rig came in from the rest stop, which has a pull out lane that ends into the right lane on a long incline.
Big rigs haul big loads really slow up a hill and the rolling road block lost it’s integrity when the truck on the right had to almost stop to let another truck enter the Interstate.
Which gave me and about twenty other cars the opportunity to pass on the right.
Which we did.
And pass the truck.
Which we did.
I exercised restraint in waving a finger or mouthing or even looking over.
I can’t speak for the other drivers.
Then we settled in and made the rest of the drive and didn’t see any problems, blue lights or other adversities all the way through Memphis.
So road rage or road bullies.
But why 50 mph?
The other parents were conferring about dinner and hotel stays.
We were scattered across a couple of places to sleep, but we usually like to try and grab dinner or lunch together.
Our drive was misty as we chased rain into MS, but a cloudy day gave way to a sunshine afternoon and the temperature warmed up to something very nice.
The breeze was awesome, no humidity and after a long sneezing fit to announce that the cottonwood trees were doing just fine, I told one of the other dads that on a night like tonight we needed three things.
A place outside with long picnic tables and cold beer.
Man does not live by bread alone.
Which led us to Side Street Burgers.
It is a shack built into an old building in a row of old buildings.
A walk up counter to put in your order, which is a simple menu of, you guessed it, burgers.
Right next to a place called Mississippi Ale House, which is a walk up bar with about five tables inside and a bunch of tables outside that fit the bill perfectly.
A dozen twelve foot picnic tables scattered around a few fire pits, and baggo games and a stage against a crumbling brick building in the back of the courtyard.
A stage with three guys playing the blues on a night when the weather was perfect.
Check, check and bonus check on a four out of three wish list.
I had an Orange Blossom Special beer, which was new and cold.
A big burger that was hot and juicy and a few moments in my mind that made me forget any woes, worries or wherewithal I had that occupied it.
Because while those boys played the blues, and this boy sipped his beer, and our boys competed at baggo or sat and ate or a couple parked on benches and watched the band pick and grin, magic happened.
A train rolled by.
Mississippi is the birthplace of the blues, an original American creation and if you know a little about where the rhythm comes from, it’s the trains rolling through the Delta.
Chug a chug on a beat.
It was across the street hidden behind a row of trees, but we heard the whistle blow long and loud at a street crossing further south and then it came closer.
Not in time with the music, because blues evolved and these boys were good enough for a small stage, but not in tune enough to pick up what the engineer was playing as the iron wheels clicked across the iron track.
But magic still.
I told the Dad next to me about the moment.
Sitting there, cold drink in hand, listening to blues in the birthplace while the train went by.
And he cocked his head to one side and sipped a beer of his own and for a moment, he felt the magic too.
I told 10 to pay attention, and I think he did while he finished up a couple of fish tacos, the only oddity from the menu.
Magic not quite summer nights made for memories.
It is always a W when you get one of those as a gift.
Do you have a great summer memory?
Treasures of Darkness group promo