"Muscle Shoals has got the Swampers"

Today's title may not resonate with everyone, but we spent far too long in Muscle Shoals not to have another Lynard Skynard lyric appear in this blog. But we weren't there absorbing the rich and diverse musical heritage or mythical, singing river vibe of the place. No, we were searching for postcards. If, like us, you haven't looked for a postcard lately, learn from our folly. They are about as hard to find as Betamax cassettes or 8-packs of Pepsi Free. It didn't help that it was Memorial Day and most of Alabama was closed. Based on advice from locals, we ended up visiting a big, unsuccessful loop of drug stores, florists, and Circle K's only to end up back where we started, creating a virtual, Mobius strip mall of failure in the process. It was time to head west.

In case you were wondering what a
large, aluminum crotch looked like.

Our next stop for the night was in Arkansas, and although that was accomplished via a straight line (more or less) along rural Highway 72, it somehow required passing briefly into Tennessee and Mississippi first. I still don't know how that was possible, but that's really more telling of my geographic ignorance of middle America than of my grasp of Euclidean geometry. Anyway, Arkansas proved to be a pleasant surprise. It's not that I had any preconceived notion about what "The Natural State" might be like, mind you. As I inventoried my brain cells, it occurred to me that I had simply never really thought of Arkansas before. So for me, it was like visiting the planet Neptune or a Forever 21 store.

Signs of the Times.

Eastern Arkansas was a beautiful, rolling, tree-filled drive along a scenic watershed with nary a dead armadillo along its highway (unlike the three prior states). It even had a nuclear cooling tower to give it that surreal, Syfy Channel mystique. We were tempted to go into Little Rock to see the Clinton Presidential Library (I assume it has a large porn section), but felt we were too tired and too sober not to solve both of those problems at our Radisson in Conway. Unfortunately, that was not without challenges.

Since it's a Magnum size, I know I didn't drop it.

We've had good luck with Radissons in the past, so we assumed their Country Inn Suites brand would be serviceable, near-the-highway lodging. And that may be the case in general, but the one in Conway was starting to show its age. Since it was late and we were just using it for a bed and a place to get ice for our cocktails, we checked in anyway. Aside from the A/C being shut off and the room being (no lie) 85 degrees when we opened the door, I wasn't even finished with my first highball when Wife noticed a rather unique hotel amenity left near the far bedside. She left the room screaming. I did too, right after I finished my drink.

Probably should have taken this sign a bit more literally.