As part of a series on budget travel, our bachelor shows us the best of the city without breaking the bank.

Would it be possible to get two bags of pretzels?" I ask the flight attendant on my flight from Dallas to Memphis. Like a squirrel in October, I'm stocking up. Because if and when my $299 kitty for a bargain-conscious weekend in Memphis runs out, those pretzels might come in handy. Besides, I'm going to the bustling metropolis on the banks of the Mississippi for something money can't buy: to engulf myself in the legend of Elvis Presley - something my father, who was the biggest Elvis fan I've ever known, never got the chance to do.

Growing up in the Raub household, the pecking order went something like this: Elvis rode shotgun to God himself. Bob Knight, ex-Indiana Hoosiers/current Texas Tech basketball coach, was God himself. Whoever was batting cleanup for the Chicago Cubs was vying for a congregation in there somewhere.

I was introduced to Elvis in the late '70s, when my father proudly brought home a horrendously ugly baby-blue Ford Leisure Van - complete with a state-of-the-art eight-track cassette player - which soon became a sanctum for The King's music. My first thought: torture. By high school, however, music had become a profound part of my life, and it didn't take long for me to see the same great qualities in Elvis that my father had seen. He's credited with inventing rock-and-roll, for goodness' sake! Like my dad, I owe a great debt to him. I'm quite sure that debt is more than $299, but that will have to suffice for now.