Graceland and the Bible Belt

There is such a thing as a Bible Belt and I am here. If you go to any trucking stop, alongside the chips and cigs you can also pay to have your soul saved in six simple steps. I was nauseated, but as my father reminded me later, we wouldn't have gotten all that great music from this area if it weren't for the strong religious and gospel traditions.

Loving Memphis tonight. I went to a place for dinner down an ally called Rendezvous which is world famous for their coal cooked pork ribs. I'm mostly vegetarian at this point, but understood that a visit to Memphis would be cut short without some meat in my face. I sat next to a chatty drunk named Paul who bought my dinner (perhaps he will regret that tomorrow?!). He also bought the special homemade sauce that Dad had requested--nothing like bringing home souvenirs paid for by people who have no relation to you.

Visited the MLK assassination site, Beale Street, listened to a rock'n roll rockout in the street, and made a trip down to the Mississippi River where I could see the bridge. If there's any question of getting into the Memphis mood, listen to this fantastic Chuck Berry classic!!

Ragin Cajun

As I was conceiving of this cross country road trip, I had many a dreamy notion of a quarter century birthday party in the city of soul, New Orleans. It became an obsessive focal point as I planned hours upon hours of driving to coincide with an arrival on my birthday eve. My eyes were blood shot from the long haul, but I arrived in time and feel that it was entirely worth it to be here for my happy birthday.

My big birthday present from Mom and Dad was a two night stay at a rock star hotel, the Monteleone, in the French Quarter. This apparently was a big hangout for Granddad back in the day, and when Doug finished at Tulane, the whole family stayed here for graduation weekend. It was fun to feel the old family haunts and happy spirits in this place. When I arrived on Monday night, there was a dish of chocolate covered strawberries waiting for me from my dear roomie, Soph, and I felt like a princess in this most elegant room, all to myself!

My birthday was one of the rainiest in recent memory, but I made the very most of it by eating my way through every little cafe and restaurant in the French Quarter. The morning was spent dodging the downpours, tucking under awnings until the rain let up, then skirting to the next little place where I would try the house special. Breakfast was at Cafe du Monde, famous for their powdered sugar covered beignets and chicory coffee. I sat there for a while listening to a brass band outside play. There is no wonder that this town is known for its music: on every street corner there are world class musicians sharing their tunes.

For lunch, I had been tipped off to a great little place off the beaten track called Cake Cafe. The name itself seemed enough of a reason for me to take my birthday self way down Chartres street, a long but worthwhile trek. On these less traveled side streets you can see lingering signs of Katrina: boarded houses, overgrown and abandoned lots. I know that what I saw were not even the hardest areas hit. There were also indications of the Gulf oil spill, angry signs in peoples' windows, cars that had been made into mobile billboards of disgust. At one point, finding it too rainy to continue walking, I waited at a bus stop with an older man. We shared my umbrella and he told me stories about pre and post Katrina, mostly how much he loves this city, even after all that it's been through.

As the afternoon wound down, I was hit with the melancholy inevitability of a birthday in a strange town, no friends around to celebrate. The blues didn't last for long. As I was contemplating where to take myself to dinner, I began chatting with a local guy outside Irving Mayfield's jazz play house (Bourbon Street). He directed me to a restaurant right across the street, the Oceana Grill, as a place to get some good Cajun cooking. "In fact," he said, "I'll join you!!" In no less than 5 minutes, Kenneth Dale and I were good friends. The strangest thing is that he's celebrating his 41st birthday today, so we are birthday neighbors. With Ken's guidance, I had a tasty Cajun red-fish dish with a couple of house cocktail concoctions. For dessert, the whole place sang up quite a racket, wishing us two birthday fools a special day with a wildly decadent chocolate cake.
Ken left me back off at Irvin Mayfield's and I listened to some jazz before it was time to head off to bed. A very happy birthday to remember. And now it's off to Tennessee!!

New Orleans, Please and Thank you!

Thanks for the birthday wishes, all! It has been a wet one. Never been caught in such a rain storm. But having a fun time, nonetheless.

The best pick up line of my life occurred while I was sloshing through the rain to get some breakfast. A man driving in an airport shuttle van parked up beside me and began calling "Ma'am. Excuse me Ma'am" [insert incredibly strong Southern Accent Here]. I looked up and he said, "Ma'am, you gotta be careful. You know suga melts in the rain!"

I laughed (out loud).

More to come...

Notes on roadkill

I've seen a fair amount of road kill on my trip. As I was driving into Louisiana, there was a dead alligator on the side of the road. I consulted my Baton Rougonian pal, Ben Bowers, who says that this is not normal. Too bad, totally wish it was.

Armadillios, possums, anything that is stereotypcial to a state, I have seen it.

New Mex into Tex

New Mexico is an incredible state with much more to see than my time allowed. Bob, my Host with the Most, helped me maximize the minimal time I did have by generously bringing me into Santa Fe from Albuquerque on Saturday morning. I had been there once before as a 10-year old when we came for a family friend's wedding. It is a little city with a huge art scene best characterized by its red adobe buildings. A uniquely beautiful place with a strong Native American presence. We had just enough time to wander the side streets, hit up a fajita cart, and check out one of the incredible outdoor marketplaces selling dream catchers and turquoise jewelry. Soon we were back in the car, making detours into little towns along the road including Cerillos and Madrid.

I was determined to make a decent start on my trek into Texas and left Bob and Sylvia in a bit of a rush on Saturday afternoon when we returned from Santa Fe. Throwing kisses into the air and waving goodbye from the car, I raced against time to make it to Fort Stockton, Texas, before it got too dark and I risked falling asleep behind the wheel. I took Rt 285 out of New Mexico which brought me right through Roswell, NM, the UFO capital of the United States. The ride was out of this world. All I can say for sure is that there were a myriad of sorry looking souls along the way and I tried not to linger too long filling up the tank. Onwards through Carlsbad and then hopping over the border into Texas, I cut across some very vast and open territories. It got dark fast, but I could still see the oil rigs moving up and down in the dusk.
Not a whole lot going on in Fort Stockton, Texas, but it was a nice place to lay my head for the night. Sunday was a big driving day. My whole goal was to make it to Victoria, Texas and my mom's dear friend, Janet Kutchka, in time for dinner. More vast territory and the incredible sight of wind farms. I arrived in Victoria a very weary but keyed up traveler. The heat was oppressive and I was google-eyed from staring at the road all day, but Janet and her husband Ray made me feel at home and I quickly relaxed into their southern hospitality. I got a tour of town, met Janet's mother, and helped prepare a delicious dinner. Janet belongs to a CSA (community supported agriculture program), so she had boxes of vegetables for us to work through. A very bright spot on my long journey across the country.

New May-Hico!

The road from Flagstaff, AZ to Albuquerque, NM is a straight shot through some of the quietest, most serene South Western territory. Beautiful, but apparently deadly. I have been living in "obsessive gas fill-up" mode, where every time I see a gas station, I fill the tank. Numerous friends and relatives have told me stories about "That time we were driving on fumes and didn't have a gas station for 75 more miles, so we had to push the car." Broken down in the middle of the desert with no upper body strength is not a place I want to find myself, so I have been quite careful.

When I was in middle school we had a geology unit on the Meteor Crater which, for some reason, really touched me. Since then, I have longed for the day when I could see it. Today was that day. The crater is about 40 miles from Flagstaff and is the site of a major meteor crash 50,000 years ago. Good thing we bypassed that catastrophic event. There is a long winding road that leads to this incredible scene near Winslow, Arizona. The Park Services have looked upon this crater as an incredible money-making opportunity. I got to pay $15 to see a hole in the ground! A very cool hole in the ground, nonetheless. The floor of the crater is large enough for 20 football fields and the surrounding walls could hold 2 million watching fans. The size was breathtaking.

After my flirtation with scenes of the future Apocalypse--afterall, claim the crater people, this could happen again some day!--I got back in the car and started heading east to Albuquerque. I was taken by complete surprise by a tremendous rain storm. I thought I was experiencing my own end-of-world experience; didn't realize it could rain that hard in the desert. I kept my wits about me and made it into New Mexico without a scratch. In Albuquerque, I have been welcomed into the home of Sylvia Hanna, a friend of a friend's friend. Sylvia and her friend, Bob, have been giving me the royal treatment and are my unofficial tour guides while I'm here!

Finding Lucas

For those of you who don't know him, Lucus Van Engen is a wild and crazy man driving a tractor across the United States. I had the pleasure of meeting Lucus when he and my roommate were filming a movie in my apartment that resulted in a total mess. After hating Lucas for his part in wrecking my home, I began to consider his other redeeming qualities--afterall, I love me an adventurer-- and decided to find him on his quest to conquer America via Craftsman Tractor. This is an ad campaign that you can learn more about here. And you should watch this video--make sure you have a tissue while watching, you'll tear up.

I knew from Eric that Lucas and I were on a similar route, the major difference being our pace; I was going significantly faster in my car. Hell, I figured I could catch him. But no, the man has already been at it for 2 months. As I was arriving in Albuquerque, Lucas and his team were already 200 miles east in Tucumcari, NM. Alas, it did not work to meet up. But on days when I felt like I had been driving forever, I reminded myself that it could be a lot worse. I could be on a lawnmower going 7 miles per hour.

What a Grand Canyon

The ride from Las Vegas to northern Arizona is an incredible scene of red rock and vast desert expanse. The best route is via 93 which takes you over the Hoover Dam. I had heard that following 9/11, the dam is increasingly difficult to pass without major traffic hold-ups from security checkpoints. I was in no great rush and decided to take the risk in exchange for a glimpse at this incredible landmark. The ride out of Vegas went smoothly and I was lining up to cross the dam with minimal hassle. It is a grand site to behold, a vast concrete structure surrounded by emerald green water on both sides, smack in the middle of an otherwise hot desert plane. After passing the checkpoint, I pulled up on an overpass where I was able to get a great view of the big beauty.

No rest for the weary. I was determined to make it to Grand Canyon National Park before it closed for the night. We had been as a family when Jay and I were in elementary school. Larned family legend has it that little brother almost fell in while Mom and Dad were looking the other way. I couldn't comprehend this truth, but upon arrival suddenly found myself dangerously exposed to the canyon edge. I hiked the Southern Rim with complete fear and total fascination. Scenes of lost footing and a deadly tumble flashed before my eyes. I got over the scary visions and focused on the stunning, dizzying, wildly colorful scene surrounding me.


Lots of people had warned me about the heat--the last thing I wanted was to heat stroke into the canyon. I eventually had to hike back to the car where I reveled in air conditioning and geared up for the last leg of the day's trip to Flagstaff, AZ. A ride that should have taken 45 minutes from Grand Canyon took nearly 2 hours. I found myself caught behind a 30-man string of 25mph machismo. Oh! To be a 70 year old male, salt and peppered with a mullet, tattooed beyond recognition, riding a Harley. I'm sure it's a good life. I hear the chicks dig it. But all it did was enrage me.

I arrived at my nighttime destination delirious with anger, heat, and fatigue. But I began to smile again when I saw what a cute little town Flagstaff is. It's a hippie hangout, surrounded by little mountain peaks and funky shops. I found some dinner and ate in a public square where there was a live blue-grass band playing. I stayed in the Grand Canyon Hostel for which I will not write rave reviews. No need to go into the details, but I will say that a) I blame my roommates and b) it's called proper hygiene. I have always had incredible experiences with hostels internationally, but this place was not like the other places. Stay FAR away.

What Happens in Vegas...

Notes on my all too short stay in Southern California: I loved LA and can totally see why the world is fixated. Jane Larned showed me an amazing time in Hermosa Beach. If you like to beach and play all day long, this is the spot for you. I fear we've lost Jane to the Left Coast, but who can blame her. My day in Hollywood was filled with star sitings (Evan Lysacek and Carey Mulligan!!), the Bodhi Tree Bookstore (the most far out place this side of John Larned) and lots of traffic. Eventually I threw my hands up in the air trying to find the Hollywood sign, and returned to the peace and quiet of Jane's seaside abode. I walked all along the Strand and met up with a fun crew of Jane's pals at their neighborhood favorite, Sharkeez.

Yesterday I zipped across California into the Mojave desert and made it to Las Vegas in time for a raucous night on the town. I am staying with Eric Feldman's "much more attractive and significantly more successful" older brother, Jay. Dr. Feldman, as he is known to the many lives he has touched in the past 3 days since he began his ER residency here, Jay is as much a newbie in this town as I am. We rode his convertable up and down the Strip, did dinner at the Balagio, and managed to hit up a variety of bars with the other ER docs in South Vegas. The night wasn't complete until I played the slot machines at 2:30AM in Caesar's Palace. Didn't win, but still patted self on back for not squandering the family fortune.

Now I am sitting here, foggily scrutinizing my atlas, trying absently to figure my route to the Grand Canyon. First stop will be for a tank of gas an an even bigger tank of coffee. I took a hit in Vegas, but have no doubt that the desert air can clear this haze. Onwards and upwards!

Mark Twain's California

There is a supposed Mark Twain quote that says, "The coldest winter I ever spent was a summer in San Francisco." Snopes claims Twain never said this, but whoever did was onto something. I arrived in Monterey on Saturday, a beautiful seaside town in the Bay Area, entirely under-prepared for the frigid weather. Maybe frigid is an exaggeration. But I am a cold person who frost bites easily and I struggled along the coastline in my poor excuse for a long sleeved shirt.

I came to California as a favor primarily to myself but partially to my cousin who is moving from Monterey to Washington D.C. He and his wife wanted someone reliable to transport their car across the country after previous failed attempts with shipping companies. The trans-American wanderlust is an adventure I have had in mind since I first traveled alone to Washington state from Philadelphia as a 12-year old in 1997. Flying over the United States, bypassing all that land, I wondered what lay below. Somewhere along the line, since that first trip, I got preoccupied with the idea that the only true and meaningful adventures were those that occurred outside North America. In addressing a myriad of health obstacles this year, I began to see that an adventure can be as simple as one you have at home amidst complex personal challenges. This road trip is an opportunity to meet and be with the land in my own backyard, a place that I claim to know, but have actually never fully experienced.

Yesterday I drove from Monterey stopping at the Point Lobos Reserve where I had every intention of taking an epic bike ride through the beautiful coves and waterside cliffs, but couldn't get the tire pump to work--I learned in hindsight that this was a user error. Ah. Well. I walked instead. Starting to feel the icy air creeping in, I returned to the car and made my way down the winding roads of Big Sur, stopping at Nepenthe Cafe which was one of my Dad's favorite stops back in the day; he used to drive his motorcycle down the California coast, frequenting these types of hippie communes. My lunch stop was in San Luis Obispo where there's an old Spanish-Catholic missionary from 1772--thank God someone was converting the savages back then. I drove the rest of the way to Los Angeles via an unintentional detour that took me an hour out of my way, but into a grand mountain pass along the coast.

Here's a clip on Road Trips:
http://www.thisamericanlife.org/node/3104?bypass=true