Road Trip Day 6 or: 300 MPH Torrential Outpour Blues

Tuesday, April 19:

I wasn't finished with Nashville quite yet. You see, Nashville is the home to Third Man Records.  And Third Man Records is owned by WWW's favorite musician in the entire history of the universe.  If there were musicians before the Big Bang, I'm sure that even they could not live up to the lofty standards set by this man.  He is the leader of The White Stripes, The Raconteurs, and The Dead Weather. He is, of course, Jack White.

Not pictured: My music boner

 

Third Man Records records, mixes and manufactures records on site and even hosts performances sometimes.  I was not that lucky.  But they do have a kickass gift shop, and even have some of the Lego figures from the Fell In Love With A Girl video.

My pilgrimage to Third Man was the last destination before I reached the Words family homestead in New Jersey.  However, I did stop for the night in Harrisonburg, Virginia.  I imagine that will eventually be the most notable thing to happen in Harrisonburg.

I expect my plaque directly.


Miles today: 540
Total miles: 2865

Road Trip Day 5 or: Play Some Skynyrd, Man!

Monday, 4/18:

Sadly, it was time to depart St. Louis and make the five hour drive to my next destination - Nashville, Tennessee!  I was hoping to get a bit more of an authentic country experience here than I did in Branson, and I was not disappointed.

I didn't arrive in Nashville until 8pm, so my tourist options were limited. I headed directly for Broadway, the downtown street littered with honky-tonks, open containers, and crushed dreams.

Broadway is compact, and I was able to barhop with impunity.  At Tootsie's Orchid Lounge (which I swear is the most popular bar on Broadway and not a place for seersuckered dandies to sip mint juleps) the bandstand was so small that the singer walked up and down the bar instead, tip bucket and microphone in hand.  I noticed all the bands had tip buckets, and it was made quite clear that it would take a tip the size of a car payment for a patron to hear hisself some "Freebird". Apparently, bands in Nashville feel about playing "Freebird" the same way Radiohead feels about playing any song that might be considered a hit.  

Of course, there is always the exception that proves the rule¹, and after a while I happened upon a guy who absolutely shredded on "Freebird"...and he was the only guitar player in the band. Lynyrd Skynyrd had three guitar players, and here this one guy killed it. This is why I'll recommend hitting the bars in Nashville even if, like me, you don't like country music - in Nashville, even to play in a dive bar you have to be REALLY good.

Miles today: 320
Miles total: 2325


1. I've always hated this expression.  How does an exception prove the rule? It makes me as mad as "I could care less".

Road Trip Day 4 or: I've Never Been This High, Like, Ever

Sunday, 4/17:

After Branson, I wasn't sure if my next destination would be able to deliver the same fix of adrenaline thrills I'd become accustomed to.  But I forged on still, mindful that I had a blog to write and people less than 65 years old to see.  This was one of the shorter drives of the trip at 4.5 hours, and the most uneventful.  The only thing of value I learned on this drive was that I could get free wi-fi by parking next to a Starbucks.  If I went inside the Starbucks, I could even get coffee!  What a country!¹

Lo and behold, a giant arch in the skyline heralded today's destination.  No, not McDonald's.  It's none other than the proud home of Chuck Berry (and Fred Berry), shitloads of beer, and noted foul-mouthed blogger Gwen - St. Louis!  Like everyone else, my first thought upon getting to St. Louis was "I want to go in the Arch!I want to go in the Arch!I want to go in the Arch!" (Pretend that went on for five minutes without a breath.)  Oddly enough, despite the Gateway Arch's iconic status, it's only been open since 1967.  It's only been around a few years longer than I have, and despite my best efforts I am not anything close to an icon.

Even though you can't see me at all due to the overcast day, I've now officially posted a picture of myself.  Technicality!

According to a peer-reviewed academic refrigerator magnet I saw in the gift shop, the Gateway Arch is the tallest man-made monument in the United States.  It's taller than the Statue of Liberty, the Space Needle, the Washington Monument, and especially the "tall" size coffee I was too cheap to buy so that I could check my email at a table like a human person instead of in the front seat of my car.

Yep, that's pretty damn tall.  Check out the people having a picnic on that teeny-tiny pink blanket.  My attempts to spit on them were probably unsuccessful, because after a cursory introduction to Newtonian physics, I concluded that I was probably in Illinois before the spit landed.²

I finished up in St. Louis with a trip to the legendary Ted Drewes frozen custard stand to sample their specialty, the concrete.  Frozen custard with mix-ins (brownie and banana for me), the concrete is a cross between a milkshake and a sundae.  It's so thick that your server turns it upside down before handing it over.  Rumor has it that a Dairy Queen executive had one and stole the idea to create the Blizzard, but if that's true then DQ bungled the job with their inferior version.  This custard was extremely smooth and delicious, and I'm sad to report that it's much better than the frozen custard of my youth on the Jersey shore boardwalks.

After St. Louis, I headed somewhere that I hoped would prove to the the antithesis of Branson.  Where is that?  Well, you'll just have to find out tomorrow, won't you?

Miles today: 250

Miles total: 2005


1. I would like to think this is the first multi-day Yakov Smirnoff callback in the history of blogdom.

2. Also because the top of the Arch is enclosed in Plexiglass.

Road Trip Day 3 or: I Lived The Dukes of Hazzard

Saturday, 4/16:

Saturday morning I pulled out of Amarillo and headed towards that night’s comedy-rich destination (wait for it!)  The theme of the day (aside from how freaking big and flat Texas and Oklahoma are) was the po-po! 

I was chugging along on cruise control at 75, 5 mph above the posted speed limit of 70.  A car in front of me had been traveling at the same speed I was for quite a while when all of a sudden a Texas state trooper pulled out behind me and flicked on his lights.  Now, not too long ago I heard an anecdote where a man pulled over for speeding asked the officer why his car had been singled out when two other cars in the vicinity were traveling at the same speed.  “Well,” the officer replied.  “I just turned my lights on.  You were the one that pulled over.”  Keeping that in mind, I kept a steady speed and watched the police car pass me on the left and pull over the car in front of me.  I really do believe we were traveling at the same speed.  Maybe there was another reason that car was pulled over, or maybe he was chosen because he was the car in front and therefore setting the pace.  Either way, I breathed a sigh of relief.  But that would not be the end of my dealings with the police on this day.

As the highway carried me through Oklahoma City, the traffic got a little more clogged.  I needed to make an exit on the left, and as I was trying to wedge my way into the exit lane, I weaved a bit.  A few hundred yards after successfully making the exit, I saw those red and blue lights flashing behind me again.  At first I wasn’t even sure it was a police car – Oklahoma Highway Patrol cars apparently have very thin strips of lights across the top of their windshield and grille instead of the traditional roof-mounted lights.  Frankly, in my rear view mirror it looked as much like a pimpmobile with a bouncing suspension as a police cruiser.  In any event, I pulled over and the officer approached my window.  After I handed over my license and registration, he told me that he pulled me over because of my erratic driving while trying to get into the exit lane.  He then tried to draw me into a conversation the way cops do when they suspect you might be drunk.  “Where are you going?” “Oh really, a road trip?  How far are you driving?” “What do you do?” Then, finally, he asked the most important question of the day.  “Oh, film production?  Where did you go to school to learn that?”  I cleared my throat and said, “Syracuse, sir.”  The man’s face lit up like a Christmas tree.  “Me too!  That’s where I met my wife!  And here I am a state trooper in Oklahoma.  Funny how things work out.”  As it turns out, the officer was even in the same program I was.  We talked college basketball for a minute or two and then he urged me to be more careful and sent me on my way.  Now, I didn’t actually do anything illegal that I can reckon, and I don’t think he was going to ticket me anyway.  But this little bit of serendipity sure couldn’t have hurt.

Blessedly, that was the sum total of my interaction with the authorities today.  Which was good - I was able to turn my attention to that night’s destination…Branson, Missouri!  Now, for those of you who don’t know, Branson occupies a unique niche in American culture.  A small city of little renown until the 1970s, Branson has over the last 40 years grown into a major tourist attraction based largely around country music.  Or, as Homer Simpson once described it, “Branson is like Vegas if it were run by Ned Flanders.”  Highway 76, known as “the Strip”, is the home to scores of theaters, many named after performers who have moved to Branson and perform there year round.  Some of the more prominent performers include the Osmonds, the Mandrells, Tony Orlando, Mickey Gilley, Andy Williams, Boxcar Willie, the Oak Ridge Boys, and curiously, comedian Yakov Smirnoff.  In Branson, cheesy entertainment watches you!

I arrived in Branson about 9:30 on Saturday night, dreading the traffic on a weekend night.  And when I turned onto the Strip toward my hotel, I found…nothing.  The sidewalks were rolled up.  At 9:30.  On a Saturday.  This is when I learned that Branson tourists were largely made up from a group that eats dinner at 4pm and makes Metamucil a permanently backordered item at the Walgreens.  Despite the lack of action out on the street, I did cruise along taking in the sights.

 In time-warp Branson, Dallas is still the #1 show.  Don't ruin it for them by announcing who shot J.R.

This giant chicken seemed to echo "Hotel California".  I could check out of Branson anytime I liked, but I could never leave.  Which reminds me, The Eagles are due here in 2016.

Baldknobbers seems a bit of a risque name for the Bible belt, but it's one of the oldest theaters in Branson.

And if that's not enough Baldknobbers for you, you can eat or sleep here too.  I wonder if spotted dick or kielbasa are on the menu.

Miles today: 585

Miles total: 1755

Road Trip Day 2 or: Two Kinds Of Holes

Friday, 4/15:

Meteor Crater met all my expectations. The scale is simply massive. I couldn’t even fit the entire thing in a picture. It’s one mile across and 550 feet deep. I just sort of stared dumbfounded, imagining what it must have been like when the meteor hit and threw up enough rocks and dirt to make this giant hole in the ground. A cutout of a person had been placed at the center of the crater to judge size, and you couldn’t even see it without binoculars or the zoom lens of a camera. I stayed a little longer than I wanted, but then it was back on the road. I had my first unscheduled Cool Thing™.

I’d planned to stop tonight in Elk City, OK, but I knew that cutting short yesterday’s drive was going to mean that I wouldn’t make it. My new destination is Amarillo, TX. It was to be an 8 hour drive – I’d scheduled longer drives earlier in the trip while I was still fresh. What I didn’t count on at all, however, was that I would cross time zones in today’s drive. TWICE. I was going from the Pacific time zone to the Central time zone, adding two hours to my drive. It’s still just 8 hours of course, but I’d arrive later and thus have to start earlier the next day, so it’s relevant to getting enough rest.

I passed through Albuquerque, NM and soon after saw one of the most stunning sunsets I’ve ever seen. Unfortunately I couldn’t stop and take a picture of it because a rest stop didn’t come up during the sunset and it’s too dangerous to pull over to the shoulder of the interstate when the speed limit is 75…I’d be afraid someone would hit me. I regret not getting that picture, though.

I pulled into Amarillo about 10:30pm local time. I was wiped out and didn’t have time to see anything, so I’m rather relieved that Amarillo seemed unremarkable in every way. I was a bit bummed after I checked into the motel, though. It seems that the Big Texan Steak Ranch was only a couple of miles away and had closed at 10pm. The Big Texan is the home of the 72-ounce steak dinner that’s free if you can manage to finish it in one hour. If you order the steak, they put you on an elevated stage in front of the rest of the dining room and start a big clock on the wall. Countless comedians, nutritionists and even a Simpsons episode have used the Big Texan as inspiration. I’m not sure I would have tried the challenge (especially since the dinner costs $72 if your steakhole is not up to the task), but I’d sure like to have watched!

Miles today: 610
Miles today: 1170

Road Trip Day 1 or: Pizza And Beer-like Substance

Thursday, 4/14:

Today I hit the road! I left about 8:30am and by 3 I was in Phoenix, AZ for the first Cool Thing™ I wanted to do…Pizzeria Bianco. Widely hailed as one of the best, if not the best pizzeria in the USA, I’d wanted to go when I was last in Phoenix but didn’t get a chance. The place doesn’t open til 5, but I planned to arrive by 3 to join the daily throngs that hang on the lawn out front in hopes of getting in. Imagine my surprise when I found it open! The bartender told me that the restricted hours were to ensure quality, but that after a while they didn’t see the point in making people wait outside for hours, so they started opening for lunch.
 

I had the Wiseguy pizza, which has mozzarella, caramelized onions, and fennel sausage. The best part of the pizza was the thin crust…charred and crispy but chewy inside. It was one of the two best pizzas I’ve ever had, the other being Pizzeria Mozza in Los Angeles. Neither are exactly like the traditional pie from the corner pizzeria, which makes some people contend that they are not actually pizza. I know pizza. I love pizza. This is pizza. If you are in the neighborhood of either, I can’t recommend them highly enough.
 

I was back on the road after that, hoping to make it a few more hours to Holbrook, AZ to stop for the night. About 50 miles short of Holbrook, I saw signs for Meteor Crater. I immediately changed my plans and stopped at the nearest motel, because I was going to see that crater in the morning. When I was four years old, the first book I remember reading over and over was a world atlas. In the front there was a section on the Solar System, and that was the reason I developed the interest in astronomy and space travel that had me on this trip in the first place. In that atlas, there was a picture of Meteor Crater, and the scale of it blew my little mind. I had always wanted to see it, and I hadn’t the faintest idea that my route was going to pass right near it.

Miles today: 560
Miles total: 560


Ed. Note: It didn’t fit anywhere in that post, but I must follow up the assertion in my last post that I’d imbibed a substance ruled illegal in 20 states. At a gas stop in Arizona, I noticed the much-maligned Four Loko for sale. For those who don’t know, Four Loko is a malt drink that has twice the alcohol of beer, four times the caffeine of coffee, and is sold in 23oz cans. If you’re like me, you’re thinking “how is this possibly legal in 30 states?” as well as “I must try this immediately”. I did, and I can report that it both made me feel weird and tasted so incomprehensibly bad that I would have rinsed my mouth out with Clamato.

Back In The Saddle

Well, I'm back. Sort of.¹

And there was rejoicing throughout the land! Or at least quizzical looks, from the reactions to my picture posts leading up to blog reactivation. I'll explain. Those are stills from a bit Sesame Street used to do where Bob and Luis erected a tunnel and a train came rushing through. It used to SCARE THE SHIT out of me when I was a wee tyke. Something about seeing it far away and then seeing it slowly come to get me was horrifying. And the sound was pretty frightening too. If you're interested, you can see the clip here. Then the connection to bringing back the blog might make a little more sense. Or you might conclude I'm still nuts. Which I would not begrudge you, frankly.

I won't be posting as often as I did before, but I like having this place and I like reading all of you. The reason I've chosen now to come back is that I'll be leaving tomorrow morning on a road trip. I'll be leaving from LA, driving to NJ to see the family, then down to Kennedy Space Center to see a Space Shuttle launch, then back to LA. 7,000 miles, hombres. I'd like to blog the trip for my own enjoyment, and I will therefore be forcing you people to read it.

It should be interesting right off the bat, as I discovered last night that I inadvertently threw out my VIP ticket to the launch. I did my spring cleaning last week, and went through a bunch of paperwork, putting it into "throw out" and "keep" piles. My Shuttle ticket apparently found its way to the "throw out" pile. I'm normally super organized. I can't believe I was that careless. During my drive I'll be attempting to pry one loose from eBay, Facebook, or anywhere else. I'm sure I'll either not find one or pay a super duper premium and then return home and find the original ticket in about six months. I can't wait to write that blog post.


1. I do have a gift for grand entrances, don't I?