July 8-9th, 2009

New Orleans, LA

I’m in no position to comment on the recovery having been unfamiliar with the pre-Katrina city. I only visited once before, during Mardi Gras and the town that I saw was completely different. If I compared my two experiences I might remark how sad it was that Katrina washed away all those floats and brightly colored costumes. I might scorn the pickpockets and loose women for abandoning their posts. I’d take heart though that the beignets were as I remembered them. But of course the floats and costumes will return like they do every February. The pickpockets have jobs drawing tourists into theaters where the loose women dance. And not even a class 5 hurricane and the negligence of an entire administration is a match for pastry.

At any rate, I was interested to see the city and speculate as to what I thought was aftermath and what was unchanged. Shelby had never been to New Orleans before, so naturally she was excited to see Bourbon St. I had too many awkward memories of boob-crazed twenty-somethings to be excited about Bourbon St.

It seems like three type of very specific businesses are allowed on Bourbon St.; 1. Bars that specialize in giant cups of Beer to go, 2. Bars that specialize in frozen drinks that taste like cough syrup where you can also get pizza by the slice, and 3. Strip clubs.

There is an occasional souvenir shop, but mostly sex and alcohol related souvenirs.

As we were walking we happen upon a bar with Blues blaring from inside. It seemed to be a normal bar and the fellow out side, perhaps and off duty pickpocket, promised
“No cover…just buy a shot.”
A one drink minimum. Not bad. So, we went in, sat down to listen to the music, and ordered what turned out to be two eight dollar shots. Eight dollars? Do I look like Andrew Carnegie? Yikes. Maybe J. Paul Getty? Eight smackers. Yowsa.




Bourbon St. was lack luster, but we had a great room at the Lamothe House, which was beautiful and old. We biked around on the waterfront and saw the Calliope player on top of the Natchez River Boat. But the most fun we had was Zydeco dancing at the Rock’n’Bowl. A bowling alley with a live band and dance floor.

We tried our hand at it, but we kind of just made up our own steps. The regulars there were awesome and so much fun to watch, that we spent a lot of time just admiring. It was an extremely electic crowd. Black, white, young, old, experienced, novice. We made up names for them and watched as they traded partners after each song. It was impossible to tell who was “with” who, and who had come alone. We established our favorites. “Lucy” the short-haired redhead close to fifty, with cowboy boots and denim shorts. (Almost all of the women wore denim shorts.) and “The Professor” A thin, balding gentleman in his early forties with wire rim glasses.

After gracefully swinging some denim clad dance partner around the floor, The Professor would come sit down at his table near us and wipe his brow with a handkerchif, waiting sometimes only a half a song to approach someone new. He had a black felt, wide brimmed hat that he left on the table with his computer bag, no doubt full of history papers that he should be grading. Lucy on the other hand had no home base that we could discern, because she danced every song. We watched watched each of them change partners between songs. Roy. Sam. Reggie for Lucy. Sarah. Lynn. Sue for the Professor. It wasn’t long before The Professor asked Shelby to dance. I had to kick his ass.

What? You don’t think I could have? Well, we’ll never know because of course I didn’t beat him up. He and Shelby had a fun swing around the floor. He lived up to our nickname for him by teaching Shelby the basic steps. We spent the rest of the night trying to reproduce what he had taught her. (Excuse the awful quality of the photo. Maybe you can make out Shelby.)

There were tons of great dancers, but she was the hottest ticket on the floor. What was most intriguing about her is that she almost never smiled. She was all business. Her hips were having fun, but to see her face you’d think it was another day at the office. Not bored or upset. Somewhere between content and nonplussed. The Professor for his part was a little aloof too. Neither was interested in conversation or drinking, just rug cutting.

We were waiting for the main event. Lucy and the Professor. We wanted to see what we thought were the two best dancers in the room together, toe to toe, so to speak. Two forces of nature slammed together in French inspired folk rhythm. We soon got our wish. The two dancers though, were completely unaffected by this collision. Both maintained their poker faces throughout. It was great dancing, but nothing anyone else seemed to take note of. When the song ended they politely shook hands and parted ways. After a while more of practicing The Professors instructions we stopped to have a drink. We saw the professor pack up and head for the door and stop. He seemed reluctant. The night was young. He took one last look at the dance floor, hat on head and bag in hand. He seemed to be looking for someone to say goodbye to, someone who would miss him. I would not have been surprise to see him take a deep breath, march straight into the middle of the dancing crowd, and pull Sarah or Lynn or Sue off of some other guy’s hip and confess his deep long abiding love for her. But he just turned sadly toward the door and left. We left soon there after. As far as we were concerned the show was over. I’m sure Lucy kept dancing into the night with a break until the band went home.

July 7, 2009

"Sausage Party"


Leaving Austin on the way to New Orleans, we drove through a town called Burton, TX. We took pictures of the "City Limits" and "Welcome to" signs. But by this time in our travels we were a little worn out from stopping for every interesting photo op. It seemed like we stopped at every mountain and ocean side vista from South Dakota to Los Angeles. But now several weeks later, the most initiative we were willing to take was to slow the car down enough so the camera wouldn't be blurry. Some of the photos taken with this method indicate that we were not going slow enough, which could be read as a lack of excitement or interest in the subject. I'd say this is generally true, but then again some times a really cool sausage factory sneaks up on you. You don't have time to snap a photo from a car. You have to decide. Is it worth turning around? In the case of the Burton Sausage Company, we said "Yes. Yes, it is worth turning around."




"A brief description of a brief stop Lafayette, LA"

We drove most of the day stopped in Lafayette and looked for a motel with the tell-tale outside doors. Shelby is of the belief that this means it is cheaper. We went to see the Hangover at the local multiplex and went to bed.

"A brief discussion of The Hangover"

Zach Galifianakis stole the show. I love that guy. If you aren't familiar with his stuff google or youtube or FunnyOrDie.com are all great ways to get to know his work. I really loved the "Wolfpack" speech and am convinced that it was a wink to his fellow NC State alumni. One more reason to love him.

July 5th-6th, 2009

Having eaten our fill of brisket burritos and meat on sticks at the The 4th of July celebrations, we headed to Austin. We were going to spend a couple of nights with our friends Colin. (His wife, Claire, my high school friend was in California. Remember Blue Lake?) We got to their house met Starla their dog and the three of us walked around their neighborhood, South Congress, to find something to eat. We ended up at The Trailer Park. there is a phenomenon in Austin and perhaps other places where people run food stands out of Airstream trailers. The Trailer Park was a parking lot with a conglomeration of these Airstream restaurants. Each specialized in a different type of food. It was as if the food court, fed up with materialism had abandon the civilization of the shopping mall, to live the life of a Gypsy.

The next day while Colin was at work we took a day trip to San Antonio. We saw the tourist marketed Riverwalk and it reminded us of a scaled down less crowded Fisherman's Wharf. There are a bushel full of chains that make there way into these places. You can eat the same over sized hamburger on Michigan Ave, at Fisherman's Wharf, or on the River Walk.



Nearby was the Alamo. It was absolutely crawling with people. A tour guide, named Arthur with a thick New York accent, was giving a talk about the infamous siege by the Mexican military on the outnumbered independence seeking Texans. There was no mention of why they wanted to be independent. Later as we walked through, I asked Arthur.
"So, why did they want to be independent?"
"well, the Mexican government had taken away a lot of their rights. And you got to remember, there were a lot of big egos involved."
I must have stared blankly or some how conveyed "bullshit" to him, because he skirted the issue for a while longer before mentioning,
"You know, there were also slavery issues involved, it was very complicated."

What the folks at the Alamo are unsurprisingly reluctant to own up to is that Mexico outlawed slavery, and that was the driving factor behind their independence struggle. Oh, Texas.

Shelby kept saying
"But, they lost....Why is it important?"
We left without seeing the whole thing. Had enough of my righteous indignation? I have, so I'll move on.

We moved on to the old Mexican market.


We both bought wrestling masks and I bought a giant hat. Much to Shelby's shame, I walked back towards the car through downtown San Antonio wearing both the my mask and my hat. When we came upon a Shriner's convention, I would always comment on how ridiculous they looked, sarcastically saying,
"Nice hat."
after they had passed.
we Drove back to Austin, stopping in Gruene to see the dance hall in Texas. I highly recommend it.

Back in Austin, We all ate Indian food and Colin took us to a few out of the way bars. One dedicated to Johnny Cash and one built out of railroad cars. Exhausted from the full day of sight seeing and the Texas heat, we went home and slept.

July 3-4, 2009

"Happy Birthday, America"

We decided that we wanted to spend the 4th of July somewhere in Texas where they bleed red, white and blue. We wanted the quintessential small town American Independence Day experience. We followed the smell of concealed handguns and found Fort Davis. As it turns out 3 towns, Alpine, Marfa, and Fort Davis all take turns with the 4th of July. We had so stay in Alpine because all the hotels in Fort Davis and Marfa were full. Most of them in Alpine were full too, but we found a little motel where the toilet didn't flush. Nearby Big Bend Recreation area was a big draw for the fourth.

We went to the parade and historical "event" in Fort Davis. The historical event had nothing to do with American Independence, but rather was a reinactment of a bank robbery. Some would say that is just Texans showing their own independent streak. Some would say it's not in their nature to dress up in a bunch of wigs and sign things. Some would say, Texans would have signed the Declaration of Independence with hot lead. But, I think that the people of Fort Davis, by staging a bank robbery on Independence Day, (Two shows, one at 2pm the other at 3) are saying something about the way this country was founded. Hmm. Thank you Fort Davis for teaching us a valuable lesson about brutality, greed and unchecked capitalism.

These three towns are a pretty interesting combination.

Marfa: A forcefully quaint artist's community with a gallery for every ten people, where the rich come to see the "real" small town Texas with out giving up their gourmet dining.

Alpine: Home to Sul Ross State University and the independent professional baseball club The Big Bend Cowboys.

Fort Davis: Where even Jesus would be embarrassed by the number of crosses.

July 2, 2009

"On the Catwalk, Yeah"


The Catwalk that Bucky recommended was amazing. It is a mile hike through this small gorge that is partially over a suspended metal catwalk. It takes you over and through this small river and passed a bunch of freezing swimming holes. We went for a dip in a couple of different spots. In the first, official swimming hole we got there five minutes after a handful of teenagers and immediately started cramp their style.
There was a small water fall with some angry birds living under it. The kids climbed upstream of the falls and were working up the courage to jump off. Shelby wondered,
"What makes them want to do something that stupid?"
It was potentially pretty dangerous.
Shelby was pretty tickle by my answer, because it was the first time she had heard the phrase,
"Young, dumb and full o' come."
It that how you spell that? I don't normally use such sophisticated terminology.

As we started back we met a nice couple, Ray and Ellen from Massachusetts, and talked to them the whole way back. They were staying in the hotel across from Bucky's and had seen us in there the previous night. They came to New Mexico every year and we traded stories about the place we had seen. They made some recommendations and we took note, because we had been talking about coming back. Ray and Ellen were spending an entire month in New Mexico, and we could have easily done the same.

Our next stop was the Hot Springs in Gila. We stopped at a little campground along the river and set up camp. They had a real nice set up with a communal kitchen, a refrigerator, nice bathrooms and a big hot tub fed by the Hot Springs. There was a section that seemed like more permanent residences for the hippies that were running the place. As I was putting up the tent, Shelby scoped out the Hot tub. What she scoped was a pair of old saggy hippy boobs. Turns out this camp ground was clothing optional. Whoops.

Shelby and I both opted FOR clothing and thankfully so did the rest of the folks we encountered. I think the rule was that the hot tub was clothing optional after dark. Which means that hippy that Shelby ran into was bucking the system. Old habits die hard, I guess.

There was a group of three arguing women, and four screaming boys camping across from us. We swam in the river and made dinner. Later we ran into the loud bunch at the hot tub. Near as wee could tell it was a mother and the two surrogates who birthed the four boys, having an annual family vacation. They were nice and we chatted with them a bit with the boys slashing around. We eventually got to relax in the hot tub.





The next morning we went to the nearby Gila cave dwellings. They were neato, and we saw a bunch of lizards.

The entire trip Shelby has come to learn something about me that I have known for a while. I generally have to always be making noise. I fidget, verbally, sonically, audibly. If talk radio or news is on I can just listen, but if it is music I have to sing along regardless if I've heard the song before. If the radio is off I make up my own songs or just babble. These spurts of musical gibberish usual end with Shelby reaching for the radio knob, saying,
"OK."
Here are some lyrics I remember: (Imagine your own tune, because the original was pretty substandard.)
California smells like farts, California smells like farts, California smells. like. farts. Just thought that I should warn ya. If your drivin through California...
(repeat ad nauseum )

I guess my point is that I'm not the least annoying person to be trapped in a car with for a month. So, give Shelby a pat on the back next time you see her.

Also I mention this because I wrote a song about New Mexico, and this seems to be the appropriate place to include the lyrics. It was inspired by the slogan on their license plates. See if you can guess which phrase that is.

Here goes:
Land of Enchantment. You're full of surprises. New Meh Hee Ho. New Meh hee ho. (repeat ad nauseum)

(I wish NM license plates said, "New Meh Hee Ho")

Anyway, New Mexico was really great and a huge surprise. You think it's all desert, but it's full of surprises.


New mexico song
land of enchantment you're full of surprises new me hee ho new me hee ho

July 1, 2009

"Pie Town"

My mom and dad had recently traveled in New Mexico, and recommended two places, The Gila Mountains / Hot Springs and Pie Town. My mom had told the story of our impending trip to a pie lady named Becky, who had promised to make us a Honeymoon Pie with a few days notice. We had no way of contacting Becky to give notice of our arrival, but we wanted to meet her anyway. When we arrived in Pie Town it was everything we expected: a town with places where pie could be bought and eaten. We found such a place. (Surprisingly, only one of two in town, and the only one that was open.) Shelby had blueberry. I had peach. We split a piece of Chocolate afterward. When in Pie Town....
We asked the lady who served us the pie, if she knew Becky. She did not. I later confirmed with my mom, that Becky worked at the other pie place in town. I still find it hard to believe that two pie shops in a town qualifies it as Pie Town. But, it was good pie.

"Reserve"

When leaving Pie Town we decide to take a local "highway" to Reserve, the next town we were going to hit. On the map this was marked as a long winding dirt road that led straight to the paved highway to Reserve. A short cut if you will. In reality, it was a long winding dirt road with several unmarked forks. It did not lead straight to the highway. Instead, it led past several secluded ranches that were clearly posted as private property on which trespassing was not allowed. The implication from the signs, the characters in the previous town, and the movies we had seen was that trespassing was punishable by shotgun.

The first ambiguous fork in the road we chose right, left. That is correctly, the direction left. The next fork we chose right, wrongly. The direction, right, incorrectly....We got lost. We backtracked once we started to hear banjo music. (I know, wrong mountain range, Deliverance was set in the Appalachians, but you get the idea.) We finally found the right highway and Reserve and stopped for lunch. We took pictures of Ella's cafe, because one of our nieces is named Ella. I also took pictures of the statue commemorating a Mexican sheriff who held off a bunch of bad guys in a gunfight.

I can't remember the details that the plaque described but I do remember thinking it sounded like the opening scene of Tombstone.

"That's pronounced HEE-LA"

We decided to take the main highway around to the south end and up into the Gila National Forest. There were no roads on the map that took you in from the North. Shelby started driving and I dozed off. When I woke up we were somewhere in the middle of the forest we were supposed to be going around. Somehow we had gotten onto another "local", dirt and gravel highway. I didn't think it was that big of a deal.
"It's got to lead some where...right?"
We didn't really have an itinerary at this point and we kept passing campsites. Occasionally we'd pass a truck.
"Those people must have come from somewhere...right?"
Finally, we passed a couple of lime colored, trucks at a campsite, and we turned in to ask them where we were. The trucks had federal plates like the USDA cars at my dad's office. We got out and approached them for directions. It turns out these guys were USDA Forestry Service researchers and they had a very extensive map of the area. They pointed out the best places to camp and the road to take out of the park. With the pen and paper 20 feet away, all the way back in the car, we tried to commit their instructions to memory. Needless to say we did not find any of the campsites they pointed out. It was an absolutely beautiful drive and had been the entire time, but we were glad to find our way back onto the atlas.

"Mogollon"


As we were doing this, just on the edge of the forest we drove passed a tiny house on the back of a flat bed truck. The sign out side said "The Lady Lives Here" as we continued, thing got more bizarre. We passed one normal looking house with a newish car parked out front, but everything else looked like a 1920's mining town.
A decrepit old theater, a bunch of beaten up old cars, a boarded up saloon. Then, a sign that said "Ghost Town open Thursday through Sunday". Ah ha! We then passed a little gift shop and museum, both closed. We had come kind of the back way, we found out from the signs as we left, through Mogollon (mogie yawn) an old New Mexican mining town that was now run a kind of low grade, but quaint tourist spot.

"Glenwood"

Outside of Mogollon, We found our selves at a campsite in Glenwood, NM. We chose our campsite due to the proximity of a rustic looking watering hole named Blue Front. Actually, I had to look up the name of the place, but the owner was named Bucky, so to us it's Bucky's. After we set up the tent we biked the 100yards or so to "Bucky's" We got a couple of drinks and a plate of fried okra, played a little pool and watch VH1's pop up video. We learned a lot about Ray Parker Jr., Whitney Houston and Madonna. We talked to Bucky for a while too. He had been a session musician in Nashville and still played bass with a group of local musicians. He recommended that before we leave town we see the Catwalk. We went to back to the camp, dark by now, and went to sleep.

June 29-30, 2009

"Dam, Canyon"

We drove pretty much all day through California, Nevada, and Arizona to about an hour from The Grand Canyon. We drove through the outskirts of Vegas, but I couldn't convince Shelby to stop there. She has better judgment than I do, so I acquiesced. Soon we found ourselves in view of Lake Powell. When we got to the Hoover Dam, traffic was slow (worse coming the other direction) so Shelby told me to hop out and I walked across the dam, while she drove and waited on the other side. Almost as impressive as the dam was seeing the incomplete suspension bridge they were building above. It is sad to think that this bridge will reduce the slow, wonder filled stroll of a drive on the dam to a quick, 30 sec flash over the canyon. No driver will ever be able to see the dam from there, without taking his eyes off the road and ending up in the Colorado River.



As we approached the Grand Canyon, it was getting late. We camped about an hour away and got up the next morning to see it bright and early. We stopped at just about every overlook on the road leading through the park even though we were kind of Canyoned-out by the 4th or 5th. It was really hot. That said it was amazing and pictures don't do it justice. It's one of those natural wonders that I think only the ability to fly would do justice to. Like clouds. I think the only way to really appreciate a cloud is to fly in and out of it like Peter Pan, Wendy and the boys do, in that one scene from the Disney movie. I found myself wishing I had a hang glider or wings. I also think it'd be cool to see from a raft, which with the price and wait list for reservations is tantamount to growing wings.

The next stop on our list was Pietown, NM. Guess what we were hoping to find there.