for the Journey

i stopped mid-sentence as our plane glided down toward the city.  it was…huge.  downtown Chicago looked much like one would expect from a prominent urban mecca.  i could pick out the familiar sites: Grant Park, Soldier Field, the Sears Tower.  but it was the sheer sprawl of of the city i couldn’t believe.  streets and buildings and parks stretched for uncounted miles in every direction.  it looked like the lake shore just couldn’t accommodate all of the supplicants that wanted to be near it so they camped as close as they could, each creeping slowly nearer to the skyscrapers and docks with every passing year.  i have seen many cities, but never anything like this.

i remember smiling as the plane touched down.  it feels so good to be back in motion, wandering to adventures and parts unknown.  Chicagoland has always been on my list of places to explore but somehow i’ve put it off until now.  well no longer- i couldn’t wait to discover what was waiting for me over the next five days.

i grabbed my bags and navigated through O’Hare to the elevated train- of course known famously as the ‘L’.  relatively empty at first, the train quickly became crowded.  i was trying my hardest to take up only one seat with all of my luggage piled on my lap and squeezed between my knees, but i was failing rather miserably.  while this certainly might have been a cause of tension back home, i found that one passenger after another slid effortlessly into the cramped half-seat beside me, not afraid to brush legs or share breathing room with a stranger.  i guess personal space is a luxury for the uncrowded.  people here seem more relaxed and less hesitant to get close.  despite being one of many in a constant crowd (or maybe because of it?) they seem to know who they are.

the L brought me to Wicker Park and to friends.  this being my first visit, it was quickly decided that authentic deep-dish pizza was in order.  we traveled downtown and i easily made friends with the best pizza i’ve ever encountered.  we attempted to walk off the cheese and sauce euphoria with a stroll throughout the city, ending the evening way up on the 96th floor of the Hancock building.  content and excited, i sat near a wall of windows with a drink in my hand high above the Windy City.  i looked over the lake, the streets, the lights stretching as far as the eye could see.  this is what i come looking for.  through everything else, it is moments like this that keep my feet moving and my spirits high.

for the Journey,
-louie-

wandering past the frozen reflection pool, my thoughts were anything but.  there is such an energy to this city.  something about DC calls to me, makes me feel at home, settles my spirit.  Washington is a city of thought, emotion, memory.

the ripples of my mind splash across my surroundings:  Lincoln enshrined in his temple like a hero of old, a child and his father laughing and flying a kite on the lawn, old women making crayon rubbings of names on the Vietnam Memorial wall.  so dynamic, so refreshing.  my thoughts and person are drawn back to this city again and again.

i came upon a shrine i had never visited before.  the (somewhat) new World War II memorial sits silently at the far end of the reflection pool.  i entered the open pavillion with an open mind.  looking around, i found that it made me immediately…uncomfortable.

at first glance, this appeared to be a vain monument to success - a gleeful cheer for mankind.  i nervously avoided the gaze of the Japanese man walking past me to see a triumphant engraving on the floor, celebrating Victory on Land! Victory at Sea!  Victory in the Air!  Kilroy was engraved on one wall, playfully peering out on victorious citizens and defeated guests alike.  the polished stones all around me were displaying some celebratory symbol or quote of the great war to end all wars.  my stomach began to churn.

then i found, resting solemnly near a quiet pond, these words:

Here We Mark The Price Of Freedom.

above the pond was an impressive and expansive wall of gold stars, each representing 100 Americans who had lost their lives during the War.  there were over 4,000 stars.  in this quiet corner i found the true weight of the monument.  “us vs. them” dissolved as strangers stood silently side by side in reverence and morbid awe.  Washington became again an ocean of thought, emotion, memory.

that night i cheered, screamed, and laughed with strangers in a local bar, as we watched the local Redskins in the NFL playoffs.  as we enjoyed the night of victory and defeat, i bought a round to mark the price of freedom.

for the Journey,

-louie-

i took the metro to the heart of Washington, DC.  a picture on the bus made me laugh: it was meant to indicate that the fare machine no longer accepted pennies, but the image was basically a big red X through a picture of Abraham Lincoln.  whoops…

to balance things out i began at the place shown on the tails side of the penny - the Lincoln Memorial, where tourists, locals, students, and families gathered in clumps on the tall steps leading into the Greek columned temple.  i started up the imposing staircase.  i slid around a professor who was giving a lecture in Japanese and i had to weave nimbly across the steps to avoid intruding on haphazard photographs.  once i finally fought my way to the top of the tall steps (resisting the urge to have a personal “Rocky” moment) i came face to face with the man himself.

the Lincoln statue is an intimidating picture of what Honest Abe would look like if he were still alive, turned to stone, residing in Washington, and 30 feet tall.  it really is impressive.  the atrium that houses him is an area of quiet reverence, commanded by the great figure who silently watches over his people.  his words are carved on the walls around him, wise thoughts from an incredible man.  something tickled in the back of my memory…what was it that Abraham Lincoln said?

“Towering genius disdains a beaten path.”

these are words to live by.  taking my leave of the towering genius, i set out on my own path to explore the rest of Washington.

inspiration for the Journey,

-louie-

another weekend, another town.  this time my wandering feet took me to Beantown.  Boston, that is.

after meeting up with a few friends, i found myself at Boston Common at the start of the Freedom Trail.  the Freedom Trail consists of a 2.5 mile red line that meanders throughout downtown Boston.  along this path there are 16 important statues, churches, monuments, and other historical sites of New England interest.  forsaking the guided tour (what do we look like, tourists?), we set out on our own to learn about the history of this fine town.

the plan was simple: follow this strange red line wherever it took us, stop at each historic site, and drink a beer after each and every one.  did i mention there are sixteen sites?

yes, this undertaking went much as you would have expected.  we paid plenty of attention at the State House and Park Street Church.  we were even appropriately respectful at the graves of John Hancock, Samuel Adams, and Paul Revere.  but the Boston pubs quickly took their toll on our reverence and attention spans.  i had been thinking that having a red line painted on the ground was kind of silly and a little insulting, but several pints in (and only halfway through this “tour”), we found ourselves clinging to the line for dear life.  “at least we know which way our car is” became our mantra as we wove back and forth in the general direction of freedom.

i’m not as certain that the bronze donkey statue was an official Freedom Tour stop as i am that there must be pictures of that encounter plastered all over the internet by now.  i may not have learned much about freedom or history, but i got a pretty good taste of the beer and chowdah.  and what do you know- our car was waiting for us back at the beginning of that blessed little red line.

now who can drive?

one more pint for the Journey,

-louie-

i hadn’t seen her in over 15 years, since middle school.  i honestly didn’t remember much about her, except that she always laughed at my jokes.  we were just kids last time we spoke and she now lived four hours away, in Charlotte, NC.  it was already getting dark outside and i had committed to plans for that night.  but when she got in touch with me and said she wanted to see me, i jumped in the car without hesitating.

she always laughed at my jokes.

soon after i returned from my cross-country adventure, i received a call from my bank.  they reported a highly suspicious trend of spending and wanted to make sure i was aware of the situation.  the representative cited several alarming transactions in a short span of time:

• Chinese food for three in San Diego
• irresponsible withdrawals followed by a large influx in Las Vegas
• steady supplies of flashlight batteries throughout Arizona
• something called a “Gringo oil change special” in El Paso
• a souvenir to help remember the Alamo in San Antonio
• the better part of a cow in Lockhart
• strawberry and banana pancakes in Little Rock
• hoppin’ john and a BB King t-shirt in Memphis
• Hooters wings and a bloody mary in Nashville
• several liters of energy drink in Asheville
• breakfast for four in Charleston

as near as we can tell, here is the path of recklessness that these obviously misguided hooligans carved across the country.

i did it.  i conquered this country.

i touched the water on the Charleston, SC beach, just as i had touched the water at the very beginning of this Journey in San Diego.  i experienced this country from one side to the other, Pacific Beach to Battery Park and everything in-between.  sea to shining sea.

as soon as i dipped my fingers in that Carolina water, the entire trip took on a new focus in my mind.  i forgot how exhausted i was and what hardships i had faced along the way.  the stuff that didn’t matter fell away and the true Journey could finally shine through in my memory.  and you know what i remembered?  laughter.

that’s what this trip was really about.  Steve and i laughed from one coast to the other, sometimes crying and convulsing with laughter.  maybe we were delirious- but everything was funny, everything was good.  i often worried that we were about to crash during the particularly heavy fits.  but i decided that it would be a good death and just kept on laughing across the next state line.  in the final analysis, what else about this trip matters?

i imagine this is the same experience i’ll have when i touch the waters on the other side of this life.  once i conquer the land of the living and look back, i won’t remember the times i was scared or lonely or didn’t get what i was expecting.  i won’t think about how hard it was or whether i arrived on schedule.  i’ll remember belly-aching laughter, and decide it was all worth it.

hilarity for the Journey,

-louie-

And I’ve reason to believe we all will be received in Graceland.

despite Paul Simon’s optimistic lyrics, we ran into some trouble in Memphis.  after driving through Little Rock (where i made Steve grope around at the bottom of a slimy fountain for a geocache that wasn’t there), we arrived in Elvis’ homeland.  we tried to find a hotel room, but the city was booked solid with convention-goers from something called the “Church of God in Christ the King”.  i knew He would get me sooner or later.

we could have become despondent that our plans for catching shut-eye and then seeing Graceland were falling apart before our eyes.  but that would mean that we were concentrating on the destination and not the Journey.  we decided to make the most of it.  so of course we headed down to Beale Street.

the party scene was alive and kicking.  we had a few drinks, ate fried catfish and something called “Hoppin’ John”, and met some cute women (a staple on Journeys of mine).  we noticed an especially large crowd at one of the live music clubs and went to check it out.  we walked into the packed venue and tried to figure out why this particular club was the place to be.  the music was great, but still it seemed a peculiarly large crowd.  i saw Steve look up at the stage and watched recognition dawn on his face.  i followed his gaze and it took me a second to realize it myself.

of course the music was good.  it was B.B. King.  the “Beale Street Blues Boy” himself was playing mere feet away from us.  we ordered another round and enjoyed the best blues music in town.  any town.  what better reception could we have hoped for?

for the Journey,
-louie-

our time in Texas was long and eventful.  here are the highlights.

El Paso:  sadly, the thing that stands out most in my mind is that it took us literally hours to find an oil change.  there were no quickie-lube type places, and every place we tried quoted us a wait time of hours.  either no one buys oil in Texas (probably because they can all find it in their back yards) or there is some kind of secret anti-gringo legislation.  i should write a letter.

Van Horn:  somewhere on I-10 between El Paso and San Antonio, there’s a pile of large rocks that make up a medium-sized hill.  halfway up this hill, a shrine is built into a gap in the boulders.  this prayer spot has all of the usual aspects of a shrine, with one exception.  all of the heads are broken off the statues and placed next to them.  i said a quick prayer to St. Jude, the headless patron of lost causes, and hurried back to the road.

San Antonio:  a long-overdue stay at a hotel, our first real stop since Vegas.  the next morning we went to the RiverWalk district and saw the Alamo.  the strange thing about the Alamo (and i hope i’m not being too terribly insensitive about this) is that they try to sell it as American patriotism.  now the way i remember the story is that the people were fighting to become the independent Republic of Texas, not part of the US.  it was a beautiful memorial, but i suspect it holds a lot more spiritual weight for Texans.  or maybe i was tired and cranky.  and a jerk.

Lockhart:  i had the meat experience of a lifetime.

Austin:  we didn’t have time to stop in Austin, and it’s the great tragedy of this trip.  i promise to make it up to this incredible city and its gorgeous college women soon.

Dallas:  a fantastic stay with good family friends.  it’s so great to catch up with people who have known you for decades but haven’t seen you in years.  Linda and Chris, thank you so much for opening your home to two wandering slackers in need of showers and manners.  we wish we could have stayed longer (and shown up earlier).  Matt, you’re on the right track and you’re poised to get everything you want out of life.  keep in touch and i’ll either help or mooch off all your success.  Carissa, how dare you be out of the country?  come back and i will let you buy me a drink to make it up to me.

throw in a lot of random geocaching, driving, and being attacked by vicious plant life, and you’ve got a good picture of our stay in the Lone Star state.  all in all, a great experience.  i suspect Texas will see more of me before too long.

for the Journey,
-louie-

real barbeque doesn’t use sauce.  at least that’s what they tell me in Lockhart, Texas- the Mecca of BBQ.  on a tip from a friend (who was drooling over the phone as he talked about it), we swerved slightly off course and visited a place called Kreuz Market in Lockhart to taste the local fare. 

the Market has simple rules:
1) no sauce.
2) no forks. 

ordering was tricky.  meat in Lockhart is ordered by the pound, not in any silly units like a “plate”.  wanting to try a little bit of everything, we asked for 1/2 pound samples of brisket, shoulder, ribs, hot links, and jalapeno-cheddar sausage.  that should just about do it.  the aproned vendor spread out a piece of butcher paper and started pulling the various slabs of deliciousness from huge slow-cook chambers behind him.  my taste buds nearly passed out from the teasing.  he piled all the meat up on the butcher paper, threw in a half a loaf of white bread, and wrapped the whole thing up like a football.  it was art.  i wanted to cry.

after a quick thank you, i tucked the football in my arms and juked over to the sides room.  they had things like pickles, cheese, sauerkraut and such, but it’s hard to order sides when you have three pounds of the most delicious meat on the planet cradled in your arms.  i asked Steve to grab me a grape soda and rested the meat gingerly on the nearest horizontal surface i could find. 

everything else melted away- we sat there with just a mound of pure goodness and our fingers.  the rest of the night is fuzzy…somewhere in the throes of the porkgasm that was our dinner, i recall meeting some friendly locals, holding an entire conversation in grunts, and swearing off barbeque sauce forever.

thank you, Lockhart.  i am well and truly spoiled and will probably never enjoy a meal this much again.

roast beast for the Journey,

-louie-