for the Journey

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-

can you pinpoint the closest thing you’ve ever done to graverobbing?  i can.

between Psychoville, TN and Asheville, NC we did a good deal of geocaching to keep our seventh day of driving interesting.  Tennessee happens to have at least one geocache hidden away at every single exit of I-40, from border to border.  of course this means that we made slow progress, stopping every few miles at a rest stop, gas station, or some unmarked location in the woods.  but who could say that we were taking too long?  it’s great to have nowhere in the world to be.

somewhere after Knoxville (where we saw a gorgeous underground natural rock spring), the sun disappeared.  we kept pulling off the highway at each exit to find our hidden treasures.  we came to a particularly dark and rural exit and proceeded to follow the GPS coordinates down a nearly-hidden dirt road.  this short path led to a small but decidedly creepy family cemetery.  i think we were both scared to get out of the car, but even more afraid to lose macho points in front of the other.  we found some plausible excuse to turn the car around and point it back out for a quick getaway.  you know, just in case.

this graveyard was…simple.  most of the plots were marked with a flat rectangular slab with no engravings or markings.  just a slate of granite jutting out of the ground in the rough approximation of a tombstone.  it took us a few minutes to be convinced this wasn’t a Halloween setup.  but no, there were some larger rocks with names engraved, sitting forever under a lone weeping willow.  we walked around as solemnly as intruders can, and found our cache.

as Steve pulled the canister out from behind a blank tombstone, i had to wonder what effect this would have on our karmic balance.  i mean it’s not like we were stealing stuff from a grave.  just…near it.  and not stealing!  because it had been left there for us.  so kind of like an undead messaging service or cemetery consignment shop.

or graverobbing.  i am so haunted.

desecration for the Journey,

-louie-

after being run out of Memphis by the Three Kings (Elvis, Christ, and B.B.), we continued our plodding eastward.  we were so tired that we just wanted to get far enough outside the city limits to find a hotel.  any hotel.  we jumped from little town to little town, but repeatedly found there was no room at the inn.  finally we wandered our way into Brownsville, Tennessee.  lured by the promise of cheap rooms and free internet, and above all available beds, we sleepily trudged into the lobby of the local Econolodge.

“I’m busy right now!”  the old lady barked at us as we walked into her world.  we were violently startled into both consiousness and submission.  strange…she seemed the grandmotherly type.  picture a sweet elderly lady making cookies for the church bake sale.  now picture her with rabies.  we stared in awe as she told off the customer before us, before finally surrendering a room key and grumbling some directions at them as they made a hasty exit.  putting on a smile that dripped with dimentia, the raging demon became a sweet old woman again.

“And what can I do for you now, sweethearts?”  we swallowed hard and asked for a room.

now i’m no project manager (err…wait) but what happened next was obviously a breakdown in either system or personnel.  she promised to find us one of her nicer rooms, then scanned a handwritten list and came up with room 211.  it was better because it was on the side away from the highway.  we reminded her that we needed a room with two separate beds, which she didn’t seem to expect for some reason.  but she obliged and returned to scanning the mess of papers in front of her.  there was one room, but it was on the highway side of the hotel.  she reported that the room number was 211.

Steve and i gave each other confused glances but were too afraid of this woman to ask if there had been a mistake.  it didn’t matter anyway, as she suddenly realized that the hotel was overbooked by one room.  muttering to herself, she made some illegible scrawls on her papers and decided that it would somehow be okay.  she would just put us in this third room (on the good side, with two beds this time)- room 211.  as she handed us the key to one of these alleged rooms and shuffled us on our way, she added “You might just want to look in the window to make sure no one is already in there.”

wait, what??  what the hell just happened?  there were so many things wrong with that five minute conversation.  this crazy old bat didn’t know how many people were staying in her hotel or where.  she offered us three different rooms that all mysteriously had the same room number.  and after all that, there may already be someone in it?  we were uneasy to say the least, but tired enough to just want it to be over.

as we walked up to what looked to be room 211, we played a quick game of you-go-first.  finally i pressed my face up to the window and tried to make out anything in the dark room.  i couldn’t see anything.  if there was anyone in here, he was certainly asleep at 3am.  i made Steve try the key in the door.  the little light turned green, the handle turned, but the door wouldn’t budge.  he tried again with the same result- something was stopping the door from opening.  no amount of handle turning, door shoving, or window peering could resolve the situation.  at this point we were quite freaked out, but we knew we had to go back down to Grandma Death.

literally running from the door before someone could pop out and kill us, we re-entered the hotel lobby.  Satan’s mother assured us that there was probably no one in the room, but that she would go back there with us to make sure.  we were told to wait outside while she locked up.  lock up what (or whom) we weren’t sure, but eventually she popped out the back of the creepy Bates motel live-in quarters and led us back to 211.  somehow the door worked for her (which did NOT make us feel better) and we were ushered inside.  you’d better believe i looked under the beds.

the rest of the night went relatively well- if you ignore the toilet that teetered over when you sat on it, the shower knob that broke off in my hand, and the funhouse mirror for that extra-creepy effect.  we were finally able to get to sleep (i think i heard Steve muttering “Now I lay me down to sleep…” as i dozed off) and nothing could possibly wake us.

…nothing that is, except for the sound of someone trying to break into our room repeatedly for over an hour.

terror 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-

the sunrise came suddenly, as i suppose it does in the desert.  a dazzling wash of reds and oranges, impossible purples projected on distant mountain ranges.  the entire scene revealed itself directly in front of me as i passed the sign:

Welcome to New Mexico,
The Land of Enchantment

i looked over at my traveling companion to see if he was equally amazed.  our valiant night driver, Steve was quite thoroughly asleep.  i drove into the sunlight and peacefully through New Mexico, until i eventually watched the same sunset in my rear view mirror.

for the Journey,
-louie-

we spent all night searching for hidden treasure across the Arizona desert.  no really.

it’s called geocaching, and it’s the adult equivalent of a childhood treasure hunting dream.  for those who know where to look, the desert is riddled with secret caches of goodies left by other adventurers.  we spent the entire night (and the whole drive through beautiful Arizona) tracking down these hidden troves and exchanging meaningful trinkets with travelers we will never meet.

after abandoning the car along the highway, we walked due east into the desert dunes.  a winding trail led us further away from civilization, toward the cache we were seeking.  our GPS unit kept us going in the general direction of the treasure spot, though the terrain often forced creativity.  a small flashlight was all that kept the dark night at bay.  animals jumped from the bushes and scurried away at our approach.  i was certain we were going to die out there.

the walk was long and winding.  the stars were numerous and gorgeous.  we went up small hills and around larger ones.  we climbed on rocks and pushed through the brush.  the walk seemed to take forever.  eventually we came across a rusty (and obviously old) barbed wire fence.  the treasure was definitely somewhere on the other side of this obstacle.  we shrugged at each other in the dark, unlatched the simple gate, and pushed forward. 

after trudging through another 500 feet of desert darkness, “X” marked the (digital) spot.  we searched around until Steve spotted a pile of rocks that seemed unnaturally stacked.  sure enough, moving the top stone aside revealed a small green weather-proof ammo box- our treasure!  inside the box were many items left by other seekers: things like plastic army men, a deck of cards, keychains from various states, native american jewelery, business cards, and on and on.  we signed the log book with a quick hello note, took a beautiful hand-woven “spirit pouch”, and left a couple of trinkets of our own (plastic dinosaurs!!).  i threw in a card with this website address before we packed up the treasure and re-hid it carefully beneath the stones.

this was just one of our many adventures as we slowly make progress on our Journey.  the spirit pouch is hanging from the rear-view mirror and now contains a hand-carved tiki man, a black chess pawn, and a few other meaningful treasures from the desert.  i’m very thankful to be able to share this Journey with other travelers who have come this way or may pass through soon.  it’s a little reminder that though we come from different places and we take different paths, we are all on the Journey together.

treasure for the Journey,
-louie-

one thing stands out in my mind about our visit to the Hoover Dam.

no, it’s not the engineering marvel that spans from bank to bank of the Colorado River, holding back enough water to flood the state of Pennsylvania to a depth of one foot.  it wasn’t the fact that unskilled laborers worked 363 days a year to lay enough concrete build a 4-foot sidewalk around the equator of the earth.  it wasn’t the harnessing of wild nature to provide power to millions of homes and water for seven states.  no, what made its impression on me wasn’t the dizzying heights, the indomitable will of man, or the breathtaking beauty of the structure before us.

it was the dam lecture.

a ten-minute “educational” presentation that we were shanghaied into attending, after entering what we thought was a gift shop.  hastily ushered to seats in the front row, we tried to make sense of the geographic diorama that was sprawled out and peppered with label flags in front of us.  we didn’t have time to quite orient ourselves to the mess of canyons and jumbled state lines on what appeared to be a funhouse mirror version of the western U.S. [credit to Steve for coining this description] before the Voice started.

obviously on loan from a 1950’s eighth-grade science video on zinc oxide, the Voice was completely devoid of human inflection, enthusiasm, and compassion.  it droned on mercilessly with a veritable litany of “Who’s Who” in the world of water reclamation.  as if following the dry tone and obscure subject matter wasn’t difficult (or painful) enough, a series of unshielded light bulbs started to fire off above the “map” in an attempt to highlight reference points and/or induce seizures in susceptible audience members.  easily impossible to follow, it was like watching a ping pong game with no ball [yet another vivid description by Steve].

while we waited for a punchline that never came, the Voice relentlessly force-fed us information: the name of every dam that sits on every river of every state in the union, every engineer and politician that ever had a dam thought in his head, each erg of dam power was accounted for and related to the captive audience while lights flashed all over California and environs.  inflicted with whiplash and acute mental anguish, the audience began to react.  teenagers eyed the exit doors nervously, women shook their heads in disbelief, a grown man in the back began to weep.

did it ever really end?  while i recall no summary, no point to the personal horror inflicted on us that afternoon, the main room lights eventually did come back on.  the Voice faded back into our nightmares.  like death row inmates with a last-minute pardon [Steve really should write these himself], the audience shuffled out bleary-eyed into the daylight; not sure what to do next but just glad to have been given a second chance.  we joined the zombie march back to the car and to freedom.

back at the Dam, the Voice continues to ground the population into submission, one room at a time.

for the dam Journey,
-louie-