Fresh and Hot!

When we got to the Super8 in Cookesville, I went inside to check us in. There was a dude at the desk who was clearly not the chick I'd talked to on the phone -- and I identified myself.
Then he gave me the rate -- but I was pretty sure (though not positive) that the chick on the phone said something a little lower. As he was digging around for a pen or something, I caught sight of a little chart on his desk with the rates available. Sure enough, he had quoted me the "standard" rate, and the chart had a separate column for "slow nights." I told him the chick had given me the rate of $52.50 for the three of us -- which was the slow-night rate. (This might well be what she said. Who knows.) He said "I dunno why she said that, but okay." And there we had it. Our very own discount.

We hunkered down for the night and woke up in the morning. I know. That part was very exciting.

This hotel advertised free breakfast -- and, as they were across the street from a waffle house, they had some serious competing to do. Luckily, our Super8 had this sign you can see here, so we knew we were in good hands.
And they did not disappoint. The lobby was home to a waffle iron with little cups of batter right there, and a can of non-stick spray, and syrup, and coffee -- and there was no one else in the room! Fresh hot waffles, just for the three of us. What a way to start the day. Man. I tell you.

This was the beginning of Betsy's waffle obession. This was also the beginning of the HUGE number of waffle houses we saw along the way. From this point forward, Betsy/Zabby/Dixie started expressing interest in dining in one of these fine establishments.

Well fortified, we started rolling again. As we got on the highway, we noticed something outrageous: there were TWO waffle houses at that exit. One on either side. God damn. These southerners must really love their waffles. (And being the only one aboard who'd previously had the pleasure of dining at Waffle House, I was able to tell the others that it really was a good time -- and that it's worth it to spend the extra fifty cents for the Pecan waffle.)

After an hour or so, we stopped for gas and more coffee. I wrestled with the gas pumps (turned out to be quite an ordeal -- they were having power and computer issues) while Zabby and Liz went to Micky D's for coffee. They emerged with paper cups whose lids bore the warning "Caution: I'm hot." Caution indeed. All of you. I warn you. I AM HOT.

(Further, this was McDonald's premium coffee. I wanted to know if you could still get McDonald's regular coffee. Apparently you can't. So what business do they have saying that this is their premium blend if it's their only blend?)

Thoroughly caffeinated, we headed for Nashville, where we saw the world's greatest billboard. Stay tuned to hear what it said!

It's so. . . green!

Once we recover from the Natural Bridge fiasco, we're rolling again, and we make for Tennessee.
Which is really, really beautiful. Seriously. Everything is green, rolling hills, rivers, mountains -- I had no idea it was so gorgeous. Way to go, Tennessee. You get an A+ for scenery.

We're approaching Knoxville AND approaching dinner time. What a happy coincidence! So we exit the highway and head for the University of Tenenssee, figuring this might be a good place to find some cute and funky dinner.

And find it we did. After driving past the women's basketball hall of fame (with a HUGE basketball out in front of it) and lots of pretty river, we spy a big building with a psychadelic sign: The Mellow Mushroom. Whatever it was, we wanted it. Chow time, ladies.

It turned out to be a pizza parlor. A YUMMY pizza parlor. We ordered a "Mega-Veggie" pizza, with SDTs, spinach, onions, green peppers, shrooms, tomatoes, broccoli, feta, artichoke hearts, tofu (YES!), and, much to Liz's chagrin, banana peppers and olives. It just couldn't get much better than that. Man. I'm getting hungry just thinking about it, and I just ate. (Amusingly, the menu offers free delivery on orders $100 or more. I'm probably not quite that hungry.)

Over dinner, we decided that we would press on a little further that night; why not? Looking at the map, we chose Cooksville, TN as our place to stop for the night. I called a Super-8 Motel and got a decent-sounding rate. We drove off into the night, catching some fireflies on our windshield. Luciferase. That's the enzyme those suckers make that causes them to glow. Though to me, it sounds like an enzyme that should disolve Satan.

Tomorrow, hear all about why the Super8 was special and why you should always ask for a discount!

This is getting serious.

Having recovered from that minor hysteria, we were on the lookout for some fun. Liz, ever the Sarah Vowell-style civics nerd, was reading about the towns we saw signs for in the guidebook. "The Natural Bridge," she reads, "is a 215-foot tall limestone arch spanning Cedar Creek." She also informs us that US 11 runs right over it, and that Thomas Jefferson called it "the most sublime of nature's works." A quick look at the map told us that we could just jog onto 11 for a while instead of 81 and keep going the right direction, so we could stop and check it out.

Once we were off the interstate, we started to see some pretty hilarious signs: there's a wax museum? And a haunted monster museum? And -no. Yes! FOAMHENGE. "That couldn't be a..." Betsy says.
"Model of Stonehange made entirely of foam?" I suggest. "I think it is!" And lo and behold, we had a spectacular view from the car as we passed it.


There you have it, ladies and gentlemen. Foamhenge.

When we arrived at the actual bridge, we were considerably less impressed. There was a big complex with a wax museum (creepy statue of a kid swinging out a window, and a dude on the porch who could've been real or fake -- I wasn't sure.) There were bathrooms -- which was cool -- but to look out and see the bridge, you had to pay. We weren't so much into that. We thought maybe we'd be able to see it as we drove over it on the way out. Whatever, we said, tossing our heads in disdain and getting back into the car.
And over the bridge we drove -- except that they had put up these huge barriers along either side of the road, so you couldn't see a damn thing unless you went in and bought a ticket and looked at their little view of it. Thanks, Virginia. You stay classy.
(I have subsequently discovered that that particular view is available for free on their website. Boo-ya.)

(I have also subsequently discovered that the AAA tour books have indicies in the back, listing all attractions by type of attraction. Such as Nature Trails, National Parks, Racetracks, whatever. And there's an entry for "Natural Bridges." Now, this is THE natural bridge. They don't, like, exist all over the place. And the entry for "Natural Bridges," which of course, contains only the one, is right above the entry for " Natural Phenomena," which has things like caverns and caves. A great moment in categorization, right there.)

Okay, Betsy/Zabby is going to write about nicknames when she gets unburried from her pile of "work." Because some people actually have classes and jobs now. The nerve.

Really leaving now. Promise.

We rolled outta there. Got gas – for the first of waaaaaaay too many times. And we headed for 81 – the road that would take us diagonally across Virginia. We were still in familiar territory – especially for Liz. But we were moving. Betsy was still fresh from a beach vacation, and was talking about how much she’d enjoyed her various seafood – especially fish and chips. Which reminded me of a three-part song we used to sing on family camping trips.

One person sings: Fish and chips and vinegar, vinegar, vinegar, fish and chips and vinegar, pepper pepper pepper salt!

The next person sings: Don’t throw your junk in my back yard, my back yard, my back yard, don’t throw your junk in my back yard, my back yard’s full!

The third person sings: One lollipop, two lollipop, three lollipop, four lollipop, five lollipop, six lollipop, seven lolli lolli pop!

And they all go together. Bets and I knew the song, so we taught Liz the lollipop part, and we got ready to sing it all together.

One, Two, Three! Fish, and [everyone cracks up and can’t sing because we’re laughing too hard.]

Three! One lolli….[uncontrollable laughter.]

Three! [uncontrollable laughter]. I’m driving and I can barely steer because I’m laughing so hard. Not sure why this is so funny. But damn. Tears are streaming down my face, yo.

A few minutes later we try again, and successfully complete the song. American Idol, here we come!

After this, we switch to iPods. For the safety of all involved. First up: David Cross’s “Shut up, you fucking baby!” (Well, Disc 1 anyway. We're saving Disc 2 for later. When we start to get bored.)

In the next installment: tales of a major rip-off tourist attraction and roadside hilarity we could hardly believe, courtesy of Natural Bridge, Virginia!
Also, Betsy gets a nickname!

The nuts-about-raspberries-and-chocolate-trek-mix gallery

Hmm...road trippin' with (at least) one of my favorite ladies, or another week at the 'Hood? A difficult decision faced me when Amy (kidding on the square) invited me to drive to Tucson. I had hoped to do something more exotic this summer before returning to (an even broker) student life, but given my fund situation and mad planning skillz (heh), it was not to be. Additionally, as an Americana nerd, I've always wanted to drive cross-country. And when I heard that Betsy could come too?

Hell to the yeah, I was going to Tucson. I'd also like to add that, after years of riding shotgun with my mom, I am a killer navigator (except with those legendary AAA city maps. Caveat emptor indeed--hey, are we gonna get more Latin blogging?), sandwich-wrapper-arranger, water-hander, etc.

And, yes, my asides do have their own asides. Mmm...rambly. I'm still trying to think of some quality Indianapolis tunes. Most of them are probably about NASCAR.

Hit the ground running

Day 1, Part 1.
Betsy and I wake up early to get a good start. We put all our stuff in the car – and it looks kind of full. But it’s not. Trust me.
After some coffee and eggs, we’re off, waving to Mom and Dad.
We’ve been to Liz’s house lots of times – but always from DC, never from PA, so we look at the directions and we’re a little confused as to which way we’re supposed to be going on 695. Until we realize that it’s a beltway, and that we just need to be directly across from where we are, so it DOESN’T MATTER. We stop worrying about it and groove to Missy.

About forty-five minutes in, Betsy asks if we can stop to pee. Her patented “Scale of pee” is invoked. It runs from 1 (I couldn’t pee if I tried) to 10 ( I’m peeing. Right now.) The cutoff for a long trip, by her own rule, is 8. So we don’t stop until we get to Liz’s. It's only another hour and a quarter.

Liz has, miraculously, packed pretty light. She’s got her big purse (which, shhh, is actually a diaper bag, but it makes such a great purse that who cares), and a small rolling suitcase. Oh, and two grocery bags of snacks. Amen.

We add these to a trunk that already contains a microwave, a lamp, a file box, Betsy’s rolling suitcase, my big backpack of extra clothes, my computer bag, and a mirror and framed picture for my house. The back seat holds a big-ass container full of my shit that didn’t get shipped, a box full of maps and important stuff like cell phone chargers, my camera and accessories, my overnight bag, a cooler, and a bunch of food. Plus Sir George, our mascot. (Posing, left, with Betsy.)

Somehow, Betsy and Liz cram it all it and make it all fit. And then comment on the fact that we'd have to do that every morning on the trip. And it might even get worse, if we were to accumulate souvenirs.
But no matter. We did it. We were in the car and ROLLING. And just like that, we were in Virginia.

The "Plan"

We had two basic choices: the south or the midwest. I thought the South sounded more like my thing. Even in the summer. It had a reputation that sounded interesting to me. Blues? BBQ? Crazy republicans? People sing songs about Nashville and Memphis and Texas. But nobody really sings songs about Indianapolis. (Yes, go ahead, post a comment and tell me I'm wrong.) And besides, that route would allow us to go to Mecca Graceland.

We were leaving from Bets and my parents' house in Pennsylvania. Clearly, we had to start by driving to Baltimore to get Liz. Then, we thought, maybe Knoxville would be a good place to head for. Then we could go to Memphis, and then across Arkansas and Texas, through New Mexico, and into Tucson. That was the basic idea.
AAA sent maps and tour books. I felt like that wasn’t very hardcore. Oooh, I’m gonna hit the road, but not without my AAA! But as it turned out, it was very freeing. Being able to find a motel in a teeny tiny town in the middle of Arkansas could be useful. And it's a good way to calm down your mother.



With the basic route in place, some other attractions presented themselves. Liz wanted to know: could we drive by the civil rights museum in Memphis? If Little Rock wasn’t out of the way, we could see the Clinton Library.

And then I remembered: Fort Worth, Texas has a cowgirl museum and hall of fame. As a rule, I’m not into museums, but when the subject matter is cool enough, I’m all over it.

Betsy was on a party-your-ass-off beach vacation until the 16th. So we figured she’d roll in, we’d have a day to get ready, and we were hitting the road.

So there we had it.

A look at what we're leaving behind...

Point of departure. Damn, I look serious and unhappy. Must be time to head west.
(awesome photo by Betsy.)

Ready, Aim, Fire!

Long story short:
I had a real job in Washington. It blew. I quit.
I applied to grad school. I applied to the University of Arizona for no particular reason. They offered me a sweet deal. I accepted.
Then I was like, CRAP, that's far away. I had to get there somehow.

It could've been a big huge pain in the ass, driving all the way across the country, or somehow shipping my car, or selling it, or...

We've had this book in the bathroom for a long time: The Bad Girl's Guide to the Open Road. I always read it and thought it sounded like fun, but it wasn't me.
How wrong I was.
The plan started to come together. I grabbed my two best girlfriends. Betsy, my sis, didn't have to start school for another few weeks, and Liz, in the process of quitting her job, had lots of unused vacation time. They were game. We decided to do it. Drive. And not one of those non-stop nap in the backseat deals. There was stuff to see.
I had a few stops in mind. They had some ideas too. I got some maps. We had some credit cards, a couple of ipods, and a whole lot of ridiculosity.
We got snacks. trailmix. cherries. peanut butter. wheat wonderbread. graham crackers. tab energy drink.

The players:
Me, Amy. I worked in a neuroscience lab at Georgetown University, but I was miserable, so I quit to work on my novel and work at Barnes and Noble. The reason for the trek is my relocation to Tucson, where I'm going to start an MFA program in the fall.

Betsy, my sister. She graduated from Oberlin in December, lived with me in DC for the spring while she worked at the Human Rights Campaign organizing a speaking tour for George Takei, and now she's getting ready to go to nursing school. She's living in Boston this year, taking science classes. She and I drove a large rented van ("Vincent") to Boston a few weekends ago.

Liz, my best friend. We met in high school, where we were fellow outcasts at a school full of Barbie dolls. Betsy and I were wearing tinsel crowns on our birthday and she was intrigued. Liz has been working for Planned Parenthood for the last year, and is going to the Univeristy of Minnesota in the fall to start a doctoral program in American Studies.

I'm gonna let you know how it turned out.
Now, I gotta come clean. The trek is over, and I'm in Tucson now. We didn't so much have internet access while we were on the road. But I'm going to tell you all about what happened, and when, and where. So you can pretend that it's happening now, and be glad that we weren't so lame as to stay married to our laptops while we were out having a blast.

Stay tuned!!