You could say that it's been awhile since the last time I wrote a blog entry and you'd be right. My life has changed 500% from what it was when I started this blog. Meeting the love of your life, moving several times, going through several jobs, and going on countless adventures will do that to a man. When I started this blog, I was pretty solitary. My social connections were like dial up: slow, not very satisfying, not something you could count on. Now that I've come full circle in life back to the town where I first lived, my connection is Fios. Getting married doubled my social bandwidth so that helps too.
So now that I am no longer a sole voice crying out in the wilderness, what's the point of this blog? It is what it's always been: an outlet for self-expression. A writer's gotta write. Keeps us young and virile, flexible of the mind, keeps rust from developing on our souls. The snow melting off my roof tells my that Spring can't be too far away. Another season of change and indeed, I am contemplating changes professionally and in my lifestyle. When I think about it, I realize that we set ourselves up for failure making resolutions at the beginning of the year. Who really wants to eat healthy, work out, stop picking our noses in public, or start actually being a decent human being when the days are cold, dark, and short (like Danny DeVito)? Better to make your resolutions for change when the world and all of nature is telling you that it's a good season to start anew. I am certain that Spring Resolutions would be met with far greater success than New Year's Resolutions are.
Starting this blog back up and actually posting with some regularity is one of my Spring Resolutions. Next post will deal with other thoughts for other resolutions. It may not be much, but I feel that I am off to a good start.
Wednesday, February 22, 2017
Tuesday, January 29, 2013
Time to Move On, Time to Get Goin'
The morning after the show, I woke up to snow on my tent and icy roads. I went in the hostel, showered, and chatted with folks a bit before breaking down my camp. Part of me was reluctant to go. I was enjoying the house and the little community there. I didn't like the prospect of the 8.5hr drive home nor did I want to pay for a hotel room. I made some efforts towards visiting friends in either the Roanoke or Durham areas and crashing with them on my way back to try to break things up, but was unsuccessful.
Leaving, I headed over to one last brewpub, which was recommended by Nathan at the hostel; Lexington Avenue Brewery (or The LAB as the locals call it). I got a sampler, which was decent. Actually, I was surprised to find that I liked their brown ale the best as that's rarely the style I'd choose. The menu was filled with wondrous choices, but I opted to go with the $5 enchilada lunch special. Still, something told me to give into the temptation to also order a $6 lunch special of two sliders. I chose a duck comfit one and a deep fried turkey one that had maple cream cheese and pepper bacon on it. This wound up being a fateful decision.
As I was finishing, an attractive couple in their late 40's sat near me at the bar. They intoduced themselves as Jack and Monique, names that suited them well but seemed almost cliche. Their story was an interesting one. They had moved up to Florida the day before this wintry storm hit. The building next to their new home had been knocked down that day. They shared that they had dated in their 20's and were giving things another try. Their adoration for each other was palpable and yet not sickening. I found them enchanting and inspiring. Indeed, I plan to include characters based on them and their story in the text of yet to be determined length (don't want to call it a book yet) that this trip has inspired.
Eventually, I pried myself away from The LAB and the couple of the year. Out into the icy street I went, getting pelted by the freezing rain all the while. I made my way back to my car and hit the road. The interstate was a wide skating rink with not a grain of salt or sand to be found. Vehicles went all ranges of speed from 20-80+. I skidded at one point where fortunately there were few cars. I wound of crossing multiple lanes and thought for sure I'd either hit another car or the guardrail but, thanks to God's watching over me, I managed to right my course without incident.
Steadily, I worked my way back across North Carolina. Once I got around The Triangle area, things really slowed down. Now everything was dark, slick, and slush. Cars were all going about 20mph. Ultimately, I stopped in Henderson for the night because though under normal conditions I'd have been only two hours away from home, at the current rate it would have taken me over 6hrs. In town, I found an open Econolodge but found that all the restaurants nearby, including the Burger King were closed due to the road conditions, despite it only being 7pm. Fortunately, I had those two sliders and a microwave in my room!
I slept a wonderful sleep, my first indoors since Pensacola. What a change in climate! The next morning, the roads had melted and the way home was clear enough for me to get home in plenty of time to keep my evening plans. The next morning, I settled into being back home in a major way: cooking, home brewing, cleaning, doing laundry, and all sorts of home living tasks that I enjoyed with a certain joy that can only come from the missing of home. Rounding out the end of my little vacation, that night I went to a new meditation group. My regular one had been cancelled, but this one was shared as an alternate option. There, a guy I had seen at my regular group a couple times was also giving this one a try. When chatting afterward with me and the group mediator, he shared that he had been a White Power (WP) skinhead. I smiled and told him that this was very interesting because I used to be a S.H.A.R.P. (Skinheads Against Racial Prejudice). There we were, face to face, two former representatives of factions who would have fought each other upon sight based on our ideological differences. Now, we embraced as brothers, following a meditation group at a Buddhist temple. It was truly a wonderful and funny thing that we couldn't help but chuckle about. Such is the power of healing and understanding that can come from an exploration of self. I couldn't imagine a better last story to come out of a trip so full of wonder and learning opportunities.
Leaving, I headed over to one last brewpub, which was recommended by Nathan at the hostel; Lexington Avenue Brewery (or The LAB as the locals call it). I got a sampler, which was decent. Actually, I was surprised to find that I liked their brown ale the best as that's rarely the style I'd choose. The menu was filled with wondrous choices, but I opted to go with the $5 enchilada lunch special. Still, something told me to give into the temptation to also order a $6 lunch special of two sliders. I chose a duck comfit one and a deep fried turkey one that had maple cream cheese and pepper bacon on it. This wound up being a fateful decision.
As I was finishing, an attractive couple in their late 40's sat near me at the bar. They intoduced themselves as Jack and Monique, names that suited them well but seemed almost cliche. Their story was an interesting one. They had moved up to Florida the day before this wintry storm hit. The building next to their new home had been knocked down that day. They shared that they had dated in their 20's and were giving things another try. Their adoration for each other was palpable and yet not sickening. I found them enchanting and inspiring. Indeed, I plan to include characters based on them and their story in the text of yet to be determined length (don't want to call it a book yet) that this trip has inspired.
Eventually, I pried myself away from The LAB and the couple of the year. Out into the icy street I went, getting pelted by the freezing rain all the while. I made my way back to my car and hit the road. The interstate was a wide skating rink with not a grain of salt or sand to be found. Vehicles went all ranges of speed from 20-80+. I skidded at one point where fortunately there were few cars. I wound of crossing multiple lanes and thought for sure I'd either hit another car or the guardrail but, thanks to God's watching over me, I managed to right my course without incident.
Steadily, I worked my way back across North Carolina. Once I got around The Triangle area, things really slowed down. Now everything was dark, slick, and slush. Cars were all going about 20mph. Ultimately, I stopped in Henderson for the night because though under normal conditions I'd have been only two hours away from home, at the current rate it would have taken me over 6hrs. In town, I found an open Econolodge but found that all the restaurants nearby, including the Burger King were closed due to the road conditions, despite it only being 7pm. Fortunately, I had those two sliders and a microwave in my room!
I slept a wonderful sleep, my first indoors since Pensacola. What a change in climate! The next morning, the roads had melted and the way home was clear enough for me to get home in plenty of time to keep my evening plans. The next morning, I settled into being back home in a major way: cooking, home brewing, cleaning, doing laundry, and all sorts of home living tasks that I enjoyed with a certain joy that can only come from the missing of home. Rounding out the end of my little vacation, that night I went to a new meditation group. My regular one had been cancelled, but this one was shared as an alternate option. There, a guy I had seen at my regular group a couple times was also giving this one a try. When chatting afterward with me and the group mediator, he shared that he had been a White Power (WP) skinhead. I smiled and told him that this was very interesting because I used to be a S.H.A.R.P. (Skinheads Against Racial Prejudice). There we were, face to face, two former representatives of factions who would have fought each other upon sight based on our ideological differences. Now, we embraced as brothers, following a meditation group at a Buddhist temple. It was truly a wonderful and funny thing that we couldn't help but chuckle about. Such is the power of healing and understanding that can come from an exploration of self. I couldn't imagine a better last story to come out of a trip so full of wonder and learning opportunities.
Monday, January 28, 2013
My Kind of Town
I stayed camped in West Asheville, and it was a very good thing. I felt very quickly like I was staying with friends and I wished I could take up this communal life with them, even if I wasn't technically sleeping in the house... though I did doze on the couch a little bit. My first night there, I checked out the neighborhood and thought what a nice place it would be to reside in.
The next day, I woke up to snow on my tent and then went to 12 Bones upon Sarah's (a girl working and living at the hostel) recommendation. It was a bitter cold, windy day and I felt fortunate to be just barely in the door at the end of the line. Seemed like everybody was there for lunch, the only meal 12 Bones is open for, that day. I was also fortunate enough to get one of the two counter stools after ordering at the register. I was treated to some of the best barbecue I'd ever had. I got the chopped beef brisket with cornbread, mac & cheese, and beans. It was all amazing. When I finished, I saw that the line was now out the door and alongside the building. I understood why people were willing to stand out there. It was damn fine food.
Following this revelation in meat, I visited a couple points of interest before getting my oil changed. Then, I saw what I needed to see to gain direction in this town. Next door to Valvoline was Asheville Pizza & Brewing Company. Of course! Asheville is a craft beer mecca! How could I have forgotten this? I went into APBC and got a sampler, which was enjoyable and chatted with the local retiree barflies. From there, I took in more sights before going to Wedge which was to craft beer what 12 Bones was to food. I again got a sampler and each brew was better than the previous one. It was almost too much for me to take.
Later, I had dinner at a new and somewhat upscale brewpub called Wicked Weed, which is right next to The Orange Peel, the venue I was going to that night. I had a delicious burger and a pint of stout. Then it was time for the show. I saw Yonder Mountain String Band for the first time and they put on an incredible show! I had an absolutely amazing day in Asheville and this was a fitting end to it.
The next day, I woke up to snow on my tent and then went to 12 Bones upon Sarah's (a girl working and living at the hostel) recommendation. It was a bitter cold, windy day and I felt fortunate to be just barely in the door at the end of the line. Seemed like everybody was there for lunch, the only meal 12 Bones is open for, that day. I was also fortunate enough to get one of the two counter stools after ordering at the register. I was treated to some of the best barbecue I'd ever had. I got the chopped beef brisket with cornbread, mac & cheese, and beans. It was all amazing. When I finished, I saw that the line was now out the door and alongside the building. I understood why people were willing to stand out there. It was damn fine food.
Following this revelation in meat, I visited a couple points of interest before getting my oil changed. Then, I saw what I needed to see to gain direction in this town. Next door to Valvoline was Asheville Pizza & Brewing Company. Of course! Asheville is a craft beer mecca! How could I have forgotten this? I went into APBC and got a sampler, which was enjoyable and chatted with the local retiree barflies. From there, I took in more sights before going to Wedge which was to craft beer what 12 Bones was to food. I again got a sampler and each brew was better than the previous one. It was almost too much for me to take.
Later, I had dinner at a new and somewhat upscale brewpub called Wicked Weed, which is right next to The Orange Peel, the venue I was going to that night. I had a delicious burger and a pint of stout. Then it was time for the show. I saw Yonder Mountain String Band for the first time and they put on an incredible show! I had an absolutely amazing day in Asheville and this was a fitting end to it.
Thursday, January 24, 2013
Making a New Friend Who's 45yrs Gone
The Appalachian Trail has always held a fascination for me. This was enhanced in 2011 when I completed my hiking from Tennessee to Maine. However, the fact that I did not start at the beginning in Georgia has continued to be a sore spot for me and so I have been determined to close that gap and be able to say that I hiked the entire Appalachian Trail.
When it came to planning this trip, the idea struck me to climb Springer Mtn., the peak at the southern terminus of the trail. Then, I thought I ought to expand on that and close the gap. So I spent the night at Hikers Hostel, where they provide a good breakfast and help with shuttling... for a price.I met a former through hiker named Land Line who was spending the season doing manual labor to earn some money for his next adventure. Talking with him brought me back into the thru-hiker mentality that I've been over a year removed from. It felt good and healthy and it made me wish that I had indefinite time to spend on the trail and that my destination was Maine. Happily and sadly, I have a wonderful job that I do not want to leave for the sole purpose of hiking the trail from end to end.
I opted to hit the trail at Nimblewill Gap, a spot my driver i nformed me that he had only brought two other people out to in the past three years. I chose this place because it is on the approach trail, a little over 2mi from the summit of Springer Mtn. The ride was extremely rough and bumpy and the road was such that I wouldn't have driven it in my car. Still, the climb up to the southern terminus of the trail wasn't that bad and I easily passed by the first few shelters.
Continuing on, the trail eased up and I was able to see the forest for the trees. In fact, I came across a couple sitting in a truck at a trailhead and the woman gave me a note to pass long to someone at the outfitter at Neels Gap, the effect of which was my feeling like a colonial messenger. This was in spite of the fact that she was in a truck that could have reached the addressee in less than half an hour. I opted not to read the note since it wasn't for me so for all I knew, I might be unwittingly aiding General Benedict Arnold.
Regardless, I continued on and spent the night at a shelter 10mi up the trail, which I felt good about having started at noon and having stopped to take pictures and enlist in the Continental Messenger Service. I was happy to set up shop for the night before dark and before the temperature dropped below freezing. Snug and warm, I took the liberty of reading a book that I'd been eyeing for a long time.
The name John Steinbeck had always been sinonimos with the dust bowl for me, an era distant and disconnected from me. How else could it be when all I had read of his work was Grapes of Wrath and Of Mice and Men? Still, now I was reading Travels with Charlie and I discovered a writer much like myself. Indeed, I found a kindred spirit who felt the same need to travel, the same wanderlust as I. It was remarkable and I felt that this was a man I wished to meet. Though I had read On the Road numerous times, this book was resonating with me in ways that Kerouac never did. Steinbeck seemed so witty, wise and contemporary, so NOW that it astonished me.
However, my alarm clock wound up freezing and so I over slept sleeping and being in more of a panic than I ever was On the Trail before. My need to get to Asheville by a certain time was creating a sense of panic for me. under my heavy winter load, I struggled. Eventually, I did the humane thing and pulled the plug on my hike remembering, thanks to John, that this was a road trip, not a hiking trip, and that I ought to get to Asheville sooner rather than later to connect with the people once again.
Once at my hostel, I was given the tour of the house and a primer into all things West Asheville. While all of this and my own explorations seemed satisfactory, I felt as though I needed to get out of this insulated neighborhood, though I loved the fact that I was set up on a tent platform in the middle of an urban neighborhood. Perhaps John and I will move on tomorrow.
When it came to planning this trip, the idea struck me to climb Springer Mtn., the peak at the southern terminus of the trail. Then, I thought I ought to expand on that and close the gap. So I spent the night at Hikers Hostel, where they provide a good breakfast and help with shuttling... for a price.I met a former through hiker named Land Line who was spending the season doing manual labor to earn some money for his next adventure. Talking with him brought me back into the thru-hiker mentality that I've been over a year removed from. It felt good and healthy and it made me wish that I had indefinite time to spend on the trail and that my destination was Maine. Happily and sadly, I have a wonderful job that I do not want to leave for the sole purpose of hiking the trail from end to end.
I opted to hit the trail at Nimblewill Gap, a spot my driver i nformed me that he had only brought two other people out to in the past three years. I chose this place because it is on the approach trail, a little over 2mi from the summit of Springer Mtn. The ride was extremely rough and bumpy and the road was such that I wouldn't have driven it in my car. Still, the climb up to the southern terminus of the trail wasn't that bad and I easily passed by the first few shelters.
Continuing on, the trail eased up and I was able to see the forest for the trees. In fact, I came across a couple sitting in a truck at a trailhead and the woman gave me a note to pass long to someone at the outfitter at Neels Gap, the effect of which was my feeling like a colonial messenger. This was in spite of the fact that she was in a truck that could have reached the addressee in less than half an hour. I opted not to read the note since it wasn't for me so for all I knew, I might be unwittingly aiding General Benedict Arnold.
Regardless, I continued on and spent the night at a shelter 10mi up the trail, which I felt good about having started at noon and having stopped to take pictures and enlist in the Continental Messenger Service. I was happy to set up shop for the night before dark and before the temperature dropped below freezing. Snug and warm, I took the liberty of reading a book that I'd been eyeing for a long time.
The name John Steinbeck had always been sinonimos with the dust bowl for me, an era distant and disconnected from me. How else could it be when all I had read of his work was Grapes of Wrath and Of Mice and Men? Still, now I was reading Travels with Charlie and I discovered a writer much like myself. Indeed, I found a kindred spirit who felt the same need to travel, the same wanderlust as I. It was remarkable and I felt that this was a man I wished to meet. Though I had read On the Road numerous times, this book was resonating with me in ways that Kerouac never did. Steinbeck seemed so witty, wise and contemporary, so NOW that it astonished me.
However, my alarm clock wound up freezing and so I over slept sleeping and being in more of a panic than I ever was On the Trail before. My need to get to Asheville by a certain time was creating a sense of panic for me. under my heavy winter load, I struggled. Eventually, I did the humane thing and pulled the plug on my hike remembering, thanks to John, that this was a road trip, not a hiking trip, and that I ought to get to Asheville sooner rather than later to connect with the people once again.
Once at my hostel, I was given the tour of the house and a primer into all things West Asheville. While all of this and my own explorations seemed satisfactory, I felt as though I needed to get out of this insulated neighborhood, though I loved the fact that I was set up on a tent platform in the middle of an urban neighborhood. Perhaps John and I will move on tomorrow.
Monday, January 21, 2013
Conquistador de montaña Florida!
Leaving Atlanta is never easy. More aptly, leaving my Atlanta family is never easy, but it was something I had to do. I stayed too long and made a stop at an odd roadside attraction (a giant metal hillbilly) and didn't get only the road until almost two o'clock. I knew that I had a long drive ahead of me but, since I didn't know exactly where I was going to be spending the night, I didn't really care. I was just letting things happen. I knew I was going to Florida and I had some sites to potentially see along the way and that was all I felt I really had to nail down plan-wise. I'm such a planner most of the time that I felt letting things happen somewhat organically would be a refreshing change, especially in the midst of such an overpacked journey. Besides, my friend Grace had recently told me "The most boring way to arrive at your destination is to have traveled in a straight line."
I thought about visiting the original monorail but decided to save that for another time given how late it was and how far I had to go. I had one stop that was non-negotiable. I had to visit the Cross Garden in Prattville, Alabama. This display of religious zealousness rides a fine line between inspiring and creepy. The late W. C. Rice erected dozens of crosses on his property and covered them with messages of hell and damnation. He also covered old appliances with these same messages, like the old Coke machine that has a faded message of "Coke is the real thing" on it as well as Mr. Rice's message: "SEX used wrong way in HELL". I'm sure there is some degree of truth in both messages.
While at first walking among these displays and these messages made me feel like I was in a horror movie where some crazed inbred hillbilly was going to torture and kill me (this was in front of a trailer park in rural Alabama, after all) the more I looked around and reflected on in all, the more my opinion changed. Here was the work of a man who was so passionate about his faith and who so desperately wanted to help save the souls of his brothers and sisters that he went on a personal crusade, even making his vehicles shrines and driving on the highways to spread his message further. In an age where talking about one's spiritual beliefs has become almost taboo, he was walking the walk and talking the talk proudly. I went from thinking that Mr. Rice was a crackpot to developing tremendous respect for him for having the strength and courage to stand up for his beliefs even when others might have laughed at him.
With a new perspective, At dusk, I saw I sign on the highway that inspired me to make an unplanned stop. This one was at the boyhood home of Hank Williams. It was a very nice looking house, from what I could see (it's closed on Sundays). It's also conviently located across the street from the Hank Williams Fan Club and next door to a caboose that proudly proclaims Georgiana, Alabama as his home. His momma sure knew a good neighborhood for little Hiram to grow up in. As I strolled around the grounds listening to ol' Hank on my iPod, I reflected on the amazing impact he had on the music world in such a short life and what he might have done had he lived beyond 29.
Crossing into Florida after sunset, I abandoned my half formulated plan of trying to find a place to camp and drove to Pensacola, checking into a cheap but clean Motel 6. In the morning, I headed out again. Like the day before, I would make unplanned stops. Sure, I went out of my way to see a giant roller skate and a house that's shaped like a UFO, but I hadn't intended to stop at Pensacola Beach. Still, once I was near the parking lot entrance, I couldn't not go there. It was wonderful strolling along the beach, looking for shells, and smelling the salty air. It was a moment of true repose in what I knew was going to be a long day with a lot of driving. Later I made another unanticipated stop at the Gulf Islands National Seashore and learned about the usage of live oaks for ships and the establishment there of the first national forest.
Driving on, I finally reached the true object of my visit to the aptly named Sunshine State.I approached Britton Hill, the lowest highpoint. Of the fifty states, Florida is the one who's highest point is lover than the other forty-nine at only 345ft above sea level. It's situated near the FL-AL border and is surrounded by farms. One notices the slight rise in the road as you approach the park, but otherwise the concept of a "hill" seems out of place. I did the .3mi loop around the summit in very nice southern woods and met an older gentleman named Dan who was taking a break from walking the .75mi loop with his dog. He had weights on his ankles and wrists and was carrying poles that he used as trekking poles and which he had attached more weight to. He talk to me at length about the area and the schools and invited me to the chili cook off at his church in a couple days time. I politely informed him that I appreciated his invitation but now that I had conquered Florida's highest peak that it was time for me to move on the Appalachian Trail and some other high peaks.
I thought about visiting the original monorail but decided to save that for another time given how late it was and how far I had to go. I had one stop that was non-negotiable. I had to visit the Cross Garden in Prattville, Alabama. This display of religious zealousness rides a fine line between inspiring and creepy. The late W. C. Rice erected dozens of crosses on his property and covered them with messages of hell and damnation. He also covered old appliances with these same messages, like the old Coke machine that has a faded message of "Coke is the real thing" on it as well as Mr. Rice's message: "SEX used wrong way in HELL". I'm sure there is some degree of truth in both messages.
While at first walking among these displays and these messages made me feel like I was in a horror movie where some crazed inbred hillbilly was going to torture and kill me (this was in front of a trailer park in rural Alabama, after all) the more I looked around and reflected on in all, the more my opinion changed. Here was the work of a man who was so passionate about his faith and who so desperately wanted to help save the souls of his brothers and sisters that he went on a personal crusade, even making his vehicles shrines and driving on the highways to spread his message further. In an age where talking about one's spiritual beliefs has become almost taboo, he was walking the walk and talking the talk proudly. I went from thinking that Mr. Rice was a crackpot to developing tremendous respect for him for having the strength and courage to stand up for his beliefs even when others might have laughed at him.
With a new perspective, At dusk, I saw I sign on the highway that inspired me to make an unplanned stop. This one was at the boyhood home of Hank Williams. It was a very nice looking house, from what I could see (it's closed on Sundays). It's also conviently located across the street from the Hank Williams Fan Club and next door to a caboose that proudly proclaims Georgiana, Alabama as his home. His momma sure knew a good neighborhood for little Hiram to grow up in. As I strolled around the grounds listening to ol' Hank on my iPod, I reflected on the amazing impact he had on the music world in such a short life and what he might have done had he lived beyond 29.
Crossing into Florida after sunset, I abandoned my half formulated plan of trying to find a place to camp and drove to Pensacola, checking into a cheap but clean Motel 6. In the morning, I headed out again. Like the day before, I would make unplanned stops. Sure, I went out of my way to see a giant roller skate and a house that's shaped like a UFO, but I hadn't intended to stop at Pensacola Beach. Still, once I was near the parking lot entrance, I couldn't not go there. It was wonderful strolling along the beach, looking for shells, and smelling the salty air. It was a moment of true repose in what I knew was going to be a long day with a lot of driving. Later I made another unanticipated stop at the Gulf Islands National Seashore and learned about the usage of live oaks for ships and the establishment there of the first national forest.
Driving on, I finally reached the true object of my visit to the aptly named Sunshine State.I approached Britton Hill, the lowest highpoint. Of the fifty states, Florida is the one who's highest point is lover than the other forty-nine at only 345ft above sea level. It's situated near the FL-AL border and is surrounded by farms. One notices the slight rise in the road as you approach the park, but otherwise the concept of a "hill" seems out of place. I did the .3mi loop around the summit in very nice southern woods and met an older gentleman named Dan who was taking a break from walking the .75mi loop with his dog. He had weights on his ankles and wrists and was carrying poles that he used as trekking poles and which he had attached more weight to. He talk to me at length about the area and the schools and invited me to the chili cook off at his church in a couple days time. I politely informed him that I appreciated his invitation but now that I had conquered Florida's highest peak that it was time for me to move on the Appalachian Trail and some other high peaks.
Sunday, January 20, 2013
Oddities and Old Friends
Before leaving Athens, I had to take in some of the unusual sights that the area has to offer.While the world's only double barreled cannon is cool, I got much more of a kick going to Dudley Park. This park is home to an old railroad trestle that just ends in midair. That's not what makes it cool. What makes is cool is that when they recorded their first album, Murmur, exactly thirty years ago, Athens' favorite sons, R.E.M. used a sepia tone image of this trestle for the back cover of the album, you know where the tracks are listed. I had been listening to the album all day in preparation for my setting foot on this hallowed ground. Once there, I almost couldn't stop looking at it and taking pictures of it. Other than a teenage couple sitting at the start of the trestle, no one else was paying tribute to this spot, though the community has fought to protect it from the city fathers. I couldn't resist the temptation to channel my inner Michael Stipe on this sunny warm day so I put on my iPod and sang Talk About the Passion. It felt good and having done this, I felt my visit to this indie rock Mecca was complete and I could move on to my next destination.
The next big stop on my road trip was to be visiting my friends Matt & Caroline and their two year old son, Colin at their home just north of Atlanta. Along the way, I stopped to take a look at an artistic bus stop shelter make from buses. I also attempted to visit John, a bail bondsman who reportedly had a life-size pink elephant on his property. Arriving at his place of business, I saw no pachyderms of any hue. I drove around the building twice to be sure, as if I might not have noticed a gigantic pink elephant the first time around. Maybe I was still missing it. I wasn't sure, so I went in to ask. John told me that he was in the middle of a legal battle because a local politician had it out for Ellie Phant (that's her name). He had an ordinance passed forbidding large displays like her. Although she would have been grandfathered in, when she left to take part in a parade, the authorities would not let her return home, so she's currently staying at a friend's house.Such is the life of an elephant of color in the deep south.
I continued on to visit my friends and Matt made a wonderful dinner and we chatted the night away. Colin was especially thrilled to see me again, though my last visit was only in November. The next morning, I went out for a long run on a gorgeous sunny day. I opted to run for two hours around what was now the dried up Berkeley Lake. Caroline explained to me that they were repairing the dam and that they had drained the lake to work on it. It was a much hillier run than I expected, but it felt good to get out there and move. After my run, I went shopping with Caroline and it felt like we were once again in New Hampshire going out on our lunch break together. This evening it was Caroline's turn to cook and then Matt and I went out to a local brewpub called 5 Seasons. I was happy and surprised to see the Bruins on TV. It turns out that besides Matt and I formerly living in New Hampshire, the bartender also used to live in The Granite State. It turned out so did the realtor sitting next to Matt. The four of us talked about Boston sports for a good long while and it made for a great night with a flavor of home I've not experienced outside New England. I truly love that Matt, Caroline, and Colin make me feel like I'm a part of their family and even refer to their guest room as my room. As much as I treasure my time with them and could spent the rest of my days off with them, I must leave today and continue my journey for I have more places to see and people to meet.
The next big stop on my road trip was to be visiting my friends Matt & Caroline and their two year old son, Colin at their home just north of Atlanta. Along the way, I stopped to take a look at an artistic bus stop shelter make from buses. I also attempted to visit John, a bail bondsman who reportedly had a life-size pink elephant on his property. Arriving at his place of business, I saw no pachyderms of any hue. I drove around the building twice to be sure, as if I might not have noticed a gigantic pink elephant the first time around. Maybe I was still missing it. I wasn't sure, so I went in to ask. John told me that he was in the middle of a legal battle because a local politician had it out for Ellie Phant (that's her name). He had an ordinance passed forbidding large displays like her. Although she would have been grandfathered in, when she left to take part in a parade, the authorities would not let her return home, so she's currently staying at a friend's house.Such is the life of an elephant of color in the deep south.
I continued on to visit my friends and Matt made a wonderful dinner and we chatted the night away. Colin was especially thrilled to see me again, though my last visit was only in November. The next morning, I went out for a long run on a gorgeous sunny day. I opted to run for two hours around what was now the dried up Berkeley Lake. Caroline explained to me that they were repairing the dam and that they had drained the lake to work on it. It was a much hillier run than I expected, but it felt good to get out there and move. After my run, I went shopping with Caroline and it felt like we were once again in New Hampshire going out on our lunch break together. This evening it was Caroline's turn to cook and then Matt and I went out to a local brewpub called 5 Seasons. I was happy and surprised to see the Bruins on TV. It turns out that besides Matt and I formerly living in New Hampshire, the bartender also used to live in The Granite State. It turned out so did the realtor sitting next to Matt. The four of us talked about Boston sports for a good long while and it made for a great night with a flavor of home I've not experienced outside New England. I truly love that Matt, Caroline, and Colin make me feel like I'm a part of their family and even refer to their guest room as my room. As much as I treasure my time with them and could spent the rest of my days off with them, I must leave today and continue my journey for I have more places to see and people to meet.
Friday, January 18, 2013
And so our story begins...
WARNING: I am writing this entry at a place called Jittery Joe's and am drinking an "Iced Crackachino" so I apologize in advance for any and all rambling and/or incoherent thoughts. That said, I will refuse to go back and edit this entry for anything other that typos and/or spelling mistakes. It must be real and in the moment.
So, this adventure and the stories that will come out of it almost didn't happen. On Tuesday, while I was in the dentist's chair, disaster was unfolding for the group in the field. Being on-call, I was the point person to deal with any field issues. The net result was my spending most of Tuesday night making phone calls to coordinate efforts before packing. Wednesday morning, I had to meet a student who I'd be bringing out to the field that day and his father. I'll save the details but I had to do intake then drive him 8hrs to Georgia. As I was driving down, I got a call telling me that I was going to have to pick up students down there and bring them back to Richmond, which would have cancelled my trip because I wouldn't drive RVA->GA->RVA->GA. I was extremely disappointed because I'd been looking forward to this adventure for so long. This definitley challenged me as I'm working towards not being attached to outcomes. I did process it and came to accept that, if that's how things had to be. Luckily, things changed and I only had to pick up those students and bring them to Charlotte. Still that was an additional 3.5hrs after the 8hrs I'd already driven on 4hrs sleep. But, I do whatever I'm asked to do. It's my job and since it meant I could still do my trip, I did it with a smile on my face. I didn't even mind getting only 5hrs sleep and then hanging out in the Charlotte train station for 6.5hrs because after that, I was able to drive the 3.5hrs down to the capital of indie rock: Athens, Georgia!
Fortune smiled on me once again when I found what was listed as a hostel near Athens. Trying to keep things on the cheap, finding a place to crash for $15 seemed a dream come true. It was that and so much more. I plugged the address into my phone and followed it to a residential neighborhood. After searching around a bit, I found the mailbox at the head of a long gravel driveway. The recent rains had left the drive muddy and bepuddled but with my newly acquired RAV4, I had no worries about that. I got to the house and wasn't sure if I was at the right place. There were no signs of there being any kind of a business there, just someone's house. I approached anyway and found out that I was in the right place and the small one room cabin on the side yard was the "hostel". Bonnie, who lives there with her husband and daughter, showed me around and told me I could use the downstairs bathroom and kitchen. She also told me that they do the hostel thing for money for their daughter. I thought she might be special needs or something but it turns out she is recent high school graduate who was a varsity volley ball player and just has this arrangement with her parents. I can't imagine that they get too many people. It's about half an hour from Athens, there's no website or anything. I just stumbled on it. Still this little cabin was cozy and far better than the bunk in a shared room that I had expected.
After settling in and resting a bit, I headed out because that's what one does when in Athens. Kind of the whole point, if you're not going to a UGA game. First, I stopped at Harry's Pig Shop, which was voted best BBQ in Athens. The decor is sort of 50's diner, which was cool and the food was good but the service was even better. Besides being fast, they were extremely friendly. June, my waitress sat down in the chair across from me and chatted with me every time she came around. Granted, the place wasn't very busy, but being a lone traveler, I appreciated the company and the conversation. I told her about this journey and how I'm going to write a story based on it and she thought it cool, especially when I told her she would be a part of it.
Finishing dinner, I headed downtown. There was a show at the Caledonia Lounge I wanted to catch, but doors didn't open until 10 so I had to find a place to kill some time. I wandered around a bit until I came across a bar called Barcode (clever, no?) where a guy was putting out a sign that said Sam Adams $1. Not my beer of choice, but it's passable and it was cheap, so in I went. I wound up chatting with a bartender named Kelly who's studying to become a therapist. As we got closer to 10, the place got busier and I headed out. The show was alright. I actually liked the first band best although I thought the fire spinning and burlesque between acts was fun. I wound up chatting with another guy who looked less than impressed with the second band on the bill and I gained from him insight into what it's like to be bisexual in the south.
Just a day into my post-work trip, I've already met a lot of interesting people and heard a lot of wonderful stories. It's so interesting to see how excited people get when I tell them what I'm doing. I can't help but feel, whether or not they say it, as though they wish they could be doing a similar thing; that they wish they could go out and have an adventure. I think this is part of the problem with society today. There is almost no room in the lives people construct for them to do things that they want to do. It seems so dysfunctional to me. I can't wait to see who else I'll meet and how they will contribute to this experience. I'll next be heading to Atlanta to visit some of my best friends. That will be brief, but wonderful. In classic me style, I'm trying to fit a lot into a short period of time and so I can't stay in one place to long. Story of my life...
So, this adventure and the stories that will come out of it almost didn't happen. On Tuesday, while I was in the dentist's chair, disaster was unfolding for the group in the field. Being on-call, I was the point person to deal with any field issues. The net result was my spending most of Tuesday night making phone calls to coordinate efforts before packing. Wednesday morning, I had to meet a student who I'd be bringing out to the field that day and his father. I'll save the details but I had to do intake then drive him 8hrs to Georgia. As I was driving down, I got a call telling me that I was going to have to pick up students down there and bring them back to Richmond, which would have cancelled my trip because I wouldn't drive RVA->GA->RVA->GA. I was extremely disappointed because I'd been looking forward to this adventure for so long. This definitley challenged me as I'm working towards not being attached to outcomes. I did process it and came to accept that, if that's how things had to be. Luckily, things changed and I only had to pick up those students and bring them to Charlotte. Still that was an additional 3.5hrs after the 8hrs I'd already driven on 4hrs sleep. But, I do whatever I'm asked to do. It's my job and since it meant I could still do my trip, I did it with a smile on my face. I didn't even mind getting only 5hrs sleep and then hanging out in the Charlotte train station for 6.5hrs because after that, I was able to drive the 3.5hrs down to the capital of indie rock: Athens, Georgia!
Fortune smiled on me once again when I found what was listed as a hostel near Athens. Trying to keep things on the cheap, finding a place to crash for $15 seemed a dream come true. It was that and so much more. I plugged the address into my phone and followed it to a residential neighborhood. After searching around a bit, I found the mailbox at the head of a long gravel driveway. The recent rains had left the drive muddy and bepuddled but with my newly acquired RAV4, I had no worries about that. I got to the house and wasn't sure if I was at the right place. There were no signs of there being any kind of a business there, just someone's house. I approached anyway and found out that I was in the right place and the small one room cabin on the side yard was the "hostel". Bonnie, who lives there with her husband and daughter, showed me around and told me I could use the downstairs bathroom and kitchen. She also told me that they do the hostel thing for money for their daughter. I thought she might be special needs or something but it turns out she is recent high school graduate who was a varsity volley ball player and just has this arrangement with her parents. I can't imagine that they get too many people. It's about half an hour from Athens, there's no website or anything. I just stumbled on it. Still this little cabin was cozy and far better than the bunk in a shared room that I had expected.
After settling in and resting a bit, I headed out because that's what one does when in Athens. Kind of the whole point, if you're not going to a UGA game. First, I stopped at Harry's Pig Shop, which was voted best BBQ in Athens. The decor is sort of 50's diner, which was cool and the food was good but the service was even better. Besides being fast, they were extremely friendly. June, my waitress sat down in the chair across from me and chatted with me every time she came around. Granted, the place wasn't very busy, but being a lone traveler, I appreciated the company and the conversation. I told her about this journey and how I'm going to write a story based on it and she thought it cool, especially when I told her she would be a part of it.
Finishing dinner, I headed downtown. There was a show at the Caledonia Lounge I wanted to catch, but doors didn't open until 10 so I had to find a place to kill some time. I wandered around a bit until I came across a bar called Barcode (clever, no?) where a guy was putting out a sign that said Sam Adams $1. Not my beer of choice, but it's passable and it was cheap, so in I went. I wound up chatting with a bartender named Kelly who's studying to become a therapist. As we got closer to 10, the place got busier and I headed out. The show was alright. I actually liked the first band best although I thought the fire spinning and burlesque between acts was fun. I wound up chatting with another guy who looked less than impressed with the second band on the bill and I gained from him insight into what it's like to be bisexual in the south.
Just a day into my post-work trip, I've already met a lot of interesting people and heard a lot of wonderful stories. It's so interesting to see how excited people get when I tell them what I'm doing. I can't help but feel, whether or not they say it, as though they wish they could be doing a similar thing; that they wish they could go out and have an adventure. I think this is part of the problem with society today. There is almost no room in the lives people construct for them to do things that they want to do. It seems so dysfunctional to me. I can't wait to see who else I'll meet and how they will contribute to this experience. I'll next be heading to Atlanta to visit some of my best friends. That will be brief, but wonderful. In classic me style, I'm trying to fit a lot into a short period of time and so I can't stay in one place to long. Story of my life...
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