Livin' In Reseda

Day Fourteen: 27 August 2010

Start: Las Vegas, Nevada

End: Reseda, California

States: Nevada, California

Milage: 99, 864

So we made it, all the way from Rhode Island to California. We visited 19 states in total and traveled 3, 911 miles. We didn't see it all, but we saw America, insomuch as anyone can see a country. Its something few people have the privilege to ever do, and even after doing it I am still a little bit in awe at what we did. I wish I could say something dramatic like the final day of driving was fraught with anticipation, that we were literally bouncing in our seats to have it all over with. Not really, I know i could have kept going, I think Alyssa could have too. I wanted to jog up to Utah just so our final state count could be a nice round twenty. Had I a car I might even drive home, take the northern route this time. Alas it is not meant to be, besides the house in Reseda needs our attention first. 

L.A. literally seems to stretch on forever, as soon as you cross the mountains the sprawl starts and it doesn't stop until it hits the Pacific Ocean. In truth a lot of it sort of looks the same, lots of stucco and sparse vegetation under a baking sun. Not much of it is particularly pretty, but I can still see the appeal to a certain degree. Our new abode is located right off the center of Reseda, yet is as quiet as any backroad I've ever seen. We're about a block and a half from the nearest grocery store and the house has a pool. From the front it looks deceptively small, and quite frankly a little abandoned. Hidden somewhere in it however is four bedrooms, two baths, and a rather large kitchen and living area. Does it need some work? Sure does, but Alyssa's brother has only lived here a couple of months and works long hours.

We put some major time into the kitchen and floors, washed sheets and moved furniture. I removed a cockroach roughly the size of a shot glass from under my bed (luckily it was dead otherwise I would have had a fight on my hands). We added water to the pool and took a swim. In short, we arrived. Is the journey over? Not at all.

A Funny Thing About Billy Jean

Day Thirteen: 26 August 2010

Start: Las Vegas, Nevada

End: Las Vegas, Nevada

States: Nevada

The blog post was originally titled 'A Funny Thing Happened On The Way To The Forum Shops', however the more I thought about it everything about Las Vegas is a little funny. Funny strange, not funny ha-ha. This is the second time I've been here, I didn't like it the first time and the second time only seemed to confirm my first impressions. You couldn't pay me enough to live here, it would literally be like living in hell. Not only is it hot enough to melt just about anything and so dry I've had a constant nose bleed, but its also ugly as sin. Now I know its home to millions of people who love it, my family members included. That's fine, its just really not for me. I think Vegas is a prime example of the different strokes for different folks mentality. I know that my family members hate the weather in New England, the hassle of having to shovel snow and scrape your car. They think its dull because every night you don't have the option of a hundred different shows to see. Personally I don't even like the hassle of going to the movies let alone having to haul myself to a show with fifteen thousand other people, most of them on vacation. 

I think the thing I really don't get is how you live on the edge, surrounded by nothing but desert. Now if you live on the edge of that forest, conceivably there is something there. you could live there, or cut it down, but still its a living thing. The wilderness beyond the edge here is just wasteland, if you walk into it odds are you won't come back of even be found. The lead news story today was about an older woman who disappeared in April, named Billy Jean. Despite search teams and K-9 dogs covering the area she lived in she hadn't been found. The house where she and her husband lived was on the fringes of Vegas, abutting the desert. They assumed she had wandered off and died out there, presumably never to be seen again. Can you imagine that? The cops just throwing up their hands and saying, 'well its the desert, no point in looking out there, we won't find her anyways'. Well turns out she and her husband we hoarders and he just found her body buried under a pile of crap in their house. Saw a shoe sticking out and said, "Oh my!" Or insert the appropriate expletive of your choice that you would use should you discover an almost five month old decomposing corpse in your house. Its a funny place Las Vegas.

So we did Vegas, not big, not flashy, just bare bones, get in, get out, see the sights. We had lunch at Mon Ami Gabi at the Paris, a great place for people watching and to see the water show in the Bellagio fountains. Then we drove down the strip so Alyssa could get some good pictures of as many hotels as possible without dying in the 108 degree weather. Eating outside is only tolerable because of cloud cover and the misters you find on every railing at outdoor restaurants. Then we parked at Caesar's Palace to see the Forum shops and watch the talking statue show. The shows of course are any weak willed female's (like myself) dream running the gamut of high end to commonplace. The statue show, which happens on the hour is perhaps the most hilarious thing I've ever seen. Clearly the intention is to show off the fountains and the special effects attached to them. The statues drop down and animatronic figurines pop up. There is a dying, wise old king and his two children (I don't remember the names, I was too busy laughing) fighting for the throne when he dies, the daughter of water and the son of fire. There are of course also many many opportunities for these two characters to shoot streams of water and flame at one another. I'm not precisely sure how it ended, I know neither got to rule and there was a dragon, perhaps he became king? Like I said it is a funny place.

My aunt, uncle, and cousin all kept trying to tell us about great bars and shows, ladies nights we should hit up and mechanical bulls we might like to ride. Alyssa and I we both slightly tempted by the show called Thunder Down Under (Chippendales Aussie style, put that shrimp on you barbie), but resisted and undoubtedly are better for it. So here it is 10:15 Vegas time and I have showered and am in bed typing this, Alyssa is also in bed and we are the two lamest roadtippers to ever roll through Vegas. And there is nothing wrong with that.

You Ain't A Beauty, But Hey You're Alright

Day Eleven: 25 August 2010

Start: Santa Fe, New Mexico

End: Las Vegas, Nevada

States: New Mexico, Arizona, Nevada

Time Zone: Pacific

I wish I had a great day to describe but in reality it was 

eleven hours of driving. We decided to get out of Santa Fe early rather than more sight seeing, just a taste is all you have time for when you only spend one night in a place, besides its worth it getting in at a reasonable hour in the afternoon. Driving was smooth, if there was a lot of ear popping and short breath from the change in altitude. Is the Southwest beautiful? See the title of the blog post for my opinion, clearly stolen from Bruce Springsteen. There is a sort of stark beauty, but it more that you're in awe of how different it is, like seeing pictures of the surface of the moon. Actually the desert and the moon look a lot alike in some places. 

We drove t

hrough a couple of small rain showers and saw some impressive lighting, the sky was so eerie I don't think I've ever seen anything quite like it. The storm in Arizona made the clouds in Kansas look commonplace in comparison. I should have expected it though, out here you're off the map, right on the edge of the world. We stopped very briefly on the Arizona side of the Hoover Dam to take pictures in 112 degree heat, quite the contrast considering it was barely 60 this morning when we left Santa Fe. Ironically we had to come all the way to New Mexico to find the coolest weather on the whole trip, a pleasant if somewhat bizarre surprise. When we were at the lookout we also met a very interesting man, he was on his phone and suddenly shouted "tell me about Rhode Island!". Well, I wasn't sure what to say about that. He came over and it turns out his name is Tom Collins (I thought he was messing with us, but it really is) he is a country commissioner for CLark County in Nevada and his secretary comes from Rhode Island. Its amazing how no matter where you go there seems to be some connection to the little tiny Ocean State, good things really do come in small packages. This was also our first celebrity sighting (sort of), since Connecticut when we drove past the car of the state senator from district 18, Andrew Maynard. Anyway he said if we got arrested he could work something out.

Thus on to Nevada. Now we have been extraordinarily lucky in terms of driving, the brief traffic we hit on the two lane roads in Kansas barely held up up twenty minutes. You knew our luck would run out eventually. We were cruising along into Vegas on 95, and I called my aunt who we were staying with to say we would be there within the half an hour. Not five minutes later we were at a complete stop, because apparently a truck carrying sulfuric acid had spilled on the freeway. My aunt called back because it was the top story on the news, she gave up backroads directions but even with them it took us like and hour and a half to get to the nearest exit and off the highway. Our accommodation we well worth the trek, because my ant and uncle live in a rather posh gated community in North Las Vegas. The rest of the night was given over to a family dinner and seeing my cousin's new baby. We are nearing the end so the days are longer and the sights are fewer so instead I offer you some recommended reading for our cross country trip.

Rand McNally The 2010 Road Atlas (Deluxe Midsize)

The Lost Continent : Bill Bryson

A Walk In The Woods: Bill Bryson

Way Off The Road: Bill Geist

In Cold Blood: Truman Capote

Wicked Intentions: Elizabeth Hoyt

To Seduce A Sinner: Elizabeth Hoyt

The last two I have included in case you would enjoy reading along with Alyssa as she reads out loud to me in the car, be prepared they are not very sexy, though you will laugh heartily. The atlas has a good section on cities that give great general details. Bill Bryson you should just read anyway, but his two American books are great especially The Lost Continent which is his road trop story. A Walk In The Woods has the story of Centralia, where we wanted to stop our first day but getting stuck in traffic prevented. It was my first Bryson book, and you never forget your first, so I will go ahead and push that one as well. The Bill Geist book is hilarious, I've always enjoyed him on the Sunday Morning show. His travel tips are also definitely worth reading it for. In Cold Blood obviously we hi-lighted yesterday, and if you've never read it it's still quite a tale. Obviously there are lots more, not all directly pertinent to our trip. Its a great country in print and in reality.

PS: We also have another incredible road atlas, a very large one, I would tell you the details but it no longer has a cover. I'm pretty sure its a AAA atlas from about 10 years ago, it is much more detailed than our other though, I wouldn't leave home with out it.

Do You Know The Way?

Day Ten: August 24 2010

Start: Garden City, Kansas

End: Santa Fe, New Mexico

States: Kansas, Colorado, New Mexico

Time Zone: Western

Perhaps you're curious why we stayed in Garden City rather than Dodge City, a much larger and probably more lively city (that where Chevy Chase almost got shot in the old West town in Vacation) less than fifty miles away. There actually is a reason, beyond having an hour less of driving today. Garden City is the nearest large town to the little hamlet of Holcomb. Ring any bells? There would be only one reason you would remember the name Holcomb, KS, and that would be because you know of a book called In Cold Blood. Holcomb would be a totally unremarkable place (the town population is around 2,000 about the same as the average high school where we come from) except for the fact that in November of 1959 there was a mass murder there, a family of four, mother, father, son, and daughter all slaughtered in their home.

The Clutter family was prominent in the town, which at the time had a population of about two hundred. There was terrible fear, mourning, and anger in the community. Twelve thousand attended their funeral, today the town park is dedicated to the memory of their family. Of course the small news item about the murders in the New York Times also attracted the attention of Truman Capote. I don't need to speak to the legend that is Capote, read George Plimpton's biography of him, or see the film of the same name (I loved Philip Seymour Hoffman so much as Capote, I never bothered to see Infamous). His tale of the killings, capture, conviction, and finally execution of the murders captivated America, then and today.

Alyssa was clearly uncomfortable with visiting the scene of the crime so to speak, and many feel the same way. There were a lot of people who refused to talk to Capote, many more who boycotted the book because they felt he capitalized on the grief of a community. Now Capote was set for life after In Cold Blood was published, he made over 2 million in sales (in the early 60's no less) and rode the fame for years. The angry in Holcomb may have gotten the last laugh however because he never wrote another novel and died a pathetic drunk. At this point most of the principals are long gone, including Capote himself. Herb Clutter if he were alive would be 99 this year. The two elder Clutter children still live in Kansas, not far away and are in their sixties and seventies. My mother was five when the murders happened, I think there's a safe enough buffer in terms of time. Also I have to say that from what I read people felt Capote's greatest sin was focusing too much on the way the Clutter's died, rather than the good, Christian folks they were. He came to write about the murders, if the murders hadn't happened do you really think Truman Capote would have come to Kansas just to meet the Clutters no matter how good they were?

We first visited the Valley View Cemetery in Garden City where the Clutter's graves are. The cemetery is on a gravel road, and boarders a cornfield on one side. Inside its gates however is a shady and lush oasis in the middle of the plains. There were workers everywhere cleaning up some sizable branches that came down in last night's storm. It was a bit awkward maneuvering around them, but luckily one article I read gave coordinates for the graves (north-west corner, right near the boarder with the cornfield). Nearby are the graves of other major players in the story including the judge, attorney, cop in charge, and man who found the bodies. It's a peaceful spot, and a simple marker. The view across the cornfield through the black wrought iron gate was what struck me most, it was so starkly beautiful, and I think Herb Clutter wouldn't have minded that view for eternity.

The town of Holcomb is hard to get to. Well not normally, but today there was all sorts of nonsense roadwork which made our GPS practically short circuit. We found our way, circling around the Tyson Meat Processing Plant on the outskirts of town (its apparently the largest in the world, go figure). Remember when we said Point Pleasant, WV was small? Holcomb is smaller (not as small as Farrell) and set in straight lines. Where they fit 2,000 people I have no idea. The schools were all oddly modern and ridiculously well appointed compared to anything else in town. The Clutter farmhouse is privately owned by the Mader family, who have owned since the 1990's and is private property. We stopped at the end of the driveway, with its long line of Chinese elms is instantly recognizable, though River Valley Farm is no longer what it once was. The Arkansas River which gives the far its name has long since dried up giving the landscape a totally different appearance. Its a bittersweet kind of place, and not exactly where one would chose to linger. Especially two intrepid road trippers on their way to Santa Fe. Still I was glad I got to see it, I mean when will I ever be in western Kansas again?

We made Santa Fe in around six hours, actually very good time and the switch to yet another new time zone allowed us more hours of daylight. Our main attraction was the Loretto chapel, home of the miraculous staircase. The sisters who ran the girls academy there had no way to reach the choir loft, a mistake in the planning of the building, but no carpenter could construct an ordinary staircase due to the chapel's tiny proportions. The sisters prayed a novena to St. Joseph, step father of Jesus and the one who taught him carpentry, he is not surprisingly the patron saint of that profession. Their prayers obviously worked, for a carpenter came and built them a spiral staircase, with nothing but the simplest of tools, and in return asked for only a place to stay and food to eat. He disappeared once it was complete never to be seen again. The staircase remains a marvel of engineering to this day with no obvious means of support aside from its own weight. It is a butte (a little New Mexico humor there for you) and I was highly amused to see that the stations of the cross in the chapel were identical to the one back home in North Attleboro at Sacred Heart parish, the alter also bore a striking resemblance to the alter at St. Mary's the other Downtown parish in North Attleboro, though on a smaller scale. Its a small, small, world (of religious artwork).

We strolled and shopped, and enjoyed the fact that less than three blocks from "downtown", and I use that term lightly, you can find unlimited on street parking. Santa Fe is the least city-like city I've ever seen. There is hardly any traffic and there is no congestion at all. We ate dinner at a Thai restaurant (Thai Cafe actually) near the El Dorado hotel that was recommended to us by a friend, and it was wonderful. First we had almost the whole place to ourselves and the food was highly enjoyable. On the down side last night we drank our last two 'Gansetts from home (buy Narragansett Beer now, bring the brewery back to New England!) and had to switch to Santa Fe Pale Ale, and I am not a fan. I was also slightly nervous after he recommended it to me last night because of the scathing negative reviews I saw online. Can I vent for a moment about the not-so-beautiful recommendations people leave. A comment like 'this is not a good Thai restaurant because they serve fortune cookie at the end of you meal' is not helpful to anyone. Aside from that, what is wrong with you, I never say no to complimentary cookies. I feel like if you wait three hours to be served, get screwed on your bill, your waiter is homicidal, or you find half a decomposed rat lurking in your appetizer you have a right to complain, other than that please help preserve my sanity and shut it.

Suck It Nellie Olson

Day Nine: 23 August 2010

Start: Independence, Kansas

End: Garden City, Kansas

States: Kansas

So Today we drove across Kansas, which explains why I needed a snappy title for my blog post. I jest, my impressions of Kansas are still very favorable despite their misguided affinity for two lane roads (we did hit traffic, which was guided by two poor lone people with big stop signs on sticks literally frying on the pavement). The title comes from our stop for the day, are you ready for this? The Little House on the Prairie.

Now a caveat, this is not the original little house however it is the original location, meticulously researched before they constructed on the site. The Ingalls family only lived near Independence for about a year, though their third daughter Carrie was born there. If you don't know the Little House books (ie are a man) they were written by Laura Ingalls Wilder about her life in the latter half of the 1800's, starting with her life in Pepin, Wisconsin around age 4 and traveling all the way until her marriage, first home, and birth of her daughter as an adult. They are pioneer adventures to a certain degree, but they are also true and describe the harsh realities for life as a pioneer without the shoot-em-up edge a lot of stories take. They describe the mundane tasks of ordinary life along with the blizzards, disease, and native attacks.

The show starring Michael Landon and Melissa Gilbert, though called Little House on the Prairie is actually an amalgam of characters and places from many of the books. The title refers to Nellie Olson, the blonde haired little girl from town who had Satan in her soul, in reality Laura didn't meet her until long after her time in Independence. The site itself is some miles south of town, and quite out of the way, which makes it ideal to visit. We were the only ones there except for the lady manning the gift shop and a stray cat I made friends with (Alyssa had to be very stern with me so I didn't try to take it with us). There is also a rural post office and one room school house from the 1880's (the same era as the farmhouse that holds the gift shop). The Ingalls family lived in Independence about a decade before at the end of the 1860's, however the general idea was the same.

The house is impossibly small, maybe as big as a hotel room, maybe. THere were five people living there; Ma, Pa, Laura, her older sister Mary, and a baby (how was this baby conceived may be the better question?). For those of you with siblings, or anyone with a sense of personal space at all, can you imagine? It felt uncomfortably close with Alyssa and I in there together and neither of us is taller than 5' 4", let us hope Pa was no much taller. It sure doesn't sound like much, but believe me it left a warm fuzzy feeling, and not just because I was wearing shorts and the weather was so hot it was making my skin fuse with the seat. It has the same appeal as a Norman Rockwell painting, safe and homey, even if its no home you've ever been to.

As we crossed into western Kansas it got flatter but no less green, again a welcome surprise. It took us almost five and a half hours to cross this one state, I'm glad we hadn't attempted to go from Mississippi to Garden City as originally planned. Now we have been blessed by Jesus, Thor, and other deities along the way with unusually good weather (hot yes, but hot and sunny). Other than the fourteen hour carnival ride from hell in rain and fog that was Pennsylvania the driving was almost eerily smooth. About twenty miles from Garden City the sky started to take on a strange hue with the strangest cloud formations I've ever seen. Are you getting flashbacks to the beginning of the Wizard of Oz? Because I am, da-dun-da-dun-da-dun-na (in case you were wondering that was Miss Gulch on her bicycle/ Wicked Witch on her broom). You really can see rain coming at you from across the plains, and lordy did it come, in sheets, in bucket, industrial strength fire hoses held by hunky men, you name it the water came in that method. Visibility was fairly awful, but I used the old tried and true method of following the yellow lines (because the gentleman in front of us did not seem to think turning on his headlights in a downpour was a good idea).

Then checking into the hotel was entertaining, first unloading the car in the driving rain (I commandeered a luggage cart, which was very fun) then parking in the furthest row from the door because those were the only free spots. We were assigned our room number, 318 so we went up and tried the door, and the keys don't work. I waited outside the room with our luggage while Alyssa went to remedy the situation. She came back and the door opened to reveal...someone else's luggage. Apparently the keys hadn't worked for a reason. Finally we were reassigned and moved to room 419 where we nested in for the night. I spent far too much time being a social butterfly and talking on the phone last evening to actually post, however I can't always be a crotchety misanthrope. But I can try.

How Great Thou Art

Day Eight: 22 August 2010

Start: Clarksdale, Mississippi

End: Independence, Kansas

States: Mississippi, Arkansas, Kansas

Road Kill Count: 12 armadillos, 8 raccoons, 2 cats, 1 dog, 1 deer, 1 watermelon

The part was over this morning when we rose early to get back on the road. We had almost eight hours total driving to get done, crossing all of Arkansas diagonally. We got a little turned around leaving Clarksdale because there is apparently a GPS void hanging over it. One would think leaving at 8 AM on A Sunday morning would guarantee a quiet departure, not really. While heading out on the road that connects to highway 61 we see two cop cars parked on either side of the road and two police officers in the middle of the street. They were talking to the driver coming into town in the other direction and the cop peered into our car as he waved us throught, apparently two girls in a loaded down car with Rhode Island plates wasn't what they were looking for, but they were sure looking for something or someone. About fifty yards up the road we saw the dead dog in the street, whether it was hit or shot (not so far fetched in Mississippi) or even related to what was going on I can't say. Alyssa says the dog was just hit by a car and unrelated and I was just projecting. Whatever, I guess thats why I blog and she takes the pictures. 

A word about the road kill count, given the numbers I think its obvious why we're keeping it. 12 armadillos? 12, seriously? There are a lot of dead things in this part of the world, and they just kept piling up so we kept counting. I will say that I believe the watermelon fatality was unintentional, the others who knows? They do love to hunt down here, perhaps the do it with Dodge pickups as well as rifles and bows. We drove out of the depressing landscape of the Delta with its scrubby fields and kudzu invasion back into green hilly country, in this case the Ozarks. It was a long drive through mostly two lane roads rather than true highways which meant that the pace wasn't always as fast as I would have liked but overall nothing too extreme.

When I started to plan this trip and knew we would be visiting Mississippi to see friends I also realized this would necessitate driving through Arkansas, which frankly was not something I was jumping up and down celebrating. There is a great website for roadtrippers, roadsideamerica.com and I simply sat down and searched through Arkansas until I found an attraction to break up the trip. The magical attraction was the Christ of the Ozarks, aka the third largest statue of Jesus on the planet, and the largest in North America. Its located in the same complex as the Great Passion Play (which we did not see) and is free. Legend has it the reason Jesus doesn't have feet in this statue is because if he was any taller he would have had to have a blinking red light on his head so planes wouldn't hit him. The statue is large, though hardly majestic and certainly not very pretty. He's been patched up over the years so there are dirty streaks where the mortar doesn't match and his eyes are more than a little creepy. One critic descried the statue as a milk carton with a tennis ball on top. That perhaps is a bit harsh, I prefer the assessment that this is not a soft cuddly Jesus, but rather a stone cold ass kicking Jesus ready for a smackdown with Satan. That is an attraction worth driving to. Also a warning, should you visit the Christ of the Ozarks, apparently the speed limit on the road leading to it is 10 mph which a creepy older man with a dirty tee shirt and and incongruous fluffy white dog gleefully informed up as soon as we stepped out of the car. When we returned he continued to talk to us about how disappointed he was we hadn't brought the rain with us from Rhode Island. Luckily our doors have good stout locks, unfortunately in our haste to get away we never got to see the piece of the Berlin Wall thrown in the mix for good measure, just in case the world's third largest Jesus wasn't enough. Because of the extreme Arkansas heat and safety concerns Skarsgard had to remain in the confines of the car, luckily on our way out of Eureka Springs we had occasion to stop at the Bavaria Hotel and he made a new lady friend, Ingrid.

From there we briefly crossed into Missouri before reaching Kansas. Now I had been looking forward to Kansas for a number of reasons. Firstly its the geographical center of the country, secondly as Bill Bryson, my personal hero put it, Kansas is the quintessential American state. Its where Dorothy and Superman come from, it has farmland and small towns, good solid values and an all around wholesomeness hard to match anywhere. I also had been warned about how boring Kansas would be to drive through, which so far has been completely false. I was picturing something out of the Children of the Corn, even though that was set in Nebraska. Kansas is hillier than I imagined and very green, almost lush with plenty of trees. Now we have about five more hours of Kansas to go, so this isn't a final impression but so far its a good state. 

Now a very favorable word about the Microtel In in Independence, for a chain hotel it is wonderful, clean and well appointed with a fantastic TV and lots of nice little extras for a very reasonable price. There is also a Wal-mart in the back parking lot, which I took a trip to involving a hike through a drainage culvert. Unfortunately in Kansas they don't sell alcohol on Sunday's so I simply stared into the beer case and drooled, but made up for it by buying fixings for sandwiches and lots of Rasinettes along with nailpolish and a Western romance novel (when in the West...) 

High Noon At The Crossroads

Day Seven: 21 August 2010

Start: Clarksdale, MS

End: Clarksdale, MS

States: Mississippi

Today was the much needed proverbial day of rest. Enjoying the novelty of spending two nights in the same place for the first time since the beginning of the trip was dearer than gold. We both slept in, enjoyed a homemade waffle breakfast prepared by our gracious hosts, took luxuriously long showers, and did much, much laundry. Its amazing how quickly you devolve to a primitive state when still technically in civilization (I mean when I went to Central America on an archaeological dig, I expected it, in America though?).

At the end of the previous school year I covered a 6th grade English class for a teacher on maternity leave, and the crux of the curriculum was Faust legends (deals with the devil, think Damn Yankees, The Devil Went Down To Georgia, etc.). The kids read the play Midnight at the Crossroads, about the blues musician Robert Johnson, who supposedly made a deal with the devil at midnight to gain his musical talent. Johnson died young and under mysterious circumstances, no one even knows where his actual grave is adding to the legend that his end of the deal came due. The Crossroads are supposedly at the intersection of highway 61 and highway 49, and the spot is marked by two crossed guitars high above the intersection.

After we had loafed around sufficently our host's fiancee was kind enough to take us to see it, though admittedly there wasn't much to see. No eerie aura of Satan handing over the intersection, just chain restaurants and oppressive heat. I was mildly concerned when we got in the car and heard the announcer say there was a dangerous heat warning in effect. He waved off our concern saying there had been the same warning every day for three weeks. One of the things that amazes me about the South (and there are a number of things) is that there is no temperature fluctuation. In New England even if its in the nineties during the day, it will usually drop to the seventies at night. In Mississippi, not at all, it is always oppressively hot.

The best part of the crossroads is that there is a great barbeque place right on the corner, called Abe's. If I, in my limited experience of barbeque, were to close my eyes and picture what I think a true down home joint would look like, Abe's would be it. One of the disappointments we faced in Memphis was not getting barbeque, and it was the source of some of Friday's depression. This more than assuaged the issue, and in a atmosphere that was much more enjoyable than anything I encountered in and around Memphis, where quite frankly I didn't always feel comfortable walking into a restaurant as two women alone. Pete and Sam's in the upscale East Memphis was a whole different story, being a very residential and clearly family oriented place. Not to say all of Memphis is dangerous, nor certainly that Clarksdale is completely safe but I was much more comfortable the way this worked out.

After lunch we took a drive out to see the Mississippi River. Friar's Point, about fifteen minutes from Clarksdale is one of the few places where you can drive right down to the banks of the river with no marsh or levees in the way. We did drive on the the dirt road atop the levee, giving us the highest view around for miles. On the way back we drove through some of the small towns that feed the Cohoma Country School system based in Clarksdale, including Farrell. Farrell is so small that is you blink, you might miss it. The population as of the 2000 census was 134, I can't really say if its grown since then, I wouldn't bet on it. As we drove along one of the five streets that make up the town I actually saw a grave in a backyard, a mound of dirt with a wooden cross and some pink plastic flowers on top. I was shocked, where I come from, and I think in most places, death is very separate, very sanitized. The idea that you could just drop grandma (or your latest homicide for all I know) in the back yard was so far beyond the pale it almost didn't bear considering. Speaking of burials, apparently there are also burial mounds left by the Mississippian Mound Builders in the area, though we didn't see any.

In the end Mississippi was very eye opening. It is about as far from the America I grew up in as I think you can get. The school I went to had one African American student, in Cohoma county most towns are 70% African American, if not higher in places like Farrell. THe open, often blatant racism, the ever present firearms, violence, and poverty makes me admire those who chose to live and make their lives there endlessly, because it was getting me down after only two days. I wish there was a way to make someone who hasn't been there understand, however I don't think words really accurately convey the atmosphere that pervades there. The closest I can come is a movie. Now few movies that portray the South are favorable towards it, thing Brubaker, Easy Rider, Deliverance, and of course none more so than In The Heat of The Night. Being in Clarksdale, in modern day is with a few minor exceptions an identical experience to that of Virgil Tibbs in 1967. No judgement in that assessment, merely an observation.

Searching For The Promised Land

Day Six: 20 August 2010

Start: Memphis, Tennessee

End: Clarksdale, Mississippi

States: Tennessee, Mississippi

Continental breakfasts can be hazardous to your health. If you don't believe me just follow the trail of maple syrup I left from the lobby to room 208 in the Comfort Inn while attempting to being Alyssa a waffle (which I got yelled at while making, I ran away while the attendant was taking out the trash). After that issue I opted for a pastry called a Raisin-ette made by a brother-cousin company of Skarsgard's family, Svenhard. You work hard, you play hard, you Svenhard.

Memphis was a full day, even though we weren't actually walking in Memphis. The two attractions on the roster were the National Civil Rights Museum at the Lorraine Hotel and of course, Graceland. We had also intended to go to Beale Street and get an inkling of the blues and barbeque scene, however considering the air was like a wet wall of misery we opted to stay in the air conditioned car as much as possible.

The National Civil Rights Museum I had somewhat mixed emotions about. It is quite an endeavor, with the hotel where Martin Luther King, Jr. was shot being preserved like a time capsule. The film they show, The Witness, featuring Samuel "Billy" Kyles , the remaining minister from that day (Ralph Abernathy, the third died of a blood clot in 1990) was well done and just poignant enough. The exhibits though I found to be somewhat of a letdown. Now I love museums, no matter how dusty or boring. The problem with the informational exhibits in the NCRM was that they bombarded you with information, which I suppose was supposed to be thoughtfully and artistically organized but was really just jumbled together by topic. It took you from abolition through modern day but featured so much text and photographic evidence it gave me a headache.

Two things that I have to commend were the preserved rooms that Dr. King spent his last days and the view of the balcony where he was shot. The simplicity and timelessness of them were far more moving than the overload of information prior to it. The other was the recreation of the bus that Rosa Parks was arrested on. We shared our tour with the Ivory family reunion, a group of almost fifty wearing matching kelly green hats and tee shirts, all African American. When Alyssa and I boarded the bus there were perhaps fifteen Ivory family members of all ages already on it alongside a statue of Rosa Parks refusing to move. Now if you sit too close to her you get a recording of what the bus driver said to her, mainly yelling to move. They all started to tell the two young kids they wouldn't have been welcome to keep sitting where they were. Then it occurred to me, we were the only two Caucasians on the bus. We weren't the ones being yelled at. We sat right behind the driver, but we were white so not one would have looked twice at us. You could tell all the Ivory family members were thinking the same thing. I cannot remember when I have felt more uncomfortable with my own race, or even just sitting some where. Then I felt guilty, because suddenly I realized exactly what segregation was like every day. Powerful stuff indeed.

Graceland was not at all what I expected. Now I enjoy Elvis, at my last teaching job the janitor and I bonded over the fact that we both listened to Elvis only on Oldies 103.3 every Sunday morning before church (8 AM-9AM). I like him and think the whole story of his life and fame is interesting, heard the Paul Simon song, heard the Marc Cohn song but had no real passion it seems. Let me tell you this, people are hardcore. It wasn't cheap, but then it seems pilgrimages never are. People there would pay their last penny to see where the King trod. The tour struck me as a little sparse with an audio tour that left a lot to be desired and a tendency to herd visitors like cattle. It could have been done with more class and less rush, but then again given the volume I can see why they cut corners. What fascinated me more than anything is the continued devotion. I mean Elvis has been dead for thirty three years and still people send weekly floral tributes from around the world. The people there all had tee shirts with his face on it, not to mention more permanent tattoos of his person and signature. I have reason to believe we all will be received in Graceland. P.S. fun fact, (well perhaps not fun per-say) did you know that Elvis had a twin brother, Jesse, who died at birth? Learn something new every day.

After Graceland we hit the low point of our trip, driving around south Memphis looking for a barbeque place to eat. There was just nothing, not even chain restaurants. Everything was closed or boarded up, or looked far too dangerous to go in as two girls alone. Coming from the tightly populated New England where there is always something it was a shock. It reminded me of the former Communist nations I saw in Eastern Europe more than a major American city. The frustration we felt was to be expected, and was nothing compared with the road to Clarksdale.

Once you leave Tennessee behind there is nothing to see, even the farms are short and squat. A two lane road that barely even encounters town runs south into Mississippi. We saw crop dusting, burning of fields, and a tractor trailer truck that blew a tire side by side with a ten mile strip of enormous brand name casinos. Not quite sure what to make of it. Clarksdale is small and overall very poor. A woman from Mississippi spoke to us this morning at the museum and said of her home state, "we're forty-ninth in everything, except for obesity, which we're number one." The South continues to reveal sad secrets like this, and while our first night in Clarksdale was spent with another of Alyssa's college friends at her lovely home and out to dinner at the Stone Pony for pizza and Madidi (Morgan Freeman's bar) for drinks, underneath is an air of poverty and life on the edge that still bears exploring, because we are after all very far from home, and our own comfort level.

Necropolis

Day Five: 19 August 2010

Start: Louisville, Kentucky

End: Memphis, Tennessee

States: Kentucky, Tennessee

Time Zone: Central

As you recall our trip to Cave Hill Cemetery was abruptly cut short, as they close at the unusually early hour of 4:45 PM. So despite a dismal start to the day, damp and ominous looking with a water aerobics class going on outside out hotel room window in the pool (I'm not kidding, they had floating barbells and everything) the weather rapidly improved to a blindingly sunny day. So after checking out we returned to see Cave Hill properly in all its glory.

Cave Hill is a rural cemetery, which if you don't know all that much about cemeteries has certain distinct features. Garden or rural cemeteries developed in the mid-nineteenth century in response to overcrowded and unsanitary inner city burial grounds. They were large and open, usually on the outskirts of cities or even in the first fringes of the suburbs. They were green park-like spaces full of plants and trees meant to blur the transition between the mundane everyday life and the divine, the land of the living and the land of the dead. Not regimental places their paths meander and curve, with monuments integrated into the landscape. Of course in grand Victorian fashion few monuments actually achieve this, most are grand to the point of ridiculousness. Marble and granite sculpture are common, as a re motifs such as urns and classical colonnades and temples. Usually a grand chapel is a feature of the landscape as well as water (lakes, streams, quarries) and other natural features. Many East Coast cities boast them, the first being built in Cambridge, Mass. If you've seen The Departed, this cemetery Mount Auburn is featured for both funerals in the movie.

Cave Hill is a fascinating example, and we spent a good hour and a half exploring fully. It was murderously hot in the strong sunlight and we were eaten alive by mosquitos, but it was well worth it. There is a fantastic array of statuary, including some very modern pieces in bronze (including good ole Colonel Sanders whose grave features a bronze bust done by his daughter Margaret). We did encounter a funeral, which we steered clear of. It does serve to remind us of course that it is still fully operational and living thing. There are dozens of workers, mowing, trimming, scrubbing, and polishing monuments. Their perpetual care fund climbs into the millions of dollars, and it shows. We did at one point pass a car with its trunk open, and by the car sat a man in a folding chair by a grave, probably his wife's. There was a bunch of flowers on the grave which he must have brought. We couldn't help but want to know his story, had she died recently? Did he come there every day? How long did he stay for? I don't know the answers to any of those questions, but I can say that it was very poignant and extremely beautiful, in a sad sort of way.

Lest I depress anyone too much let me fill you in on the highlight of our visit to Cave Hill Cemetery. The large central administration office overlooks one of the lakes, and on the bank of the lake is the cave for which the cemetery is named, running 246 feet into the hillside. After doing some photography we pulled up outside the office to regroup and examine our map. As I got out to take a few photos of the lake a duck or two wandered up the slope and over my way. Within minutes the entire car was engulfed in ducks, geese, and a pair of swans. Alyssa is sitting inside the car, which is running and I am fifteen feet away trying to remember what they had done in a similar situation in the Hitchcock movie. Ideally the car would be moved, but what if they followed it or jumped in front of the wheels. While not stated in the Cemetery rules and regulations, I'm pretty sure if you run over one of their ducks, they shoot to kill. Clearly Alyssa walled into into the passenger seat by luggage was powerless, so I swept a path through the ducks and entered the car. Okay, that didn't help. I suggested that we throw food away from the car so they would leave us alone, as I reach for a bag of Goldfish Alyssa admonishes me that salty foods are bad for them. Finally we unearthed our Cheerios and I began pitching them out the window, it worked but it was touch and go there for a few minutes.

Leaving Cave Hill we made a few important stops before leaving for Memphis. 1.) Krispy Kreme, where we got half a dozen glazed donuts (I was admonished for not getting half a dozen more for only a dollar) and one of thhe sweet paper hats. Why? Because Krispy Kreme is good for the soul, that's why. 2.) Boarders, Alyssa has been reading to me to keep me awake on long stretches, a sort of human audiobook. The fiction admittedly is not stellar, rather tawdry romance novels but today we finished and were in need of new fodder. I bought two, its a long way to California. 3.) Staples, for CDs because we've listened to all our mix tapes until they got old, and need more.

The trip south was fairly smooth, not bad driving and exciting because we crossed into out first new time zone. Even now several hours later we're both still confused because between the car clock, 2 cell phones, and various other electronic devices only half say the correct time. We also unplugged our hotel alarm clock (which said the proper time) to plug in said devices. I give up on getting the time right, is it really so important? Tonight we stay in comfort, we hope, at the Comfort Inn. We discovered too late (or at least Alyssa did) that in room 210 the toilet doesn't flush. When we called the front desk about it the girl who checked us in actually came up to make sure we were using it properly. Excuse me is there another way to flush a toilet I don't know about? Needless to say, we are all toilet flushing experts now, and the toilet still being broken, are now located in another room.

Dinner was also an experience, in search of Memphis Italian on Google I found a down home neighborhood place called Pete and Sam's in East Memphis. It is apparently quite an institution, and popular, we only got a parking space by pure dumb luck when a couple left. Inside is not glamourous, faux wood paneling and olive green pleather banquets. There was also the wall of celebrities, most of whom had actually eaten there, but a few, like Elvis just ranked a picture. The food and service were good, and it had a very authentic feel. The crowing glory however was the tree of American Glory. Its not actually called that, but it should be. From the floor up to about three and a half feet its a wooden pole, like those you see holding flags at town meetings or in school auditoriums. Above that faux pine branches, presumably from an artificial Christmas tree were drilled into "the trunk". From said limbs hung every form of patriotic paraphernalia you can imagine, flags, garland,banners, bunting, starts, streamers, just to name a few. Now I'm as proud to be an American as any other, however it was just so startlingly incongruous where it was. Toto, we're not in Kansas anymore (or aren't there yet, thats not until next week).

One For The Road

Day Four: 18 August 2010

Start: Covington, Kentucky

End: Louisville, Kentucky

States: Kentucky

Late start today, though well deserved and acceptable because of the short drive. I went for a swim in the hotel pool, while Alyssa opted to stay in the room and sleep. The pool was supposed to have a retractable roof, however it didn't look like it had ever moved an inch. It was sort of disappointing, if it had spontaneously opened up that would have made my day. Instead what made my day (and hopefully Alyssa's as well) was bourbon. Honest to goodness bourbon, rather than the Tennessee mash nonsense Jack Daniel's is producing (this elitist attitude is not mine, I have on many occasions happily partaken of Jack).

That being said we drove south from Cincinnati to the Woodford Reserve Distillery in Versailles, KY (down her they pronounce it Ver-sales). Woodford is the official bourbon of the Kentucky Derby, and what they use to make the mint juleps on Millionaires Row. To give you an idea of how small their production is, the have less than twenty employees and produce about 135, 000 cases per year. Jack Daniel's, owned by the same parent company (Brown-Forman) and located in Lynchburg, TN produces over 10 million cases each year. We scooted in at about ten past one and were able to make the 1 o'clock tour having only missed the boring video. Our tour guide, Nancy, was superb and hilarious, despite her age (mid-sixties, perhaps?) and answered every question. The tour was almost two hour and was an interesting blend of history, science, and the delicious aroma of bourbon. However the crowning glory was undoubtedly the sample at the end included in the very reasonable admissions fee of five dollars.

There is a whole Bourbon Trail you can follow, featuring some of the big names like Jim Bean and Wild Turkey and other smaller distilleries like Four Roses and Heaven Hill. One woman on our tour had been to eight, and apparently had no life. One was enough to get a feel for it and frankly had we visited more than one we might have had to stay the night since I finished Alyssa's sample as well as my own.

Now being in Kentucky, we also had to make the pilgrimage to see the Colonel. Many have asked: Does KFC taste better/different in Kentucky? No, but then again its perfection can hardly be altered by a change of geography. The restaurant we went to also was our first taste of true South. Not only did we get a full on accent from the girl behind the counter but we also suddenly found ourselves in the Bible belt. The woman in line after us asked the girl if she read the Bible, to which she replied. "Surely, ma'am I do." Then the woman gave her some sort of Bible pamphlet and said, "You enjoy that now, you here?" Nothing against any faith, but it was a curious religious experience, to say the least. Alyssa felt as Yankees we were already conspicuous enough and would not take my photo with the life sized cardboard cutout of Colonel Sanders. Luckily I had something better planned next.

Colonel Harland Sanders, is a very interesting character if you've never heard about him. Aside from his military service he started his restaurant in the Depression out of his families' gas station to help support them. He is the reigning king of Kentucky, and kitschy or not remains a part of the cultural fabric all over the state. So on to Cave Hill Cemetery, Harland Sanders final resting place. The plan was to do some serious exploring, in addition to visiting his gravesite. I have a fascination with cemeteries, in a totally non-morbid way. I think firstly that you can tell a lot about a place and the people who live there by how they treat their dead, I can't help it I'm an anthropologist and read too much into everything. In my travels I've seen some truly fascinating burial grounds from humble family plots to mausoleums built to house hundreds of thousands. All my life my grandmother lived across from a cemetery, and when I asked her if it bothered her she said it was like living across from a beautiful park. Its where I went sledding in the winter and took walks in the summer. The architecture is magnificent, and greatly varied, they are always serene and one with nature. In short they are where its at.

Unfortunately we arrived twenty minutes before it closed, and it left only enough time to find the office. We wanted a map so we could plot a journey for the next morning. Like an angel from God a woman with violently orange hair and fabulous green eyes named Etta emerged. When we asked her about a map she went inside to get us "one of the good ones" and proceeded it tell us a host of fascinating facts about the cemetery, where she's worked for thirty-one years. Sometimes the universe just similes on you. More on that tomorrow, however. On to the Breckinridge Inn in Louisville, which looked like a mini-Tara, smelled...well how does one put this delicately? Stank of mustiness, and had a very original pair of pictures, they were the same one just flipped to make a mirror image (I covered one with my Mothman for President tee). Dinner, why I'm so glad you asked. Leftover KFC, straight from the bucket.

The Mothman Cometh

Day Three: 17 August 2010

Start: Morgantown, West Virginia

End: Cincinnati, Ohio (actually across the river in Covington, Kentucky)

States: West Virginia, Ohio, Kentucky

A few months ago I saw a program on the Travel Channel about phantom animals or something like that, and one of the featured stories was the Mothman of Point Pleasant, West Virginia. Now if you are not familiar with the story, it is briefly this; during 1966-1967 there were numerous sightings of a large (perhaps 10 ft.) creature with glowing red eyes and wings in and around the area of Point Pleasant, particularly in the area known as TNT, home to a former munitions factory. Some were violent (one involved the killing of a dog) others merely frightening, and it culminated with the disastrous collapse of the Silver bridge over the Ohio River killing 46. There are a lot of theories, many involving government coverups of mutations caused by the munitions factory, others theorizing over a Shawnee burial ground. The Mothman Prophesies describes some of these, as well as the theory that the Mothman is a harbinger of doom.

Well you know I had to see this. Point Pleasant is a quintessential small town, and unfortunately like many small towns it is to a certain degree, dying. The downtown, about six blocks or so long has a 1950's throwback feel with old men shooting the breeze in rocking chairs and small shops and tree lined streets. Did I mention the twelve-feet tall shiny metal statue of a half-man, half-moth? Once all photo opportunities were exhausted we went in search of souvenirs at the The Point and found out more than we ever wanted to know, and then some. The proprietor, who both looked and sounded like Johnny Cash come back to life, was a former trucker, amateur artist, and a true believer in the enigma that is Point Pleasant. He had our ear for a good forty five minutes, telling tall tales and showing eerie photos. I happily bought a "Mothman for President" tee shirt and shot glass. He guaranteed if I filled it a few times I would see a Mothman, perhaps even two of them.

The most interesting feature of the town however was that there was so much in that tiny area. Along the river is a mural project depicting the town's history, which will eventually stretch six miles. A open air amphitheater on the Ohio hosts concerts and it seems like a place where the past is never left far behind. Tu-Endie-Wei State Park, which you will find if you follow the main street through downtown until you basically almost drive into the Ohio River (we came very close), tried to commemorate all of it. What drew us was the massive and unexpected obelisk in honor of the Battle of Point Pleasant, but there was also monuments to everything else that ever happened there (except the Mothman and the Silver Bridge collapse, which are up the street). Aside from a slight headache at the barrage of history, it is pretty sweet. It sits at the point where the Ohio and Kanawha rivers meet giving a panorama of water and the three bridges that cross it. We saw barges full of coal drifting along (somehow it irrationally exciting). I felt I more than got my money's worth from the visit.

Our first hotel of the trip (some places we couldn't find anyone to mooch off of) was the Radisson Downtown Riverfront, which was not only super-space age looking but very comfortable. Before dinner we went to Theodore M. Berry International Friendship Park along the Ohio (no we were not yet sick of Ohio riverfront parks). I had seen Kasmira of What I Wore Today (http://whatiwore2day.blogspot.com/) take her photos there and it seemed like a good place to spend some time in the evening, after all the attractions had closed. It was as interesting a park as I've ever been in, half nature half industrial with modern sculpture and creative spaces joined to show all of the continents.

Dinner was back across the river in Main Strasse, the Main Street of Covington. An area of strong German influence its now a hip and trendy gathering of bars, restaurants, and shops. Its a nice area just to walk, with the narrow streets and historic homes reminiscent of an actual European city. While looking for parking we also stumbled upon Mother of God Church, which is immediately recognizable on the Covington skyline and a symbol of home for those who live there. While it was closed for the day we made sure to take a photo opportunity nonetheless. As for dinner, oh luscious dinner at the Cock and Bull pub. I can give the Bavarian pretzels and Raspberry Wheat beer my highest recommendation. It also had a distinctly European feel, with a bar staff that didn't make you feel like a bad person for not immediately knowing what you wanted, helpful recommendations, and as I said superior beer and food.

A word about the third passenger on out trip you may see in photos, Eric/Skarsgard. A depiction of a fictional character from Charlaine Harris' books he is portrayed in real life by an actor by the name of Skarsgard. He is (in case you couldn't tell) a paper doll given to me for my birthday before we left. Along for the ride, like the Roaming Gnome of Travelocity fame, you may see him pop up from time to time, like today when he battled the Mothman.