Having just returned from a few weeks in the Virgin Islands I am left today hungover. Not from alcohol, but from easily adapting to a lifestyle that suits me and then being thrust back into the real.
I’ve neglected my blogs over the last few months due to the heavy undertaking of building ocean kayaks for the Virgin Islands trip. And today I find myself sitting in a chair in a silent room and staring at the black screen of a dormant television. Over the last two weeks I did not turn on a single television set. I did not log on to the Internet once. I did not post to blogs or update facebook. In fact, for the most part, my cell phone was powered down the entire time.
Down there I wore flip flops every day. Rather than watch the news or surf the world wide web, I sipped coffee. I watched the sun creep up over the hills and pour itself into the bay. I closed my eyes trying to absorb every wisp of wind that made me feel so at ease and so alive.
It didn’t occur to me until I returned to the mainland that I didn’t miss it; the technilogical leash I mean. Granted, I realize that at some point I would need the creative outlet that many of those things provide. But… I didn’t miss it.
So here I sit, laptop back on, logged on to this blog and basking in the irony of my need to type and post about my new found disdain for technology (Sometimes I am a walking contradiction.).
I think I am going to take a little break from social networking. I have a few things that need my focus and, honestly, I kind’ve enjoyed my recess. I hope this new semi-clarity has carved a permanent path in my brain. If you’re reading this, I thank you for taking the time to stop by my blogs and follow me along my meandering path. Make no mistake, I will be back. But for now…
“When I’m deep inside of me, don’t be too concerned. I won’t ask for nothing while I’m gone.”
Similar to several of my other work trips, the cool weather and rain were waiting in Houston to greet me. I think it was a combination of the weather, the destination, and my personal outlook on things at the time, but I proceeded from airplane to shuttle to rental car with overwhelming lethargy. And, in keeping with the overall vibe of the day, when I called the contractor to inform him that I was in town and would be stopping by the store for a visit, he responded gruffly, “I been waitin’ on ya’all all day and kane’t leave ‘til yer done, so get here.”
Houston… we are off to a rough start.
Rather than going to check into my hotel and easing into a nice relaxing lunch, I typed in the address of the job site into my navigation system and drove towards the job site that took me about a half an hour south of the airport. As I approached the site I noticed that it was in close proximity to the Johnson Space Center. Cooooool! In fact, it was taking me onto the grounds of the Johnson Space Center. I slowed my rental Jeep to a stop at a locked gate going across the road. Hmmmm…. A second look at my GPS showed the address I was given was not Wal Mart, but the helipad at the Johnson Space Center.
Great.
A quick call to mister friendly revealed that he was waiting on “us all” about thirty minutes NORTH of the airport, which put me roughly one hour away plus traffic.
I eventually made it to the job and disarmed the grizzly bear of a man with my wit and kindness. By the time I finished he was offering to lead me out of town so I didn’t get turned around again and would show me the best places in town to grab some food.
Me: 1 Bad Guys: 0.
Unfortunately that was the highlight of my brief visit to Houston, Texas. The remainder of the evening was spent in Frank N Steins bar eating fried pickles, drinking Grey Goose and tonics, and playing video trivia. Not exactly “experiencing” the city, but as I mentioned on my trip to Ohio; I don’t like cold and I don’t like rain and when the two combine into cold rain… I hibernate.
The next morning I defied the rain and my desire to just leave Texas and instead drove an hour south to the ocean. The nearest point I could find on the map was La Pointe, TX. Morning traffic was horrendous, the rain fell in buckets, and my opinion of Houston was diminishing every minute I was there.
I pulled into La Pointe and found that while I was near the ocean, there was a fenced off oil tanker field between me and the salt water. I shook my head and lowered it onto the steering wheel. Of all the things I WANTED to be doing in Texas, driving alone in the traffic and rain to get to an oil tanker field next to the ocean was NOT it!
I walked into the gas station/convenience store and asked the Hispanic gentleman behind the counter where I could find a beach.
“A beach?”
“Yes. A beach. With sand and water…”
“A beach?”
……………..
You get the point. I finally figured out that I was about a half a mile from a spot where I could actually access the ocean. I drove through the dreary little beach side neighborhood and found the sea. I stepped out into the steady downpour and walked in the rain along the beach. Why? Because I live in Kansas and, by God, I was going to spend a few minutes on the beach!
Overwhelming grey blanketed the ocean, the horizon, the beach, and my enjoyment of being at the ocean.
I took a few pictures, stole a little bit of sand, and turned the rental Jeep back towards Houston.
Next week I go to Austin, TX and am hoping for a little bit more inspiration to write about. Houston was… Well… We’ll see how Austin goes.
I sometimes hate how much time I spend looking down for seashells to take home and remember the ocean that I’m not looking at.
I stepped off the plane about 9:00 pm Reno time (11:00 my time) to an empty airport. The bright gaudy themed slot machines greeted me like an old friend. I had never been to Reno before, and as expected, it immediately and obviously gave me the feel of Vegas. The money began to vibrate in my pocket as the magnetic pull of the slots triggered a spontaneous vacuum. I shoved my hand into my pocket to block the tractor beam and hustled out of the danger zone.
Pulling out of the rental car lot, I didn’t even bother looking up the address of my hotel. I wouldn’t be going for a while. I followed I-80 to Virginia Street and drove under the now famous Reno Arch:
It gave the immediate feel of a poor man’s Vegas strip. There was a couple of blocks of brightly lit hotel/casinos and literally 3 people on the street. I’m guessing 9:30 on a January Tuesday night is not exactly peak season. I found the nearest parking garage and headed out to explore the Reno strip casinos.
I walked into the Cal Neva Casino and the only humans I encountered were either elderly security guards or the drunks being escorted out by said security guards. I had to search to find someone who was actually there to gamble. I didn’t stay at the Cal Neva for long. I wandered in and out of a few other casinos, lost a little bit of coin on the slot machines, and then decided I had a feel for the vibe for downtown Reno and was ready to move on.
My company put me up at the Boomtown Hotel and Casino which was not much of an improvement from the casinos I had left downtown. As I checked in, it was about midnight Reno time, which was 2 am real time. I was tired and had not yet had dinner. I asked the front desk if there were any open restaurants in the hotel. He told me the only thing open was the Dennys located through the completely vacant casino. …Dennys. “Perfect”, I said with as much sarcasm as I could muster.
I, of course, was the only patron of Dennys and was beginning to wonder if the population of Reno, Nevada is even in triple digets. The waitress with far too much make-up, personality, and hair spray asked for my order. But before I made my selection she had to warn me: “No tomatoes, no onion, no lettuce, no mushrooms, no american cheese, no soup, no…”. My impression of Reno was rapidly deteriorating. I polished off my hamburger with no vegetables and swiss cheese and dragged myself into my dated hotel room and fell immediately to sleep.
The next morning I woke, grabbed a coffee and walked out to my car. There are a couple of downsides to arriving at a new location at night. For me, I somehow lose my sense of direction. North, south, east, and west no longer register with me. I feel like I’ve been blindfolded, spun around twenty times, and released into a darkened room. If it weren’t for gravity, I wouldn’t even know up from down. The other issue is that I don’t get a good feel for my surroundings. As I stepped out of the lobby of the Boomtown Casino I stopped into a moment of awe. It is casually nestled in between gorgeous mountain ranges. I had no idea.
My entire drive to the job site was spent looking side to side taking mental pictures of the beautiful scenery.
My time on the job site came and went and I left with only thirty minutes of Reno time left before I needed to head back to the airport. I found myself driving again along I-80 and wishing I could wander up into the mountains but couldn’t find a road to take me there. A dirt/gravel road caught my eye and I pulled my rental Hyundai SUV slowly over to evaluate how gutsy I was feeling.
Hmmm….
So, up the dirt mountain road I went. I bounced up and down and side to side. I slid sideways and bounced in and out of ruts. I caught myself laughing out loud the entire time. I made it about 1/3 of the way up the mountain before I reached an area that I wasn’t willing to risk. I stopped the little Hyundai that could, got out, and took in the cool mountain air. With a plane to catch, I turned and headed back down the mountain. During a smooth patch, I took the opportunity to film a little video (the soundtrack was accidental - but groovy):
Reno, I was truly in awe. I had far too little time in an area that contains that much potential adventure. I shall return…
My part time (traveling) gig was discussing with me a job on Oahu, Hawaii in a few weeks.
That fell through.
Instead… St Louis, MO.
…sigh.
I was scheduled to fly out mid afternoon which would have put me in Phoenix just in time to get my car, drive to my hotel, and watch the sunset into the desert. About 30 minutes before my flight the bubbly female voice came over the loudspeaker asking for volunteers to bump to a later flight in exchange for airline credit.
…so I could spend an extra hour in the airport, for a flight I didn’t pay for, and receive free airline credit? I was the first one to the desk to volunteer.
An hour and a half later I was on my flight, now with a layover in Albuquerque, sitting in a lucky last minute aisle seat, and a travel voucher in my backpack. The couple next to me must have been in their sixties and appeared to be one of “those” couples that had been together so long that they were mirror images of the same person. In perfect synchronicity, when the ok was given, they withdrew their iPads, opened their e-reading apps and read from their respective tablets. Hers was white, his black; a paradox that distracted my entire flight. My attention was briefly broken by a lady standing in the aisle right behind me who was attempting to calm her crying baby by rocking it with the ferocity of a child with a stubborn etch-a-sketch. I didn’t rest much between Kansas City and Albequirqie.
After the layover, my notebook had one entry from the flight into Phoenix:
“If the overly effeminate flight attendant puts his junk on my shoulder one more time, I’m going to pinball machine pull that little thing.”
Arizona was dark when I arrived. I checked out my rental Kia SUV, made my way to Grand Avenue, and headed north into Surprise. After checking into the luxurious Comfort Inn I immediately left in search of some quality southwestern Mexican food. I quickly found that Surprise is somewhat of a sleepy town and the sidewalks had been rolled up by 9:00.
I found Macayos which, after sitting down, I learned has about a thousand locations in Arizona and Vegas. Oh well, the important facts are that they were open and they had 12 dollar margaritas served in the hat of a ceramic Mexican woman. The food was good, but no more special than anywhere else I had eaten, and the margarita was big enough that I had brain freeze and a burning gut by the time I threw in the towel. Back at the hotel the rest of my evening was spent searching the Internet for access to hiking trails in the nearby White Tank Mountains.
One hour before sunrise I woke, threw on my bright yellow Washington D.C. Marine Corps 10k long sleeve mock turtle neck and drove thirty minutes into the darkness. I drove to White Tank Mountain Regional Park which is 30,000 acres of protected desert mountains. It has a gift shop, hiking trails, and a few campsites. The park technically wasn’t open yet, but there was a guy in the booth who allowed me to pay my $6 entry fee and drive up the mountain.
My headlights found a sign that said “Waddell Trail” so I pulled over, locked up the Kia, and jogged up the trail. The sun was about a half an hour from climbing above the eastern horizon so there was just enough light to illuminate the trail. About a hundred yards up the trail I stopped for moment. Silence. Not just quiet; but silence. It wasn’t warm. It wasn’t cool. There was no wind to speak of. I held my breath. Complete silence. I was basking in the moment when I suddenly recalled passing several Mountain Lion and snake warning signs before I found the trail. If one of them got a hold of me, it would be days before someone started to smell my remains. I proceeded up the mountain.
The crunch of the dry ground beneath my Nikes was the only sound. I passed through fields of cactus that were surrounded by colorless mountains that made me feel like I was on a movie set. I was short on time because I actually had to “work”, so I decided I would run for twenty five minutes into the desert, take a few minutes to enjoy being surrounded by the Sonoran desert and then run the twenty five minutes back.
On cue, I reached my stopping point, turned and looked down the valley, and saw the sun just beginning to break the horizon. It was hypnotizing. I’ve seen sunrise in the mountains and over the ocean, but never across a desert. It was a different kind of beautiful. The silhouetted cactus and rock formations became softly illuminated. The sky revealed deep set blues and oranges that I had never seen before. I took pictures, but as often is the case, they don’t do it justice.
Feeling a renewed sense of tranquility I sadly paused at the car, looked out over the desert mountains, drew a deep breath and left the park.
The rest of my Arizona time was basically spent doing the job I was sent there to do. I stopped for a brief lunch at Jim’s Burgers and Eggs (More out of morbid curiosity than anything). I am sad to report that it was mediocre and a truly forgettable meal. I did stop back by the park for another brief hike. I loved my short time in the desert, but knew I couldn’t stay for great lengths. The saltwater would miss me.
…about 24 hours after I arrived in Phoenix, I was boarding the plane and leaving again. I feel a post coming on about what this job is doing to my travel habits.
Next stop: …TBD
“A man needs to feel the rhythms of the earth; he needs to have a hand in something real: the tiller of a boat, a set of reins, the roughness of rope, or simply a shovel. Can a man live all his days to keep his fingernails clean and trim? Is that what a boy dreams of?” — John Elderedge
“Make a radical change in your lifestyle and begin to boldly do things which you may previously never have thought of doing, or been too hesitant to attempt. So many people live within unhappy circumstances and yet will not take the initiative to change their situation because they are conditioned to a life of security, conformity, and conservation, all of which may appear to give one peace of mind, but in reality nothing is more damaging to the adventurous spirit within a man than a secure future. The very basic core of a man’s living spirit is his passion for adventure. The joy of life comes from our encounters with new experiences, and hence there is no greater joy than to have an endlessly changing horizon, for each day to have a new and different sun. If you want to get more out of life, you must lose your inclination for monotonous security and adopt a helter-skelter style of life that will at first appear to you to be crazy. But once you become accustomed to such a life you will see its full meaning and its incredible beauty.” — Into The Wild
Fifty eight minutes from wheels up in Kansas City to wheels down in Memphis, TN. I slept through the beverage cart sprinting by and woke just before the rubber hit the runway. Through the airport, into the rental car, and straight to the job. By 9 a.m. my “work” was complete and I had approximately eleven hours to take in as much as I possibly could.
I picked up my cell phone, opened the GPS Navigation and said, “Graceland” into the voice command. The technological leash guided my way and ten minutes later I rolled up Elvis Presley Boulevard to the home of the King of Rock and Roll. The grounds were barren except for the few security guards that were just coming on duty. The first tour wasn’t until 10 a.m. so I walked around the Convair 880 jet named the Lisa Marie now parked across the street from the house. It was massive and I found myself envisioning a life where I could travel to any place with a straight piece of asphalt big enough to land my plane. Elvis truly was the king!
By the time I wandered back inside to buy a tour ticket a crowd had formed; a surprisingly large crowd for a wintery overcast Monday morning. I was Waldo in a page full of charicatures of what you would expect a Graceland tour group to look like. (I tell myself that but I suppose the reality is I was every bit one of them.) We were issued a digital headset for our self guided tour and a small bus took us across to the mansion. I stepped out of the bus and there I was, at the base of the entrance of Graceland. I looked left and right, up and down, and all I could think was… that’s it?
Admittedly the inside, although rightfully dated and small by today’s standards, was just cool. This is where Elvis sat. Elvis walked this hallway. This is where Elvis ate. Everything had an almost religious vibe to it - tangible yet transcendent. Being a fan of rock and roll I can appreciate the contribution of Elvis Presley but often think the legend has outgrown the man. Either way I was with throngs of other sheep being herded because we were in Memphis and that’s what you do in Memphis; you see Graceland. The living room was ornate with peacock stained glass and white furniture. The kitchen was relatively small, but according to Lisa Marie who was talking into my headset during that part of the tour, was where everyone gathered. And just beyond the kitchen is the famous jungle room where the green carpet on the floor matched the green carpet on the ceiling. I wasn’t sure what to expect from the jungle room that I heard about so often, but that wasn’t it. The let down of the room itself was counterbalanced by the fact that Elvis recorded his last two albums in that room. We’ll call it a wash.
The tour concluded at the grave of the king himself. I equate that with seeing the Eiffel Tower, the Grand Canyon, and the Topless Tenors in Las Vegas. It was something that only after seeing, I deemed my life a little more fulfilled. Long Live the King!
Next stop - Beale Street, often called “The home of the blues”.
As I followed my GPS directions towards Beale Street I saw signs pointing the way to Sun Studio. Sun Studio is a gem that I hadn’t considered. I could not leave Memphis without seeing it with my own eyes.
The entrance to Sun Studio is, of course, the gift shop where you buy the tickets for the tour as well as t-shirts, stickers, hats, shot glasses, and everything else that could fit the Sun logo. I bought the ticket and spent my half an hour wait for the tour to begin looking at the pictures and memorabilia on the walls. Immediately I realized that, even though I knew that a few rock legends got their start at Sun, I had no idea what role that building truly played in the conception and mass exposure of rock and roll music.
Our tour guide, El Dorado (lead singer of the not so famous El Dorado and the Ruckus), escorted us up the stairs and into a small, one room museum. El Dorado gave the tour with an incredible amount of animation as well as undeniable conviction. He had a passion for the subject and a genuine charisma that led me to want to take the tour again just to hear him talk.
I stood in overwhelming revernce in the small studio room where Elvis, Johnny Cash, Carl Perkins, Jerry Lee Lewis, Howling Wolf, Roy Orbison, as well as others wrote and recorded. It was… heavy and it touched my soul.
I spent my last few hours walking up and down the world famous Beale Street where the “Memphis Blues” were born. The style was molded by the likes of Beale Street regulars like B.B. King, Louis Armstrong, Albert King, and Muddy Waters. I stumbled into Dyer’s for a double cheeseburger, a Budweiser, and a fried twinkie.
Blues bars lined both sides of the block spewing soulful notes from pentatonic minor scales. My favorite memory of Beale was the woman I heard belting out the blues as good as anyone I had ever heard. I couldn’t tell if it was a band or a recording that seduced my ears, but either way, her voice was hypnotic and strong and dominated the other sounds along the street. As I approached the courtyard where the sound was coming from I was amazed. A three piece band played up on the stage to a couple of dozen completely empty tables. The singer, with a cordless mic, sat alone at a table singing like she was in a sold out arena, as she casually flipped through a magazine. Unbelievable!
Heading back north up Beale street I stopped in at Silky O’Sullivans, the Rum Boogie Cafe, and B.B. King’s Blues Club to sample adult beverages before flying out. The sun had disappeared and so did my time. Over the span of twelve hours I consumed every ounce of Memphis I could get, and I loved it.
One last stop at Interstate Bar-B-Que for a plate of barbecued spaghetti and back on to the airplane.
Memphis, it was a true pleasure.
LOCATION: Ft Lauderdale, FL
WEATHER: Upper 70’s / overcast/ sporadic rain
A quick run through security, a brief St Louis layover, and a relaxing three hour southbound flight and, as I touched down in Fort Lauderdale, Florida, I could see the palm trees from my window seat. As I’ve said many times before, I know I’m where I want to be when I see palm trees. I saw palm trees and I was happy.
Almost seamlessly I breezed through the airport and into my rental Ford Escape. Proving that I learned from my last trip, before driving into the unknown I hooked up the iPod, dialed up some Bruce Springsteen, plugged in my phone and locked in my position on its GPS. Immediately the windows were down and the warm tropical air was blowing all around me as I headed out of the airport and made my way to Las Olas Boulevard. Las Olas is a famous Ft Lauderdale thoroughfare that is home to high end retail, big houses, big boats lining the inter-coastal waterway, and a variety of other shops, restaurants, and bars.
I drove east on Las Olas until I hit A1A, parked the car, and walked out knee deep into the ocean. The overcast sky was not very welcoming, but it didn’t matter. I felt at home. The wind blew strong as waves were breaking about thirty feet offshore in a constant barrage against the shore. I only had about a half an hour of daylight so I soaked it all in until darkness settled in and my view of the ocean faded to black.
In surrender I climbed back into the Escape and headed North on A1A. There wasn’t much activity on the beach or the shops and restaurants along the coast. I drove up into the city of Fort Lauderdale Beach and found Aruba Beach Cafe that offered live music, tropical drinks, and a table on the beach.
I ordered (and recommend) a 1/2 loaf of Bimini Bread with honey butter, a burger and fries, and a Budweiser. I sat alone at a small table in the corner of the outdoor patio. The funny thing is that most people were inside listening to the guy playing guitar and singing. There was probably five or more empty tables between my little table and the nearest other patron. I could just barely make out the waves rolling onto the sand in the darkness in front of me. I made small talk with the waitress and a drunk guy who stumbled into my view facing the ocean, held his arms out to the side and yelled, “How f#cking great is this?!?” …I assumed the question was rhetorical but he then turned and looked at me for an answer. We chatted for a while and he turned out to be a pretty nice guy.
I considered walking the beach before retiring to the hotel, but the thought of the undeniable lonliness was more than I cared to entertain. I drove inland about 10 miles, checked in, and called it a night.
My alarm sounded before sunup and I thoughtlessly dressed and drove right back to Aruba Beach Cafe. With inter-coastal drawbridge traffic, the ten mile drive took about a half an hour. Without much conscious thought I headed out for a sunrise jog. Again, consistently proving that God doesn’t want me to be too happy, the morning was completely overcast with occasional raindrops pelting me in the face. I was forced to dodge the washed up jellyfish landmines, but managed to get a couple of miles in. The clean ocean air breeds fitness. It is so easy to walk, run, bike, climb, or swim when tropical air is filling your lungs; even in the rain.
As quickly as I came to Florida, I was forced to leave. After my jog I cleaned up at the hotel, went to work for a few hours and in a torential downpour returned to the airport and my static existence in Kansas.
Less than one full day in Florida, but it was enough to keep my batteries charged until I return to the ocean.
Next stop: Memphis