You are cool in Los Angeles

On the way to Los Angeles:

Lake Havasu


Terrible.


Sunset near the Arizona/California border


In the morning Adam ran through a list of things we could do. But quickly we got on the same wavelength when I admitted I was perfectly happy to do nothing and eat burgers.

In-N-Out specifically. The best fast food restaurant in the nation, the universe. The menu is simple, but if you know how, you can order from the secret menu. For instance. Ordering something "animal style" makes it extra delicious. They put it on the receipt, too, and if I find the means I will get that receipt up here. Adam and I went to In-N-Out twice in one day. Thankfully the crew had changed. Here is food from In-N-Out:



We did do touristy-resembling things. We went to the Santa Monica pier. Adam drives his car quickly and with confidence. And he was especially forgiving of my gasps and shrieks. Then:

the beach. Adam was talking on his phone and I wanted a picture of that. For some reason I didn't. I got distracted.


me standing in the Pacific ocean. Posture rather like a shocked penguin.


pinkberry frozen yogurt


people watching



leaning on the railing over the pier and talking


a tour through town, including backalleys


this sign. When we passed this, Adam calmly pointed at it, then said something pithy, like, "welcome to California."


Okay here's what I thought about Los Angeles: It was sort of like if everyone at my middle school moved together and founded a town. That's the sort of feeling. I don't know if that makes any sense. Everyone thought that they were being watched; and they were all watching. I remember being in middle school and thinking as I took my tray up to the trash can that everyone was watching my every move. Then I went home and my mom called me out on it; she said, "Honey, no one cares."

Well, Los Angeles cares. The sunglasses, the black leggings, the drink in your hand. Everyone was sitting and waiting for the director to yell, Action.

three is the magic number

I had some plans to, what, go west, take my time, turn around in LA. My new friends convinced me to detour to Bandelier and Taos. I did want to see Taos. Here's us outside our hostel, getting ready. Please note the mural.



Look at the road out of Santa Fe.



So in Bandelier, people used to live in caves high up on the wall. And they use ladders. It's neat, right? But did you know that they were in better shape than modern folks? The trails are easy and the views are sort of astounding. I asked The Brit, who has been traveling the national parks for 9 months, if he was jaded at all by these views. He said he wasn't.





Here is a good sign.



Here is a scene from a Robert Frost poem.



Here's a ladder going up high. We climbed a series of these, and I had to take a break. The air was so thin I couldn't quite catch my breath.



At the top the Brit gives us a historic overview of how the native people lived. He gestures thoughtfully.





I did wear my layers of clothing. And we did have a picnic of bread and croissant-type items stolen from the hostel. I introduced the idea of cream cheese and green olives. Cream cheese is called Philadelphia cheese in Europe.



Nearby is a really strange place called Los Alamos, and I'm not sure what they do there, but it involves: 1) the military 2) secrets 3) nuclear things. Lots of anti-war stuff going on.



We went through the checkpoint. The second checkpoint man gave us directions to the Black Hole Surplus Store.



Here they sell everything you could need if you were building a time machine. Motors, cables, chips, sprockets, nuts, bolts, hard hats, ticker tape machines, hot plates, magnets, tubes, coils, appliances, and filing cabinets. Also a nice basket of cassette tapes, 10 for $12. But the man let me have two tapes (an handmade mix called "Country" and The Cars) for fiddy cents. He also gave me a 60's looking timer that doesn't work. It says "NO GOOD" on the top. If all things had such a label.

One man at the store was cool and showed us a magic trick involving a magnet ball and copper tubing. Another guy told us that we, being English, German, and American, would all at one point have been killed as enemies of the state. It was pretty confusing actually. And a woman there told us to go two hours away to see Tinkertown. No one had heard of the rubber tire house.

Oh let me back up. Taos is famous for a few things. It is near a pueblo, it is near a huge gorge, and it is near a rumored land where the homes are made of tires and cans.

The gorge view was, as the book said it would be, mind boggling.



We sang "Like a Bridge Over Troubled Water." Here the Brit and the German are on the bridge, kicking snow at each other.




The Brit wanted a hotel room to watch the Grand Prix (pronounced Graynd Priks) but we never did see it. And the History channel was showing Pearl Harbor, and the German had never heard Josh Harnett's real voice, so that's how I ended up struggling to defend American culture in a Super 8 in Taos, New Mexico.

The rest of March 23

I decided next was Oxford. I just like southern college towns, I guess.

On the way there I got mesmerized by a giant Dairy Queen sign, and went on a detour through a town that had approx. 50 outlet stores and 0 Dairy Queens.

Then to Alabama, a state I'd never visited before. The welcome center was welcoming enough, with a serene display of rocking chairs chained to a porch.



I promise not to make any jokes involving the words "Sweet Home." I have too much respect for Alabama for that. But I will say they let me down with this overcrowded signpost. Make yourself clear, Alabama:



So far I've traveled backcountry roads in almost every state. Alabama was different. The small houses and stores I passed seemed sadder and more neglected than in previous places. And that's something. I saw confederate flags, to be sure, and propane tanks. It wasn't all that. It was something else.

Here's a list of the top automobiles to be found in Alabama

1. Gray pickup trucks
2. Red pickup trucks
3. SUVs
4. Kias

And here is a picture, somewhat blurry, of an entry for the Most Frightening Thing on the Road category. If you can't see it, it's a giant black pickup with a confederate flag on the tailgate. And filled with black trashbags.



Beyond sadness and pickup trucks, Alabama likes bingo. I saw a five mile stretch of road home to no less than six bingo places.

And beyond sadness and pickup trucks and bingo, Alabama is beautiful. Even the interstates are beautiful. I thought about taking a picture of the sun setting over the hills, but I just thought it wouldn't come close. It was indescribable. You have to know. And I think living here, yeah, even an athiest like me would feel the presence of something larger. Back east, it's hard to find spirituality in Target and Chilis. When the hills are large enough and the colors so vivid that you feel the size of a walnut, it's something else.

I stopped in Oxford, Misssissippi for the night. And here I am, at the Oxford public library.

Here is another contestant for the M.F.T.O.T.R. Can't remember where I saw this, but it scared the dickens out of me. It's a semi being towed by another semi. Imagine seeing this in your lane.

i feel like a luddite

Tuesday, March 17

Only because I can't work my digital camera as adeptly as I'd like. Otherwise I like technology, as evidenced by the existence of this blog. I realized I left the memory card reader at home, so this entry will make reference to photos that aren't updated yet. Update: Here are some photos of houses in Outer Banks. My future house:



Not my future house but another cool house that I wouldn't mind visiting if a friend of mine lived there:



I drove out of the Outer Banks on a road that let straight into nowhere. Literally! (That's for you, Jake.)



I drove on 64 West to Asheville, through the entirety of North Carolina. Though the road later widened into a four-lane faceless highway, it started out small and intimate. Went through a state park of some kind that had a serious nuclear fallout look going on. Also had periodic signs that reminded me that "IT IS ILLEGAL TO FEED BEARS ON THE HIGHWAY." Point taken.

I stopped in Chapel Hill for lunch. Chapel Hill is part of the Research Triangle, a title which I find impossible to take serious. Before I left, and between rounds of Ken-ken, I read about a small place that serves great BLTs. Anyone who knows me at all knows I am a BLT fiend (and a sandwich fanatic in general). Chapel Hill is an adorable little town and is extremely difficult to navigate.

I should take this time to mention my navigation system. I have a big road atlas--easy to read, though bordering on unwieldy. I also have two compasses. One suctioned to the front window and the other hanging from my review mirror. On their own, each is right about 75% of the time, so I use them together to orient myself. Also they provide a crowded, low-tech look to my vehicle which says, "This car is not worth stealing."

The compasses could not help me with Chapel Hill's winding roads. I got lost in three distinct ways.

1) Finding the BLT shack. I finally found it and they were no longer serving food. The cashier directed me, sort of, ( "behind you! No, the other way! You walked right past it.") towards a refrigerator case with some pre-made sandwiches, and this sufficed. Barbeque chicken with bacon and cheddar.

2) Leaving Chapel Hill. Proved difficult as the town lacked the normal "to get back on the interstate, turn here" signs. Once on the road again, I realized I was low on gas. I took the next exit, immediately west of Chapel Hill. You'd be wrong if you thought the next exit after a sizable town had any gas stations.

3) Finding gas and then returning to the interstate. I drove through rolling fields for 20 minutes before finding a BP. I shrieked with joy. A family man at the gas station directed me to follow another rolling country road and it would take me back. It did not. Lots and lots of dairy cows, and then the compasses were not in agreement, and a few small towns later I found the interstate. Miraculously I was 50 miles west of where I exited.

Was the sandwich worth it? Who can say, really? It was a good sandwich. To a certain degree I don't mind being a little lost, but getting lost three times in a row was trying. I will say the bacon lived up to its reputation.

The only things I remember about the rest of the ride to Asheville was that I calculated that if I go 75 mph, I can divide the distance by five and then multiply it by four to determine how much time is left. I also passed a motel sign that read: "WE'RE ALWAY'S OPEN" and that is not a typo on my part, and I thought about "alway's" for the next 15 minutes.

I have visted Felice and Ryan once before in Asheville. They are generous hosts. They also have two dogs and a cat. I am afraid of the cat because it's crazy and used to attack Felice in her sleep. I have said before to anyone who will listen that the cat is truly a sociopath. Felice disagrees but I have looked in Opus's eyes and seen nothing but the dark, silent lake of insanity there.

When Felice made up the couch for me, Opus took right to it.




I removed him but he returned a few times. Finally I let him sleep on my feet. At first it was comfortable, but he must have been hitting a pressure point which triggered a sensation I can only describe as anti-acupuncture. Instead of relaxing my muscles and promoting a sense of well being, Opus found a spot on my foot that tensed up my entire lower body and gave me an sense of stress and impending doom. At least he didn't bite my face.

Another thing of note is the series of bumper stickers that Felice has on her microwave. They are in a row and tell a sort of narrative. The first is "I voted," followed by an Obama sticker, followed by a psychedelic picture of a skeleton with a pumpkin for a head playing frisbee. There will be a picture here of it. Update: here it is.