on this page i will keep track on those i visit and record any writings, photos or videos i make while visiting. if any of these mean anything to you, you’re welcome to enjoy them, as well. from the world heritage list:1. great barrier reef, australia
2. fraser island, australia
knoxville is a gritty, hard-working sort of town and it seems like a fine place to begin my journey. knoxville is a long way from richmond, so i didn’t get to the hostel (which may be the only hostel in the state of tennessee) after dark. what i saw of the state from I-40 looked appealing: rolling hills, distant mountains and mysterious forests. i obviously needed a beer.
rolling into knoxville, it looks like a semi-industrial town with some small-town character. there’s some construction going on and it looks like expansion and revitalization. good. i’m still wondering where my beer is.
the gentleman who admitted me and took my $17 talked like he was 60, moved like he was 70 and smelled like he was 80. he was as gracious and kind as he could have been, though, and gave me a map of the ‘old city’ and recommendations on where to go. we discussed food and drink and and managed to quickly agree a beer was in my near future.
i wandered around downtown and, unable to follow his silly, incoherent directions, ended up in a coffee shop. they didn’t have beer, so i enjoyed the hell out of a hot chocolate. i couldn’t find anything else going on so i surrendered and called it a night. the only thing left was to decide whether it was worth it to stick around for much time during the day.
i’m about 30 minutes from grand smokey national forest, one of the most famous national parks in the united states. i wanted to do some camping and hiking on this trip and i can’t imagine i’m going to get a much better site than this (besides the grand canyon). so i’ll be staying another day and doing some hiking, bear-hunting, and camping.
i hope the park has beer.
the smokies are pretty damn impressive from about 10 miles out. that’s about when everything changes to accommodate their presence. the only things you see are hiking stores, cabins and museums. there are three roads that provide entrances to the park and about as many roads that wind through the park for those who don’t want to leave the safety of their vehicle. obviously, i’m here to get into the thick of things so “roads” aren’t going to do me much good.
i found the information booth where you can buy a map (for a buck). i bought my map and then shuffled my crap around between the car and my backpack. it took me about 45 minutes and should have been the first major signal that, in fact, i had no idea what i was doing. as it was, i wasn’t ready to concede any such thing and, loaded up with about 45 lbs of stuff i thought was vaguely important, i headed off.
i made it about 30 feet before a ranger called over and asked me where i was going. “oh, don’t worry, ranger, i’ve got it all worked out” and i whipped out my map and showed him the ‘trail’ i was taking. hmm. turns out i was a little premature (THAT never happens…); turns out, instead of hiking, i should have been driving along the road that went another 3 miles in. fine with me - i was planning a pretty huge hike and it was already 11:00-nothing wrong with a 3-mile head start.
the hike started off beautifully. i reckon it took about 45 minutes, certainly no more than an hour, before the novelty wore off and i realized that my feet were killing me. upon further inspection, i noticed my boots weren’t even tied. hmm. i also managed to have dress socks on. calvin klein probably didn’t intend those socks for hiking - just a hunch. after i threw on another pair of socks and laced up, i was seriously underway.
welll, i was underway for about 10 minutes before i slowed to address the debilitating pain in my groin. as i reflected (in agony), i realized it had only been about 3 years since my last hike, so i was a little bit confused as to why i should be in any pain. weird.
after some very deep stretching, i felt not at all improved. i had been hoping to average 3 or 4 miles an hour on this hike. i was now moving about 20 feet an hour. old people with walkers could have passed me on the trail and i would have been powerless to stop them.
i’m a fighter, though, and i perservered up the mountain (and i do mean UP) and managed to make it to the closest campsite. i collapsed. i barely managed to get my tent up (first time i’ve had that problem!) before crawling in and falling asleep. at 3:00 in the afternoon.
i slept for an hour or so, which as it turns out, was about the worst thing in the world i could do. not only did i still feel like ass, now i wasn’t tired. this became a much more significant dilemma about 9 hours later, at midnight, when i STILL could not fall asleep.
of course, it’s difficult to say whether the nap was my most significant problem or whether the 10-degree weather had anything to do with it. maybe the snow that i was trying to sleep on contributed, as well. perhaps it could have been easier to rest had i been able to feel any of my extremeties. it’s easy to second-guess.
long story short (right!), i cat-napped until about 8:30 when i “broke camp”–that’s misleading because it makes it sound like i know what i’m doing–and hightailed it back to the car. thankfully it was much easier going downhill than up. and my car requires much less of me than any mountain.
i think it may be a while before i try any cold-weather camping again. next time i’ll be sure to bring some electric socks and a keg.
it doesn’t take long in memphis to be propositioned by a hooker. it takes quite a bit longer, in fact, to find a hotel when there are three conventions in town. but the resourceful among you will have no problem using what God puts in front of you to find what you need. i had the hooker, so i used the hooker. are you curious how that might go down (pardon the pun)? a transcript:
hooker: “hey, boy, whatchoo doin walkin all by yoself?”
me: “well, i’m a long way from home and i don’t really know anyone here.”
hooker: “we could fix that problem pretty quick.”
me: “i reckon i’ll fix it just fine once i find a bar, thanks.”
hooker: “so you lookin for some company?”
me: “no, thank you, i’m just looking a cheap hotel.” [pause while the obvious dawns on me] “do you know of any?”
hooker: “king’s cross is the cheapest downtown, no doubt about it. i’ll walk you there.”
me: “why don’t you just tell me where it is? i’m sure you’ve got a busy night ahead of you.”
and that, as they say, was that.
now, king’s cross is not a beautiful place. it’s right by the greyhound station; just close enough, in fact, to catch all the strange and slightly unsettling smells that always seem to go along with bus stations. i was amazed to find a tv in the room, especially after i saw the “bathroom.”
good lord. never have i seen a bathroom in worse condition. the sink, the counter and the mirror were all cracked; the soap, still in its wrapper, looked like it hadn’t been touched in more than a few years and was now supporting a micro-culture of its own. it was with incredible reluctance, and only because i’d spent the last night sleeping on the snow, that i used the shower. i wish i’d had a body condom.
after a quick (!) shower, i needed to get out the hotel and find some dinner. i headed to beale st. here i encountered the first of the convention groups: a posse of country music DJ’s, in town for a st. jude’s fundraiser, was heading to an open bar. without any hesitation, so was i.
it wasn’t too early, but beale was dead when we got there. pretty much the only thing happening was this party. but the alcohol and appetizers were free. bingo. i was there for about half an hour before i realized i was actually starving for some real food. when i was seated upstairs, i ended up joining a couple at another table and passed the time learning about the second conference in town. they had come from asheville, nc, to take part in a free media event. that’s ‘free’ in the sense of ‘independent from the mainstream and actually compelling and interesting.’ by the end of the night we were joined by another solo traveller, this one a fellow just out of stanford. he used big words inside of long sentences. show-off.
the couple ended up giving us some tickets to the media conference opening party. we went. we partied. the people there made me realize where i truly was on the dork-meter. still pretty low. we tried beale st. again late-night, but there just was not a lot of activity. most of the bars were near empty and there was a distinct lack of people playing the blues, which was oddly sad.
in the morning, i drove around downtown and a little bit outside of memphis. it’s a pretty beat-up city. it’s far from pretty and easy to understand why everyone’s got the blues all the time. the weather was fairly nice, but other than that, i wouldn’t want to live here.
off to biloxi!!
the first thing you see in biloxi is a casino - the imperial palace. i figured i’d earn my hotel fare and ATM’d $100 and saddled up to the roulette wheel. if you weren’t sure until now, i can give you definitive proof that i am an idiot.
my idea was to bet on two different 3rd’s of the numbers. so i bet on 1-12 and 13-24; both of these pay 3-to-1, so I have a 2/3rd’s chance to win 50%. are you following me? now - on the betting turf (obviously it’s not called a turf, but i have no idea what it’s called), you’ve got all the numbers and then the groups on the outside. i lost half my money on my first bet bceause i tried to play the line between 1st 12 and 2nd 12. well, that line means 0 and 00. who knew? not me. long story short (well, it’s not too long a story), my $100 didn’t last long and i found a $60/night hotel.
when i got to the hotel, i asked if there was someplace to go out. they recommended the casino. there aren’t too many options in biloxi. at first i was a bit annoyed and then i remembered that hurricane that devastated the entire tri-state area a year ago. driving around, i stayed close to the gulf coast and saw lots of reminders of the destruction. many lots have still not had the trash and debris cleared. you can see where the boardwalk used to be and nothing has swept in to take its place yet. it’s a shame because it’s a beautiful area, just all beat to hell and back.
given the situation, there wasn’t too much reason to stick around too long in biloxi. i got in to the town late, slept, drove and took some pictures, and then headed out on I-10, ready for another adventure…
so i’m driving out of biloxi and my “battery charging” light comes on. now, it’s a red light so i’m thinking maybe that’s important. i check the owner’s manual and it tells me it signifies that the alternator is no long charging the battery. if i turn off cruise control, the radio, and every other electrical device, i should be able to drive a few miles to the nearest service station.
umm, where’s the service station?
i am seriously in the middle of nowhere. i drive for 15 minutes - nothing. i turn and drive for another 15 minutes - nothing. it’s just rural houses and rundown, vacant buildings. and poor people. and we’re not talking about poor people with handy honda toolboxes, either.
so i eventually run into a gas station and ask where the nearest garage/mechanic is. the old guy behind the counter mutters (seriously, mutters) something about “old mason” knowing something about cars, but he hasn’t seen him “since the hurricane.” jeez. i leave with directions to the nearest “big” town with a new appreciation for my full set of teeth.
following the instructions i got puts me down the main strip of gulfport, mississippi. a bustling metropolis it is not. it’s becoming clear very quickly i’m not going to find a neighborhood goodyear. i’m close to giving up hope when i spy the small white shack on the side of the road. i see lawnmowers–lots of lawnmowers–in the back and the hand-painted sign above the door says “fred’s fix it.” well, shit. i’m pretty desperate so we’re going to find out what fred has to say.
i knock and the oldest, grizzledest, cantankerous old black guy shuffles out. i ask where i can find a mechanic but fred, because it is fred himself, sidesteps the question and askes what the problem is. i explain my little light and he tells me to pop the hood. what can i lose? i pop the hood and watch skeptically as he peers inside. he stammers something about the japanese and shuffles back inside his shop without a word of explanation to me. he comes back out a minute later with a hammer and a pipe.
well, now. i am confident that fred is trying to do the right thing here, but the image of him with the hammer and the pipe combined with my engine doesn’t quite inspire confidence in me. i have visions of black smoke, my dead, black car and dead, black fred lying on top of it. i’m mentally running through ways i can politely tell him to back the fuck off my ride when he puts the pipe in the engine and pounds it with the hammer. the engine shudders for a second and fred asks me if the red light is still on.
country folk may not be able to talk about shakespeare. they may not be able to design their own web page. hell, some of them may get confused using an ATM but country folk know some shit about some shit. the damn red light was off. fred be praised. he explained something about brushes and rotors and assured me i’d make it to houston to be able to get it replaced. i’m still flabbergasted and staring at the dash in amazement. by the time i’d collected my wits enough to get my wallet out, he was inside the door. i yelled, asking him how much i owed him and he yelled back through the door that he was closed.
awesome.
i’ve wanted to see new orleans ever since katrina wrecked her unimaginable damage across the gulf coast and i got my chance coming out of biloxi. i didn’t want to spend the night there because of the chronic crime problems, but i thought it at least merited a drive through and it wasn’t too far out of the way. i’m glad i went.
new orleans looks like shit. being that that was my first time there, i have no way of knowing how much of it is attributable to the hurricane and how much to general conditions, but i know that it’s shit now. houses falling apart, lots filled with trash, and poor people absolutely everywhere. i can’t imagine it has much trouble cracking the top 10 dirtiest cities in the US.
i drove around downtown a bit, then parked and walked the french quarter. tourism dollars have spruced that area up disproportionately to anything surrounding it, but even in pristine condition, it reeks of alcohol and bad food. do you want to know what you have to do to get weed? you have to get out of your car. actually, i’m pretty sure they’re willing to overlook even that requirement. i was first propositioned about 30 seconds after i park and didn’t leave before i’d collected 8 more offers.
after revelling on bourbon street with saints fan (who were out for the eagles game) and driving through some of the beat-up parts of the city, i was sufficiently depressed and decided to move on.
if george bush does like black people, new orleans is not the proof.
it’s a city we all know and love - big sky country, as the locals call it, houston stays at the top of my list of beautiful american resort destinations. or not.
houston’s draw for me centers around one thing - adam kuhlmann. i holed up at his place for 2 or 3 nights and am eternally grateful. i have to report that he beat me at darts (probably because he cheated, but i’m not sure how yet), and is still as intelligent as ever. i was treated to a number of fine meals and even an art museum.
but the highlight of this trip has to be joel osteen. adam’s girlfriend is a good, christian girl and in the course of making fun of this (in a good-hearted manner, to be sure), we stumbled upon joel as a topic of discussion. it wasn’t long before we dared each other to go to his houston-based church, lakewood. sweet.
honestly, it was ridiculous. we’re walking from the parking garage to the church and the crowd gets bigger at every turn. i use the term ‘church’ faily loosely because the actual building is much closer to a stadium than a church. we get inside and we’re making our way to the cheap seats when an usher spots my camera and asks if we’re “first-timers.” we admit that we’ve never been here before and the usher tells us she can get us good seats down by the stage. floor seats. score.
she leads us into the labyrinth, down elevators, through secret hallways, past the ritual sacrifice rooms and finally opens the door onto the floor of the church. i’m not exaggerating when i tell you it was like walking into a rock concert. laser light show, pounding music, screaming fans - it was all there. our guide pushes through, taking us closer and closer to the stage. we end up 3 rows back, stage right maybe 15 feet from joel himself. i’m so giddy i’m shaking.
the singing (i believe the technical term is ‘praise) continues for some time before joel’s wife, victoria, gives a quick story. she tells us she dialed a wrong number and happened to have a conversation with the person who answered. amazingly enough, the person was in dire need of prayer and victoria was only too willing to oblige. it seems that perhaps that wasn’t a wrong number after all!! doesn’t god work in such mysterious ways?
anyway, the service was quite entertaining; joel’s a fine public speaker and everything is catered to those with short attention spans. beautiful people were all around us although it was a refreshing change of pace to see a fairly mixed group, racially and socio-economically. although i think it would a little difficult to find anything controversial or even disagreeable in joel’s “message” that 2007 is going to be a year of victory and preaching the power of positive thinking.
after the service, we wandered by the bookstore. we had time because it takes a while for 8,000 (typical attendance) people to leave a parking garage. if what we saw that sunday was representative at all, joel is making more money than he knows what to do with. he runs his church like a business, and it surely is a profitable one. the church considers you a member after 3 services, but you only have to buy 2 books to make it all the way into heaven.
frankly, i don’t think it’d be worth it.
how often does texas get an ice storm?
so i’m heading west along I-10, an enomous interstate that runs across the entire country, when i see a notice that about 100 miles of it are shut down, starting in boerne. so i’m on the phone to adam and puzzling over my AAA maps trying to figure out a way around this. i end up having to backtrack east a ways, shoot up north 40 miles or so, and then go west on route 190.
190 is not a road that’s seeing a lot of traffic. i end up on it for 60 or 70 miles and probably see a dozen cars, total. never mind the fact that i’m driving through a blizzard, this is some rural land. there’s a house every 3 miles and not much more to be seen. i figured out that if you want to live somewhere, do whatever the fuck you want and have no one bother you, texas is the spot.
i can’t drive too long without having disturbing visions of what’s going on at some of these houses. bestiality is probably the nicest thing i’m imagining. i’ll spare you the gory details and simply let you know, and i swear i’m not making this up, that i drove by a scantily-clad man dancing to a bonfire in an oil barrel in the backyard of his house. ridiculous. i couldn’t actually see the sacrifical virgin covered in pigs blood, but i’m sure she was there.
only slightly less bizarre was the town of Iraan. after some internet research (a fancy term that means ‘google’), i found out the name is actually a “clever” combination of the names Ira and Ann, the founders of the town. with a population of around 1000, it’s not setting any records for anything other than creepiness. it felt like the whole “town” was just some fake front for a secret military installation. you might say my imagination was working overtime, but i say screw you. there were weird lights, tanks, everything just looked official somehow. maybe the aforementioned blizzard i was driving through had some impact, as well. or maybe i was starting to hallucinate.
in any case, overall, it was a harrowing and hair-raising drive, and i only made it as far as fort stockton. i’d wanted to get all the way to phoenix, but with I-10 closed, that was never going to happen. for $40 i got a bed at the executive inn and hoped for faster travels the next day.
here’s all you need to know about phoenix: it’s not finished yet.
i couldn’t find any infomration (though i didn’t even look) but it seems like they are building a rail or trolley system that goes all over downtown and through the middle of every street. all i can tell you is that there is construction EVERYWHERE and it totally sucks. you’re driving on the right side of the street then all of a sudden you’re on the left side then you’re on the sidewalk then you’re in a 4-foot pothole then you’re…you get the point.
koon and i found a place to eat where vibe magazine was sponsoring a live poetry/slam sort of reading. interesting. one guy had an entire album of poetry dedicated to his dick. he read one of the pieces and, though i can’t remember any details at this point, i’m sure it was great.
we stayed in a hostel. in phoenix. is that weird? the answer is yes. there were 3 40-somethings who ran it and they were a little off. but very hospitable and very cheap. no complaints here!!
that’s really about all i have to say about phoenix.