All Good Thangs Must Come to an End

Regrets: not doing this, not going on the Charleston Prison tour, not still being on vacation

Summing it Up

Number of miles travelled: 2213
Number of State lines: 6
Number of U-turns: 17
Tanks of gas: 9

Live animal species petted: 9
Dolphins hit by ferry boats: 0
Southern BBQ restaurants experienced: 4
Pigs eaten: 2.5
Vegetarian restaurants: 1, grudgingly
Local beers tasted: 4

Average age of guys that hit on us: 20
Favorite pick-up line: “Are ya’ll on Spring Break?”
Number of successful pick-ups: 0
Number of Pretty Discounts: 5
Average $ amount spent at consignment, vintage, outlet stores: 300 each
Number of new outfits that no one in DC/Chicago will ever be able to recreate: infinite

Gracious hosts: 6
Coked out hostel owners: 1
Hippie musicians at Nashville hostel that tried to bum a ride: 2
Number of rides given: 0
“That’s what she said” jokes: 78 (before we lost count)
Recurring inappropriate conversation topics: 4
Liters of bourbon purchased: 2
Future barrels of bourbon to be purchased: 1, depending

Times we sang along to John Denver’s “Country Roads”: 21
Chapters of Harry Potter on audio book: 26
Times we listened to the news on the radio: 3
Paradigm-shifting, historic votes we missed back in DC: 1
Sports sections we read along the way: 3
Front pages we read: 0.5

Raw oysters consumed by vegetarian: 6
Fake-meat courses consumed by omnivores: 1

Stars seen in the northern GA wilderness: infinite
REM sleep hours camping in said forest: 1 (combined)
Times spandex took the place of pants: 14
Georgian octogenarians who judged and whispered to themselves about said spandex: 12

Number of sleepless hours: 8
Sleepless hours spent watching Miley Cyrus movie: 2
Ghosts captured on camera: 1
Bleached blonds encountered: 30+
Number of boxes of blond hair dye left on most CVS shelves: 0

Times Jackie asked to borrow toothpaste: 25
Times Rachel said “it’s in the plaid backpack”: 25
Times Jackie scored: 1
Age of the man (who assisted (in the indoor soccer game)): 44
Crushes developed on musicians we’ll never meet: 2

Cups of coffee held comfortably at one time by Amanda’s bladder: 0.3
Composting toilets used: 1
Clogged toilets we wished were composting: 1
Interiors of men’s bathrooms photographed: 1
Minutes spent in communal bathroom by hippie musician at one time: 43

Number of future road trips/vacations/long weekends/adventures planned: 79
Number that will actually happen: unclear as yet

Southern Hospitality

What they say, it really is true.

Don't get me wrong - I'm a proud Northerner. But we really have nothing on the South in terms of genuine kindness for kindness' sake.

I'm sure there are some qualifications, but we three young women have been on the receiving end of endless favors and generosity of spirit. We wanted to recognize some of these instances before we pull back in to Washington.

Obviously our hosts have been most graceful. They not only helped us keep the trip affordable, but also so much more enjoyable and educational and enlightened than we could've imagined. You not only showed us the best sleeping place you had (whether it be floors or newly renovated bedrooms), you really shared with us your lives and your hometowns. As Amanda said, you seemed to stop your lives to make sure we got to know these places, and had fun in the process. We got to go to a premiere equine hospital, the local speakeasy, and a self-sustaining farm. We petted bunnies and alpacas. We were treated to dinners and driving tours.

So, Pam, Bob, Ryan, Jon, Brent, Kathryn, Anna, and Patty: thank you, for everything. We had so much fun touring the monuments, seeing the lands, and mostly hearing your stories.

And Raja. Somehow you have not made it into the blog, but we hope you are reading. We met Raja in the line at the Pancake Pantry in Nashville (it was down the block!). She offered to show us around, as a native of the city, and gave us directions, tips, and answers. Then she paid for our brunch - a total surprise. Thank you.

Jackie has already posted about the nearly-toothless mechanic in West Virginia. In addition to thanking him, I also want to recommend the services of Import Auto Repair in Nashville. The overdrive on my car stopped working somewhere on the journey down to Tennessee. When I took it in to Import and explained my story, about how I was on a road trip and due in a National Forest later that day, they moved me to the front of the line, fixed the problem, gave me recommendations for the upcoming stop in Savannah, and even recommended a good car wash to get the filth of the journey off of my ride. Fully respectful the entire time. Thank you.

There are so many other favors that I haven't detailed here (like the discounted meal at Bluebird). We hope (and believe) that we've spiced things up for the people we've met, as well. And please know that anyone reading this is invited to stay on our floors, and tour our cities, anytime.

We'll try our best to exhibit some of that Southern charm.

The 2-Step Schlepp Northward

"OK, that's good."

"No!"

Doing the Charleston in Charleston. Yeah, it's deep.

We lost Amanda but we put her clothes on this other girl and made her hide her face all day.

Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil

Still recovering from the "Bobos go Camping" experience, Rachel and I decided to get our supernatural on during a Savannah Ghost Walk tour. The city is known for being the most haunted in America. With Spanish moss hanging off every tree as though it were weeping, and graveyards, marked and overlaid alike, underneath half the city's historic district, there's a distinctly eerie, ethereal quality to Savannah.

And while there were no crazies walking dog-less collars or pre-op transvestites with semi-mystical abilities, the movie Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil did a good job of capturing a certain essence of the city. Even Forrest Gump, sitting chattily on a Savannah park bench, embodied an inherent, friendly slowness about the city's preferred pace.

It helped that we were there on an overcast, intermittently rainy day. But the evening was dry and almost clear. The wide, flat streets gave the illusion of endlessness and somehow made the stories of the supernatural more plausible. The whole town feels like one big murder mystery dinner theater and I kept expecting the Ghost Tour guide to pull out a card saying I was found dead in the foyer of a knife wound.

Here she is looking a little ghostly herself without flesh, er, I mean, flash:

The other people on the tour was a couple in their 30s. The woman, tiny and with a hat covering most of her face, proudly outed her companion as a real, live Ghost Hunter 10 minutes into the tour. They were from DC, too, headed to Disney. The Ghost Tour was purely recreational, but at home, her companion owned the scientific instruments and devices necessary to track ghosts and spirits.

The Ghost Hunter himself was a squat, round man in jeans and a leather jacket who chewed at his gum nonchalantly while he explained that eddies were merely, usually just wind, NOT ghosts. And that people got excited about them irrationally. He said this, of course, as though disbelieving in the supernatural origin of eddies proved the supernatural origin of shadows and white spots in photographs. As though disbelieving in leprechauns made the rainbow's pot of gold real.

I shouldn't jest, though. We enjoyed the Ghost Tour immensely. It was one of the highlights of the trip. The cool-weather walk, the history, the well-recited stories of the tour guide, and the prospect that if I, too, died in Savannah, I'd have a better opportunity to haunt, and a wider social network to boot.

Here is the Haunted CVS that stands where an 18th-century jail once stood:

It housed the first woman to be hung in Georgia. She was imprisoned for murdering her rapist and watched the gallows outside her cell being built, while the baby she carried grew in her, knowing she'd be hung as soon as it was born. She haunts the store now, looking for her baby, overturning cotton balls and body wash in her quest.

Also, I caught a ghost on camera:

Outside the upper-right window. You know you see it. The spirit of a sailor's widow who jumped from the third floor upon learning of her husband's death. SUCK IT, Ghost Busters.

Saved

Rachel has some good ideas, I'll give her that.

Not many good ideas would get us all out of bed at 8 am, especially after Saturday consisted of a hike that none of our muscles were prepared for, a "fitness loop" that was riddled with medieval torture devices, and a grueling six-hour cross-Georgia over-packed car ride. But Rachel had done her Savannah research and it turned out that the oldest black church in America was located less than a mile from our hostel. And it was Sunday.

We debated putting on our big hats, nixed the jeans, and fortified ourselves with a large southern breakfast. And then we went to church.

I've always taken comfort from the ritual of the Episcopalian church that dominated by childhood Sundays and felt myself to be a decently spiritual person, regardless of the length of time between my visits to the alter. But a Baptist church was new ground and I was slightly nervous that we would be distinctly out of place and deemed disrespectful in what were clearly hallowed grounds. It turns out that we had no reason to worry.

At least four different members of the congregation stopped at our pew to thank us for joining them in worship. The usher asked me where I was from and whether I'd like to say a few words during the service (I nervously thanked him and declined). A small child in shiny patent leather shoes bumped into me in the hallway and blew a wet kiss.

The service started slowly with a short reading from the Bible and a couple of words from the pastor. And then the music started. I feel as though my description would only track what you've seen in movies, but I can only say that it doesn't feel like when you watch it in movies. People don't cry out for show, they audibly agree with the pastor. Everyone sings because the music is so sweet it's impossible not to join in. And the clapping is contagious. Everyone in this church was so HAPPY to be in church (when's the last time you said that?). So grateful to share in this community. So anxious to take the microphone just to say that they were happy for this day. The pastor joked about about the people who come to church only on Easter before asking everyone to bring all the friends they could to join them in two weeks. You could tell that this place was really home for a lot of people. It was really lovely to be a part of it, if only for an hour.

Good pick, Rach.

Map My Run

It's getting harder and harder to pull over and take mid-jump pictures on highways. Be satisfied with this sampling of state-line signs and take comfort in the fact that we have a border-crossing ritual that is always honored.

A Camping Story, Anonymous, Liberated Creatively

Friday night, 9:30 pm:

After 8 hours in the car, with at least one passenger recovering from an amaretto-sour-induced hangover, our heroines roll to a stop in front of the faux-old-timey National Park sign in northern Georgia.

CAMPGROUND FULL

“Didn’t the guy on the phone say it wouldn’t fill up this time of year?”

“Was I supposed to ask him?”

Fearing that they might have to spring for an expensive room in the lodge, our intrepid travelers learn that there is free camping allowed right beyond the cozy-looking cottages up the hill (fairly cheap but also full, natch).

The paved road ends, and they are alone in the car on barely-serviced gravel roads, in the pitch black. Scenes from Deliverance flash through their urban-bred imaginations.

One hungry traveler inhales a PB&J, as another ventures off into the woods with a headlamp to look for a good site.

“You know the bears will eat you first if you have peanut butter all over you, right?”

…

“Where are those napkins we stole from the lodge?” slightly panicked.

_______________________________________

Campsite chosen. Teeth brushed with water-bottle water. Tent constructed, inelegantly. Three spandex- and sweatshirt-clad women turn off the car’s headlights and climb into the 2-person tent.

“Should I set an alarm?”

“We’ll probably just get up with the sun. That’s how camping works.”

“We’re also going to bed at 10 pm.”

“Oh yeah, right.”

________________________________________

10:34 am Saturday:

“Guys, it’s 10:30.”

A moan emerges from the other side of the sunlit tent.

“I thought we’d get up with the sun.”

“I didn’t fall asleep until the sun came out.”

“Really??” says the tallest of the bunch, who had intelligently brought a sleeping pad, and to whom the other two had given the longest middle space in the tent.

Now, they try to glare at her, but the scowls on their faces are indistinguishable from the way their faces look this morning.

“You also spent the entire night rolling into us.”

“Actually, I think she just rolled into you. I was on an incline and keep rolling up against the side of the tent, away from the body warmth.”

“Guys, it was definitely down in the 30s last night.”

“Oh, we know. Also, my neck feels like there was an 18-wheeler on top of me last night.”

“My back hurts when I breathe.”

“Well I slept great!”

Glares.

“So, good thing we saved those 31 dollars each on that hotel room,” barely-veiled sarcasm.

“Can I go get a hotel room now? I’m ready for bed.”

“I have mild hypothermia in my toes.”

“I definitely did not fall asleep for more than 30 minutes at a time.”

“Who’s ready for a hike?!”

“I need to empty my bladder in the next 60 seconds or something bad will happen.”

“I briefly considered peeing in my sleeping bag last night, guys. At least I would’ve been warmer.”

“We appreciate you deciding against that.”

“Get me out of this demon tent.”

“Let’s never do this again, and let’s never tell anyone about this.”

Got biscuits?

We did.

Manuel: Designer to the Stars

I am now in the company of Elvis, Trisha Yearwood, and Keith Urban, among others. For I, too, have met the great Manuel.

Let me explain.

At the first honky tonk bar in Nashville, I saw the most remarkable article of clothing I may have ever seen. The jacket had a subtle dark blue pinstripe base, with lighter blue flowers and more sparkle than J-Lo would ever dream of wearing. After marveling and taking a few snapshots, I decided I had to know the jacket’s origins.

Turns out, not only is it one of a kind, but it is made by a true Nashville legend. As confirmed by People Magazine, he goes by only one name: Manuel.

Here’s the jacket (left) with its venerable creator (right).



The wearer was pleased to show me the masterpiece, explain how he came to be donning it, and even modeled it for me. Manuel, however, was not at all curious about this average-dressed northerner taking up his time (he does look quite proud of his work though). They were at the bar celebrating what appeared to be a friend’s 30th birthday party, and Manuel was busy twirling around younger (poorly-attired) women.

If only he would've offered to make me an outfit, too.

Music City

Before this trip, I had no idea that Nashville was nicknamed Music City. I knew Taylor Swift likes it here and tried to get a record deal in this town, but I thought that was her just being Miley. Turns out they're serious, y'all. This town is all music, all the time, and we absolutely adored it. From a cozy four-man-round at the Bluebird, to the raucous Country-Heath-Ledger-incarnate at Tootsie's honky tonk, to the Southern roots acoustic jam session at the famous Station Inn, everyone in this town has a voice and a guitar and you just want to hear what they have to say (sing). We fell for Nashville, hard.

And one more word on Nashville. Oh-my-goodness: the barbecue and the pecan pancakes. I'd come back just for that.

You Put the Lime in the Stone

Back in the bluegrass hills of Kentucky, I was caught taking notes on a bourbon tour. They accused me of being from the Maker's distillery.

The tour did, in fact, provide detailed instructions on how to make bourbon in the Woodford style (a corn/rye/barley mash, 3 unique copper stills for filtering) but I don’t think they have to worry about my competition in the bourbon market.*

What I did find worthy of sharing was the constant mention of limestone and its importance to the character of Kentucky, where it makes up 50% of surface rocks. All the things worth doing and seeing in KY are a direct result of limestone’s geological presence.

1. Horses

Limestone by definition contains at least 50% calcium carbonate, and this is given as a reason for the world-class equestrian breeding and horse population. The grass and water are like a multivitamin designed to raise quality horses for racing and competition. It also helps that these horse-breeders give their horses plastic surgery to make them more aerodynamic and correct the flaws in their leg bones. We learned this during an impromptu tour of one of the region’s top horse hospital, where the first sight that greeted us was an OR and an anesthetized horse.

Here’s our gracious host, Ryan, with a horse that has won his owners more than a million dollars:

2. Caves

Kentucky is home to the longest known cave in the world, Mammoth Cave National Park, a few hours south of Lexington. Caves are profligate in this region because the limestone dissolves relatively easily, with underground water deposits slowly, over thousands of years, washing the limestone layers out from under the topsoil and harder rocks. Like the Earth took a laxative and flushed out its system, leaving us these beautiful bowels to explore.

From one of the cave openings flowed an aptly named river, Styx. We took some pictures that Dante would be proud of:

3. Bourbon

Not only does the calcium make the Kentucky whiskey better for your bones than others (and that’s what I’ll be telling my doctor in 30 years), but limestone filters the underground water supplies out of much of its iron, which is good for the bourbon’s taste. It made the region the perfect source of America’s unique whiskey drink. Our guide, Sonny, a small, wiry retiree with an uncanny amount of hair for his age, claimed to go through a bottle a week. He looked ready for another 50 years of tours at the Woodford distillery.

Sonny poured a bit out of the 7-year-old barrels for us to taste—a thick, waxy bourbon with a kick to it (it had yet to go through its last few smoothing filters):

*I am, however, considering investing in the $100-something barrel that has been used to age the bourbon for 7 and a half years. They can only use bourbon barrels once, so they sell them (mostly to lesser-whiskey distillers) after. Beer brewers make bourbon cask ales; I have some ideas for bourbon-infused soups. Halvsies?

The NPR link, of course

Those who know me know that I couldn't get through a week of keeping a blog without some sort of NPR tie-in. The most direct link so far has been the dinner we ate in Lexington at Natasha's, where the night's entertainment was somewhat sponsored by the local NPR affiliate station.

But Wednesday's show at the renowned Bluebird Cafe provided a more interesting connection to one of my favorite projects that NPR News has been doing over the past couple of years.

The Bluebird Cafe features four artists singing in a round. The host of the program we saw was Lizza Connor, and her second song was about troops returning from Iraq and Afghanistan. The song talked about PTSD, employment problems, and other emotional challenges for the veterans.

NPR has made this a significant reporting initiative this year, partnering with several member stations to tell both a local and national story. I recommend listening for these stories, or checking them out here.

Okay, now the fun stuff. Check out this video of my favorite performer at Bluebird!

Horse Country

A Beautiful Mind

We had a brief layover to replace a broken headlight in Bluefield, WV, the home of John Nash, of A Beautiful Mind fame. Cheapest, friendliest car work ever received, by dirty men with few teeth. But I can only imagine the culture shock Nash experienced going from this grimy coal town to Princeton University. Enough to make anyone talk to imaginary friends perhaps.

Young Hollywood

Alpacas at Ryan's uncle's Alpaca farm outside Lexington, KY.

Snapshots from the Road

The lovely scaffolding was not what we hoped to encounter on our journey back to the homeland of Cville. This photo is the first in a series we're sure will be built over the course of two weeks. Jackie demonstrates stellar form. I'll have to take notes.




The Lodge at Liberty University's Snowplex. Looks like Noah's Ark may have crashed here and met an untimely end.



Breaking the rules at Liberty.

Lynchburg: a Haiku, annotated

Hark, from Charlottesville
Down 29, through the hills
The Hollers, it's said.

Discounted J-Crew
Don't jest! what were we to do?
If you'd seen the sales...*

From shopping to graves
Rebels and Yankees in stone**
Jesus always saves

Him, Falwell are close
Clad in plaid at Liberty
A big Christian dose

Of turf-made ski slopes
And sad dorms that say FEMALE
Dead bears, antelopes***

Hung on pre-fab walls
For God and J Crew, and War
For Lynchburg keeps score

Of the long death toll
Monument Terrace on hills
Brew and pizza fills

Holding hands, a kiss****
Breaking rules on the campus
Lynchburg, a pure bliss

And yes, yes, I know
Haikus aren't supposed to rhyme
So go write your own.


*$40 heeled combat boots. Don't knock 'em till you see 'em.
**In Lynchburg they at least bothered to label the dead Union soldiers' graves. Unlike some other former-Confederate-capitol city I know....
***Dear God, don't ever take small children to that lodge.
****Rachel suggested we do a 'fake kiss,' but I'm a big believer of authenticity in my photo-ops.

A Story of Creation

"Tell us how you two met."

"Well in those days, it was commonplace to walk the girl back to her dorm and stand outside the door saying your goodbyes. Of course, mostly couples stood there and made out in full view of other passersby. And he and I were both seeing other people. So he was there making out with this really ugly girl..."

"I can see I'll have to give my perspective, too."

"Well, and I was with this really dumb guy, so I was making out with him, but really I was watching this ugly girl make out with Bob, and I remember thinking, 'If he'll go out with her, surely he'll go out with me.' Of course, I would have gone on a date with anyone that asked me. I had gone to Catholic school..."

"You were quite a hit on campus with those skirts. Naturally, I thought you were out of my league, but when I saw you going out with that guy..."

"Well, I was from Philly, and the mini-skirt had become quite popular there. But I get down to Virginia and I was the only one wearing them. But that's not why you asked me out."

"Oh no, not at all."

First night: Washington, DC

The trip actually started last night, even though we quite literally hadn't left home. One of my housemates organized for a bluegrass band to play at our place in Columbia Heights, and so we invited over a few dozen friends, bought some beer, cleared out the furniture, and welcomed Society of Strangers.

It was a rousing success - the band played two sets with a mix of new material and covers, including several Johnny Cash songs and a clever remix of Coldplay's "Yellow" (which they called "Yeller").

It was a fitting beginning to the real journey which, predictably, started about two and a half hours after Jackie's scheduled departure time this morning.

The exception makes the rule

I'd like to point out that I packed the lightest for this trip-- words which heretofore have never been spoken by this girl. Given my extensive experience with the lovely 66-to-29 jaunt, I'll be piloting the first leg of the trip. This is captain A-bad, over and out.

Zyde- come again?

If Jackie's last post made anyone wonder what Zydeco is, you have to check out this video of a band playing at the Savannah Music Festival next week. They're called Jeffery Broussard and the Creole Cowboys. We're not sure if we'll be in town to see it, but hope to catch a similar act at some point on the trip.



Zydeco itself is apparently a musical style derived from Louisian Creole. Over the years it has adapted features of waltzes, blues, rock 'n roll, R&B, reggae, and hip hop, among other styles.

The official Zydeco Capital of the World is Opelousas, Louisiana. Guess who holds a key to that city? Why, Jeffery Broussard, of course. (Watch the video!)

The Purpose of Time is to Prevent Everything from Happening at Once

March 14th - 15th: Lynchburg, VA
Wild Mountain Thyme

March 15th - 17th: Lexington, KY
Bourbon and Horse Country

March 17th - 19th: Nashville, TN
Music of the South

March 19th - 20th: Chattahoochee National Park, GA
Sucking the Marrow of Life, briefly, and only after a hot shower

March 20th - 22nd: Savannah, GA
Zydeco and Zinfandels

March 22nd - 24th: Charleston, SC
The Southern Coast

March 24th - 25th: Chapel Hill, NC
The Hippie Southern College Town

March 25th - 27th: Richmond, VA
The Capitol of the Old South

Of course, there will be stops mid-way. Mammoth Cave National Park between Lexington and Nashville. The National Stock Car Hall of Fame between Charleston and Chapel Hill.

An alpaca farm, natch. Contain your jealousy, dear readers.

The Meta-Holler

I’ve further honed our 8-hour journey from Lynchburg, VA (through Blacksburg, VA for brunch) to Lexington, KY. And I’d just like to point out that we’ll be passing through the much-vaunted townships of Meta, KY and Justice, KY.

Do I already have photo-ops in mind for these signs? Absolutely.

Do they involve life-size cardboard cut-outs of famous philosophers? Potentially.


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It takes All Kinds to make the World

A 1960s dramatization of Flannery O'Connor's short story, Good Country People. Here's hoping we don't meet any traveling Bible salesmen/wooden-leg aficionados in Georgia, or (God forbid) nihilists.

We will, however, be visiting O'Connor's childhood home in Savannah for a brief homage.

Nothing is perfect, as Mrs. Hopewell likes to say. (Including, apparently, my map on this blog. Ah-hem.)

Call for suggestions

We are t-minus four days until departure, and our itinerary is still up in the air to some extent. I'm posting today to ask for suggestions of things to do and places to eat and stay when we're in the South. We have lists of activities and sites, but could always use the advice of someone who has been there before.

Of course, suggestions are welcome throughout the journey, as well.

The Long and Winding Road, tentatively

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This is where I'm coming from

That's my hometown of Durham, New Hampshire.

Yes, I am from northern New England (the only real part of New England), and I have in the past advocated for this region's secession from the rest of the country. It's not that I don't love California and Ohio and Colorado, it's just that I don't know that I want to be governed by them.

I know very little about the American South. For me, this road trip is partly to gain an appreciation of that area, partly to get out of the DC bubble, and mostly to have fun and explore with two good friends.

My mind is open. Give me your fried chicken and waffles. Show me the joys of ceiling fans made for the outdoors. Shower me with your twangy notes and soulful lyrics.

Just don't call me a Yankee.

So It Begins