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earlgreytea68) wrote2011-08-09 09:08 pm
earlgreytea68) wrote2011-08-09 09:08 pm
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A New Englander Moves to New Orleans, Chapter Three: The Drive Down
On a lovely Friday evening, just before Harry Potter's birthday, I left Boston.
I drove in from Rhode Island, weeping only periodically. I took the longer route just to give myself the treat of going over the Longfellow Bridge one last time. I probably almost caused an accident by craning around in my seat to freeze the image of the skyline into my memory. I picked up![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
arctacuda and we went to Harvard Square, so I could get one last iced tea at Tealuxe and we could both get last cupcakes at Sweet. Everything in the stores was Harry Potter-themed, and there was a group of people playing Quidditch in the alley between the two halves of the Coop, and that was when we realized: It was Harry Potter's birthday. I don't remember Harvard Square always celebrating Harry Potter's birthday in that way. I hope it becomes A Thing. I hope I come back to visit next year and there is Quidditch again in Harvard Square.
From Harvard Square, we went to pick up my work friend K in Charlestown, who was also making the drive with us. arctacuda had been waiting patiently for a delivery from UPS, which had been out for delivery that morning but had STILL not arrived, at 7 pm. We did one last check-in withbscotchpuma to make sure that the package hadn't arrived (it hadn't) and then followed the GPS...back through Harvard Square. Well. It was nice to get to say good-bye to it *again.*
We made excellent time that night from Massachusetts to Wilkes-Barre, Pennsylvania. I drove the whole way, because the driving was so easy. No traffic, no yelling at stupid people (I generally had easy drives when I drove; K attracted all of the stupid people). We eventually got to Wilkes-Barre sometime around 11 and decided to stop at the Holiday Inn Express we saw there. I'd made no reservations, uncertain how far we would get the first night, and for the first time, in the crowded parking lot, we became concerned the hotel might be sold out. Who are all these people staying in Wilkes-Barre, Pennsylvania? Anyway, we walked into the hotel, and I had this conversation with the man behind the front desk.
Me: Hi, do you have any rooms available tonight?
Him: Yes. (walks away)
Me: (stands, bewildered, at the front desk)
He eventually came back and told us the only room available was a smoking room. We were like, Hotels still have smoking rooms? Who are all these people who still smoke? We took the smoking room, which was on the fifth floor, thinking that it wouldn't be bad, but it did smell a lot like smoke, answering our question: People staying in the Holiday Inn in Wilkes-Barre, Pennsylvania, still smoke. The hotel also did not have HGTV, so whatever to that hotel. We went to bed, exhausted.
In the morning, we were greeted by FREE BREAKFAST. Huzzah! The bacon was gross, as it seemed as if it was just crispy fat, but it was nice not to have to worry about where we were getting breakfast, and the people-watching was fantastic. (Who was staying in Wilkes-Barre, Pennsylvania? Kids' sports teams, apparently.)
After breakfast, we checked out and got back on the road. And we learned this: Pennsylvania is an incredibly boring and annoying state. It's just so much longer than you think it should be. We were braced for the size of Southern states, but we had not mentally prepared ourselves for Pennsylvania. We were very tired of it very quickly.
K was playing a game I did not approve of that involved seeing how far we could go before being forced to get gas. Eventually, in the Middle of Nowhere, Pennsylvania (not its official name) (probably), she gave in and we stopped to get gas. While K pumped and I cleaned the windows, arctacuda went into the gas station to investigate snacking options. K and I finished up and got back in the car to wait for arctacuda, which was the point at which some stupid car decided that they had to use THIS PARTICULAR PUMP for their gas, none of the other empty pumps would do. So we moved the car and picked up arctacuda at the door to the store. arctacuda apologized for her delay, explaining that she had been learning all about the fact that the cashier's grandson's favorite show was Mickey Mouse Clubhouse. She also apparently learned something about Jesus in there, but when weren't we learning about Jesus on this trip? We learned many, many things from many, many billboards along the way.
FINALLY we got to Maryland. K and I both lived in Maryland at various points in our lives, and it's weird how, as soon as we crossed the state line, it felt recognizably like Maryland. And then, immediately, there was traffic. Yup, definitely Maryland. We were only in Maryland for ten miles, and we sat in traffic almost the whole time. Traffic that had not existed in Pennsylvania and vanished as soon as we reached West Virginia. We debated stopping to grab lunch somewhere, and then decided that maybe Maryland was manufacturing this traffic in order to coerce people into stopping and spending money in their state, so we refused to get food in Maryland on principle.
West Virginia was better than Maryland. It actually wasn't bad at all. There was civilization around, as evidenced by there being a DUNKIN' DONUTS. We moved over IMMEDIATELY when I saw that sign by the side of the road. We decided before stopping at Dunkin' Donuts, we would have lunch. I suggested Popeye's, saying that, in full disclosure, the biscuit was the best part about Popeye's. We went to Popeye's and parked next to a car from Rhode Island, which made me happy. Unfortunately, I was the only one who enjoyed my Popeye's meal. K was dubious about the fact that she was given a spork (although she did agree the biscuit was good) and arctacuda likes neither chicken nor biscuits, so Popeye's was perhaps not the best choice. Ah, well. Going to Popeye's did allow us to see the random trailer home parked in the grass behind the Popeye's parking lot, which I've got to admit was more like what I thought West Virginia would look like (I am a terrible New England elitist, I know).
After Popeye's, we went to Dunkin' Donuts. I ordered my usual iced tea, lemon, no sugar. I was told they were out of lemon. (K, afterwards: They're across the street from a grocery store, they can't go buy some lemons?) So I had it without lemon. K ordered an iced coffee. Then she decided that she wanted a hot cup to stick the iced coffee cup in. This, she claimed, would keep it from getting condensation all over my car. The guy clearly had no idea what she wanted the hot cup for, but he gave it to her. Then she fretted for a bit, while he was off making arctacuda's orange Coolatta, until she came over to me. "This isn't the size I wanted," she whispered. "What?" I said. "It's not the size hot cup I wanted," she hissed. "I wanted a medium sized cup. Do you think I can lean over and grab one from the pile?" I sighed heavily and said to the guy, "Excuse me. Could she have a medium hot cup?" He seemed even more confused by her demands, but he fetched us a hot cup. Somehow, this exchange resulted in a flight of fancy on arctacuda's part when we got back in the car that had me living in this parallel universe where I married the Dunkin' Donuts guy and had to live in West Virginia and work in a refinery. (Why couldn't we move to Boston? Why would I stop being a lawyer? These questions were never satisfactorily answered.)
We got out of West Virginia and settled into Virginia. Virginia is a very big state, but at least we were prepared for its size, unlike Pennsylvania. Virginia is also a very odd state. It has these things called "Safety Corridors" on portions of its highway. Apparently, the rest of Virginia's highways are danger corridors, or something. In the Safety Corridors, according to the sign, traffic infractions would result in higher fines than criminal violations. All this tells me is that the Safety Corridors are the best place to commit any criminal violations you might be thinking of committing. In Virginia we had the first Epic Saga of a Police Car Who Refused to Go Above the Speed Limit and So Hovered with the Traffic and Forced All of Us to Go an Unacceptable Speed Limit Speed for Many Miles. I am a fast driver. This was immensely frustrating. Unfortunately, we were to have another of these Epic Sagas in Tennessee when K was driving. It didn't get less frustrating, in case you were wondering.
We switched drivers, and I completely embarrassed K by waving at a Rhode Island car that we passed on the highway. I don't know why this embarrassed her, I thought it was charming. Anyway, as I was no longer driving, I had time to look at the map. And that was when I realized something: We were going to cross timezones in Tennessee. I was no longer sure if the GPS ETA had accounted for us moving back an hour or not. If the GPS was smart enough to know we were crossing a timezone, then we were looking at an extra hour of driving that I know none of us had been expecting. I decided not to say anything about this fear of mine at that time, choosing not to diminish morale this way unless I felt I absolutely had to.
These are the things we learned in Tennessee: Tennessee has TERRIBLE drivers. Tennessee won the award for worst drivers of any state we drove through. But, you know, we reasoned, it's hard to drive properly when your penis is so big. That is the only explanation for why there are so many enormous trucks on Tennessee roads doing completely stupid things.
Eventually, estimating with the map and the time, I felt that I had to say something about the timezone issue. "There's something I have to tell you," I announced, solemnly. "I didn't say anything earlier, because I didn't want to say anything unless I had to, but I think we have an extra hour of driving ahead of us that we weren't accounting for, because we're about to go back an hour when we cross the timezone." This announcement was meant by silence in the car, as we all absorbed this news. But then we recovered. K came up with a crazy goal. K frequently comes up with goals while driving, apparently this is A Thing for her. Goals like, She wants to average 65 miles an hour, stuff like that. So K announced her goal: "My goal is that the next sign we see for Nashville will show it's less than 100 miles away." (Nashville was our target for a stopping point that day.) There was a moment of silence. "You realize that's not a goal, right?" I said, finally. "That's, like, a hope, maybe. But you have no control over what sign we see next, or how close we are to Nashville at the moment. That's like me saying that my goal is that it doesn't rain today. How can that be my goal? There's nothing I can do to achieve that goal." I don't think K ever really understood what I was trying to say. All I know is that arctacuda suddenly got very quiet in the back seat of the car, until I eventually said, "What's wrong?" and she replied, "I don't want to ruin anyone's goals, but...I just saw a sign for Nashville." "Oh, no," said K. "What did it say?" "177 miles," arctacuda admitted after a second.
This was the lowest morale point of the entire trip. Not only had K's "goal" not been met, but we had SO MUCH DISTANCE to go before reaching Nashville. Wilkes-Barre to Nashville is an energetic day's drive. And it's not like we stop a lot, we'd been driving and driving and driving for a while. Then, to make it worse, a storm was kicking up. We watched it in front of us, the towering clouds and the flashing lightning. I could remember Southern thunderstorms, and my "goal" was that K not have to drive through one, at night, on a road filled with crazy Tennessee drivers. Eventually, arctacuda requested a bathroom break, about an hour outside Nashville. K parked the car in a way that was completely illegal, and then hopped out of it to make a phone call. This meant that I was left alone in the car staring at one of those huge scary crosses that for some reason periodically show up along the roads in the South. These crosses frighten me even in full daylight. Now I was looking at one at night with lightning forking all around it, like it was the Second Coming. That was not an experience I enjoyed.
We made it to Nashville without any rain hitting, thank God, and we drove straight downtown, which was extremely busy on this Saturday night. So busy that we had a lot of trouble finding a hotel room. We eventually located one at the Holiday Inn at the airport. And it was--wait for it--a smoking room again. It was also on the fifth floor again. At some point, it was almost like we were just living the same day over and over.
It was 10 pm, and we hadn't had dinner and were starving. Unfortunately, the hotel didn't have room service. Well, its informational book claimed it had room service, and that you should tune into Channel 37 on the TV to see the menu, but when you turned on Channel 37, all you saw was the menu for a pizza delivery place. I am not a huge pizza fan because of the fact that they fed it to us all the time at work, but beggars can't be choosers, so we gave up and ordered the pizza. And then I had to stay up an hour after eating, because my doctor told me that it upsets my stomach when I go to bed right after eating. Luckily, this hotel had HGTV, so I was able to watch Color Splash while I waited for my food to digest.
The following day we only had an eight-hour drive to get us into New Orleans. This meant we could spend the morning sightseeing in Nashville. We embarked from the hotel with the intention of grabbing breakfast downtown. We parked the car directly opposite the Hard Rock Cafe, in the middle of downtown, and went in search of a restaurant serving breakfast. And we searched. And we searched. Nashville has a lot of bars, but apparently its populace is usually so busy sleeping off the night before that they have no need for breakfast. It was so very hot and I could feel myself starting to feel sick as I got more and more dehydrated. We were in desperate need of water, but we couldn't even find a Starbucks to duck into. There was nothing.
Eventually, we took a break by ducking into the one souvenir store that was open, just because it happened to be air-conditioned. This turned out to be one of the world's awesomest souvenir stores. They had the most random stuff in there, like magnets for every state in the union (I bought the Rhode Island one). And a huge variety of salt-and-pepper shakers, including ones shaped like kangaroos and stamped "Nashville." Is Nashville known for its kangaroos? They had a lot of amazing Elvis Presley Christmas ornaments, and then, randomly, a lot of "I Love Lucy" merchandise. They also had a lot of really useful things, like a cheeseboard in the shape of a piano. I mean, if you're going to buy a chunk of wood in the shape of piano, at least it should have a hidden compartment for you to store your cheese knives, right?
When we reluctantly left the souvenir store, we ran into a man dressed as a clown making balloon animals. This is a totally true story. We said we were desperate to eat breakfast somewhere. Apparently, there is only one place in downtown Nashville to eat breakfast. He directed us to it. I do not remember the name of the restaurant. I do remember that the waiter was way too happy and energetic to suit my hot and exhausted mood. We drank a LOT of water, and I got myself to eat a little bit, even though I didn't feel like it. I've realized that I lose my appetite if I don't keep myself hydrated. It's kind of annoying.
Once we were done with breakfast, we decided it was too hot to do much more sightseeing, so we headed back to the car. On the way, though, we couldn't resist darting into a store to try on some cowboy boots. This was a lot of fun, but we just couldn't see ourselves as cowboy boot type of people, and cowboy boots are super-expensive! We paused at the Hard Rock Cafe so I could buy my father a T-shirt (I buy him one everywhere I go) and then we got back in the car and decided to do some car sightseeing.
There were only two places we really wanted to see: the Grand Ole Opry, because everyone kept asking us if we were going there, and the Parthenon, because it was so delightfully random. (Yes, Nashville has a replica of the Parthenon in one of its parks.) On the way to the Parthenon, we passed a Dunkin' Donuts, so, after going to the Parthenon (pretty much what it says on the tin. And still hot out), we stopped in the Dunkin' Donuts on the way back.
This Dunkin' Donuts was a little bit of an adventure. There was one person being served when we got there, so we started a line branching to the left of the cashier. Several people got in line behind us. For reasons unknown, some obnoxious guy in a Yankee T-shirt decided to start his own rival line branching out to the right of the cashier. I don't mean to be prejudiced or anything, but isn't that just like a Yankee fan? He kept huffing and puffing and sighing heavily when the cashier kept waiting on people from our line. Well, why did you have to start your own rival line? Why couldn't you just go with the flow?
When we got up to the cash register, I had this conversation with the cashier:
Me: Can I have a medium iced tea, lemon, no sugar?
Cashier (in disbelief): You want your iced tea unsweetened?
Me: Unsweetened, yes.
She gave me my iced tea...and two packets of lemon juice. I am slowly reaching the conclusion that Southerners don't really put lemon in their iced tea, do they?
Whatever, we got out to the car (where I took a photo of my two packets of lemon juice, because it cracked me up), I took my first sip of iced tea...and it was sweetened. Now, I cannot drink sweetened iced tea, I find it gross. So, rather than throw the entire cup away, I drove *back* to the Dunkin' Donuts and went back into the place.
The woman in front of me in line was being kind of annoying. "Do you have any special doughnuts? How much is a doughnut? What doughnut would you recommend?" OMG IT IS NOT HAUTE CUISINE. But eventually I got waited on and I explained, again, that I wanted unsweetened iced tea. They gave me a replacement iced tea, and this time it was unsweetened.
From there we went to the Grand Ole Opry. I admit I didn't really get what I was supposed to be being impressed by at the Grand Ole Opry. I kept asking who are the people who perform at the Grand Ole Opry. And why is it evoking "opera"? It looks like it's a big venue, and it's in a major complex, with a lot of shopping and restaurants and a riverboat, but it was way too hot to get out of the car. Mainly we drove through construction. The most notable thing about the trip was that the speed limit there was 24 miles per hour. Yup, 24. It wasn't a typo, either, it was on many, many signs.
So then we left Nashville. Tennessee had one last delightful interlude for us, though. We stopped to fill up the gas tank and use the bathroom. The ladies' room at the gas station was out of order, so we all used the men's room. The men's room was gross. I was warned by K that it smelled, so I was trying to hold my breath and/or breathe out of my mouth the whole time I was in there. And I was amazed because it had one of those "Guess Your Weight!" scales that you put money in and, well, I don't know what happens because I've never spent the money to find out. But I was like, "Who is thinking that, hey, it seems like a good idea to spend more time in this bathroom?" While I was washing my hands, I happened to glance over at the vending machine thingy against the wall. I had assumed this was selling condoms, but no, it was selling things like Horny Goat Weed. Apparently, things to get you in the mood where you might then need to purchase condoms. Is this a common issue men are having in gas station restrooms? And why are men so gross? (In case you're wondering, I decided that the Horny Goat Weed, if you took it, would cause you to see the goat from this video in the bathroom mirror.)
After all these musings of mine in the bathroom, I went to leave...and I couldn't get out. The lock thing was, like, stuck. So I had a moment of panic, thinking that I was trapped in this disgusting men's room somewhere in Tennessee with some freakish Horny Goat Weed thing. I was probably "trapped" for, like, five seconds before I got the lock to jiggle out. BUT STILL. IT WAS FIVE SECONDS TOO LONG.
We joyfully left Tennessee behind for Alabama, where the drivers were much, much better. Mostly the best on the trip. Except for the lady who was talking on her cell phone and almost killed us by veering into our lane without looking. ALWAYS CHECK YOUR BLIND SPOTS, PEOPLE. ALWAYS. This brush with death, a random space rocket by the side of the road, and a river combined to make Alabama initially much more interesting than we had been expecting. (Yes, we had reached the point in the trip where a bridge over a river becomes exciting.) But then, eventually, Alabama became extremely boring. We were waiting to get to Birmingham, where we thought we might hit suburbs or something, but Birmingham was an enormously disappointing city, very tiny with a few moderately tall buildings. "I wish something interesting would happen," arctacuda requested. At my alarm, she amended, "Something interesting and not dangerous." But it was too late. Something interesting arrived in the form of one of those violent Southern rainstorms where you can't see anything and you have to go, like, ten miles an hour with your flashers on and hope nobody in front of you stops and that everybody behind you sees you. Driving in Southern rain was where I learned to appreciate how much easier it is to drive in a snowstorm, trust me.
We made it through the rainstorm, however, and then we came to a fascinating highway sign telling us that the next exit would bring us to Kimberly Morris. This was no doubt two towns, Kimberly and Morris. However, it sounds like somebody's name, which sent us off on flights of fancy. What if you were named Kimberly Morris and you saw that sign? Wouldn't it be irresistible to you to get off at that exit? And then what waits for you off that exit? Probably nothing good, we decided, because the novel was more interesting that way. Probably Horny Goat Weed waits for you off that exit. And a hot Alabaman sheriff, because isn't that always the way? The name of the novel would be "Never Get Off the Highway in Alabama."
From Alabama, we entered Mississippi. And here is where we began to realize that, compared to Mississippi, Alabama is the most interesting state to drive through ever. Mississippi is so boring. At one point I became convinced we were just driving the same stretch of road over and over, passing the same cars, in a relentless loop that we would never be able to escape. Everything looked exactly the same. We passed one parcel of land that indicated it was for sale and debated who would buy this random patch of land on the side of a Mississippi highway. It just seemed hilarious to us, the idea of calling those people up. "Hello, we just drove by your parcel of land, how much do you want for it?" Mississippi made us laugh at stuff like this, we felt like we were going out of our minds. K was convinced that a certain decal on somebody's truck was a "dancing patriotic devil." Yes, that was her description. (It turned out to be a deer.) Strange things happened, like all-terrain vehicles randomly crossing the highway, and a car parked in the breakdown lane FACING THE WRONG DIRECTION. How do you even manage that? We were out of range of any McDonald's (I didn't even think that was possible in America) so eventually we stopped at a rest area, just to have something to do. (We chose one of the rest areas that indicated it had security. Mississippi has lots of rest areas whose signs says "No Security." Clearly, much like Virginia's Safety Corridors, this is where you go if you are a criminal.) We hit another storm, and that livened things up a bit.
K set herself another goal: that we would be out of Mississippi before nightfall. Well, it was a very near thing. With four miles to go, the sun had basically set. There was still red streaking the sky, and as long as we got into Louisiana while the sky was still pink, I thought we would win. Those four miles were the longest four miles of the day. I have no idea why they took so long to drive, but they took FOREVER. K was going some unbelievable speed in her quest to beat the night and we STILL just kept driving and driving in Mississippi. That is clearly how "Never Get Off the Highway in Alabama" ends, with a mad dash down an endless-seeming highway to beat the approach of the night that brings demons. Or something.
Eventually, we made it to Louisiana, we achieved our goal, and we were now so close to New Orleans.
And then we hit the traffic. Fierce, terrible, barely-moving traffic. Apparently, somebody in Louisiana thought it would be a good idea not to close just one lane of the highway but to close two lanes of the highway. The GPS earned every penny of its worth by telling us to get off the highway early, taking us a different way to avoid the absurd traffic. Unfortunately, this alternative route took us by the SCARY ABANDONED SIX FLAGS THEME PARK. I had been looking for blogs about New Orleans earlier in the week, and when you look for blogs about New Orleans the results are generally depressing things about Katrina. I came across one that was a video of Six Flags New Orleans, which was closed for Katrina and never reopened. I don't like abandoned places, they freak me out, and the abandoned theme park was no exception. The video said that it was scheduled to be torn down, and the video was pretty old, so when we saw the exit sign indicating that Six Flags was coming up, I said, "Oh! I saw a video about that Six Flags! It's been torn down--OH MY GOD IT'S STILL THERE." Because there in front of us loomed a dark, huge, spooky roller coaster. IT WAS TERRIFYING.
So that was my welcome back to New Orleans: traffic and a nightmare-inducing abandoned theme park.
Next time: My welcome back continues along roughly the same nightmare-inducing roller coaster path.
I drove in from Rhode Island, weeping only periodically. I took the longer route just to give myself the treat of going over the Longfellow Bridge one last time. I probably almost caused an accident by craning around in my seat to freeze the image of the skyline into my memory. I picked up
arctacuda and we went to Harvard Square, so I could get one last iced tea at Tealuxe and we could both get last cupcakes at Sweet. Everything in the stores was Harry Potter-themed, and there was a group of people playing Quidditch in the alley between the two halves of the Coop, and that was when we realized: It was Harry Potter's birthday. I don't remember Harvard Square always celebrating Harry Potter's birthday in that way. I hope it becomes A Thing. I hope I come back to visit next year and there is Quidditch again in Harvard Square. From Harvard Square, we went to pick up my work friend K in Charlestown, who was also making the drive with us. arctacuda had been waiting patiently for a delivery from UPS, which had been out for delivery that morning but had STILL not arrived, at 7 pm. We did one last check-in with
bscotchpuma to make sure that the package hadn't arrived (it hadn't) and then followed the GPS...back through Harvard Square. Well. It was nice to get to say good-bye to it *again.*We made excellent time that night from Massachusetts to Wilkes-Barre, Pennsylvania. I drove the whole way, because the driving was so easy. No traffic, no yelling at stupid people (I generally had easy drives when I drove; K attracted all of the stupid people). We eventually got to Wilkes-Barre sometime around 11 and decided to stop at the Holiday Inn Express we saw there. I'd made no reservations, uncertain how far we would get the first night, and for the first time, in the crowded parking lot, we became concerned the hotel might be sold out. Who are all these people staying in Wilkes-Barre, Pennsylvania? Anyway, we walked into the hotel, and I had this conversation with the man behind the front desk.
Me: Hi, do you have any rooms available tonight?
Him: Yes. (walks away)
Me: (stands, bewildered, at the front desk)
He eventually came back and told us the only room available was a smoking room. We were like, Hotels still have smoking rooms? Who are all these people who still smoke? We took the smoking room, which was on the fifth floor, thinking that it wouldn't be bad, but it did smell a lot like smoke, answering our question: People staying in the Holiday Inn in Wilkes-Barre, Pennsylvania, still smoke. The hotel also did not have HGTV, so whatever to that hotel. We went to bed, exhausted.
In the morning, we were greeted by FREE BREAKFAST. Huzzah! The bacon was gross, as it seemed as if it was just crispy fat, but it was nice not to have to worry about where we were getting breakfast, and the people-watching was fantastic. (Who was staying in Wilkes-Barre, Pennsylvania? Kids' sports teams, apparently.)
After breakfast, we checked out and got back on the road. And we learned this: Pennsylvania is an incredibly boring and annoying state. It's just so much longer than you think it should be. We were braced for the size of Southern states, but we had not mentally prepared ourselves for Pennsylvania. We were very tired of it very quickly.
K was playing a game I did not approve of that involved seeing how far we could go before being forced to get gas. Eventually, in the Middle of Nowhere, Pennsylvania (not its official name) (probably), she gave in and we stopped to get gas. While K pumped and I cleaned the windows, arctacuda went into the gas station to investigate snacking options. K and I finished up and got back in the car to wait for arctacuda, which was the point at which some stupid car decided that they had to use THIS PARTICULAR PUMP for their gas, none of the other empty pumps would do. So we moved the car and picked up arctacuda at the door to the store. arctacuda apologized for her delay, explaining that she had been learning all about the fact that the cashier's grandson's favorite show was Mickey Mouse Clubhouse. She also apparently learned something about Jesus in there, but when weren't we learning about Jesus on this trip? We learned many, many things from many, many billboards along the way.
FINALLY we got to Maryland. K and I both lived in Maryland at various points in our lives, and it's weird how, as soon as we crossed the state line, it felt recognizably like Maryland. And then, immediately, there was traffic. Yup, definitely Maryland. We were only in Maryland for ten miles, and we sat in traffic almost the whole time. Traffic that had not existed in Pennsylvania and vanished as soon as we reached West Virginia. We debated stopping to grab lunch somewhere, and then decided that maybe Maryland was manufacturing this traffic in order to coerce people into stopping and spending money in their state, so we refused to get food in Maryland on principle.
West Virginia was better than Maryland. It actually wasn't bad at all. There was civilization around, as evidenced by there being a DUNKIN' DONUTS. We moved over IMMEDIATELY when I saw that sign by the side of the road. We decided before stopping at Dunkin' Donuts, we would have lunch. I suggested Popeye's, saying that, in full disclosure, the biscuit was the best part about Popeye's. We went to Popeye's and parked next to a car from Rhode Island, which made me happy. Unfortunately, I was the only one who enjoyed my Popeye's meal. K was dubious about the fact that she was given a spork (although she did agree the biscuit was good) and arctacuda likes neither chicken nor biscuits, so Popeye's was perhaps not the best choice. Ah, well. Going to Popeye's did allow us to see the random trailer home parked in the grass behind the Popeye's parking lot, which I've got to admit was more like what I thought West Virginia would look like (I am a terrible New England elitist, I know).
After Popeye's, we went to Dunkin' Donuts. I ordered my usual iced tea, lemon, no sugar. I was told they were out of lemon. (K, afterwards: They're across the street from a grocery store, they can't go buy some lemons?) So I had it without lemon. K ordered an iced coffee. Then she decided that she wanted a hot cup to stick the iced coffee cup in. This, she claimed, would keep it from getting condensation all over my car. The guy clearly had no idea what she wanted the hot cup for, but he gave it to her. Then she fretted for a bit, while he was off making arctacuda's orange Coolatta, until she came over to me. "This isn't the size I wanted," she whispered. "What?" I said. "It's not the size hot cup I wanted," she hissed. "I wanted a medium sized cup. Do you think I can lean over and grab one from the pile?" I sighed heavily and said to the guy, "Excuse me. Could she have a medium hot cup?" He seemed even more confused by her demands, but he fetched us a hot cup. Somehow, this exchange resulted in a flight of fancy on arctacuda's part when we got back in the car that had me living in this parallel universe where I married the Dunkin' Donuts guy and had to live in West Virginia and work in a refinery. (Why couldn't we move to Boston? Why would I stop being a lawyer? These questions were never satisfactorily answered.)
We got out of West Virginia and settled into Virginia. Virginia is a very big state, but at least we were prepared for its size, unlike Pennsylvania. Virginia is also a very odd state. It has these things called "Safety Corridors" on portions of its highway. Apparently, the rest of Virginia's highways are danger corridors, or something. In the Safety Corridors, according to the sign, traffic infractions would result in higher fines than criminal violations. All this tells me is that the Safety Corridors are the best place to commit any criminal violations you might be thinking of committing. In Virginia we had the first Epic Saga of a Police Car Who Refused to Go Above the Speed Limit and So Hovered with the Traffic and Forced All of Us to Go an Unacceptable Speed Limit Speed for Many Miles. I am a fast driver. This was immensely frustrating. Unfortunately, we were to have another of these Epic Sagas in Tennessee when K was driving. It didn't get less frustrating, in case you were wondering.
We switched drivers, and I completely embarrassed K by waving at a Rhode Island car that we passed on the highway. I don't know why this embarrassed her, I thought it was charming. Anyway, as I was no longer driving, I had time to look at the map. And that was when I realized something: We were going to cross timezones in Tennessee. I was no longer sure if the GPS ETA had accounted for us moving back an hour or not. If the GPS was smart enough to know we were crossing a timezone, then we were looking at an extra hour of driving that I know none of us had been expecting. I decided not to say anything about this fear of mine at that time, choosing not to diminish morale this way unless I felt I absolutely had to.
These are the things we learned in Tennessee: Tennessee has TERRIBLE drivers. Tennessee won the award for worst drivers of any state we drove through. But, you know, we reasoned, it's hard to drive properly when your penis is so big. That is the only explanation for why there are so many enormous trucks on Tennessee roads doing completely stupid things.
Eventually, estimating with the map and the time, I felt that I had to say something about the timezone issue. "There's something I have to tell you," I announced, solemnly. "I didn't say anything earlier, because I didn't want to say anything unless I had to, but I think we have an extra hour of driving ahead of us that we weren't accounting for, because we're about to go back an hour when we cross the timezone." This announcement was meant by silence in the car, as we all absorbed this news. But then we recovered. K came up with a crazy goal. K frequently comes up with goals while driving, apparently this is A Thing for her. Goals like, She wants to average 65 miles an hour, stuff like that. So K announced her goal: "My goal is that the next sign we see for Nashville will show it's less than 100 miles away." (Nashville was our target for a stopping point that day.) There was a moment of silence. "You realize that's not a goal, right?" I said, finally. "That's, like, a hope, maybe. But you have no control over what sign we see next, or how close we are to Nashville at the moment. That's like me saying that my goal is that it doesn't rain today. How can that be my goal? There's nothing I can do to achieve that goal." I don't think K ever really understood what I was trying to say. All I know is that arctacuda suddenly got very quiet in the back seat of the car, until I eventually said, "What's wrong?" and she replied, "I don't want to ruin anyone's goals, but...I just saw a sign for Nashville." "Oh, no," said K. "What did it say?" "177 miles," arctacuda admitted after a second.
This was the lowest morale point of the entire trip. Not only had K's "goal" not been met, but we had SO MUCH DISTANCE to go before reaching Nashville. Wilkes-Barre to Nashville is an energetic day's drive. And it's not like we stop a lot, we'd been driving and driving and driving for a while. Then, to make it worse, a storm was kicking up. We watched it in front of us, the towering clouds and the flashing lightning. I could remember Southern thunderstorms, and my "goal" was that K not have to drive through one, at night, on a road filled with crazy Tennessee drivers. Eventually, arctacuda requested a bathroom break, about an hour outside Nashville. K parked the car in a way that was completely illegal, and then hopped out of it to make a phone call. This meant that I was left alone in the car staring at one of those huge scary crosses that for some reason periodically show up along the roads in the South. These crosses frighten me even in full daylight. Now I was looking at one at night with lightning forking all around it, like it was the Second Coming. That was not an experience I enjoyed.
We made it to Nashville without any rain hitting, thank God, and we drove straight downtown, which was extremely busy on this Saturday night. So busy that we had a lot of trouble finding a hotel room. We eventually located one at the Holiday Inn at the airport. And it was--wait for it--a smoking room again. It was also on the fifth floor again. At some point, it was almost like we were just living the same day over and over.
It was 10 pm, and we hadn't had dinner and were starving. Unfortunately, the hotel didn't have room service. Well, its informational book claimed it had room service, and that you should tune into Channel 37 on the TV to see the menu, but when you turned on Channel 37, all you saw was the menu for a pizza delivery place. I am not a huge pizza fan because of the fact that they fed it to us all the time at work, but beggars can't be choosers, so we gave up and ordered the pizza. And then I had to stay up an hour after eating, because my doctor told me that it upsets my stomach when I go to bed right after eating. Luckily, this hotel had HGTV, so I was able to watch Color Splash while I waited for my food to digest.
The following day we only had an eight-hour drive to get us into New Orleans. This meant we could spend the morning sightseeing in Nashville. We embarked from the hotel with the intention of grabbing breakfast downtown. We parked the car directly opposite the Hard Rock Cafe, in the middle of downtown, and went in search of a restaurant serving breakfast. And we searched. And we searched. Nashville has a lot of bars, but apparently its populace is usually so busy sleeping off the night before that they have no need for breakfast. It was so very hot and I could feel myself starting to feel sick as I got more and more dehydrated. We were in desperate need of water, but we couldn't even find a Starbucks to duck into. There was nothing.
Eventually, we took a break by ducking into the one souvenir store that was open, just because it happened to be air-conditioned. This turned out to be one of the world's awesomest souvenir stores. They had the most random stuff in there, like magnets for every state in the union (I bought the Rhode Island one). And a huge variety of salt-and-pepper shakers, including ones shaped like kangaroos and stamped "Nashville." Is Nashville known for its kangaroos? They had a lot of amazing Elvis Presley Christmas ornaments, and then, randomly, a lot of "I Love Lucy" merchandise. They also had a lot of really useful things, like a cheeseboard in the shape of a piano. I mean, if you're going to buy a chunk of wood in the shape of piano, at least it should have a hidden compartment for you to store your cheese knives, right?
When we reluctantly left the souvenir store, we ran into a man dressed as a clown making balloon animals. This is a totally true story. We said we were desperate to eat breakfast somewhere. Apparently, there is only one place in downtown Nashville to eat breakfast. He directed us to it. I do not remember the name of the restaurant. I do remember that the waiter was way too happy and energetic to suit my hot and exhausted mood. We drank a LOT of water, and I got myself to eat a little bit, even though I didn't feel like it. I've realized that I lose my appetite if I don't keep myself hydrated. It's kind of annoying.
Once we were done with breakfast, we decided it was too hot to do much more sightseeing, so we headed back to the car. On the way, though, we couldn't resist darting into a store to try on some cowboy boots. This was a lot of fun, but we just couldn't see ourselves as cowboy boot type of people, and cowboy boots are super-expensive! We paused at the Hard Rock Cafe so I could buy my father a T-shirt (I buy him one everywhere I go) and then we got back in the car and decided to do some car sightseeing.
There were only two places we really wanted to see: the Grand Ole Opry, because everyone kept asking us if we were going there, and the Parthenon, because it was so delightfully random. (Yes, Nashville has a replica of the Parthenon in one of its parks.) On the way to the Parthenon, we passed a Dunkin' Donuts, so, after going to the Parthenon (pretty much what it says on the tin. And still hot out), we stopped in the Dunkin' Donuts on the way back.
This Dunkin' Donuts was a little bit of an adventure. There was one person being served when we got there, so we started a line branching to the left of the cashier. Several people got in line behind us. For reasons unknown, some obnoxious guy in a Yankee T-shirt decided to start his own rival line branching out to the right of the cashier. I don't mean to be prejudiced or anything, but isn't that just like a Yankee fan? He kept huffing and puffing and sighing heavily when the cashier kept waiting on people from our line. Well, why did you have to start your own rival line? Why couldn't you just go with the flow?
When we got up to the cash register, I had this conversation with the cashier:
Me: Can I have a medium iced tea, lemon, no sugar?
Cashier (in disbelief): You want your iced tea unsweetened?
Me: Unsweetened, yes.
She gave me my iced tea...and two packets of lemon juice. I am slowly reaching the conclusion that Southerners don't really put lemon in their iced tea, do they?
Whatever, we got out to the car (where I took a photo of my two packets of lemon juice, because it cracked me up), I took my first sip of iced tea...and it was sweetened. Now, I cannot drink sweetened iced tea, I find it gross. So, rather than throw the entire cup away, I drove *back* to the Dunkin' Donuts and went back into the place.
The woman in front of me in line was being kind of annoying. "Do you have any special doughnuts? How much is a doughnut? What doughnut would you recommend?" OMG IT IS NOT HAUTE CUISINE. But eventually I got waited on and I explained, again, that I wanted unsweetened iced tea. They gave me a replacement iced tea, and this time it was unsweetened.
From there we went to the Grand Ole Opry. I admit I didn't really get what I was supposed to be being impressed by at the Grand Ole Opry. I kept asking who are the people who perform at the Grand Ole Opry. And why is it evoking "opera"? It looks like it's a big venue, and it's in a major complex, with a lot of shopping and restaurants and a riverboat, but it was way too hot to get out of the car. Mainly we drove through construction. The most notable thing about the trip was that the speed limit there was 24 miles per hour. Yup, 24. It wasn't a typo, either, it was on many, many signs.
So then we left Nashville. Tennessee had one last delightful interlude for us, though. We stopped to fill up the gas tank and use the bathroom. The ladies' room at the gas station was out of order, so we all used the men's room. The men's room was gross. I was warned by K that it smelled, so I was trying to hold my breath and/or breathe out of my mouth the whole time I was in there. And I was amazed because it had one of those "Guess Your Weight!" scales that you put money in and, well, I don't know what happens because I've never spent the money to find out. But I was like, "Who is thinking that, hey, it seems like a good idea to spend more time in this bathroom?" While I was washing my hands, I happened to glance over at the vending machine thingy against the wall. I had assumed this was selling condoms, but no, it was selling things like Horny Goat Weed. Apparently, things to get you in the mood where you might then need to purchase condoms. Is this a common issue men are having in gas station restrooms? And why are men so gross? (In case you're wondering, I decided that the Horny Goat Weed, if you took it, would cause you to see the goat from this video in the bathroom mirror.)
After all these musings of mine in the bathroom, I went to leave...and I couldn't get out. The lock thing was, like, stuck. So I had a moment of panic, thinking that I was trapped in this disgusting men's room somewhere in Tennessee with some freakish Horny Goat Weed thing. I was probably "trapped" for, like, five seconds before I got the lock to jiggle out. BUT STILL. IT WAS FIVE SECONDS TOO LONG.
We joyfully left Tennessee behind for Alabama, where the drivers were much, much better. Mostly the best on the trip. Except for the lady who was talking on her cell phone and almost killed us by veering into our lane without looking. ALWAYS CHECK YOUR BLIND SPOTS, PEOPLE. ALWAYS. This brush with death, a random space rocket by the side of the road, and a river combined to make Alabama initially much more interesting than we had been expecting. (Yes, we had reached the point in the trip where a bridge over a river becomes exciting.) But then, eventually, Alabama became extremely boring. We were waiting to get to Birmingham, where we thought we might hit suburbs or something, but Birmingham was an enormously disappointing city, very tiny with a few moderately tall buildings. "I wish something interesting would happen," arctacuda requested. At my alarm, she amended, "Something interesting and not dangerous." But it was too late. Something interesting arrived in the form of one of those violent Southern rainstorms where you can't see anything and you have to go, like, ten miles an hour with your flashers on and hope nobody in front of you stops and that everybody behind you sees you. Driving in Southern rain was where I learned to appreciate how much easier it is to drive in a snowstorm, trust me.
We made it through the rainstorm, however, and then we came to a fascinating highway sign telling us that the next exit would bring us to Kimberly Morris. This was no doubt two towns, Kimberly and Morris. However, it sounds like somebody's name, which sent us off on flights of fancy. What if you were named Kimberly Morris and you saw that sign? Wouldn't it be irresistible to you to get off at that exit? And then what waits for you off that exit? Probably nothing good, we decided, because the novel was more interesting that way. Probably Horny Goat Weed waits for you off that exit. And a hot Alabaman sheriff, because isn't that always the way? The name of the novel would be "Never Get Off the Highway in Alabama."
From Alabama, we entered Mississippi. And here is where we began to realize that, compared to Mississippi, Alabama is the most interesting state to drive through ever. Mississippi is so boring. At one point I became convinced we were just driving the same stretch of road over and over, passing the same cars, in a relentless loop that we would never be able to escape. Everything looked exactly the same. We passed one parcel of land that indicated it was for sale and debated who would buy this random patch of land on the side of a Mississippi highway. It just seemed hilarious to us, the idea of calling those people up. "Hello, we just drove by your parcel of land, how much do you want for it?" Mississippi made us laugh at stuff like this, we felt like we were going out of our minds. K was convinced that a certain decal on somebody's truck was a "dancing patriotic devil." Yes, that was her description. (It turned out to be a deer.) Strange things happened, like all-terrain vehicles randomly crossing the highway, and a car parked in the breakdown lane FACING THE WRONG DIRECTION. How do you even manage that? We were out of range of any McDonald's (I didn't even think that was possible in America) so eventually we stopped at a rest area, just to have something to do. (We chose one of the rest areas that indicated it had security. Mississippi has lots of rest areas whose signs says "No Security." Clearly, much like Virginia's Safety Corridors, this is where you go if you are a criminal.) We hit another storm, and that livened things up a bit.
K set herself another goal: that we would be out of Mississippi before nightfall. Well, it was a very near thing. With four miles to go, the sun had basically set. There was still red streaking the sky, and as long as we got into Louisiana while the sky was still pink, I thought we would win. Those four miles were the longest four miles of the day. I have no idea why they took so long to drive, but they took FOREVER. K was going some unbelievable speed in her quest to beat the night and we STILL just kept driving and driving in Mississippi. That is clearly how "Never Get Off the Highway in Alabama" ends, with a mad dash down an endless-seeming highway to beat the approach of the night that brings demons. Or something.
Eventually, we made it to Louisiana, we achieved our goal, and we were now so close to New Orleans.
And then we hit the traffic. Fierce, terrible, barely-moving traffic. Apparently, somebody in Louisiana thought it would be a good idea not to close just one lane of the highway but to close two lanes of the highway. The GPS earned every penny of its worth by telling us to get off the highway early, taking us a different way to avoid the absurd traffic. Unfortunately, this alternative route took us by the SCARY ABANDONED SIX FLAGS THEME PARK. I had been looking for blogs about New Orleans earlier in the week, and when you look for blogs about New Orleans the results are generally depressing things about Katrina. I came across one that was a video of Six Flags New Orleans, which was closed for Katrina and never reopened. I don't like abandoned places, they freak me out, and the abandoned theme park was no exception. The video said that it was scheduled to be torn down, and the video was pretty old, so when we saw the exit sign indicating that Six Flags was coming up, I said, "Oh! I saw a video about that Six Flags! It's been torn down--OH MY GOD IT'S STILL THERE." Because there in front of us loomed a dark, huge, spooky roller coaster. IT WAS TERRIFYING.
So that was my welcome back to New Orleans: traffic and a nightmare-inducing abandoned theme park.
Next time: My welcome back continues along roughly the same nightmare-inducing roller coaster path.