The End.

It’s Friday morning, and we just woke up in San Francisco at Sister’s casita (yay). Just as expected, the city is wrapped with a thick and misty layer of fog – I never thought the day would come that I missed it, but I guess I did. As we passed over the Bay Bridge yesterday afternoon, and made the transition from the hot valley to the cool San Francisco summer, the damp air blew a sweet cooling breeze through the car, and we knew we were home. You can always count on this city to welcome you with a nippy, time to put on another layer, kiss.

There was a weird and wonderful silence in the car as we gradually made our way through the awkward merges and exit only lanes which make up the City’s rush hour traffic. In one respect, we have been on an absolutely relaxing vacation for the last three months. On the other hand, I totally feel as though we have just accomplished a wild and enduring mission. Despite the fact that we were on holiday, I feel a mad sense of accomplishment. Jarvis and I totally have a high-five moment to celebrate our success.

It’s nice to be back in a city where I know my way around. Back in the Mission where people and places have familiar faces. The long-standing streets and storefronts are glowing in a new light, and as we walk through the Excelsior, I remember all those little things that I absolutely love about this place. We have dinner with some of the family crew, and it’s almost like we never left. We are both completely stoked to be home.

I know I’ve tried to describe in words the fine points which have made this crazy connect the dots experience a complete picture. In reality, I don’t think I will ever be able to illustrate all of the moments that made this summer the best I have ever had. The current status of our nation is not just a blanket statement, it’s actually a lot of small components which comprise a greater whole – a vast continuum of colors which melt into one abstract and indescribable painting. The majority of our journey has been sugary bliss – there were only a small handful of moments that left a bitter tartness behind – and I defiantly feel as though we both got a hefty dose of The All American Way. The one thing I can say for sure about the whole expedition is that the time I got to spend with my best friend will be forever unforgettable, and the best part is that it’s only the beginning of an even longer journey that we plan on undertaking together. Frankly, it’s an indescribable feeling…sweet as saccharine sugar.

Count Down to the End ~ Day Two

Casper, Wyoming was nothing to write home about – just a roadside stop for truckers and those making the trek across the big open west. The landscape in Wyoming is barren, minus the brushy fields and the herds of wild antelope. Truly one of the nations “great frontiers,” and now I understand the meaning to the “home on the range” song. It took us the better part of the morning to get out of the massive state.

We maneuver down sloping roads, which run between rock walled canyons, and into Salt Lake City. Just outside of the city, we stop in a “town” called Delle. One of the many fuel stops today, and this one brings us to a station in the middle of the great salt flats. This place is teetering on the boundary between life and death – it’s nearly October and the second I get out of the car I can feel the dry heat slap me in the face like a death wish. In a way, the white landscape reminds me of our drive into White Sands. The only difference is that White Sands is better.

We enter Nevada, and I can’t help but discuss the fact that we have truly come full circle. The drive through the desert landscape takes all afternoon, and when dusk hits we are still some one hundred and fifty miles outside of Reno – our destination goal for the day. The sun sets behind the high desert wasteland, and as the sky turns shades of pinks and purples, distant stars appear in the distance. I’m feeling sentimental about the trip drawing to an end. I close my eyes (Jarvis is driving) and take a deep breath – thankful to the world around me for blessing me with this life. Then, like clockwork, the early evening bugs come out of the woodworks, and within minutes the windshield is covered with insect carcasses.

We pull into Reno around nine o’clock. We have been in the car for thirteen hours, and are ready for something to eat other than road snacks, and drinks. We decided to have one last night of celebration together, being that we are technically on the last day of our honeymoon. We get a suite at the Peppermill, and head downstairs for dinner. Unfortunately, everything except the twenty-four hour diner is already closed and our waitress there is a total tweaker. We eat some grub, and then grab some drinks at one of the casino bars. We reminisce on what an amazing summer we have both had. I’m utterly grateful that I have met a person whom I can spend three strait months with, and never run out of things to talk about. I’m not even close to being sick of spending time with my amazing Jarvis, and I would keep the journey going if I could. I keep reminding myself that our journey has only begun.

This morning we lay in bed and you can tell there is a sense of sadness in the air. In one respect, we are so ready to get back to San Francisco, and in another, we really just want to get in the car and drive back the other way. Only four hours to San Francisco now.

Count Down to the End ~ Day Two

Casper, Wyoming was nothing to write home about – just a roadside stop for truckers and those making the trek across the big open west. The landscape in Wyoming is barren, minus the brushy fields and the herds of wild antelope. Truly one of the nations “great frontiers,” and now I understand the meaning to the “home on the range” song. It took us the better part of the morning to get out of the massive state.

We maneuver down sloping roads, which run between rock walled canyons, and into Salt Lake City. Just outside of the city, we stop in a “town” called Delle. One of the many fuel stops today, and this one brings us to a station in the middle of the great salt flats. This place is teetering on the boundary between life and death – it’s nearly October and the second I get out of the car I can feel the dry heat slap me in the face like a death wish. In a way, the white landscape reminds me of our drive into White Sands. The only difference is that White Sands is better.

We enter Nevada, and I can’t help but discuss the fact that we have truly come full circle. The drive through the desert landscape takes all afternoon, and when dusk hits we are still some one hundred and fifty miles outside of Reno – our destination goal for the day. The sun sets behind the high desert wasteland, and as the sky turns shades of pinks and purples, distant stars appear in the distance. I’m feeling sentimental about the trip drawing to an end. I close my eyes (Jarvis is driving) and take a deep breath – thankful to the world around me for blessing me with this life. Then, like clockwork, the early evening bugs come out of the woodworks, and within minutes the windshield is covered with insect carcasses.

We pull into Reno around nine o’clock. We have been in the car for thirteen hours, and are ready for something to eat other than road snacks, and drinks. We decided to have one last night of celebration together, being that we are technically on the last day of our honeymoon. We get a suite at the Peppermill, and head downstairs for dinner. Unfortunately, everything except the twenty-four hour diner is already closed and our waitress there is a total tweaker. We eat some grub, and then grab some drinks at one of the casino bars. We reminisce on what an amazing summer we have both had. I’m utterly grateful that I have met a person whom I can spend three strait months with, and never run out of things to talk about. I’m not even close to being sick of spending time with my amazing Jarvis, and I would keep the journey going if I could. I keep reminding myself that our journey has only begun.

This morning we lay in bed and you can tell there is a sense of sadness in the air. In one respect, we are so ready to get back to San Francisco, and in another, we really just want to get in the car and drive back the other way. Only four hours to San Francisco now.

Count Down to the End ~ Day One

This morning when we woke up we were approximately thirty hours driving time from San Francisco. We gave our love to my in-laws, stopped off at Casey’s for some gas and donuts, and hit the road heading back West. The sun was just rising as we drove out of the prairie land of Southwest Minnesota. Everything was tucked into a balmy layer of pinks, and the glow on the horizon kissed the earth with a kindhearted smooch. I blew back kisses as we left the Land of Ten Thousand Lakes.

It wasn’t long before we drove through Brookings, South Dakota. A supersized Red Bull and some authentic Buffalo Ridge jerky sticks later, we flew through Rapid City on the West side of the state. Lost in our excitement to get back to California, we almost forgot that we were on a quest to review all things that make this land “America”. Luckily, we remembered just in time to take a small detour to Mt. Rushmore. I mean, a tour de USA could not be complete without visiting an oversized monument of our Freemason Forefathers. Although I can appreciate the effort that must have gone into such a massive project, my general opinion is that the whole tourist attraction is really nothing special. We did get some good photos, however, and now we can say that we’ve “been there, and done that.” (Actually, we had both visited the park when we were younger, but thought we would reevaluate with our “grown-up eyes”.) The stop did allow us to walk off our lunch, catch some fresh summer air, and look down on the badass Badlands of South Dakota…so, I guess all-in-all the destination was a bit of both sweet and sour. Glad we stopped, and the drive was beautiful. We saw a mountain goat that looked like a polar bear from a distance.

We made it as far as Casper, Wyoming today, before the setting sun glaring through the windshield became just about unbearable. We are eighteen hours and fourteen minutes from home, give or take a few. We will make our way through Wyoming, Utah, and Nevada tomorrow, as we count down to the end of our voyage. My feelings are mixed.

The Land of Jarvis' Origin

It’s hard to believe that Jarvis and the boyz back home came from such a teeny town deep in the heart of corn country. As you drive into Southwest Minnesota, maize and soybean fields stretch across the countryside as far as the eye can see. Tractors operated by flannel wearing farmers cruise along side the road through the grassy ditches where they can inspect their neighbor’s crop. There are farming devices which appear as foreign as space ships and robots in these city eyes, and when you haven’t grown up in farmland, things like pastures filled with rolled spools of hay, or old outhouses, seem strangely remarkable. The region is studded with pocket-sized towns, some with single digit population numbers, other hubs boasting nearly two thousand residents. Canby has around eighteen hundred.

I have never spent time in a place like Canby, and the first few times I visited I was in complete culture shock – even now, from time to time, I’m taken aback by the traditional conservative ways of the regions inhabitants. I’m reminded each time we pass an anti-abortion sign in one of the fields on the side of the county road. It took me a while to get past the whole “everybody knows everybody” business here, but once I got to know everybody a bit too, I start to feel more comfortable when we visit – less of a dark skinned outsider, and more like “Josh’s wife”. Actually, there are still times when I walk into Parrot Bay or the VFW and feel as though the juke box stops and all the men at the bar turn to look at me at once. It’s quite comical actually. Gets funnier the more I drink.

The small village that is Canby is quiet, and because there aren’t many options for recreational opportunities (the theater is only open on the weekends, and one never knows when the bowling alley might decide to open) we spend the majority of our time out of the house “road-tripping” around the countryside. Its autumn here and the colors are turning from green to creepy Halloween. There is still a fair amount of corn in the fields, and from what I’ve grasped from the local disappointment, “…that corn is ready to come down, but all this gosh darn rain…” I’m starting to pick up on more and more of the local lingo, but I still refuse to call lunch dinner and dinner supper. Sticking to my guns on that one.

We went to the dirt track races in Madison last weekend, and I almost got decapitated by the axel of a flipping car. A slight exaggeration of course, but I think it really was a close call. Super gnarly wreck. I think Jarvis is more and more impressed with my knowledge of the races each time we go, and I can see a twinkle in his Bush Light filled eyes when I floss some of my newfound facts. The track was at the fair grounds, so once again this summer we visited a county fair and I ate yet another corn dog. I also had my first go at an order of cheese curds and fell strait into fried cheese heaven – got me thinking, maybe there is a God after all. Yup, we had some good times in Madison, and got our picture taken with then famous lutefisk to prove it.

Added highlights of my Canby escapade are the thrift stores here, believe it or not. I have visited Prairie Five twice, and today made a handful of new purchases at Delightful Treasures, the newest second hand store in town. I pretty much had to buy a whole new wardrobe because all my brilliant ass decided to pack for the summer was daisy dukes and swimsuits. There are some real scores hidden in those thrift store racks, and these are real thrift store prices (three dollar dresses etc.) not no San Francisco prices in there. Speaking of price perks, there is nothing like going to one of the small dives in town and being able to order a cheeseburger and a beer for six bucks. I keep telling Jarvis that I can’t believe you can actually get a bar BLT for three seventy-five. I just got a dinner sized order of spaghetti and meatballs from the local pizza joint for five bucks. At this rate, I would totally be a fat ass if I lived here for any lengthy amount of time.

It’s really nice to be here in Minnesooooota with the Meads. Dad and Bernie are always so hospitable, and being part of the family is quite the privilege. Actually, being a part of all the crew’s families here is a privilege. We have been so lucky to have dinner with the Rhymers and the Engesmoes and I feel like I have parents all over this bitch. It’s pretty awesome to see all the crew folks, but it really makes me hungry for the crew kids back home.

We are headed to Worthington, Minnesota this weekend for the nuptials of some good friends, and it will be the first wedding I’ve ever stood in, aside from my own a few months ago, of course (our three month anniversary is approaching this weekend, actually!!) After the marriage celebration we will head back to cozy Canby to grab our buckets of shit and regroup before our pilgrimage back West. When we settle down into a place for this amount of time, it almost feels like we’re not on a road trip anymore …. I’m ready to get back into our mobile house and tack some more miles on the silver bullet.

..Twin Cities..

As we pull into the Minneapolis metropolis Jarvis and I are both stoked to be back in the land of traffic, restaurants, clubs, and city noise. We spent the prior week in the small town that is Canby (which I will post an article on before long), so being back in a city is a breath of fresh air for both of us. Minneapolis is an outstanding city, and if the winter months weren’t so brutally cold, I think we would consider spending some real time here.

Our first night in the metropolitan area was spent in the outer reaches of the Twin Cities with a few of Jarvis’ cousins and his oober cute God Son. That evening, we had a bbq supper in the park. I enjoy our time sitting around the picnic table swapping stories. Jarvis got to run-a-muck with the lil’ one for a bit before we ate, and it makes me extremely happy to know that he is building memories with his favorite kiddo. We might have stayed there visiting all night, but as the sun set in the distance the mosquitoes began to congregate and irritate.

We make our way out of the fringes of the cities in the morning and head into NW Minneapolis to meet an old friend from San Francisco. Every time we stop through Minneapolis, we make it a point to drop in on our good friend Rich – he’s consistently cordial, and his extensive knowledge of the cities best dives, eateries, and watering holes is extraordinary. Upon our arrival he took us to Manny’s Steakhouse for one of the best lunches that I’ve consumed on this entire vacation. I had the surf n’ turf sliders with a crock of French onion soup and Jarvis can’t help but exclaim over the fact that there are bits of applewood smoked bacon in his potato salad. I’m delighted to be somewhere where I can order Prosecco with my lunch. Fantastic. That night we hop around some of the dives in the neighborhood and meet some other good friends for beers and dinner. It is absolutely superb to be with some good peeps that I love – swop stories and get to know the new additions. A few of us catch some live hippy music at the 331 Club and then saunter down the street to one of the seediest strip clubs that I have ever visited. Good times. Good times.

In the morning, we visited The Mall of America. I figured it was a must see attraction on the all American expedition; after all, consuming is the all American way. This place is absolutely ridiculous, and you have to reference the store guide and map to find anything. There’s a Nickelodeon themed amusement park in the center and the rides are like something out of the future. The highlight of the venture was that we met up with Jarvis’ momma, and she and I got to spend the afternoon browsing the endless amount of clothing racks for various odds and ends. We had dinner with Jarv’s aunt, uncle, and their two beautiful girls later that day. Our lasagna was served with a side of laughter, and I’m thankful to have expanded my family circuit to include so many new and fantastic faces.

Today I came down with a sore throat and a bit of a cold, but I’m glad that at least we are around the mom for some genuine love and care. I thank the stars that I was blessed with such a marvelous mother-in-law – being at her home is cozy and comforting. Jarvis and her are in the kitchen making some homemade vegetable soup right now – the perfect cure for the probing cold.

Niagara Falls

We stayed the night in Niagara Falls, New York at the Best Western after we left the Neuburger Lake House. The motel building hadn’t been updated since the seventies, and the retro carpets and wall paper were proof. The town is run down, desolate, and appears to be hanging on by a thread. The only parking lots that seem to host guests belong to the military base, Walmart and Chilies – everything else appears on the brink of dilapidation. We catch some much needed z’s and head out to the falls in the morning. Before we depart the inn, we stop off for continental breakfast in the lobby. For the first time in weeks we are surrounded by an assortment of various racial groups, and I tell Jarvis that it’s kind of nice to be back in a diverse environment…even if they are all tourists. Then, I look over to a family that has brought their own jar of mayonnaise to breakfast and is slathering up some hard boiled eggs, and I’m ready to be unaccompanied again.

We drive to the falls, which are just a couple miles down the road, and as we maneuver parallel to the Niagara River we can see the shores of Canada lying on the other side, and I tell Jarvis that it’s “the closest that I’ve ever been to the great white north.” I try my hardest at a Canadian accent but fail miserably. We steer down Niagara Street and find some relatively cheep parking. The lot is littered with garbage, the souvenir shop towers several stories overhead, and the air is pungent with Indian food. Nothing like the smell of curry in the morning to jump start your day. We walk past the Canadian border and Rainbow Bridge, which leads to our northerly neighbor, but opt to stay on our free and brave soils. We actually have so much shit in the car that we figured if we attempted to cross into Canada we would probably sit at customs for the better part of the day – I mean, come on people, we all know that we don’t appear to be the most pure of citizens and after the hard boiled eggs and Indian food, the last thing I want is to be profiled all morning. Besides, this is an examination of America’s sweet and sour, so we stick to the procedure.

As we approach the falls, the roar of the powerful waters grows stronger, and the mist rising from the abyss thickens to create rainbow droplets in the flickering sunlight. The American Falls drop in front of us and the Canadian Horseshoe Falls disappear in the distance. The view is sincerely mesmerizing, and the sheer magnitude of the energy carried in the gush is compelling. The two of us stand in silence for a fair amount of time – each lost in our thoughts found swimming amongst the current through the oscillating waves. We ask an older man to take our photo, and as our minds reconvene we both express how thankful we are that we came here. Totally Sweet.

We get back in the car and hit the road with purpose. Our goal is to get to Canby, Minnesota within the next thirty-five hours and we have a lot of ground to cover. The drive is boring, at best, as we transverse Ohio, Pennsylvania, and Indiana; we don’t see much that impresses us. Each state has a “Thruway” which is a clever way of collecting tolls from those of us that just wish to haul ass through their lame state as fast as possible. I guess they have to make money somehow, and since we’re sure as hell not bunking here, I guess they will get their nine dollar tolls for using their highways. Bunch of crap if you ask me. We reach the outskirts of Chicago just before dusk, and make a joint decision to power through and get to the other side of the sprawl before we stop – we figured that it would be better than attempting in the morning during the commute hours; however, we totally forgot that it’s Labor Day and everybody was on their way home from the weekend festivities. Traffic was still a bitch, and after getting lost in the super ghetto on the south side of Chicago we are both spent and on the verge of a breakdown. We haven’t eaten in hours and we both have to take a piss which isn’t sugar coating the situation. After a good hour of trying to reach the Chicago Skyway, we finally get back on the right path. I guess it’s the times like these that are supposed to make our relationship stronger. We make peace when we finally find a resting spot on the other side of Chicago. Although the situation was stress city, in the morning we are both glad that we made the maneuver.

We drove through the southwest corner of Wisconsin and into Minnesota. Jarvis’ face lights up with excitement as we pass the state line looming below us somewhere in the middle of the Mississippi. He starts conversing stories and facts about his home state, and I’m glad to see my man so happy to be back in his native lands. It’s amusing to watch his level of enthusiasm increase as we make way through the homestead, and as we pull into Canby, we both take a deep relieving breath of country air.

Lake House!!

The drive from Vermont to The Lake House was remarkable; but then again, most everything I have laid my eyes on in the last several days has been pure eye candy. Upstate New York’s backdrop is an assemblage of green rolling hills, old-fashioned farm homes with roadside produce stands, and towns that will charm the socks off you. Nothing here seems bizarre or strange – everything seems calm, cool, and collective – a picturesque slice of unrefined countryside which beats to an antique rhythm. The trees are beginning to show their fall colors, and just being here gives me a hankering for a slice of American apple pie and a glass of lemonade. We make our way West across Highway 20 towards Erieville, New York, and the anticipation to see our friends is causing me to twitch with excitement.

First-class friends can often seem to exist few and far between, and the lines of separation between them seem to increase as the roads that disconnect us grow farther apart. Those possessing the qualities which comprise a high-quality companion are hard to come by on the road less traveled, and as the days pass Jarvis and I pine for our people back home. San Francisco seems to exert a magnetic pull on marvelous individuals – they seem to arrive on the scene daily with unconscious goals of enlightening one another’s minds and expanding the limits of what each of us thought humanly possible in this life. Over the last several years, we have been awfully fortunate to have stumbled upon one of the greatest webs of human beings, and a handful of my darlings will be spending the next week with us at the Neuburger Lake House on Lake Tuscarora.

We arrived on Beebe Road Saturday afternoon and were greeted by the family on the front porch. The lake – jumping with boats, kayakers, jet skis, and geese – rested in the background. The warm summer sun glittered on the lake’s surface and skipped across the small breaks in the waves. Fresh cut lawns roll downward and kiss the water’s edge as the smell of the fresh green clippings hang in the air above our sweet teas and gin tonics. The Neuburgers are a high spirited family who invite us into their home with smiles. Their generosity and kindheartedness is wowing. Every evening they indulge us with a gourmet dinner spread, and I am thrilled to sit around a table and eat as a family. I cherish the fact that I’m in the presence of a mom and dad that adore their children and live for the moments like these when they get to spend quality time as one – it makes me miss Pops and Mamma T.


For the next five days we strait chilled out at the Lake House. Michael, Samantha, Mikk, Gwen, Jarvis, and I (sometimes with an influx of a cousin/neighbor) had a fun filled week. Late morning sun baths were taken out on the lawn. Swim sessions were frequent and usually involved floats, water balloons, and squirt guns. Ladder golf games were had with Jarvis and Mikk undefeated for the majority of the week. Wakeboarding, skiing, and dance parties transpired on the boat and girls wakeboarding day was a success. Jarvis and I rode bikes around the lake one morning and my legs felt like Jello afterwards. Food, cold beers, bonfires, and starry-filled skies filled the evenings with laughter, stories and good times. Gwen thinks its epic.

Thursday afternoon we packed up shop and Mikey drove us to Syracuse for a night out on the town. First stop was Dinosaur Bar-B-Q which we’ve been hearing about for several years. A bucket of PBR tall cans, rib racks, pulled pork sandwiches, and endless amounts of sides later, we all agree that it’s some of the best that we have had. We wet-nap our hands and drag our fat asses out to the car so we can head to the New York State Fair. It was a bit hot out, and my slight beer buzz is intensifying the warmth radiating from the thousands of bodies walking around the grounds. From one reference point during the day all I could see around me were food carts advertising their greasy, sugary creations – all the things that we all look oh-so-forward to eating each year when the carnies come to town. Michael and his brother conquered the Ejection Seat, and just watching them go sky-high gets me a bit motion sick. After watching several launches we are ready for THE MAIN EVENT. The primary reason we’re here is to see the RUSH concert with the crew and a bunch of the Neuburgers (who are coincidently one of the biggest Rush families I have ever met). The whole night was a frigin’ blast and there are too many good times and memories to exactly be summed up here. Good times, Rock n’ Roll.

It’s Saturday afternoon and we have officially been here getting our lazy on for an entire week. Hurricane Earl blew a storm in last night and the air outside is crisp. It feels nice to wear a sweater and gander out the window at the sleepy sky resting overhead. The family is gone at the Sister’s wedding for the day and the lake house has become a sleepy, snacky, game and couch potato kind of day. The campfire got a bit late last night followed by energized flower girls parading around the kitchen early this morning. Needless to say, we are all a bit on the mellow tip. Spaghetti, meatballs, Italian sausage, and salads are on the menu for supper this evening. The SF Crew will part ways tomorrow but we will meet again in the City.

Our time here has been as sweet as maple syrup – delectable and wondrous like a husk cherry. We will be in Minnesota with Jarvis’ family by midweek, and he is super stoked to see his people. I’m a bit sad to leave the friends and lake behind, but I’m stoked to visit my new family too. The heartland is on the horizon.

The Green Mountain State

I realize that there seems to be a hefty gap in my writing for the period between North Carolina and Vermont – some one thousand miles driving time. The reason is that suddenly our journey became a high-speed race. We dipped into our Nations Capital for a couple of hours and scoped the National Mall (a must stop destination on a quest to see America), followed by a rapid conquering of the New Jersey Turnpike and a run in with rush hour traffic in Manhattan. We were originally going to stay in The Big Apple, but after the remarkable day of driving, we decided to press on and get our feet back into some grass and flip flops and out of tennis shoes and concrete sidewalks. We are still debating our return date to the big city. So it was decided – we were going to head strait to St. Johnsbury, Vermont to see some old friends from San Francisco and their new impressive family.


The second that we pass the border between Massachusetts and Vermont the world around us began to change. The Green Mountain State, as it is called, is a watercolor painting full of rolling hills, old wooden farm houses, white picket fences, and small towns that appear strait out of the fifties. Big white fluffy clouds are sprinkled like candy across the big blue background sky, and as we hug the turns of the highway we are more than satisfied with our decision to head north.

We rolled into St. Johnsbury on Tuesday afternoon and as the small town unfolds before us I look at Jarvis and ask him if this is some kind of joke. This, my friends, is an all American town and the quaintness of it all is far from any place that I have ever popped into.
We wind up the small town roads, passed old Victorian homes, and up to our friends home on the hill. I’m instantly overtaken with jealously when I lay eyes on their sweet lil’ home and their permaculture influenced garden. We are met by their beautiful fair-haired daughter, running barefoot laps around the garden with her flaxen locks blowing in the gentle breeze. Her dress is cute as a button and she gives us each a husk cherry (yummy) to taste. It takes her a day or two to grow familiarized with us strangers in her home, but after the daily warm-up we become friends. I might have roped her in with my jewelry collection which she grew quite fond of.

Ryan and Tara are old friends of Jarvis’ and we have a fabulous time catching up – I enjoy sitting back and listening to their nostalgic memories each evening as we sit in the yard and bathe in booze moonlight. We spent our daytime hours moseying around town (I had to sort through the local thrift stores because I’m on a hunt for some broken-in suede cowboy boots), riding bikes, and wandering around farmers markets.


I had my first experience with a blueberry patch where I got to pick, while eating mind you, a basket full of the best blueberries I have ever had. Our lovely hosts made homemade waffles topped with the garden-fresh berries and authentic Vermont syrup for breakfast. Not to mention bacon for dipping. Today, our last day in the Green Mountain State, we went to the Caledonia County Fair. I had the worst corndog ever and lost a few bucks in bingo, but nevertheless had a good time. This fair weighs heavier in the redneck/country factor than the ghetto thug state fair I attended in Albuquerque when I was young, but the beer garden helped to make the experience a bit more entertaining.

We are driving to meet Mikey and Samantha in Syracuse, New York in the morning and I CAN”T WAIT TO GET MY LAKE ON WITH THE HOMIES!!!

Oh Sweet Caroline.

We left Fernandina Beach, Florida on Saturday morning knowing that we had just one week to trek up the entire east coast and see as much as we could along the way. With this in mind we haul ass the second we get in the car. Within several hours, we hop-skip through Georgia, dash through South Carolina, and land our feet in Asheville, North Carolina. Granted, the western edge of the state is a bit out of the way considering we are on somewhat of a time crunch, but this is a town that I have always wanted to visit and I’m glad we made the detour.



We approached the quaint mountain town through the foot hills of the Great Smoky Mountains, and we instantly understand why they were named such. A dense hazy fog rests in the valleys between distant peaks, and as the rain drizzled down on the landscape, the gray fog rose from the ground up into the sky like a gloomy, misty, smoke. I haven’t seen a vapor cloud like this since we left San Francisco, and as we ascend and the air grows cooler it reminds me of home. Asheville is one of the most progressively-hippy towns that we have visited on our trip thus far. Downtown is lined with locally owned restaurants, small dive bars with live bluegrass pouring out onto the street, art galleries, and street performers trying to earn a buck. We check out the scene for a bit, but then head to a neighboring town, Black Mountain, so we can get a cheep room for the night. I finally get some real Mexican food and life is good in the hood. In the morning we drive into town for breakfast and eat at the nationally recognized Tupelo Honey Café (I especially want to go because it reminds me of one of my favorite songs by Van Morrison). Dude, the food here is the best we have had in days. The Deep South was great for its messy ribs, greasy appetizers, and all around guilt inducing food, but this place is a little fresh organic heaven, and my body feels revived when I eat it. Not to mention, first stop on the trip so far that has Mate tea and Jarvis and I are in ecstasy for the sweet caffeine. After breakfast we get back in the car and head out on our mid-day scenic drive – The Blue Ridge Parkway.

The Parkway is known as “American’s favorite scenic drive” and being so, we thought it appropriate to make the detour and judge for ourselves. The entire drive is four hundred plus miles, and can take several hours to travel, so we opt to only cruise it for an hour our so. We enter the ridge just outside of Asheville and start our climb up the face of the green, tree covered mountainside. The road winds around the edge of the world and views of the smoky valleys expose themselves below. The climate grows increasing cooler and damper as we enter into the foggy clouds at the peak and then warmer and dryer as we descend into the basins. The drive truly is breathtaking, but I have a feeling that the experience would be much better suited in the fall when the trees are changing to reds and bright yellows. Nevertheless, I’m thankful to be here in the splendor of this state. Jarvis and I are surprised that some of the most attractive landscapes we have seen are North Carolina and Arkansas – who would have thought.

Bahama-rama.

We are sitting at Miami International Airport waiting for our delayed flight. When our plane finally pulls up, I nervously look at Jarvis who has also just spotted the small prop plane draw to a halt outside of the window. He has had a dislike for flying since I met him, and the small plane factor just induced a look of panic in his eyes. We walk out on the tarmac and up the fold out stairs onto the plane – surprisingly, the flight was probably the smoothest I had ever experienced, and the view of the crystal blue waters as we fly into the Caribbean is dazzling. Jarvis is thankful to be on land once again as we pull into the airport in Nassau. Immigration, customs, bags, and a bus ride later, we finally arrive on Paradise Island. We spent four nights at the Atlantis Beach Resort, and while the island is epically sweet, there is also a bit of sour that comes with it.

Sweet.
There are several swimming pools that maze around the property resort. They range in temperature, treatment, and atmosphere. I became a fan of the zero entry pools that gradually go from one inch to five plus feet – they remind me of walking into the ocean, plus they are treated with salt water. The fact that I like this pool may lend partially to the fact that it is the closest to the beach bar where Jarv and I liked to grab a happy hour beverage each afternoon. We both agree that the place to be is always the closest bar to the beach.
We spent hours floating around “The Current,” one of the more not-so-lazy lazy rivers on the property. There are wave machines, rapids and tube slides along the way that keep the ride wet and out of the ordinary. We buddy up on a two for one tube and hang out for the better part of the hot day. There are several different waterslides here, and even one that shoots you through a clear tube that is surrounded by swimming sharks…pretty flippin’ awesome.
On the property you will also find an underground aquarium called “The Dig” which gives you insane views of thousands of different tropical fish, marine snails, evil eels, sharks, and rays. This is one of my favorite attractions and I am awed by the beauty of the gracefully floating creatures.
The beaches here are also beautiful, and I have never seen such crystal blue colors. The water is warm and carries a slight sulfur aroma and soft white sands line the seashore. Downright magnificence. The Bahamas are truly a little slice of paradise and as we sit on our balcony and watch the sunset over the water, we toast our locally brewed Kaliks to how blessed we are to be here now in the company of one another.


Sour.
Yes, with almost every sweet, there comes a sour, and in this case it was the insane markup on items that we Americans take for granted on a daily basis. For example…a one liter bottle of water at the Atlantis costs nine dollars and seventy-five cents. A slice of cheese pizza runs you seven dollars (we actually got a “family size” twelve inch cheese pizza for dinner one night that cost thirty-five dollars). I laugh out loud when we go scope the menu at the Chop Stix, the one Asian restaurant on Paradise, and see that an order of Pad Thai is thirty-three frigin’ dollars. A case of Coors Light, at the duty free store mind you, runs fifty bucks….even a case of the local beer goes for near seventy dollars as they charge three dollars a beer. Crazy. Jarvis and I took a cab to town so we could grab a few things from the grocery and avoid paying for some of our meals. We stocked up on Cup of Noodle, PopTarts, Potato Chips and Lunchables. The cab to and from the store, probably a five mile roundtrip journey runs us thirty-eight bucks. I understand that we are on an island in the middle of the Caribbean and all, but I know the locals aren’t paying these prices so I’m a bit discouraged that we are being price gouged.
The second part of the sour comes with the majority of people that choose to vacation here. Jersey Shores called and said they want their cast back!


All in all, we had a charming time on the island. My tan is living proof. We flew back to Miami and we were both a bit delighted to be back in the country and back in our home – the car. Yesterday Jarvis drove us up the entire East Coast of Florida and we checked into a motel in Fernandina Beach just a little jaunt south of Georgia. We had dinner at the tiki bar on the beach and then got drunk with some locals at The Seabreeze Sports Bar Next Door. We are both comforted to be back in the company of some middle class, hard working, shit talking Americans.

Beaches. Babes. Beer.

When I was a kiddo my parents would bring me to Florida every year or so to visit family. My dad spent most of his childhood running a muck around St. Petersburg where the majority of my paternal family resides. One of my fondest childhood memories is of our family shindigs at my great grandmother’s house where we would make jokes, tell stories, swim, and of course stuff our faces with grams famous mulberry pie. We are defiantly a family of eaters, and it seems as though every memory I have is somehow centered around consuming copious amounts of groceries. That being said, it was only appropriate that Jarvis and I properly stuff our bellies upon our arrival in St. Pete. Hurricanes is a double stacked restaurant located right on Pass-a-Grill Beach. Their second story outside balcony is a prime destination for watching the sunset, or just getting a face full of salty sea breeze. We have both had a hankering for conch fritters since our last visit, now three years ago, so we inhale an order before we move onto grouper sandos and side orders of tomato seafood bisque. Yum city. A quick stroll on the beach, but entirely too fat, and hot, to really sink our toes in. Instead, back in the car for a quick jaunt across town to my aunt and uncles house so we can check into our suite for the week.

My family is full of pranksters and joke tellers, but my Aunt Liz and Uncle Joe’s family take the cake on pure entertainers. I received a voicemail to confirm our reservations at Chalet Triolo a couple of days prior, and when we check-in we find our room complete with pillow mints, miniature toiletries, and cold Coors Light in the fridge – They are determined to make our honeymoon stay worth while, and they have totally succeeded. I give these guys five glittery shooting stars, and I’m even considering setting up a Yelp so I can rave about the accommodations here. That night we get spoiled with homemade meatloaf and mashed potatoes. I drink a couple of Jeremiah Weed’s n’ lemonade and we play a round of dice as we sit around the table and talk story.

We spend the “work week” poking around town, shopping, beaching, visiting family (i.e. eating and drinking more) and all around relaxing. We had pool parties, dinner dates, lunch outings and some of the best family visits I can remember. I had the opportunity to catch up with cousins, meet new babies, and even make amazing new friends. Yesterday our gracious hosts took us for a day trip on the boat to Fort Desoto Park – an area in the Gulf made up of five interconnected islands. We anchored the boat just off shore and hung out in the mellow breaking waves drinking beer and rubbing our phalanges through the cleansing layers of salt and sand. Crabs nibbled our toes as we nibbled on chip stuffed sandwiches. As we cruised the intercostal back to the slip, a dolphin followed closely behind in the wake – occasionally it jumped the surf and shared its beauty in the shimmering sunlight. A perfect day with perfect people.

Today Jarvis and I made our way from the Bay to Miami. On the way down we stopped at Rick Treworgy’s Muscle Car City Museum in Punta Gorda….SICK CITY! Those who know me and the man know that we have a true appreciation for balls out, bad ass, old skool, muscle-mobiles, and this place was chalked full of beautiful beasts – Novas, Chevelles, Malibus, El Caminos, Cameros, Impalas, etc. etc. etc. Jarvis counted forty-nine different models of Corvettes alone. Defiantly qualifies as a hidden American Sweet and all car connoisseurs must visit this place at least once during their lifetime.

OUR PLANE FROM MIAMI TO THE BAHAMAS LEAVES IN THE MORNING…. Hold onto your britches boys and girls, the hunt for America’s Sweet and Sour is about to go international and I can’t wait to reach the resort and get my mermaid on. Sweet, sweet Paradise Island, here we come.

Welcome to the Sunshine State

We left New Orleans about a week ago and headed our way to the Sunshine State. Within a few hours we passed through legs of Louisiana, Mississippi and Alabama. Jarvis and I have been taking a picture of each “state” sign as we pass the boundary from one into another, and we laugh hysterically as we note a man taking a piss under the “Welcome to Alabama” sign. Perfect. We exit off the interstate and make our way down through an all American town called Niceville. The blue waters of the Florida Gulf reveal themselves, and as the sweet salty breeze kissed my face, I am eternally thankful to be back on the coast.


We make our way to Panama City Beach, Florida – aka The Emerald Coast. The turquoise-aqua colored water and beautiful white beaches call my name and I can’t wait to sink my toes into both. We stayed in PCB for two nights with some family friends who took it upon themselves to spoil us rotten. We arrive at their house to ice cold beers, golf cart tours of the neighborhood beaches, battered and fried shrimp bites the size of little baby arms (not that I would eat a baby), and this cheesy seafood spread/dip that I haven’t been able to get out of my mind since we left. I honestly desire it daily and have been on the hunt for more at every store since we left. D&K take us for dinner the second night at a place right on the beach called Schooners. I have a jumbo strawberry daiquiri, which I have been yearning for since Vegas, and we share these sautéed, melt in your mouth, crab claw bites that Jarvis and I can’t quit talking about. We could eat like five pounds of those bad boys on a daily basis. Delicious city. Our hosts might not realize what they got themselves into – I heart Panama City Beach, and we will enthusiastically be making a revisit in the future.

Back in the car Wednesday morning, and after a few errands, back on the road. Next stop is Gainesville, Florida to party down with my uncle for his twenty-fifth birthday. For those who are unfamiliar, Gainesville is a big ass college town and home to the Florida Gators. We visit the college campus, and strangely it causes me to miss school; but, then I remember the stresses that surrounded that period of my life and I shake the thought like a bad habit. Back to reality. We visit The Swamp, and I get itchy inside for football Sundays back home with the boys. The place is amazing, and Jarvis was stoked to visit the stadium. That night we tied one on at the bars in Midtown. We both felt a bit old as we made our way through college kids that barely look old enough to floss fake IDs. I can’t remember the last time that I attended a “ladies night” and got to knock back free well drinks. Maybe never. We have a blast shooting some billiards, and celebrate the birthday in face-smashing obliteration. The next day is dominated by a hangover, but it feels good to be lazy and watch funny movies. Besides, the heat outside will intensify any mild headache to a gut wrenching migraine, and I’m perfectly cool with soaking up the cold air conditioning inside. I made grandma’s secret recipe meatballs for dinner and proceed to pass the fuck out for a good ten hours.

Friday we arrive in Spring Hill, Florida to visit my Dad’s sister and her super awesomely cute family. We drive to the coast and I’m surprised in the differences between this coastline, and the typical Florida seashore that I have been exposed to my entire life. Grasses grow thick and tall, and brackish marshes link flowing canals to mucky swamps. Jarvis is on a quest to see a Gator, but to no avail. We eat dinner at this dive of a place right on the marsh, and the food is scrumptious. I have a great time with the kids and laugh my ass off at the way my lil’ cousin inhales fried calamari. It feels outstanding to be in the presence of family once more.


We go down to the pier for the sunset. Boats come in and out of the channel and enormous matinees cuddle puddle beneath the dock. There is a dolphin peaking up through the ebbing tide in the distance. The oranges melt into pinks as purples and blues descend into the sea for a sweet dreamy slumber. The twilight is perfect. We will be spending the next two weeks frolicking around beaches, and I’ve got to say – It genuinely feels like summer here.

New Oooooh Leeeeeens

We just spent three nights down by the Bayou in the wonderfully characteristic French Quarter of New Oooooh Leeeeeens. This is one sticky city that knows how to party, and if the heat don’t kill you, the drinking might. I always thought that San Francisco was a party metropolis, with its day drinking in Dolores Park and its all night dance parties, but New Orleans defiantly takes the cake. The bars never close, the drinks run large and in charge, and you can get a to-go cup for your beverage at any pub. Drunken frat boys stubble into the hotel lobby at seven in the morning shouting obscenities, and as vacationers from around the world come to life they look drained, hung over and hot as hell. I saw a college boy passed out on a park bench with a bottle of whisky in his hand, his head buried into his knees, and a box on the ground beneath him to catch his vomit. Good times. Winning the prize for biggest party ever also comes with its downsides – the streets reek like piss, booze, and rotting fruit (from all the lime wedges dropped from drinks) …but this is actually one reason that I feel at home here, it reminds me more of San Francisco than any place we have visited thus far. Actually, many other facets of this city remind me of home as well.

The architecture is absolutely stunning, and I love the old sensation of the city. Aged brick, rusted fire escapes, iron enclosed verandas, and cracked and crippled streets and alleys give the place a deep-rooted vibe that is quite irresistible. Much like back home, neighborhoods are stacked with houses, one on top of the other, leaving limited space for yards, walkways and parking. If anybody thought parking in San Francisco was a bitch, come to the French Quarters – it’s like North Beach times ten. The reality is, spending time here really causes me to miss the shit out of San Francisco.

So we got to town on Friday afternoon, and after the six hour drive from Memphis we were both ready for a cocktail. I made a sweet tea vodka and lemonade (my new favorite) and Jarvis cracked a Coors Light from the cooler. Its drop dead hot outside so we head to the pool for a chill out before our night on the town. Funny story – we actually meet a guy from Oakland and a very nice couple from Palo Alto within our first ten minutes of being in the wetlands, and it’s actually very refreshing to talk to some people from home. We have a few by the pool and then I go to the room to primp up for our evening.

We have to check out Bourbon Street, since it’s a notable destination in the French Quarters, but we are there for no more than twenty minutes when we decide that bar lined Disneyland for alcoholics isn’t our cup of tea. The street is packed with tourists from around the world drinking three foot tall daiquiris, chain smoking, booty bumping, and meandering the streets dodging mysterious stench puddles. Jarvis and I want a dive bar with some local music, so we go on a mission to find what we really came to this city to see. We end up on Frenchman Street which serves up a healthy dose of local artists, young street performers, cheep(er) eats, and dive bars full of all night dancing and cold PBRs. Now we’re in business. We see a guy perform who plays the shit out of some slide guitar, and his raspy deep voice reminds me a bit of a drunken Jim Morrison. The music here is off the chain – hits your soul hard, deep pounding rhythms, harmonica blues.

The rest of the weekend basically consists of this = drinking, music, sightseeing, and pool time. Yesterday we had some crab stuffed catfish with a Cajun stuffed potato and remoulade dipping sauce that was to die for. I officially love hush puppies. I’m in my happy place here in New Orleans, and I could actually see spending time here. Jarvis and I discuss the possibility of moving down to Louisiana for a period of time, but as Journey comes on the juke box I’m reminded that deep in my heart I truly can’t wait to get home to “My City by The Bay”. So, until next time New Orleans XoXo.

Welcome to the Dirty Dirty.

This city girl thought that camping in the dirty-dirty would be fun. Ha. We are at our camp site, some fifteen miles outside of Memphis, for no more than twenty minutes when I realized that the bugs down here were going to give me an anxiety attack and the heat might just sweat us to death. I have a hangover from the show in Hot Springs the night before, I’ll I’ve had to eat is a pop tart and a banana, so the hungry grumps are starting to set in, and I’m on the verge of crying when Jarvis tells me, “it’s okay if you don’t want to stay, we can go get a hotel.” I was trying to man-up about the whole scenario, but as soon as my wonderful hubby offers me an out, I take it without thinking twice. Nothing compares to California camping! That shit was ridiculous.

We checked into a Holiday Inn near downtown Memphis. The room has two double beds and for the first time since the wedding we both choose to sleep on our own. I make a pillow donut around my body and pass out for nearly ten hours. For anyone who knows me, this is a pretty impressive feat. Jarvis is thankful that I’m not waking him up at the crack of dawn for breakfast or cuddles. I guess even the overly OCD ambitious need rest from time to time.

Late morning, we finally wake up and have breakfast and some boob tube and then take a taxi to Beale Street to check out the famous shops and bars. I’m on the hut for some Elvis memorabilia since we decided to opt out of Graceland (we drove by and realized that Elvis Disneyland was the last place we wanted to spend our day and money). After we walk the strip and do a bit of shopping, we duck into a dive for some drinks and snacks. The bartender asks me, in her cute little southern voice, “ya’ll want small er big uns?” I mistakenly respond, “big ones please,” thinking we will get more bang for our buck like when your at the airport and you can get twenty-two ounces for a dollar more than sixteen ounces. That plastic cup damn near held forty ounces of PBR and I’ll tell you drinking that much beer wasn’t the most proper way for a girl to start the day. Jarvis and I share a rack of dry-rub Memphis style ribs, and then head down the road for some live Blues.


We dip into the Blues Hall Juke Joint. The joint is old, and the air is a bit thick and sweaty. There are old photos plastered on the wall, and bits of the wall paper are worn down to expose the rotting wood beneath. There are old faded American flags and of course, the standard “No firearms permitted signs” which have been a regular occurrence since we stepped foot into the South. Our bartender there is actually from San Francisco, so we get to chat with her a bit about home. The local house band starts rockin’ the blues and the sax player blows my mind. We can’t imagine what kinds of great tunes you would hear in Memphis, considering this is just a house band jamming at four o’clock in the afternoon.

We take a taxi back to the hotel for an evening swim. I made friends with a cute little girl in the pool. We have some handstand contests and I teach her how to have a tea party like sister and I use to do. We will by taking it easy tonight in Memphis – we have a six hour drive to New Orleans in the morning, and we want to save our energy for the Bayou.

Arkansauce!

There’s a water tower that sits on the border between Texas and Arkansas which reads TEX – ARK which is why, I’m assuming, the town is called Texarkana. I’m thankful to be out of the Lone Star State and I love the name of this place….almost as much as I liked rolling through Arkadelphia down the road some sixty miles later. We stopped for gas off Interstate 30 and I realize that we “aren’t in Kansas anymore”, so to say. As I stand and pump the gas, a gentle wind swirls my long curls into my face and makes my eyes tear. There is a thunderstorm on the horizon and its blowing directly at us. Our plan is to camp for two nights on the Ouachita Lake in the Ouachita National Forest, but as we snaked down Highway 7 the torrential downpour became so intense that the windshield wipers couldn’t keep up. I was obliged that Jarvis took the wheel for this stretch, as I white knuckle gripped the oh-shit bar. We probably would have roughed it through a light rain shower; however this was some storm sent by god as a sign that we should check into a nice hotel and celebrate our one month anniversary in style. Besides, we later found out that some twenty odd people drowned at a nearby campsite last month in a flash flood. It’s always good to follow ones instincts when living on the road.

So, there we were, pulling into Hot Springs, Arkansas when we both realized that we had stumbled upon a diamond in the rough. The town holds many niches in American history, including its past as a gangster Mecca in the 1930s when it was know for hosting gambling, prostitution, bootlegging, and notorious gangsters including Al Capone, Frank Costello, Bugs Moran and Lucky Luciano. Instantly, we knew we loved this place. We checked into a room at the Arlington Hotel which sits at the end of downtown and overlooks the main strip. I can picture Al Capone, who frequented the Arlington, sitting and watching the central drag out of the front window.


I tell Jarvis that the hotel is probably haunted, and as we walk down the long, dimly lit hallways, I tease him with my “Shining” finger – “Red Rum, Red Rum”. We had a couple of drinks in the lobby, and spent the rest of the evening in the room – a night in for our anniversary.

In the morning we ordered breakfast in bed, and then went on a walk of the historic downtown area. Lined with a mix of cheesy gift shops, wax museums, dive bars, hot springs bathhouses and restaurants; this spot is packed to the brim with happy little finds. As the heat increased and the humidity started to take a toll, we decided to make our way back to the Arlington for a cold adult beverage. Five beers later, and a chat with the awesome bartender named Josh (easy enough) we decided we better put some food in our bellies before our day buzz escalated to day wasted. We crossed the street to Whole Hog BBQ – an award winning, saucy, finger-lickin-good pulled pork sandwich went down the hatch faster than one can say “please pass a napkin”. We walked up the street to Capones Ohio Club – a sweet dive bar that use to serve as a brothel house and gambling hall to thugs and mobsters back in the day.


The actual bar is a beautiful mahogany piece with inlaid mother of pearl details and maidenheads keeping watch over the Saloon. We made some local friends, and after a couple more cold ones and a shot or two of Jagermeister I’m tanked and the Arkansas accents are starting to sound really twangy and slack jawed. It’s starting to rub off on us, and Jarvis and I are throwing around works like ya’ll and thank yaw sir. Back to the room for a drunk nap.

Thunder shakes the earth, and the old windows, and wakes me out of a deep sleep. It’s about eight o’clock pm and the inebriated siesta served its purpose well. It’s time to get a second wind because we have plans to catch some live music down the street at Maxine’s. I throw on my chucks and my new hat I purchased earlier that day – “Babes, Bikes & Booze” – and we head out into the rain, which has now become a light drizzle, for a night of debauchery.

Maxine’s is a great dive bar located in the heart of downtown, and is the closest that we have found to a San Francisco dive thus far – the bartenders are a bit surly, and the PBRs come cold and cheep. The performance space is a hidden treasure and it is more than obvious that the new owners have invested mucho time and money to create a space that will no doubt draw musicians from all across the country. We are drawn to the joint to see The Psycho Devilles, a BAD ASS psychobilly posse out of Atlanta, Georgia. These boys rocked me to the bone, and their rockabilly side show act was absolutely impressive from start to finish.


A much needed, loud, fast, fiery, delight. We hang to drink some brews with the boys after the show, and it’s nice to be around some real rockers – we instantly get on like a house on fire. Check these devil boys out, I promise you won’t be disappointed.


In the morning I scraped myself out of bed and into the shower. Haven’t been this dehydrated in a while, but the hangover was worth it. We had SO much fun in Hot Springs, and we will defiantly be reuniting ourselves with this city again in the future. For now we tip our hats to the wonderful people we met in Arkansas and carry on our venture. Memphis is a few hours down the road, and I can’t wait to feel the vibe of the King.

Austin's Shitty Limits

We popped into Carlsbad Caverns on our way out of the Land of Enchantment. I failed to inform Jarvis that we had to snake down a fairly steep walkway some 750 feet before we reached the main cavern. I was worried that he would find a divorce attorney the second we stepped back on normal ground, but he didn’t. The caverns were dark and smelled dank – I didn’t really appreciate the muskiness as we made our decent. I thought it smelled like bat butt and I was slightly paranoid that I was going to get a hair full of guano at any minute. It never happened. The caverns were amazing and some kind of creepy cross between The Labyrinth, Fraggle Rock and The Never Ending Story – some sort of 80’s movie smash on LSD.



We left the caverns and decided that rather than staying in the one RV and Campground in Carlsbad (which appeared to be a murder camp on the side of the highway – something strait out of The Devils Rejects) we would get a jump on our next big stretch – Carlsbad to Austin. Little did we know that there isn’t jack shit in western Texas. What was suppose to be a “lets get into Texas and then find a place to sleep” became a three hour ordeal through the barren countryside studded with ghost towns and tumbleweeds. Each town we pass through is uncomfortable and lined with eyes – “looking, watching, judging”. For the first time on our trip I can feel a bit of racial tension and I am starting to regret getting a head start on my tan this summer. Oh well – fuck them if they can’t hang; besides, we are on our way to the dirty dirty and I’m interested to see what sort of things are in store for us.

Austin. Jarvis and I both had high expectations – we have herd throughout the years that Austin is the “new San Francisco” and that we would totally love it. ALL LIES. Don’t get me wrong, it is a great city lined with rivers, lakes, beautiful lush green parks, rolling tree covered hillsides, and TONS OF BARS….but it’s got nothing on San Francisco and the freaks that make our home homey. Not to mention ATX is filled to the brim with polo wearing jocks and college skanks – the complete package of beached blond, stripper clothes wearing, bimbos, competing to get laid each night downtown at a plethora of stupid clubs which play music that I listened to when I was in high school. I feel like if I ever lived in Austin it would be a great regression and as far as I can foresee, Jarvis and I will never plant our roots in this “Texas Pride” wearing state. Not our cup of tea….defiantly gets the “Sour” seal on our hunt to find to the sweet.

That was my rant, but in all seriousness, of course we did enjoy some aspects of our weekend in “Austin’s Shitty Limits”, as I like to say. On Friday we spent the afternoon at Barton Springs Pool – a naturally fed swimming hole that overflows into the Lady Bird Lake and snakes around the downtown cityscape. I got to watch turtles eat some bread that a lil’ boy was throwing to some ducks and walk barefoot through a grass meadow – I couldn’t remember the last time that I got to rub my feet in grass that soft. It really felt like summer.



Also, we finally got to eat some real deal Texas BBQ. We totally fattened our faces at Iron Works BBQ in Downtown Austin last night before bed. I had a BBQ brisket plate complete with pork n’ beans and potato salad and Jarvis nearly inhaled a sampler plate – beef ribs, sausage and brisket which he doused in the extra fire hot sauce. We both washed it down with an icy cold Coors Light, which after days of drinking Lone Star tall boys, tasted like “my mountains are blue deliciousness.”



It’s Sunday morning and I’m sitting in the hotel lobby restaurant waiting for my hubby to come down and have some brunch. We are leaving to Dallas today and I’m super excited to visit an old friend that I’ve known since fifth grade. We will be on our way to Little Rock, Memphis, and Nashville this week and to the New Orleans Bayou by the weekend. Tomorrow is our one month anniversary, and as of yet, we wont be filing for a divorce any time soon. Jarvis said that it already feels like a lifetime – I say, “the best lifetime ever.”

New Mexico's Candyland

We were about two steps into Carrizozo, New Mexico, about sixty miles south of Albuquerque, when I realized that we were finally stepping into the unfamiliar leg of the trip. I felt adapted to the desert from all of the time I had exhausted in the area when I was growing up, but several of our next destinations would be into unknown territories. Although the majority of our stops thus far had been original experiences for Jarvis, many of them where places my parents had taken my sister and I when we were young. As far as I could remember, I had never been blessed with the opportunity to visit Carrizozo – a tiny country town that lies in the basin of the Sacramento Mountains. The market there has very few sodas in the cold box, and those that do remain on the shelves have dated labels. The boy behind the register isn’t to impressed with us city folks, but I have to snap photos of his shop and signage anyways.

About half way to our day’s destination we run into a wall of barren beauty – we enter The Valley of Fires and as we maneuver through a dust devil and a rain storm I realize that we are completely surrounded by pahoehoe and aa lava flows that probably cooled here some thousands of years ago. Suddenly we were in a vast land of black lava rocks, and being a woman of science, as I like to say, I can’t help but to enlighten Jarvis on how the different types of formations were created. He doesn’t seem too impressed with “Monique’s 107th random geology fact.”
We pull through Cloudcroft, New Mexico and into the Lincoln National Forest. We roll down the windows and kill the air conditioning – the cool mountain air feels so refreshing after weeks in the valley. The trees smell raw and they appear the color of a Rolling Rock – bottle green. We set up our camp and packed some sandwiches for our evening outing – White Sands National Monument.
We decided to visit the dunes for sunset to try and avoid some of the UV rays that radiate the desolate land around Alamogordo, New Mexico. We pull into the park just as the sun is starting to turn the sky indigo. A few miles in you can start to see bits of white sand on the tips of the rolling brown sand and as it emerges on the side of the road it looks like bits of left over snow, or a morning frost that you find on your lawn in the fall. Suddenly, as the paved road comes to a halt, the miracle of the land comes into sight. This place, my friends, is truly a must see landscape. White dune pillows glisten with crystals in the setting sun. The vast gypsum field is forever stagnant, yet continually moving as the winds redistribute the dunes around the ecosystem. People of all ages sled down the steep slopes of the rolling hills and if not for the excruciating temperatures, one might believe they are in a winter wonderland. Jarvis and I feel like we are on the moon.
We try our hand at sledding, only we don’t have proper equipment so we attempt with a silver sun reflector from the inner windshield of the car. The ride was mediocre at best and I got sand up my shorts – not the best thing when you’re going to be camping with no shower for a few days. The sun sets in the distance, and it takes everything to pull us away from this remarkable place. I’m in love with this arid sweet spot – the sugary mountains make my mouth water and eyes tear out of excitement.
That night I slept like a baby, and had dreams about childhood and friends from my past. I know we would be leaving New Mexico in the morning. I am forever thankful for my time here.

Burque Or Bust

I can’t remember the last time that I was so excited to come home for a visit. Don’t get me wrong, I always appreciate an Albuquerque stopover, but they are always so short, sweet and scheduled that I hardly have time to really take it all in. Generally, I am flying in on a Friday afternoon to complete an extensive list of errands, visits, and parties, only to leave forty-two hours later and dive back into a pile of school books or work emails. This time felt different. As we sped down I-25 through Bernalillo, I was overtaken with a happiness about Burque that I hadn’t felt in years. As we fly past the sign “City of Albuquerque, Population 521,999,” I grow a smile on my face – it almost represents a devious smirk.

Five days in this desert void that you people call home. A tiny little snow globe of places and people that you can only find here. We took a loop of the city yesterday, so I could check out the changes, and show Jarvis some of my favorites. I made several observations….

First – Endless blocks of strip malls and storefronts line extremely long linear roads. Shops appear abandoned as their stucco paint peels from the side of the door frame and dried grasses break through and crack the asphalt parking lots. Sections of town appear cast off, neglected and ghetto, while others receive constant facelifts, influx of new restaurants, shops, street lights and park benches. Complete dichotomy.

Second – This town has a deficient number of pedestrians. There are cars everywhere. In all fairness, considering the underprovided public transportation system, the complete lack of bike lanes, and the ninety-eight degree temperatures cooking the cement lined city, it is no wonder that people opt out of alternate means of transportation. But still, WHERE ARE ALL THE PEOPLE?!?!?

Third – New Mexico food is the best, bottom line. We ate breakfast at Layola’s on Central and Washington and my sopapilla stuffed with beans and green was orgasmic. Jarvis had an Indian taco Christmas style and we both left with overflowing bellies as we ate entirely too quickly. Additionally, shit here is fuckin’ cheep. Pardon my emphasis, but after braving the expensive lifestyle of San Francisco, it’s shocking for two of us to eat such a plethora of food for eighteen dollars and forty-two cents. We went to the grocery store the other day and bought enough food to BBQ for four hungry adults – the total was thirty-four dollars. When we left San Francisco, we filled up at a relatively cheep gas station for $3.86 a gallon…here, you pay $2.64. Ridicules……but I digress.

Forth – New Mexico breeds a very unique type of character. Hard working, family oriented, Spanish accent speaking, friendly, yet gangster, all rolled into one burrito, smothered in chile and served with a side of chicharones. So one of a kind is the human breed here, and the second I step foot into the dry red soils of this great state I feel myself starting to rekindle the distinctive personality traits.

Fifth – At the end of the day, when the sun sets on this valley town, nothing else matters aside from the magnificence that envelops this little badland town. Your sunsets are incomparable to any I have ever witnessed, your warm nights and summer breezes ease the day’s troubles, and your purple mountains majesties.

Five days in the desert void that you people call home…and I’m loving every second of it.

Rocky Mountain Way

Our time in Pagosa has been absolutely dazzling. From distant peaks, across green valleys, surrounded by pillow filled skies, there is beauty all around us and it is literally indescribable. We have seen more wildlife in the last four days than I ever have before – deer, birds, bears, lizards, coyotes, and squirrels dance around the back yard from dusk till dawn and purr through the star filled nights. The views here are stunning and each evening as the sun sets and sky turns from hot pink to deep purple I feel blessed to be here.

Sunday we visited Kips Grill and Cantina located in downtown Pagosa Springs and enjoyed a patio filled with live music, cold Coronas and the best fish and shrimp tacos that my mouth has ever encountered. Jalapeño poppers filled with smooth cream cheese, wrapped in bacon and grilled washed down with whole roasted NM green chilies makes for one ecstatic stomach. After dinner, and a slice of key lime pie, we walk down to the San Juan River and my mind is on cloud nine.

Yesterday we loaded up into dad’s big white truck and took a day trip to Piedra Falls. Snaking around dirt roads through canyons and meadows we jammed Jack Johnson and ate turkey sandos which mom packed for the journey. Gorges carved deep into the earth are lined with rivers conjoining and disconnecting again. Found in the Weminuche Wilderness Area, the largest wilderness area in Colorado, the area contains the headwaters of numerous rivers, glacial caves, granite towers and miles of trails. There are meadows and pastures for miles. Our final destination was found at the end of a mild river-side trail, and you can hear the roar of the falls before they expose themselves around the corner. We take a dip in one of the swimming pools and the frigid water is sobering.

It’s Tuesday morning and I just ate a huge plate of leftovers. For dinner last night Mamma T made a fried chicken spread that was comparable to what Grandma Rue use to make for Jarvis when he was a kiddo. Wowza. Our motivation for doing anything besides lying on the coach has just halted to a pause.