The Family and Friends Tour of 2022.

 

 

City driving isn’t my thing. I don’t like all the stopping, the traffic and the idiots who don’t know where they’re going, speed past, or tailgate me because they think doing so will push me to go faster. It won’t. Highway driving, on the other hand, isn’t so bad. Oh, sure. Those idiots are still out there. But the open road is freedom, where the spirit can soar so high that it inhabits the grandeur of the skies, which reign over mammoth mountains, open prairie, lush forests. Or above whatever surrounds you, wherever you may be. Unless driving in South Texas, which is flat as a table, and dull.

On the Lisa Marie Plane

Elvis mural on hotel

Hamming it up

In the early nineties, I took an epic road trip all the way to Toronto. I was going to a friend’s family wedding in Cleveland. The cost of flying was so high, I commented that we might as well drive. It was that nudge that altered the course of our trip. 

We lived in Dallas. I planned the route and realized that we would pass through amazing cities. We started adding overnight stops, turning the original 4 day trip into an 11 day road adventure. In Memphis we stopped at a corny motel, across from Graceland, where Elvis was king. Elvis was on a mural out front, and every room had his picture. He was even playing on the TV. It was so delightfully tacky. It tied in well for our tour of Graceland the next day, where a woman swore that Elvis is still alive and living upstairs. 

 

Base of the CNN Tower

We stopped for photos at Dollywood, and a huge Johnny Cash sign. We saw Loretta Lynn’s Kitchen and something about Conway Twitty, but I’ve forgotten. There were so many tourist traps that we had to skip. We had to get on up to Ohio for the wedding. It was so cheesy, how could I not name it the Cheese Tour?

 

 

 

 

 

Enjoying the view

Went to the upper observation deck

While in Cleveland, we realized how close we were to Niagara Falls—an easy day trip. And that’s so close to Toronto. So, we got up super early to hit the road for what I called, the Cheese Tour annex

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View from the top

Just after sunset

Going to Toronto left very little time in Niagara Falls. And it took eternity to reach Toronto. I blamed it on Canada using the metric system: kilometers are longer than miles. She almost bought it. Downtown was strangely deserted and its buildings were impressive. Going to the top of the CN Tower was perfect for my love of heights and architecture. We were so high, we could see Florida. Or so it seemed... New York was visible across the lake. 

 

The sun was sinking, and we had to make it back to Cleveland that night. Slowed by construction and congestion, I was forced to take out a traffic cone to get around a slow dumbass. We barely got back by midnight. It was a large time.

A Road Trip is Born

Leslie and Penguin

 

 

My cousin Leslie and I were close growing up. We often traveled to Corpus Christi, TX, to see our grandparents. Summers were the best, when we fished on the downtown T-heads or played in the surf at Mustang Island. We still recall a Christmas where she and I shared a mattress on the floor of our grandparent’s room. The adults spoke in whispers and hushed laughter like guilty school children as they set up for Christmas morning. We lamented how we couldn’t sleep. Would morning EVER come?

After marriage, her family moved to Athens, Georgia, and opened a restaurant, which is funny. She and I used to play restaurant in Corpus. We even named it, using our family’s initials: B and G’s kitchen. What’s more, we created a theme song. “There’s a bird up on the peak, and we’re just down the street...at B and G’s Kitchen. Yukka-ta-kah!”

 

Madi and Bo getting married

In spring, I mentioned to Leslie that I could possibly visit in July. Her mom, my aunt, recently moved there from Dallas, and I really missed seeing her. It just so happened that her eldest daughter was getting married July 2^nd. And I was invited.

 

Then I realized that the other side of my family was having a reunion on the Florida shores a week later. If I drove, I could see both sides of my family. I could also stop to visit my father’s former wife in Mississippi. But what to do in between? I had friends in Atlanta. Before I knew it, I was planning the Family and Friends Tour of 2022.

Departing Houston on the last Wednesday of June at 9AM, I drove west. The last time I drove this route was 30 years prior, for summer family reunions in Gulf Shores, AL. There are quite a few historical places I wanted to stop, but I had a hotel reservation in Mobile, AL. Knowing my limits as I recover from long-haul covid, I didn’t want to push it. Seeing where Texas history was made could wait. 

 

My cousin Kyle and his wife Cathy

Sitting in traffic in Baton Rouge

In Baton Rouge, I crossed the bridge over the Mississippi River. I enjoyed the views of downtown while traffic crawled. On the downward side, things sped up. A sign indicated a split: Interstate 12 to the left, curving out of view, and Interstate 10, going forward. Where did I-12 lead? I felt like I should know. I couldn’t understand why I-12 had 2 lanes of traffic, and I-10 had one. My mind processed that Mobile, and my hotel, was on I-10, so surely I stay on 10. Odd that most cars were going to I-12. It wasn’t until I choose I-10 and saw a sign for New Orleans when my brain registered the information. I remembered past trips not going through the Big Easy on the I-12 bypass. I messed up.

 

Apex of the bridge

 

 

The idea of exiting to go back to I-12 crept in. But how long of a detour was New Orleans? I have GPS. Let’s pull it up. On the map, taking 10 didn’t seem like much of a detour—maybe half an hour. Exiting and finding my way back to 12 would most likely take as long. I could live with a delay of half an hour. I was expecting to get to my hotel around 6PM. I decided against turning around. 

You can see it coming, can’t you?

Silly little mind didn’t take into consideration big city traffic. And fate had a knee-slapping laugh by throwing in one of the more torrential storms I had ever driven through. I began beating myself up, something my therapist is helping me overcome. I’ve always had an impeccable sense of direction. Now, with post covid brain fog, I felt like I need directions to get out of a paper bag. And each time traffic slowed to a stop, or I had to speed up the windshield wipers for a downpour, my audible moans of frustration intensified. Feeling left out of creating havoc for me to overcome, my bladder began demanding to be emptied. 

Heavy downpour in New Orleans

 

Still west of downtown, the exits were numerous, but there was no feeder road. From the car’s navigation screen, it appeared taking an exit would be more of an adventure than I wanted to get back on the freeway. Maybe the next exit would be simpler. Surely there will be a feeder road, so I can just exit, find a place for relief, and jump right back onto 10. I remembered New Orleans having feeder roads like Texas.Didn't I?

Another thing I now struggle with is prioritization. In my mind, finding a feeder road with quick off and on was more important than finding a rest stop. With each exit I passed, my bladder pressed harder, but my mind was set and wearing blinders. It reached a point where it finally became clear: no matter what, I must take the next exit or stop to dry off my seat.

Oh, can I ever pick them? The exit wound itself under the freeway, with no sign of an intersection. Where did this go? Would there be a place to turn or was I now on an expressway? There were no gas stations, restaurants or hotels in sight. I reached a traffic light and the chance to turn...but which way? Right seemed to have a greater chance of a good stop. There was a cemetery. There were homes. There were more homes. Where the hell was I? Finally, after a few miles, I found a few small stores and one gas station. 

 

I parked and was nearly dancing as I entered the convenience store. The cashier was behind glass. The doors leading to the back of the store were barred. It didn’t seem like a bad part of town. It was obvious that I would not find relief inside. Maybe the restroom is outside. It wasn’t. I wouldn’t make it to another stop without bursting the dam. This was now a code-red emergency situation...redder than red.

That’s when I saw a trash can in front of my car. Peering inside, I spotted a huge plastic cup with about an inch of blue liquid. Without hesitation or concern, I snatched the cup out, dumped the liquid, and jumped into my seat. I sure was happy I chose dark window tint. And I could have used a larger cup.

Mississippi rest stop

Half an hour later, I was back on I-10 passing at the Superdome. I asked my navigation for directions to the hotel. My car, Wendy, is so smart. She told me that my arrival time was 8PM. It would have been 6PM had I not messed up. Damn my fogged brain for not taking 12, or exiting and going back. Thirty minutes more my ass.

 

You may recall that I mentioned a stop to visit my father’s ex-wife, Patty. We texted about a visit. She was excited to have me, stating that her schedule required stopping on the way home. Thank goodness for my Aunt Elaine in Dallas, who asked if Patty hadn’t moved back to Arkansas. It dawned on me that I didn’t ask where she lived. I just assumed she was still in Pass Christian, MS. She had indeed moved back to Arkansas. I was still welcome to visit, but not prepared to make that much of a detour. 

 

North of Mobile day 2

Wendy pulled into the hotel around 7:30, ahead of schedule. Room number 1 was nice, but the safe was sitting loose on the floor. I brought showy jewelry for the wedding, and planned to use it. Room 2 had a safe bolted to the floor, but it was locked from the previous occupant. The chemical odor in room 3 was more than I could stand. Room 4 didn’t have a safe. I wasn’t going to ask for room 5. I have a career that involves staying in hotels,  but I've never been this extra. There are many ways to hide jewelry in a hotel room.

The weather was wonderful, and a gorgeous pool, was winking at me. I changed into swim trunks, hid my jewelry, and went for a swim. The only way to improve the experience would be a hot tub in which to soak. And maybe a glass of Riesling. OK. Two things.

The plan was to leave the hotel by 8AM to spend a few hours in Montgomery for lunch. There might be time to visit the state capitol, and get tot Leslie’s before too late in the evening. The week before leaving, I watched the move, “Selma.” I highly recommend it. Selma is southwest of Montgomery, and not too far out of the way. Passing up the chance to visit is something I would later regret. The plan was amended for a 7AM departure for a Selma annex. On the drive to Florida, I would pass Montgomery, and could stop then.

 

Driving to Selma

Selma: Southern History part 1

I was on a 2 lane road meandering up and down and around hills, through thick, green forest land. There was no traffic or signs of civilization. The bladder was crying again, but there was nothing in sight. I could pull off and use nature, but there wasn’t a shoulder—only a large drop-off into grass and mud. The only places safe enough to exit were a few driveways with locked gates, leading into the thick forest. But if there’s a house in view, I’d be exposing myself to the risk of being seen. So I passed each driveway with this fear. None had any homes in sight, yet I continued to press on at each driveway I approached, thinking: this one might be different. I was about to scream when I entered a valley and spotted a small pull-out area ahead. This would become my privy.

I parked at an angle, opened the passenger door, and was reminded of the Colorado River flowing away. A semi-truck approached. I didn’t care. Then a car. Still not finished. When the stream finally stopped is when no more cars passed. Really? Now that I’m done is when traffic ceases?

 

Welcome to Selma

Selma, the Queen City of the Black Belt, played a huge role in US voting rights. I was honored to be stopping to pay my respect to the lives lost for American civil rights. I wanted to walk across the bridge to see for myself what it was like for the attempted march to Montgomery.What did it look like, cresting the bridge and catching sight of the thugs who wound up beating them back into town?

 

 

On the eastern shore of the Alabama River is a park dedicated to various leaders of that struggle. I pulled in to find a woman leaning on her car, watching me. What fresh hell is this? If you’re car won’t start, you’d find better help in that scruffy dog running loose nearby. She told me a story of how, for 2 weeks, she and others tried to capture that dirty pup. The local vet provided a sleeping pill and she was unsure. She needed advice, but didn’t ask for my help, which was a relief. I’d rather help with her car than catch that dog.

I turned my attention to the monument stones in the park. They were etched with the faces of men and women vital to the voting rights act of 1965. One was for John Lewis, and another for Dr. King, Jr. I couldn’t wait any longer. I had to walk the bridge. 

 

Eastern side

Only the north side of the bridge had a walkway. Traffic sped by inches away, making me nervous, which surprised me. Why was I feeling this degree of trepidation over traffic? I’ve experienced traffic like this before. Was this another effect of covid? To distract myself, I admired the art deco guard rails. At the apex is the arching metal cage that gives strength to the bridge—with that horrid name: Edmond Pettus. He was a grand dragon for the ku klux klan. There are many names better suited to welcome visitors to Selma. I’m thinking John Lewis would be better suited.

 

The thugs waited at the bottom in this view

After reaching the other side, I turned around, and walked across just as they had in 1965. I could better understand how scary it was for them, walking up the bridge, unable to see the other side at all—the fear they must have felt. At the crest, I imagined the sight of the bigoted white men, some on horses, with sticks, clubs, and weapons, intent on keeping the marchers from reaching Montgomery. What I found hard to imagine was the courage and strength of the marchers—more than I’ve ever had to muster. 

 

Old part of Selma

Along the Alabama River

I drove across the bridge into town and turned north. I wanted a shot of the rarely seen side view of the bridge. I was taken, seeing building after building, empty and boarded up, with windows either broken or missing. An historic plaque documented this was once a stronghold of the confederate army, where munitions were stored. The buildings were later razed by the Union Army. This part of Selma never rejuvenated, but for a few restaurants and businesses overlooking the river. 

 

Brown Chapel AME Church

Then I drove to the church where Dr. King gave several speeches—where the marches were born. The church was undergoing renovations. A chain link fence surrounded it, while scaffolding encircled one of the brick towers. A crane stood sentry as a few workers toiled in the morning sun. Unable to enter the church, I settled for only seeing the prominent memorial to Dr. King out front. 

 

Dr. Martin Luther King preached here

The man. Dr. King

The church sits in an area that was obviously a poor part of town. It was ghetto-like, with small, drab apartment buildings and duplexes. Beyond this were homes resting on brick foundations. Most didn’t appear to have been maintained since the day they were built. Many were falling down, while weeds overtook the yards and earthen driveways. Many of the homes not falling down appeared to be vacant. The porches were full of trash and junk, the windows were boarded up, and more weeds grew tall. There were, however, a few homes that were fixed up rather nice.

Downtown art

  I crossed into a section of town with small homes in slightly better condition, and not as old. Waist-high chain link fences surrounded the properties, and driveways hosted more old cars than they should. The locals kept to themselves, paying me no attention as I drove by. I nearly ran a traffic light because it was small, suspended in the middle of the intersection, and difficult to see. And when red, they lasted an eon.

For lunch, I had scrutinized a few possibilities prior to departure, and favored a little BBQ place called Lannies. It was still too early and I was out of planned sights to see. Before leaving Houston, I tried to refill a prescription, but was too early. I planned to get it done when I got to Athens. Why not stop at the CVS in Selma, and get it over with?

 

Old Dallas County Courthouse

The short story is that my prescription can’t be transferred across state lines, because it’s a controlled Medication. Thus, my doctor must send the script directly to the store. This was all arranged with my doctor. I asked to speak with the pharmacist; an older white man wearing a white coat approached. His face told me he was being interrupted. After greeting him, I began to explain how I was on a 2 week road trip, but would run out of a prescription before I got home. I couldn’t fill it before I left because it was too early...

New Dallas Co Courthouse

He interrupted, and everything he said, I already knew. He spoke to me as if I was a child. Maybe because of “Selma,” the movie, but I thought he spoke the way people in movies spoke to blacks in the 50s. This must be what it felt like for so many blacks in segregated America. The way he spoke down to me felt terrible and belittling. I couldn’t imagine having to deal with that all my life.

When he finally fell silent, I continued. His tone improved once he understood, so I called my doctor for the script to be faxed. It was just past 11AM. I decided to go to lunch and return later to pick it up. Before I could leave, I was called to the window and informed that CVS policy won’t allow a refill until July 4^th. It was June 30. The wedding was on the 2^nd. I guess I’d now be in Athens for the 4^th, even though I hadn’t planned on it. Because of the holiday, I had to place another call to my doctor with a CVS in Athens to send the script. 

 

The dining room at Lannies BBQ was still closed for covid. Instead of dining in, a lady came out to take my order, and later returned with my food in plastic bags. I read that they are renowned for their pulled pork. I ordered this with sides of fried okra and potato salad.

Lannies

Pulled pork

 

While waiting on my food, I noticed picnic tables on the side of the building. I asked if I could eat there. She said yes, but her body language was negative. It didn’t take long to understand why. There were flies the likes of which I had never seen. Super fast and over confident, they zoomed straight for the food, unafraid of the hand shooing them away. Two turned into 20. I gave up and retreated to the safety of my car. Downtown was half a mile away. Having lunch in my car next to the river sounded good.

 

edmond pettus bridge over the Alabama River

The plastic bag had fallen to the floor and out of reach. I placed the container atop my tote bag in the passenger seat, and drove downtown. After finding a nice, shady spot, I got a hard lesson on why pulled pork with BBQ sauce comes in a plastic bag...doubled, in fact. Sauce got everywhere, including into the file folder of trip notes and wedding invitations with addresses. I thought I got it all cleaned up, but was finding sauce for days.

 

View from downtown

Empty building with art deco

Selma was a depressing stop. I did not leave feeling the same as when I entered. I departed driving over the pettus bridge again, and past more tenement buildings. I don’t think I’d return; once is enough. Aside from the history, there is little to do in Selma. Wendy was aimed towards Montgomery, following the same route as the 1965 march. There was hardly any traffic. And then I reached the interstate...along with everyone else.

The congestion was heavy in Montgomery. After confusing a few turns with those that were correct, especially after the now infamous 10/12 split, I learned my lesson. Going forward, each destination is to be entered into Wendy’s navigation computer, regardless of how easy the route appears. And when Wendy changed the route due to traffic patterns, as in Atlanta, I did precisely as I was told. Being so easily distracted and fatigued requires paying close attention to the route and Wendy’s help. There were times I questioned if I really was safe to travel the country by myself.

East of Montgomery, I encountered another episode of priority impairment involving my bladder. The trees were thick and I couldn’t see any business signs high in the air. There were signs on the interstate indicating what restaurants, gas stations and hotels were at the next exit, but I couldn’t see anything when I got to the exit. All I wanted an easy off and easy on, and so ignored the more pressing need to evacuate my bladder. I don’t know why I do this. Like throwing the baby out with the bathwater: if my mind is set on getting rid of the bathwater, the baby be damned.

I finally chose an exit, but when I reached the intersection, there was nothing there. The amenities were down the road a stretch. Instead of turning, I chose to get back on the highway. The road I had to cross was 2 lanes and separated without enough space to stop in between. As a white van approached from my left, I saw a red car coming from the right. I saw this... yet I decided to go. I stopped for the red car to pass, but was now blocking the van. I pressed forward, nearly causing an accident. Luckily, no one as much as honked. What the hell was I thinking? Or why wasn’t I? I apologized to them from inside my car for at least a mile, freaking out over what I had done. At least I wasn’t apologizing in person.

 

Only after I sped down the interstate entrance ramp did it occur to me how much easier it would have been to drive to wherever the businesses were. Now I had another five miles before the next exit. And then I noticed that Wendy was showing a range of 80 miles, I guess I would make it a petrol stop, as well; better now than to stop in Atlanta.

 

 

 

Athens: The Wedding

The Selma field trip had me in Atlanta at rush hour, and everyone was there. Knowing this ahead of time allowed me to sit back and enjoy the view with my Pandora tunes. I emerged on the east side of town unscathed, following Wendy’s directions to the T—even past the sign that said detour, road closed. Of course brain didn’t register those words until I had committed to the route. Sure enough, about a mile down was a roadblock, stating that the bridge was out. Why didn’t Wendy know this? 

 

Brett's Casual American

My cousin and her husband, Brett, moved to Athens, GA and opened a successful restaurant: Brett’s Casual American, or BCA. I’ve been keen to see it and sample their cuisine for ages. Leslie texted, informing me that the family was going there for dinner, and thought I should meet them. I asked Wendy to alter our destination, and she obliged.

Leslie’s brother and his wife arrived that day from Dallas. They, Aunt Glenda, Leslie and Brett were at the restaurant, along with 4 family friends. I arrived just as they finished a variety of appetizers, but there was plenty for me to graze on. This filled me up enough that I passed on ordering an entree. What a shame, too.

 

Texas proud

Their onion rings were about the best I’ve had. Honestly. They make a dip for them that is far superior to ketchup. They fry their own tortilla chips, served with house-made salsa that is out of this world. The entrees arrived, showcasing huge burgers with thick steak fries, the way fries should be. Salmon with veggies, large salads, a mouth watering quesadilla, and even a great kid’s menu—no wonder it was packed on a Thursday. And I’m pleased to see them sharing some TexMex staples with the unfamiliar.

Watkinsville church

Leslie and her family actually reside in a rural area of Watkinsville, GA, with rolling hills and areas of dense forest. Peppered here and there are pastures to graze horses, sheep and goats. They live in a quaint home surrounded by trees. I climbed the front steps to a spacious covered porch with rocking chairs and a couch. When my Aunt Glenda moved from Dallas, they built an attached apartment in back, with a large open area that opens into the kitchen area of main house. The apartment has a full kitchen and a dinette connected to an open living room. Her closet is the size of a small bedroom. In the rear is the master suite, with cozy sitting area and a TV. She has views overlooking the back yard. And in the yard is a play fort, which I’m sure the boys loved when they were younger. Now that her youngest is a high school senior, it sits lonely, wishing someone would play in its elevated lair. And at night...fireflies. I don’t remember the last time I’ve seen fireflies. 

 

Happy I finally made it to BCA

It’s been 6 years since I saw this part of the family. The kids are no longer kids. The younger of the two girls got married a month earlier. The eldest boy is off to college in the fall, and in a year, the youngest boy will follow suit. Poor Leslie. Between owning a restaurant, raising 4 kids, and having both daughters married a month apart...she was beat. But honestly, she looks fantastic, always so beautiful.

 

Leslie, Cathy, Kyle, Aunt Glenda and Penguin

Leslie's boys

Maddi and Bo

Friday night was the rehearsal dinner for Maddi and Bo, held at a popular brewery in this thriving college town. They don’t serve food, but BCA catered it, of course. We were treated to BBQ beef, which Brett says is mostly unknown in Georgia. BBQ in Texas means beef. Out there, ask for BBQ and you'll get pork. We also feasted on shredded TexMex chicken, with all the fixings, to stuff into flour tortillas for soft tacos. Or, for nachos with BCA’s freshly fried chips. I was in shock and awe when I found myself in line for seconds—something I rarely do any more.

The Chapel

Saturday, the wedding ceremony was at the Georgia State Botanical Gardens. Imagine a majestic wooden chapel with large windows, that bathe the interior with light, filtered through a thick canopy of trees. The chapel features an eclectic blend of architectural styles, including art deco, a passion of mine. This sparked a fascinating discussion of the various branches of art deco with Cousin Kyle’s wife, Cathy, a renowned interior decorator. We were abruptly interrupted by a wedding. The nerve.

As at every wedding, I got a lump in my throat as Leslie’s eldest, Maddi, walked down the aisle on her father’s arm. The wedding party was large. The women wore dresses which matched in color, but each had a different style. The men wore matching suits with white Nike sneakers. Maddi’s husband is an eclectic sort of guy. He’s a lot like me: caring little of what others think in regards to his approach to life. I found in him a simpatico new family member. 

 

Following the ceremony was a reception downstairs, once again hosted by BCA. Pimento cheese is a favorite of mine, and there was a large bowl of it, with crackers. There were also tasty hot meatballs. Later that night was a less formal after party. Showing off my new svelte look in tux coat and bow tie was capital, but it sure felt nice returning to shorts in the heat of Georgia’s summer.

 

Leslie and her bro, Kyle

Bo and Maddi's entrance

The after party was at a bustling Mexican restaurant, in a private garden area in back. They provided chicken and beef tortas. Some called them quesadillas, but they were definitely sandwiches. What do they know of tortas in Athens? The guacamole with chips were good, but not as much as BCA’s chips.

Polaroids for guests use

Leslie and I never discussed my departure plans. I wanted to spend the 4^th with friends in Atlanta. Now that I had to be in Athens on Monday to pick up my prescription, I asked if I could stay until at least then. She seemed fine with that until the following day. BCA is closed on Mondays, and they just survived 2 weddings one month apart. I can certainly understand how tired they were, and needed to relax...but.

I was stunned when she asked that I leave Sunday morning. She knew I had a tight budget, being on a medical leave. I conveyed to her that I didn’t expect to be entertained. I was fine ignoring them while I, too, relaxed. I even offered to help with some chores.

 

 

Running out of these meds once before left me with terrible withdrawals. I would exhaust my supply on the 4^th, so leaving for Atlanta, unable to get more until mid week, wasn’t an option. I would have to find a hotel in town. What else could I do? I went upstairs to hide in the guest room with my laptop, to find a hotel for 2 nights in my budget.

Sunday, I was packed and ready to go by 10AM. Aunt Glenda felt bad, and offered her place until the afternoon. Kyle and Cathy were coming over to help decorate her new apartment before leaving for the airport. We wrapped things up around 2PM, so I took my leave. It felt very strange, being in town, but not with family I hadn't seen in ages. For the rest of the day, I made sure not to step out of the apartment and into the house.

Botanical Gardens

  I found an Air BnB less expensive than a hotel, but couldn’t check in prior to 6PM. This left a lot of time to kill. So I went back to explore more of the botanical gardens.

 

 

 

 

Monday was the 4^th of July, so nothing was open. I stopped by the Georgia State University campus, which was empty due to the holiday. I walked around, and then admired some of the tony homes, driving through the older part of town. I was slowly making my way west to fetch my controlled medication at CVS. To think, I kicked myself when Leslie said there was a CVS closer to them in Watkinsville that I could have used. Turns out,- that would have been inconvenient. At least now there wasn’t a risk of running into the family. Awkward.

Georgia State University

Double barrel canon

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I was staying near the campus. The drive and  weekend events left me tuckered, so I found myself in bed before the sun set. From under the covers, I listened to the pops, booms and crackles of nearby fireworks. I’ve had worse 4^th of July celebrations. Even had I been with friends, I’d be a bump on a log with my low energy.

In the morning, I chose to tour the Museum of Art, located on the campus. I didn’t want to leave too early and inconvenience my friend, who was working. Plus I love art museums. This one was an enjoyable experience, particularly viewing 3 window panes designed by Frank Lloyd Wright, himself. And it was free.

 

Across from campus

Abandoned retro in Athens

 

 

 

 

 

Atlanta is Hotlanta

 

Me with Rob in Atlanta

Upon leaving Athens, I passed a gas station charging $3.82 a gallon. I hadn’t seen anything under $4 since leaving home. This was only the 3^rd stop for petrol on this trip. Wendy is the best. With a full tank of gas, my next destination was Atlanta. I would stay the night with a very dear friend, Rob. He worked from home, and I didn’t want to be in his way, so I planned to arrive in the late afternoon. For some reason, I had it in my head that Athens was 4 hours from Atlanta; or it felt like 4 hours on the way in. I was at Rob’s house in 90 minutes—just after lunch.

Art deco in Atlanta

Rob helped bring my things inside and I offered to go sightseeing until he “clocked out.” The only reason I showed up early was because I had some food that needed to be in the fridge. He convinced me that I wouldn’t bother him if I stayed. The quiet time in his living room, and the chance to get caught up on a few things, was welcomed. After quitting time, Rob drove me around for a nice tour of Atlanta. We ate at a quaint Japanese restaurant, then stopped at a grocery store for Boston cream pie ice cream on the way home. We spent hours rehashing the days we worked at the same insurance company. He’s kept in touch with more of our old team than I have, and it was nice to hear what they were now doing.

The Carter Airplane

On Thursday, I was invited to stay with my Bay Area friends, Mark and Tara. But first, I wanted to see the Jimmy Carter presidential library and museum. I have been to the LBJ library in Austin, and I fancy seeing all of the presidential libraries one day. Unassuming from the outside, the building is surrounded by beautiful trees. Everything in Georgia is surrounded by beautiful trees. I enjoyed the museum so much that I spent twice as long as expected. 

 

Carter's Oval Office

Mark and Tara live in a wonderful 3 story home with their daughter in a nice area off I-85. Like much of Georgia, it’s hilly, and lush with vegetation. A creek runs along the back of their property, creating an oasis. Edie gave me a tour of the home while her parents finished work. Edie is more like a young adult than a 10-year old. She’s smart, confident, artistic, and engaging. When the work day ended, the adults spent time getting caught up.

 

That night, they made rice bowls with all sorts of TexMex toppings: beans, grilled veg, cheese, salsa, and sour cream. I’d never seen anything of the sort. It was so good, I plan to make it at home. They seemed surprised at how little I eat, thus making my loss of 90 pounds understandable.

Briarlake Forest Park

The following day, while they both worked, I got in a workout. I wanted to visit a park Tara told me about. Walking uphill, half a mile away, is a small, wooded park. From inside, I felt miles from civilization. There were numerous trails, and I actually got lost. I thought I was going to end up where I entered, but seemed to be at the opposite end. This gave me a panic attack; being so lost and turned around is not something I’m used to. The park wasn’t THAT big. I think what frustrated me more was seeing another example of what covid has done to me. Feeling fatigued, once I found their street, I walked back much sooner than expected.

In the evening, I was treated to sushi. I ate an entire shrimp tempura roll and 6, albeit somewhat small, pieces of pork gyoza. Man, was it good. This made the 2^nd time on this trip that I ate more than I should have, but this meal would not have have made good leftovers. Waste not want not is what my grandmother used to say. I can’t throw out tasty food.

 

I'm with Tara, Edie & Mark

We binge watched Ru Paul’s Drag Race both evenings. I’d never seen a whole episode, and many times found myself laughing out loud. Rarely could I understand the on-screen drama. When things move quickly, I struggle to follow along. Especially being so unfamiliar with the world of cross dressers. It took forever to learn that the boys prefer to be called she, or her. “Now wait. Who is he? I mean she? Why did he take his wig? I mean, why did she take her wig?” It was a laugh-riot.

As things wound down that night, I proclaimed my intention of leaving at 9AM. Up to this point, sleeping more than 6 hours was rare. There was a time you could set a clock to my getting 8 hours of sleep. This wound up being one of those nights that I slept 8, pushing my departure back a bit. They weren’t in a hurry to get rid of me, and Montgomery was only a 3 hour drive, so no worries. It was nice having another short drive ahead of me. The expectation was that it would be an easy day. But I hadn’t left Atlanta yet.

 

Enjoying the urban forest

Still in the city limits, my covid brain fog stuck again. The signs on the freeway confused me. They didn’t seem to match what Wendy was showing. At a fork, I went the wrong way, even though Wendy told me the right way. It’s not a perfect system, but the timing was actually right. My coffee-filled bladder was ready to stop. I found a McDonalds. It was the first time since covid that I've been in one. I must admit that the McD’s aroma still delights the senses, but not enough to make me buy anything.

 

Montgomery: Southern History part 2

Capitol Inn and Suites

Opting to visit Selma instead of Montgomery on day 2 allowed me to budget 27 hours in Alabama’s capitol. Two half days, really, for a place with many more points of interest and things to do than Selma. My first visit warranted more than a few hours. I booked a motel a few blocks from the capitol.

Montgomery, Alabama

The drive from Atlanta went quickly, and I was able to check into the motel prior to lunch. In this motel, I got what I paid for: a meager, run-down room that smelled of cheap cleaning chemicals. The walls had tacky artwork that might have been printed on their home printer. The bedspread was from the dark side of the 70s. A huge, suspicious stain lived on the seat at an old, mismatched desk, with the scratches and burn marks one expects from such a cheap motel. But it had a working air conditioner and pluming, a small fridge, and the bed wasn’t horrible. It was only one night.

Shucked oysters

On the recommendation of Rob, I went to Wentzell’s Oyster House for a fried shrimp basket. It was served with excellent boardwalk-style fries, and hush puppies that won my prestigious award for most dense ever. No worries. I wanted to eat all 6 pieces of shrimp, and I filled up on fries. I was too full to worry myself over dense balls of fried cornbread. I ate at the oyster bar to avoid waiting for a table. I watched 2 men shuck oysters as if they were slicing butter. They easily shucked in 10 minutes, more oysters than I ever shucked in my life. And I spent a year working at a restaurant with oysters to shuck.

 

I make it a point to visit every state capitol I come across. Over the years, I’ve visted quite a few capitol buildings. Alabama’s closed at 5PM, making this my first tourist stop. It took half an hour to reach, even though it was a mile away. There were numerous stops of interest on nearly every block. I’d stop along the street to gander at some very interesting things: a statue of Rosa Parks, the city’s tallest building with art deco accents, the church where Dr. King, Jr. was pastor, and a beautiful Victorian-looking water fountain that I later learned was built on the spot where slaves were sold. 

Rosa Parks

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Considering it was Friday afternoon, there was hardly any traffic. I got rock star parking in front of the capitol building. Then a huge storm cloud dumped its liquid greeting as I pulled in. Waiting in the car for it to pass, seemed the sensible thing to do. It didn’t last more than 10 minutes.

 

Capitol steps

Spiral staircase

Rotunda

 

Alabama’s capitol appeared to be more for tourists, than actual state business. Both empty chambers are a step back in time. There is a large room north of the rotunda devoted to nothing but empty space. There were only a few historical items placed around the perimeter. In the back of the room was an ornate clerk’s desk, with numerous drawers for storing papers of various importance—what Mom called, “cully-mully.” As if she were there, I could hear her saying how this desk was perfect for all sorts of cully-mully.

 

 

 

 

The rotunda was gallant. The lower walls depicted scenes from Alabama’s history. At the entrance were impressive circular stairs that spiraled up three levels. After posing for photos on the capitol steps, I saw the plaque marking where Jefferson Davis stood to take the oath of office as the first president of the confederacy. I may or may not have given it the bird.

With a multitude of options, it was difficult choosing my next stop. Maybe the National Memorial for Peace and Justice would be a free park to observe a public memorial. A quick stop might allow me to see more afterwards. It was neither free nor quick, but would leave a lasting impression on me. And it included entry to the Legacy Museum nearby. All for only $5.

The woman at the ticket desk said there was a free a shuttle to the museum and back. When I walked out of the building, the bus was about to leave. I hadn’t a clue what the Legacy Museum was, but I decided to start there. It was quite a hot afternoon. Maybe I could escape the heat for a while, inside an air conditioned museum.

This would be the last stop on my tour for the day. Had I known, I would have arrived sooner. I could tell from the money spent on the Peace and Justice building that this was going to be good. Outside is a courtyard using bricks from slave labor. In the center s is a waist-high water feature. It may have been 50 feet long, with water spilling over the sides. In the water are the carved names of people who were lynched between 1865 and 1876. In the fountain’s center are 3 bronze heads of a black a man, woman, and child. At the far end is a wall of stark concrete lacking ornamentation. On this is quoted, “May we never forget all those who suffered and died because they asserted their basic human right to be free.” I hadn’t expected this to be so emotional. It was the 1^st tear of many shed that day. 

 

The courtyard fountain

The Legacy Museum isn’t a comforting place. It exposes the path from slavery to racial oppression, including terror lynchings and mass incarceration. It plays out the progress from subjugation to civil rights reform. It includes the evolving ways of controlling black people, all the way to present day.

Over 2 million kidnapped from Africa died on the ocean

Much technology is used to dramatize the horror of enslavement, lynchings, and legalized racial segregation. I was thrust in close proximity to replicas depicting imprisoned slaves awaiting sale at the auction block. One room housed a series of small jail cells with holograms of black people telling their story—including a young girl recounting how she was torn from her family as they were sold to masters far away. She would never see them again. How could I not cry?

 

The museum was immense and I was taking my time to see it all. When I realized I had been there for 3 hours it was 4:28. I asked when the last shuttle departed to the other site, where I parked. I had 2 minutes. She led me running through the rest of the museum; I had only seen half.

Homage to the 1965 March from Selma

It is amazing how thorough the museum is. Much time and effort was involved in creating this. Remembering and documenting racial injustice is a painful but necessary lesson of American history. One day, I’ll see the rest of it.

The following morning I returned to the National Memorial to Peace and Justice—the outdoor part I missed the day before. It’s dedicated specifically to the victims of lynching. In an open-air pavilion are 805 steel rectangles, that looked like coffins. Each represents a US county with a documented lynching. Eight hundred and five US counties...with a documented lynching. And some had lists as long as the day. 

National Memorial to Peace and Justice

 

Moving through the memorial, the floor descends but the ceiling remains level. Eventually, the rectangles seem to hang from above—as if from a lynching. Throughout the park are sculptures depicting scenes of racial violence. Not exactly a pick me up experience. 

As emotionally draining as they were, I wish there were more museums like this, as there are with Holocaust museums. This museum should be required for everyone—much like German citizens were taken to local concentration camps after WWII. It's painful, but necessary.

Homes of Montgomery

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Before leaving for Florida, I stopped briefly at a few more historical sites. I saw the house where Dr. Marin Luther King Jr. lived. I may or may not have given another bird as I drove past the White House of the confederacy.

 

Abandoned

Then I drove to a nearby antique shop—the largest I’ve ever seen—housed in what was once a department store. I meandered all 3 levels, and found half a dozen treasures to take home. I was happy to have Wendy with plenty of space. And finally, I couldn’t leave town without a suitable send off. A plate of pulled pork BBQ with a side of fried okra at the famous Dreamland BBQ hit the spot.

Old downtown

 

Montgomery art deco

 

 

Dreamland BBQ

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

A Florida Beach Family Reunion

Heavy congestion & bad weather

South of Montgomery was one heck of a traffic jam. It had to be an accident. Twenty minutes later I thought, this better be a good one. It wasn’t a good one. It wasn’t one at all. Suddenly I was going 70MPH. Those drive me crazy. At least I wasn’t going north. A line of bumper to bumper cars stretched for miles going north. I mean 100 or more miles. For the remainder of my time on 65, I saw a pattern of snarled northbound traffic, that would let up, and then came to another crawl. Those poor people.

As usual, my bladder could sense the approaching rest area, which was great timing. The rest area was packed. Everyone was there. The only place to park was along the curb at the edge of the property. Eventually, cars were parking in the grass. A line of women stretched 30 deep out of the ladies room. Luckily, in the men’s room, I was 4^th in line. When I returned to my car, I noticed the northbound rest stop across the interstate. It was more packed than this one—going southbound. I passed a couple who were equally in wonder at the masses. I asked, “What’s going on? Are we evacuating? What’s with this traffic?.” All they could do was shrug.

Mercifully, there wasn’t a terrible gridlock going south. What I did have was bad weather. Numerous rain storms moved in from the west, slowing me down to 30 MPH at times. At least it wasn’t constantly raining. And when I exited I-65 for Pensacola, a storm was rolling up behind me. Any time I reached a town with slower speed limits, it caught up to me. Then I’d outrun it again after resuming the higher speed.

Chased by a storm

Each time I crossed a state line on this trip, I stopped for a selfie with the welcome sign. I stopped for this reason in Century, FL. A family was just wrapping up their selfies as I parked. That damned storm was catching up again. I was afraid the storm was going to follow me all the way to Pensacola. It would dump on me while unloading my car at the Air BnB. But I was wrong. Eventually, the storm shifted and was no longer in my rear view mirror. 

Family time is always special. This was my Mom’s side of the family. It was only a year ago that we were last together for the funeral of my grandmother, Itsy. This was a much happier reunion that was all surf, pools, drinks, and sand in the swimwear. Mom was the eldest child, but cancer stole her from us in March of 2020. Now there are 3 siblings.

 

Driving over Dolphin Pass

Mom’s youngest sister, Donna, and her husband rented a nice house across the street from the beach. There were joined by their 3 kids. Garret would arrive the following day. Paige and Colie each had a husband, with 3, and soon to be 4, children between them. Mom’s middle sister, Patty, stayed with them, as well. It was quite a full house, and the reason I wasn’t staying there.

Sunset from the house

It was an amazing house. In the master suite was a closet large enough for a bunk bed. Upstairs was a bedroom with a set of queen-sized bunk beds. I had no idea there was such a thing. In a 3^rd bedroom was a queen bed with yet more bunk beds. You could easily sleep an army of 16, not to mention the 2 living room couches. The downside would have to be the 2 and half baths. Several balconies overlooked the pool. Next to the pool was a sand volleyball court, and then was the waterway. There were paddle boats for use. You could paddle to Old River, which connects to the bay just off the Gulf of Mexico. From there, the world is your oyster.

 

Family time by the pool

Uncle Mike and his clan rented 2 condos a quarter mile away, at the Eden. It’s a local landmark built in 1980, supposedly by Barbara Eden of “I Dream of Jeanie,” but I can find nothing to corroborate this. Their end unit had a huge patio, which was a perfect place for us all to gather. 

 

Sam, Simon, Paige & Hunt, Colie, Aunt P

 

Pool, vollyball, waterway

There was no room at either inn, so I splurged for an AirBnB 18 miles away, in Pensicola. Anything closer was out of my budget. It was a nice house in a working-class neighborhood. The owner’s mom, Terri, lives in and cares for the house. She was warm and very accommodating. After unloading and supping on BBQ left overs, I drove to the beach house for family time. I gave Wendy the address, and she said that, due to traffic, the drive would take an additional 21 minutes than normal. It must be another accident, I thought. I never did see one. Thankfully, that would be the last time I encountered a logjam on this road trip.

Traffic jam going to Perdido Beach

 

 

 

 

 

Not all were there when I arrived. Everyone was tired from the drive, so I helped unload as best I could. Their drive from Texas on I-10 was insane. What should have taken 8 hours took 12. They had it much worse than I did. It was postulated that the terrible traffic was related to the beach rentals along the shore. Almost all rent from Saturday to Saturday. Inbound families drive in for the week, while outbound families take to the road at the same time. While that made sense, it was still mind-numbing how bad it was. Just how many people were here? Of course, the previous weekend was Independence Day.

 

Uncle Mark

Donna and her husband, Mark, went to the condos to say hi. When the returned, they had pizzas for dinner, compliments of the other clan. I ate before arriving and passed on wine. I was already tired. I didn’t need to make things worse with an adult bevvy.

Evening storms from the west

Since my place was 20 minutes away, I asked Aunt Donna if the house could be my base of operations during the day. She was agreeable to this, and also invited me to join them for lunch and dinner for each of the 2 days I’d be there. In the morning, I stopped at Aldi’s on the way over to buy snacks for evening happy hours. I contributed some nice cheese and crackers, chips and dip, as well as olives and other items for a charcuterie style repast.

On Sunday, I arrived at the house around 10AM. Everyone was already at the beach, so I joined them. It was partly sunny, quite warm, but breezy, so I wasn’t entirely miserable. They set up a shade structure in the sand, which is where I parked myself. I turned anti-sun after my bout with melanoma 13 years ago. Even under canopy, I could still feel ultraviolet radiation bouncing all around, so I lathered up with sun screen.

 

My legs parked in the shade

Simon and the row of shark catchers

Paige and Simon played with their twins in the sand. I helped build a sand castle with the kids. Simon set up a line of 7 fishing rods for catching shark. I wished him luck with a laugh, but he assured me that he has caught at least one shark each year. He didn’t catch one that day, but he did catch a baby sting ray. I love sting rays, so when he pulled out his knife, saying how great they are for shark bait, I couldn’t watch. A small crowd of strangers drew around to marvel at the unfortunate young creature getting hacked up for bait. 

Paige prepared dinner that evening, making chili, among other things. Simon grilled hot dogs on the grill by the pool. We all had a toddy and snacked on my contributions. The day’s sun, wind, and heat made us hungry. Dinner was wolfed down, while we chatted and laughed.

Later that evening was yet another magical, orange sunset. As we admired it from the balconies, the condo clan stopped by. The entire family was now together, except for my brother’s family. They were spending 2 weeks driving around Iceland; plans that were made before finding out about the reunion. Jason and I are close, so I felt his absence. I especially missed my mother and grandparents. After all, it was Poppy who introduced the family to these annual beach gatherings at Gulf Shores.

Golden sunset

Uncle Mike, Hunt, Aunt Donna, Aunt Tambre

Cousins enjoying a chat

 

A bit later, I hit a wall and was ready to leave. But an army of cars were blocking me in. OK, maybe just 2, but it felt like an army. I just wanted to get in bed, but everyone was having such a great time. I knew if I asked them to free my car, they’d simply say goodnight and head back to the condo. I didn’t want to be the reason for the fun to end, so I fell silent and sat on the sidelines to spectate. After an hour, my batteries were recharged. Of course, just when I start feeling social is when things began to wrap up. Goodbyes seemed to take an epoch, and I could finally leave—ninety minutes later than I had hoped.

Inspired by the nifty things I bought at the antique store in Montgomery, I began my Monday visiting local antique shops. This proved fruitful, but I stopped after only 2 stores. There were tons of others in the area, but my budget started yelling at me. It was nearly noon, so I needed to get going, anyway.

Baby stingray

The heat was more intense than the previous day. Rather than going to the beach to sit under a shade structure, praying the breeze kicks in, I opted for plan B. This involved less ultraviolet and more sitting in the air conditioned living room with my computer. Since everyone was at the beach, I had a quiet time. Sam, my cousin Colie’s husband, showed up with their baby for nap time. It was nice chatting with him.

When everyone returned from the beach a few hours later, they were worn, but not out. There was a dog-themed birthday party at the condos that evening for one of the grand kids. They had dog ears to wear, stuffed-dog party gifts, and hot dogs for dinner. Again. Although, these weren’t as good as the previous night. Grilling dogs is the only way to make them.

 

I'm dog eared at the party

After cake and presents, the entire family invaded the beach for a family photo in the sand. The sun was sinking, hidden by the storm clouds that threatened to dump rain on us. These clouds made for a great backdrop. They also helped control the brightness so our eyes wouldn’t squint in the photos.

On the beach for photos

The condo patio

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Next, the whole fam-damily (a word my mother coined) gathered on the large patio to engage in various conversations. It took no time to reach a decibel level only my family can achieve. As I enjoyed a glass of wine, I saw a rat scamper into the corner. Rodents don’t bother me, but I suspect I was in the minority. Simon was sitting next to me, so I nudged him, “Check out our little buddy down there.” 

 

The Eden Condo beach

He turned to look just as the critter bolted for the bushes. Paige caught the movement out of the corner of her eye, and asked what it was. Without thinking, I said, “A cat.” But Simon said, “Crab.” I replied, “Oh, that makes more sense. It was a crab.” This gave it away, of course, so I had to tell the truth. Even if she had screamed, no one could have heard it over the volume of my family in full conversation mode.

 

The fam-damily

Just us cousins (except my brother)

 

 

 

 

The Long Road Home

There was a downpour as we drove back to the house. I thought this was perfect, as it matched how I was feeling about my road trip being nearly over. It was sad to be leaving family, and I wished I could stay at least one more day. But I was gone for 2 weeks and missed my gato kittes. I wasn’t looking forward to another day on the road. But after one more day with Wendy, I’d be back in my own bed. That thought sparked some needed motivation.

 

Along I-10 in Louisiana is a stretch of road elevated above a swamp. For miles and miles, there is no gas station in sight. This is where I thought I was when Wendy warned that she would run out of gas in 24 miles. I was so invested in listening to the January 6 commission that I failed to monitor the fuel level. If I was in that no man’s zone, I could be writing about an added adventure of running out of gas on the way home. I took a deep breath. Stressing over it would change nothing. What could I do but keep pressing ahead? A sigh of relief came 5 miles later, with 19 miles of gas left, when I saw a gas station just ahead.

 

Dr. MLK's Church

Memorial plaques in Montgomery

Athens retro

The drive home gave me time to think back on the past 2 weeks, out touring America’s south. I cherished the time spent with my family, and was so happy to be invited to the wedding in Athens. I treasure spending time with my friends, and my time in Atlanta was such a delight. Everything worked out so well, like it was all meant to be. And with no accidents, I was grateful.

 

The Carter Center

This excursion was such an educational journey, too. I think I should get school credit for it. I learned a lot about Carter’s life and presidency. There were quite a few vague memories of many of the events covered- I was quite young when he was in office. The field trips to both Selma and Montgomery, AL were amazing civics lessons. I witnessed astonishing summertime traffic patterns in Alabama and Florida. Who knew the popularity of baby sting rays among sharks? I enhanced my treasure hunting skills at antique stores. And one thing in particular that was distressing: realizing that my long covid recovery needs a little more time in the oven. Hand me a diploma and call me Dr. Penguin.

 

My family wedding portrait

When I crossed into Texas, I made my final stop for a state line selfie. There were no major traffic snarls, wrong turns, or getting lost. The chance of making wrong turns along I-10 were minimal. I certainly learned the importance of I-12. Then again, I didn’t think I’d have trouble locating potty stops or leaving Atlanta. Wendy made sure I stayed on course.

 

Family combing for treasures

Pulling into my driveway, I felt equal parts happy and pooped out. Mary’s tripometer indicated that I had driven 2,202 miles. Twenty more would have been really neat, having all twos. Although, I just now realized that backwards, it would read 2022. There were a million things to unload from the car, but most could be done later. Insider were 3 cats longing for attention, and my bed was calling my name. I shouted back that it wasn’t even 8 o’clock yet, but that didn’t matter. I couldn’t believe that eating so much tasty food and ignoring my diet would have no effect, when I stepped on the scale, I weighed the same as the day I left. I should have eaten more.

 

This was an epic trip that I’ll not soon forget. Mary was such a gem to drive. Her smart cruise control sure got a lot of use. Planning the trip was a pleasure and being open to last minute changes was no sweat. I had a super, large time that made me question why I don’t take road trips more often. Maybe I should make this a thing. Yup. I definitely think I should.

Each state line

 To view more photos of this epic road trip, follow this link: 

https://photos.app.goo.gl/ESoSTAHksU8cLXcb8

 

Thank you for reading

Feel free to leave a comment. 

You can reach me at authorpenguinscott@gmail.com