Grandma's House

Ada, OK to Moriarty, NM
Day 7

The next morning we said our goodbyes to Todd and Greg over a cup of black coffee (and stared at the walls). Another generous host on our adventure. Though we were on a tight schedule, we made one more visit to Graham's grandmother's house. It was built Edwardian style and the interior had a very museum-like quality to it. Mostly because it looked uninhabited. No dust, no footprints, I could nearly see my reflection in the hard wood flooring...just immaculate. Fortunately, his grandmother did live there; in the nook, she offered us a hearty breakfast of eggs, toast, coffee, and pastries. She asked us about our ambitions, of course I didn't have any plans right now. Though I felt awkward, in my defense, how can anyone have an idea of what he/she wants to do at the ripe age of 24? We took a tour of her house, I remember seeing an autographed picture of the Beatles that had a hazy origin. I also remember an epic bronze carving of Moses with the 10 Commandments. To the wall were affixed many wares such as these, as well as a Nordic boat replica on the bookcase.

After breakfast we again said our goodbyes to his grandmother. This would be the fifth Woolley to house and feed us in a three day period. But we had to make some good time on the road, we haven't even crossed the proverbial line into the west yet. It would take about one more day of speeding before getting to the Texas/Arizona border.

Chris took the wheel, and it rained as prophesied.

The panhandle of Texas is over 150 miles wide. Fortunately the drive burned through this part because there isn't much to offer, aside from oil rigs and death penalties. Two things in Texas peaked our interest: the Texan Steak Ranch, and the Cadillac Ranch. To uphold our mantra "Over the Top," the Texan Steak Ranch was a necessary pit stop. Both are novelties.

The Texas Steak Ranch has quite the ad campaign. Hundreds of miles in each direction on ol' route 66 from Amarillo are huge signs advertising the 72 oz. steak challenge: which is if you eat a huge 72 oz. butterflied-cut of meat (with sides) in an hour, you get it for free, otherwise you have to pay $72 bucks. It was big but not really; Alaskan steaks are way bigger.

After our collective surfeiting, we made haste to the Cadillac Ranch. From THE INTERNET, I remember a public domain picture of a postcard showing ten Cadillacs buried face-down in the dirt like ostriches heads in the sand. The wheat field that this novelty is owned by millionaire Stanley Marsh. These Cadillacs are assembled from old parts and used for the sake of "art." They are covered with graffitti from other travelers who want to leave their epitaphs, or just draw phallic symbols on them...

Fortunately, "phallacies" are way too low-brow for us. If you are going to write something (that will be overwritten within 24-hours), it might as well be poignant:

"6/21/2007 - Chris B. Graham W. Sean S.: The Road Trip of the Future."

Someone in the future will have eventually read that and felt shitty for not being part of the glory and reward.

This is off-topic but Cadillac Ranch is on a parched dirt-field. When I urinated on it, it soaked it up immediately.

Magic Music that Makes your Morning Mood

Tuesday Nite! June 20, 2007
Somewhere in TN towards Ada, OK

At 3:30 am the night before, in a small town in TN, we filled up the gas and checked into a local Econo Lodge. We drove smoothly at least 12 hours and I was exhausted. I immediately brushed my teeth to get rid of rot-breath from eating meals only from the neglected food groups.

We were early to rise, as would be the norm for the trip. I have always loathed the morning, yet every day of this trip, no matter how hungover or sleep-deprived, I felt refreshed and full of vigor.
Feeling like a piece of shit? Take a road trip!

I have to give full credit to the first album we heard when we balled the jack. The New Deal - Gone, Gone, Gone. This album will put a kick in your step and a gleam in your eye. I couldn't believe how uplifting the music was: I remember no one uttered a word during its play, but preferred to keep the beat by tapping with feet or hands, or nodding the head in tempo, to admire it in quiet awe. We were tuned in.

Again, the vistas were pretty intense. I remember Chris pointed out the horizon being layered from the differences in the hills distances and visibility. Because I had not noticed that before, I kept seeing these layers through each state we drove through. I had brought a basic digital camera, and I had a lot of memory to spare. I didn't discriminate on what kinds of pictures to take, but I made sure to include abstract shots, weird angles, and sport-sport-night-party-fast mode. Of course, most of the pictures were of vistas.

We drove through Oklahoma City, it was pouring buckets when we passed through the city. It took many hills and back roads before we were A-fficially in the boonies: Ada, Oklahoma. Graham's uncle Todd was whom we were visiting, as well as his other uncle Greg, and grandmother.

Hill after hill, valley after valley, and side road after side road, we found ourselves in the epicenter of nowhere, Todd's house. I'm happy to at least have food, alcohol, and a tornado-proof shelter for the time being.

We arrived and the first thing I remember is walking into an inviting room. I hadn't even sat down yet. The carpet was red and the couches looked very comfortable. But after sitting for hours in a car, I wanted to stand. Deep Purple's Black Night was playing from Made in Japan. This is my kind of hangout! Greg, and two of of Todd's friends were in the kitchen drinking and conversing. Todd offered me a Nicaraguan cerveza called Tona. I was floored...after many of them.

The night ended with the playing of Diesel Boy - The Human Resource. It is a VERY intense listen which sent my jaw straight to the ground.

On tour without instruments

Monday, May 18, 2007
Lancaster, PA to Ada, OK, via Tennessee on I-40

Everyone slept in until about noon. Nothing cures grogginess like a fresh pot of coffee—and bocce. The weather could have been better: sunny, humid, around 90 degrees, not even a zephyr in th air. The house is perched on a hill with the backyard sloping upwards towards a dell....... nah it was more like a glade. Graham, Aaron, Chris, and I balled on the bocce battleground, which was anything but bland and boring. B. The game continued uphills, around the house (fortunately not through it), past fences and retaining walls, the neighbors yard, and rolled about 1000 feet down the street. This was a game that Abbie Normal invented. If it were not for our plans, I would have stayed there all month playing bocce and jamming out.

We said our goodbyes to Robert, Deb, Aaron, and Sammi-Chan. There's never enough time to hang out.

We balled the jack towards Ada, OK, where Graham's family lives. It wasn't possible to get there in one night but we needed about 11-14 hours of driving per day despite that. For energy, we stockpiled delicious Isaac's sandwiches. I made sure to get ones I have never had before, Rose of Sharon, Pipit, and the Texas Wren which are Portabello mushroom sandwich, Chicken salad sandwich, and another chicken breast sandwich. They name their sandwiches after birds; ya see what they did there? I remember spending a lot of time looking for Isaac's on Chocolate Lane, more like Chocolate Rain

Conversation came in bursts on this stretch, not that it was awkward or anything. Because we would be trading the roles of driving, passenger, and backseat, we delegated duties to each other. The driver obviously drives, and is to concentrate on not fucking up, and to listen to the navigator, the passenger, who is to give the driver perishables and directions; the backseat person does the same thing as the navigator, but it more like the navigator's secretary.

The vistas and landscapes were incredible, I would have never noticed or cared about the Blue Ridge until that day, it just seemed significant. Chris pointed out the layers in the horizon. From PA to VA/AK the views went from mountainous to verdant. It would only get better.

The Departed (Di-PAH-tid)

Sunday June 17, 2007
Revere, MA to Lancaster, PA

I had been up all night drinking and listening to music with Graham's brother Evan. I knew I'd feel like shit the next day. Being awake while my alarm is buzzing nullified its purpose. We were to drive about 400 miles...piece of cake. Most of our belongings we chucked into the backseat, bot very comfortable back there but I was too tired to care.

Along the way we saw some breathtaking vistas, at least where the highway slices through the Appalachian mountains, but it was nothing compared to the vistas we would see the next day.

I slept in the back of the Subaru the duration of the trip. I woke up surrounded by a rural, farm area. The smell of fertilizer permeated the car. I hadn't been back to Lancaster in a few years, that was one thing I'm glad I missed. Graham calls the gaseous-shit "The Pennsylvania Skees."
One of the few things, however, that I did miss is a deli called Issac's; hands down the best sandwiches in the country, Carnegie deli can go to hell.

We finally arrived at Shawn's (Graham's mom) condominium. Our friend Ted Stoltzfus and Kevin Dalbey also stopped by. It felt like old times again at the Woolley house, where I used to hang out a lot, listen to music, jam, be goofy etc. They have always been hospitable to me over the years and I appreciate that. Everyone got the opportunity to catch up with everyone else regarding his/her current undertakings. We continued the conversation at Isaac's Deli.

When we came back from the deli we decided to play a game called Telephone Pictionary--a game of word and pictorial interpretation. How it goes is everyone forms a circle and is equipped with a pen and paper. Then, each person comes up with a sentence (the more nonsensical the better) and writes it on his/her paper. Then each person passes it to the adjacent person and that person will interpret his/her sentence and try to draw it. After the drawings are done, then those are passed to the adjacent person to interpret and make a sentence out of it. So by the end of the game, a person's paper will have many sentences and drawings that deviate further and further from the original sentence and drawing, which most importantly generates laughter and good times. I only wished we had time to play Balderdash as well...

After spending time at Graham's mom's place, we ventured over to Lebanon where his dad Robert lives. Dalbey (aka Dean Moriarty reborn) drove us maniacally and executed hair-pin and drifting. I read about crazy driving in On the Road. Dalbey, in the parlance of this blog, "balled the jack."

I was happy to have another chance to jam out on some 12-bar blues, and some Judas Priest with Graham's dad on guitar and Graham on bass, and myself on drums. Robert was fortunate enough to live the era of great 70's bands, and see a host of them such as Procol Harum, Wishbone Ash, Deep Purple in their prime. After jamming and cooking out, we got drunk off Trapper Creek Berry Mead and Yuengling beer and played more Puerto Rico. Both libations are recommended!

Over the Top (OTT)

Saturday June 16, 2007 Revere, MA
Evan's Apartment

WOD: Imprecation: The act of calling down a curse that usually invokes evil (an usually serves as an insult)

The Brazilian food that we had the night before was a carnivore's wet dream. Midwest Grill is OVER THE TOP, which would be a recurring theme for the first part of the trip (also a great Powertime movie). Again, we kicked off the day with a game of Puerto Rico. Already I was feeling worn down by the heavy drinking so held off the first part of the day, plus I wanted to focus and play the game well. Finally, I was beginning to get the game a little more intuitively. Graham and Evan (especially Evan)were naturals, probably because they were brothers, and played 1000s of similar games in their youth. Damn them!
After about 3-4 games, I wanted to head downtown again to Newbury Comics to buy cds. Newbury is THE local mega-media place filled with comics, music, movies, and crappy plastic consumer goods. More music would be essential for the road trip.
Also, a good friend and Michigan-native Justin (aka Black Metal Justin/BMJ) had moved to Boston a few months prior. He had many of his material possessions like his cds and car, to live on a houseboat at Constitution Marina. I gave him a call to see if he wanted to meet up later or party down.
So we went to Newbury, not sure which location; I had been there before in 2002 when I last visited Graham. Record stores to me are like laxatives, for some reason everytime I go into one I have to crap up a crap storm. So, if this isn't personal enough, you can guess what happened next: I shit all over the cd racks, I shit all over the cashier's face, I shit all over the dvds and customers. This is what would have happened if I didn't go to the bathroom in the next business over. I did pick up 6 excellent cds, of them 3 Nordic artists, and all I had not heard yet:

Jaga Jazzist - A Living Room Hush
Ulver - Nattens Madrigal - Aatte Hymne til Ulven i Manden (8 Hymns for the Wolf in Man)
Dodheimsgard - Supervillain Outcast
King Crimson - In the Wake of Poseidon
Neuraxis - Trilateral Progression
Ozric Tentacles - The Floor's too Far Away

And the Curb Your Enthusiasm DVD set.

Earlier that day we had talked about going out to get Ethiopian food, another ethnic food I had not eaten, I was anxious for that shit too. I had gotten ahold of BMJ, which was great because he and his girlfriend Jenny could then meet us. Chris, the other guy who would be questing with Graham and I in RTOTF would also be meeting us there.
The restaurant we were going to was the Asmara, in Cambridge. Boyd, Evan, Graham, and I took Graham's car to meet BMJ and Jenny and pick them up near a PetCo store. When we neared the block, Graham and I got out to walk and meet them. A few blocks of walking we were walking behind some couple; the man was wearing a fedora similar to Indiana Jones. Immediately I knew it was Justin, as he is going for archaeological studies at Harvard. Also the difference in height between his girlfriend and him clued me in. We picked them up to head a few more blocks down the street.
The Asmara Restaurant was small and minimal. At 2-3 foot intervals small objects such as masks and paintings were placed on the background of a white wall. Still it was drab and a bit mysterious. The tables were very communal which helped us order a large sampler for multiple diners. Food is brought out on a giant circular tray in piles on top of porous, rubbery flatbread called injera. Some of our piles included shrimp, lamb and chicken with curry, cauliflower, and chickpeas. It reminded me a little of the curry and spice-laden Indian food my dad makes. Instead of utensils, the diner eats with his hands using the injera, tearing off pieces and clamping whatever curry pile you want. Again, I ate my fill and complimented the meal with the house beer, aptly named Asmara (where do they get their ideas?). It should be noted I was in hysterics over the meal Evan usually orders: Zil-Zil Tybsy Zil-Zil Tybs.

Primitive, delicious, but most importantly: Over the Top.

Our bellies heavy with the melange (not the spice), we piled 7 of us into Boyd's car to Justin's new house boat. I was anxious to see this thing, and I had been feeling very boisterous since I had been hanging out with Graham, Evan, and everyone else, it's usually nonstop laughs when we talk. As mentioned earlier, to achieve his nautical goal, Justin sold almost all of his possessions including his car and most of the music, save his house to rent out for income. The cost of his houseboat near the Boston Harbor Islands was marginal compared to his house. Not only that, but he did not have to pay home association fees, taxes, or any other BS fee that comes with a house. Simplifiiiiiied man.
We walked past the entrance with a giant wood-carved sign that read "Constitution Marina." A pier led us down to the throngs of boats. The water was a putrid green color, it wasn't appealing enough to want to jump in or at least drink it, which is what I do when I visit new marinas. Every boat has a name, most of them are cheesy names like "Purr Fection" or "Gnarlin' Marlin", the second one isn't real. Justin's boat is THE FITZCARRALDO—the best name on the docks. For those who don't know, Fitzcarraldo is taken from a Werner Herzog movie starring the actor, Klaus Kinski (more like megalomaniac-tor). Naturally, Kinski's character is an opera-loving megalomaniac who wants to build an opera house in the middle of the Peruvian Jungle, which is exactly what it needs- a fucking opera house! Kinski and his team have to carry a large riverboat OVER A MOUNTAIN first. Great boat name though...
The time was about 6 or 7, the sun was on the horizon giving us enough light to hang out. Justin was fairly new to boating. He said he bought the boat with no knowledge about boats, boat maintenance, or driving a boat. His neighbor instructed him on how to take it out for a drive on the Atlantic. We lounged and chatted on the "first floor" of the boat, which was similar to a living room setting. A cat was sauntering about, I cannot remember its name at the moment. Justin had a little bit of alcohol for us (Black Label beer and a wine box) and some sugary pastries with fruit goo in the middle. I always appreciate this because I feel hospitality is a good quality in a person. He also had a retractable set of shot glasses, which is something I had never seen before. We imbibed a shot of gin or whiskey. We had talked about his recent move to Boston from Michigan, and our plans for the road trip. I had remembered seeing a HUGE ship on the pier walk. That was the USS Constitution—a wooden hulled, three-masted frigate. This was one of the most famous ship in US history. Construction was mandated under the 1794 Naval Act to eventually form the first Navy and destroy any thing British and swimming. Every Friday and Saturday, cannons are fired from it at 8pm. Not real ones of course.
All the while on the boat, Motorhead-Ace of Spades was playing in the background, a dreadnaught of rock and roll history.

The 15-Minute Drinking Party

June 15, 2007 Revere, MA Evan's Apartment

I felt a good place to stop the last entry was at the party because I didn't feel like explaining the concept.

After we went upstairs.

Before the party, presents were doled out to each of his friends: Gwen and Jess received their respective bottles of alcohol, Boyd received a knife and a hat with "Living Legend" embroidered on it. Packaged inside the big box—you guessed it: a Fisher-Price basketball set. My expectations were shattered needless to say.

After the presents were doled out, the people and alcohol congregated around the living room table to drink heavily in the 15-minute party. The theme is genius: what happens is someone sets a timer for 15 minutes, and everyone imbibes as much alcohol as he/she can, after 15 minutes is up, everyone is supposed to stop. But what if alcohol remains? What are people supposed to do the rest of the night? That is the beauty part—no one stops drinking after the 15 minutes are up. It is kind of like having desert after you've had way too much to eat.

I cannot remember much from the night, but I do remember this from the total pandemonium:

• Some guy named Pevner projectile-vomited a quadruple+ shot of Jager all over the kitchen
• Cake was smeared/thrown at Alex's face by Graham
• Graham spilled beer on me, I retaliated by pouring beer on him

That's about it, I woke up later that day with a raging hangover. I was thirsty (for water) and very hungry. So Graham, his brother Evan, a high school friend Boyd, and I went to the local Vietnamese restaurant. Most of the dishes revolved around vegetable/meat/seafood on vermicelli, an angel hair pasta. I can't remember what I ordered, but it hit the spot.
We went back to the house to jam cds and play a strategy game called Puerto Rico. Drinking beer, primarily Pabst Blue Ribbon (fuck that Heineken shit!), jamming metal, and Puerto Rico occupied most of our time the few days in Boston.

For dinner, a party of us headed downtown to the Midwest Grille, a Brazilian restaurant. Graham was giving me the silent treatment about the whole concept of it so I was extra-fuckin'-excited to eat there. Hell. I had never had Brazilian food before. For some reason all I could think about was skewered bugs and spiders...I was pretty close.
The place was packed, a reservation was obviously needed to come close to eating here. Aromas of garlic and meat filled the room. For some reason I gave the name "Crux" a few hours prior. How it works is everyone sits down (at a table), and these friendly waiters whom I will call the Meatmen, come around with swords or skewers of meat. The barbecued meat is called rodizio. It's as close to a viking mead hall as I could ever get in America, and a place definitely not for vegetarians. I was glad Graham made an exception to eat meat for RTOTF. We ate Garlic Lamb, Sausage, Pork, Beef, Chicken, and Chicken Hearts. The salad bar was also exceptional, I remember the chicken salad destroying my world. The friendly Meatmen do not stop ushering meat until the octagonal card on the table is flipped upright telling all the waiters to STOP!. It was a kingly feast!

Blast-off

June 14, 2007
Novi, MI to Revere, MA ~14 hours

Graham and I awoke around 8:30 am. The weather was sunny without clouds which was ideal for driving. Though we slept little, anxiety would triumph over any feeling of tiredness. My parents cooked us a light breakfast of eggs, toast, and coffee. This would be sufficient until lunchtime. Stops had to be minimal at a rate of 1 per 3-4 hours of intense-concentration high-speed driving.

After we hastily ate, we loaded the provisions in the car. The checklist ensured that this task would be foolproof. In addition to piling my large travel bag, backpack, and cooler into the trunk, Graham's car was stuffed with presents for his friends in Boston. The entire back seat housed a voluminous wrapped box, I hadn't the foggiest of what the [mal]contents were.

After said my respective goodbyes to my dad, mom, and sister, it was time to depart.
We had officially crossed the line.

Two possible routes led to Boston, one was a more direct route through Canada, and one led along the periphery of Lake Erie and through the brunt of New York. We chose not to take the Canadian one to avoid dealing with border assholes and immigration. They do not take kindly to freaks and longhairs like us and would have held us up for hours for no logical reason.

The highway was about three miles from my house. After we got to the off-ramp, we balled the jack, or "hit the road," in the parlance of our times. Obviously, I would describe the phrase as the initial burst of acceleration to get to the constant highway speed. I put on the Zeke CDs "Death Alley" and "Til the Livin' End", the riffing is dirty, raw, and fast, the drumming upbeat, which makes perfect anacrusis to kick off the RTOTF.

I felt anxious and very inquisitive at the beginning of the trip. We would have unlimited exposure to concepts, ideas, absurdities, music et al. What music and how much would we be listening to? We had packed at least 300 CDs. What destinations would we hit in the proposed itinerary? Would events go as planned? Would problems arise with the vehicle? Would we be murdered by a gang of banditos? Enough! On top of all of this, I was optimistic. After all, No Expectations, No Destinations was the mantra for RTOTF.

Somehow we started talking about tautologies, after I impersonated my former boss with the quote, "It is what it is" in a smart-ass tone. As you can see, the last quote means absolutely nothing, which is basically what a tautology is, a useless repetitive repetition of repeats. Waste!
Re: it is what it is: if it wasn't then it wouldn't be. This would be the beginning of many abstract conversations.

We had each made some mixes to introduce new artists to each other. Graham's was called the EPIC mix, it was 3 different cds of epic songs from his repertoire. It totalled around 210 minutes, ranging from Nile to Bjork to Radiohead to The New Deal. My mix was mostly metal and punk. I had burned about 25 other cds (from Abscess to Zappa) so I wouldn't have to worry about losing them—which is a pet peeve of mine.

We drove by many signs that said: "No HC zone." I wasn't sure what that meant, but I think it had something to do with the amount of semi trucks pulled over. We had blazed through Ohio, the tip of Pennsylvania of which we could see Lake Erie from the road, and New York with only three stops until we hit Buffalo, the beginning of the Appalachian mountains. Epic vistas had been minimal until that point. The rest area rate increased to one per ten miles. We made a final stop around east Syracuse to stop for food, and liquor for the party when we arrive. We bought snacks at Wegman's Grocery, the liquor store was down the road on Erie St called Pascale's. There, we picked up Svedka Vodka, Hypnotiq (for Jess), gin, and crown royal (Gwen), two items per person. We needed to fill up gas, which the national price was about $3. Outside the traffic circle in east Syracuse we stopped. Graham was on the phone with his friends from Boston to coordinate a simultaneous arrival.
We drove through the Massachusetts border around dusk. Instead of rest areas every 10 miles it was toll booths that dotted the Mass. Turnpike. Weather has been partly cloudy and calm all day, no rain impeded our driving, light to moderate traffic also helped us get there speedily. The most exciting part of the drive according to Graham was the treed foothills stretching out for miles. Other than that, the terrain was generic. It was only about an hour from the first destination.

The Cadaver and the new Slayer albums recharged our batteries. After 13 hours energy drinks do not cut it.

We hit Boston around 12am. We still had about 15 minutes to drive through the network of city byways to go northeast to Revere, a town about one mile inland of the Atlantic Ocean. I took a few snapshots while driving through the tunnels, the abstract blurry effect proved cooler than a static shot. We eventually arrived at 12:15am to the apartment building. Boyd, Evan, and Gwen were hanging out on the front porch. I was glad to see them, and glad to finally arrive so I could relax. More of Graham's MIT friends awaited us inside to open their presents and begin the 15-minute drinking party...