Tucson to San Diego – Burritos, Yuma, The Last Push

Tuesday, August 21st

After a very restful 18 hours at the Hilton in Tucson, we had a short day ahead of us so there was no real hurry. We stopped at Rubio’s for burritos and crossed our fingers one last time that the Subaru would survive another day of desert driving with the RPMs pegged and the A/C on full blast.

I drove non-stop from Tucson to Yuma, Arizona, on the California border. I-10 travels northwest from Tucson until splitting off with I-8. The 10 continues relatively north onto Phoenix while the 8 turns due west into the desert toward California.

Robin took over in Yuma and drove the rest of the trip to her parent’s place and our new home in San Diego. Her section of the drive carried us through the southern edge of California along land that looks like the opening scene of “Traffic” when the two Mexican narcotics officers are waiting to make an arrest. Occasionally the desert would give way to lush, green land, the result of irrigation along the few water sources in this part of the country.

We made the final push over the mountains and down into San Diego. The temperature dropped about 20 degrees and the sights began to look familiar. The Subaru survived the 3340-mile trip, (View Larger Map) crossing the 120,000-mile mark, relatively unscathed except for a few new vibrations and sounds.

Robin and I sat in the back yard, enjoyed a cold beer, pet the dog, and prepared to jump into our new life in California.

Tucson – Our Little Oasis

Monday, August 20th

Robin and I stayed at a really cool spot in Arizona. We wanted something comfortable after a really long day of driving.

The tourist season in southern Arizona is the winter so we got a good rate on a really nice spot a few miles north of Tucson. The Hilton El Conquistador is really a tennis and golf resort but we were really only interested in sitting by the pool. Immediately after check in we changed into our suits and ran down to the pool. It was exactly what we needed after a 900-mile trip.

We had a nice dinner at the hotel restaurant and went to bed early. The plan for Tuesday was to drive only another 400 miles so we decided to wake up early and enjoy the pool for as long as we could.

We wandered over to the kid’s pool and used the water slide a few times. It was a great time.

We packed up the car, settled with the hotel, and hit the road.

Austin to Tucson – Long Day, Cops, No Reason to Live in West Texas

Monday, August 20th

The Sheraton alarm clock jolted the three of us out of bed shortly after 5 a.m. We quickly packed up the room and raced for the airport. The Google Maps directions were basically incomprehensible so we played this one using the road map.

Peter wanted to make a quick ATM stop before getting to the airport so we pulled into a gas station convenience store. Pete walked in and quickly out. He leapt into the car, slammed the door and demanded, “GO GO GO!!”

“My God, my brother just robbed the store,” raced through my head. Peter explained that he was almost just in a real-life episode of “Cops.” The clerk and the ‘customers’ in front of him were engaged in a quickly escalating shouting match over whether cigarettes would be presented before payment or if payment would be collected first. The ATM was broken so Peter had no reason to stay.

We dropped Peter off outside of the human circus that is any Southwest Airlines terminal in the country. We said our goodbyes and a few hours later, Peter was in Washington and we were 300 miles west in the middle of nowhere, West Texas.

After a quick car repack, moving the bike from the roof to the inside of the car, and shifting stuff around to enable the driver to see out of the rearview window, we blasted off into the desert.

The drive took us directly West on Interstate 10, passing through El Paso on the U.S./Mexico, Las Cruces in the middle of southern New Mexico, then onto Tucson, Arizona.

We were pleasantly surprised to learn that, thanks to Arizona’s decision to ignore Daylight Savings Time, we had picked up not one but two time zones.

Robin and I were thrilled to pull into the Hilton in Tucson, drop our bags, and make a run for the pool.

Austin – Who Doesn’t Have Internet? More Heat, Good Texas Eats

Sunday, August 19th

The three of us basked in the air conditioning for as long as we could before rolling out of bed in search of breakfast. I had been in Austin a few months earlier for my friend Pat’s bachelor party. About 12 of us had ventured out and found the best Mexican breakfast I had ever had. So this time I was determined to find it again for Robin and Peter.

We wandered and wandered and wandered, and I knew that we were not getting any closer. When Robin and Peter were ready to kill me, I looked up and we were about a block from the hotel where we had stayed for Pat’s party. At that moment I remembered that the breakfast place had been a recommendation of the concierge at the Omni.

I marched up the hill and into the lobby and there was Robert – pronounced RoBEAR – the same guy who was so helpful for our bachelor party trip. He had the same suit, the same slicked hair, and the same earpiece to stay in touch with whatever army of staff he was radioed in with.

“I’m looking for a breakfast recommendation,” I announced, over the throngs of tourists in the busy lobby.

“We like Las Manitas on Congress Street between 2nd and 3rd,” responded RoBEAR, quickly.

I didn’t let him finish – I knew I had the place. We paced quickly down Congress Street and walked in, very ready to eat.

Las Manitas has a cool setup. The front is a very plain, booth style breakfast joint. The kitchen is in the middle of the restaurant, and patrons seated in the back section walk through it, ducking Spanish language shouts for orders and whatever else. Kitchen staff made huevos rancheros and fresh tortillas right there for everyone to see.

We were escorted out to the back patio, a tightly packed mix of picnic tables and backyard furniture. Like many spots in Austin, the roof was mostly constructed of blue tarps. We sat and enjoyed good coffee and a traditional Mexican breakfast. This was a far cry from the free breakfast served at the roadside hotels of the first several days of our trip. Belgian waffles were not on the menu.

After a short post-breakfast siesta at the Sheraton, we were back out on foot to see the city. We walked toward the Texas State House and did a quick lap there – inside and out – masking the scoff we all let out as we walked by the portrait of W on the wall of Governors.

We were pleased to hear the official tour guide say that Lyndon Johnson has a giant portrait and other honors at the building because he was a president actually born in Texas, Dubbs being born in Connecticut, despite the phony public brush-clearing image.

From the State House, we headed back out into the heat and walked toward the University of Texas Tower, where the August 1, 1966 shooting occurred. We circled and finally found our way into the building, making our way as far as the elevator to the top of the tower. But that was as far as we made it. The tower is restricted to staff who work there.

The walk back to the Sheraton felt like forever. The heat had become even more oppressive. We stopped for an emergency TCBY yogurt stop, a drink of water, and another 20 minutes in the air conditioning.

We took an afternoon pool break, sitting on lounge chairs and marveling at the amount of leaves in the pool. It looked like no one had cleaned it in months.

We cleaned up and made our way out for a little bit of mini golf. I had been staring at my clubs in the back seat of the car for more than a week so I needed to do some sort of golf-related activity. We arrived at a place that backed up to some railroad tracks and had liquor bottles along the outer fences. We paid the fee and ‘teed off’ so to speak.

The fun game quickly turned into ‘let’s see how fast we can finish this.’ We were all sweating so profusely that we almost walked off the course just to get back into the air-conditioned car. When I would bow my head to look down towards the ball, sweat would literally drip down off of my face onto the green. Robin got the only hole-in-one of the day. Only it was in the wrong hole. By this time we were totally amused at the hilarity of the situation. We had a very awkward 16/17 year-old couple behind us who were clearly on a date that wasn’t going very well. Robin’s hole-in-one was in the hole they were playing. They were not amused.

When the course mercifully ended, we were on our way to a place that has lived in my memory since my freshman year of college when I was a rower on the Colorado Crew Team. We spent our spring break training in Waco, Texas, rowing on the Brazos River and living in Baylor University’s dorms. I learned quickly that people in Waco don’t like to talk about the Branch Davidians.

Sorry for the digression. At the end of our week of training, we went out to a BBQ spot called The Salt Lick, about 30 minutes from Austin in the middle of nowhere. I remembered it being so good and so much fun that I was determined to take Robin and Peter.

The three of us followed the directions from their Web site and pulled in, just in time for early dinner. Sure enough, a large ranch gate and a security guard armed with a 10-gallon cowboy hat and a pistol on his belt welcomed us into the large parking lot. We put our names on the list and sat and listened to country music and sipped freshly squeezed lemonade. When it was time to sit, we all ordered ‘family style’ and in about a nanosecond, a mountain of food arrived. All kinds of BBQ meat surrounded by potato salad, beans, pickles, etc. arrived in one wave after another. The waitress was on the ball – never letting anything on the table get lower than the halfway mark.

Restaurant staff wore shirts that read, “I didn’t get this high on the food chain to become a vegetarian.”

I apologized again to Peter and Robin for not noticing on the Web site that the Salt Lick is BYOB. We drank Cokes and watched party after party arrive with an average of no fewer than 12 beers per person in (sometimes rolling) coolers.

After eating to the point of sitting awkwardly, we strolled out past our armed guard, had a picture taken in the parking lot, and headed back into Austin. The road out to the Salt Lick became much more difficult to navigate after dark so I was secretly glad that alcohol was not available.

Because we just wanted to say we did, we headed out to Austin’s 6th Street for a quick drink before turning in for bed. Robin and I had over 900 miles to go the next day and Peter had an early flight. The walk from the hotel up to 6th street was marked by several interesting sights including some low-grade gang activity any many homeless people in poorly lit roadside spots. It was enough to opt for a cab back to the hotel.

We found a relatively quiet bar with a rooftop deck and a band. The band never really played, they just warmed up for about 45 minutes. We didn’t care. We sat and sipped cans of beer and talked about the day.

Exhausted, we sat in the back of the minivan while the cab driver told us stories about the lunatics he had driven, casually blending racial slurs into the diatribe.

Memphis to Austin – Crop Dusters, Bike Booboo, No Signs to San Antonio

Saturday, August 18th

Peter and I woke up earlier than usual for what would be the longest leg of the trip so far from Memphis in far western Tennessee to Austin, Texas’s state capital.

After forcing down yet another Belgian waffle and a terrible cup of coffee, we hit the road shortly before 10 a.m. The route took us almost instantly onto the Hernando de Soto Bridge, which carries I-40 from Memphis into Arkansas.

This was going to be about a ten-hour drive so we were a little bit more relaxed and fully into long road trip mode. The major sites along the I-40/I-30/I-35 were Little Rock, AK, Texarkana, AK, Dallas, TX, then Austin. Peter and I saw our first crop dusters in action. We looked in horror as we thought these small planes were trying to make emergency landings on the interstate.

We pulled up to the Sheraton in Austin with enough time to unwind a little before I would have to head another hour south to San Antonio to pick up Robin from her flight from San Diego. Our plan, which worked out perfectly, was to have Robin fly in so that the three of us could see Austin before Peter flew back to Washington.

We discovered that my bike had its first bruise after more than 2,000 on top of the Subaru. A piece of my handlebars must have flown off somewhere between Dallas and Austin.

Peter was totally exhausted from the drive so he crashed. I sat in the lobby and checked a few emails before getting back into the car for the drive to San Antonio. Every other place we had stayed to that point had free wireless Internet in the rooms. The Sheraton did not – we were less than pleased. Peter was beside himself at the lack of in-room Internet.

I jumped in the car and headed south. I struggled to keep my eyes open as I careened south into the most poorly signed part of the country I have ever seen. There was no exit labeled ‘airport’ and the logical exit had no signs for the terminal after exiting the freeway.

I picked up Robin with perfect timing and we turned back toward Austin. After a pit stop at Taco Bell we were on our way. No time later we were back at the Sheraton and ready for a good night’s sleep.

Spotty Internet

Plenty more Memphis photos to follow. The Internet at the hotel in Austin is a little spotty. I’m off to San Antonio to pick up Robin!!

Long day in Memphis

Peter and I were stereotypical tourists yesterday. We packed about as much into one day in Memphis as one could reasonably expect.

Peter was on the ball finding out what a visitor must see in a short period of time.

The previous night we hit Rendezvous, a really incredible BBQ spot in a basically unmarked alley in Memphis. This place was unreal – we think our waiter was actually the guy pictured on the menu. We shared a small rack of ribs, a pork chop, and a beef brisket platter. Washed down by a pitcher of Michelob (all they have on tap), this was the perfect dinner after a day of driving.

We wandered down the street to Memphis’ legendary Beale Street, home of plenty of outdoor bars, live music, and general fun. Peter made a point of walking directly up to a Memphis police officer and asking about the details of the city’s open container laws. The officer confirmed that we were within our rights to drink openly on the street – so we did. Exhausted from the day’s drive, we didn’t stay long. We polished off a tall light beer, racing against the southern heat’s relentless effort to warm our drinks, and headed back to the hotel.

We woke up in time for some more Belgian waffles in the hotel lobby. I am going to be done with Belgian waffles for at least a year after this trip.

The first stop of the day was the Peabody Hotel, just blocks from where we stayed. The Peabody is a classic southern city’s signature hotel. The large ornate lobby is home to a tradition dating back almost 70 years. Every day at 11 a.m. sharp, the hotel staff marches five ducks out of an elevator car through the lobby on a red carpet to a medium-sized fountain in the middle of the lobby. The ducks march along and jump into the water where they swim all day until the tradition is performed in reverse at 5 p.m.

We felt like tourist cattle but it was a very cool sight. We were glad we did it.

Next stop was the Civil Rights Museum in downtown Memphis. This impressive museum is built around what remains of the Lorraine Motel, the site of the assassination of Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. In fact the very sight of his death is perfectly preserved. Curators have worked the culmination of the large exhibit into the exact site of his hotel room outside of which he was killed. The room is made up to look as it did on the last day of his life. A large wreath marks the spot on the balcony.

The museum staff has done a very good job, in our opinion, of separating the accomplishments of the Civil Rights Movement with the crime of Dr. King’s assassination. After walking through the museum, visitors are directed across the street to another building for a detailed account of the criminal investigation and subsequent manhunt for the elusive James Earl Ray. It was news to both of us that Ray had been ultimately captured in London.

From the museum we stopped for lunch at about the first place we could find. It tuned out to be a nondescript Philadelphia-themed cheese steak joint. We couldn’t have asked for anything better.

After lunch, we picked up the car and drove to the staple of any visit to Memphis – Graceland. Today being the day after the 30th anniversary of the King’s death (allegedly), Graceland was buzzing with activity. We lucked out and pulled up right in front of the mansion. Someone had removed the barricades from the alleyway along Elvis Presley Blvd. and we pulled right in.

The outer wall at Graceland is totally covered in multi-colored handwritten notes and messages. We walked up to the main gate and shot a few photos, gladly accepting requests to photograph other visitors with their cameras. Elvis Presley Blvd. was buzzing with activity, and the main cross street was filled mostly with airport shuttle-style mini buses ferrying people back and forth from the visitor center up to the mansion for tours.

We didn’t do any of the formal tours mostly because neither of us really like Elvis but we walked around and saw the madness of the event. I almost caved and paid $8 for a ticket to tour Elvis’ two airplanes parked right there on site. I have no idea how they got them there – for those of you in Washington, imagine an old 707 parked on the side of Rockville Pike. Peter painted enough of a picture for me that I was able to save my $8.

After about an hour of walking around we were on our way.

On the way back into downtown Memphis, we stopped at Sun Studios, another major tourist attraction and the original recording site for Elvis, Johnny Cash, B.B. King, and others. We picked up a few shirts and a couple of milkshakes from two giggling and heavily tattooed (and perhaps drugged) waitresses.

After choking down the poorly mixed Hershey syrup bombs, we went back to the hotel and rested for a brief while before heading back out to check a few more items off of the list.

Just about all we had left to do was to have an unobstructed view of the Mississippi River – really quite a site this far south. We walked over there past the relatively aggressive panhandlers – just about our only complaint about Memphis – and strolled along the river looking over into Arkansas for a while. We jumped on the street trolley (the last item on out list) and headed back toward the hotel. We took the long way, heading south past some prime riverside real estate. The trolley turned east and then north again to follow Main Street, a thoroughfare with which we have become familiar. We jumped off at the hotel and rested for the remainder of the afternoon.

Following a little recuperation in the a/c, we headed back down to Beale Street for a little nightlife. We walked up and down before deciding on a less-crowded bar with music pouring out into the street. A few drinks and a pile of nachos later, we headed in for the night.

Memphis is a cool town.

Still working on Memphis post

Peter and I are packing up for the long drive to Austin right now. I’ll have a long post on Memphis with photos late tonight.

Frankfort, Kentucky to Memphis

The three of us packed up this morning and forced down yet another Days Inn breakfast. We packed up our belongings, Ben folded up his cot, confirmed that another night had passed without a break-in to the Subaru, and we were on our way.

Despite the tenement-conditions around the Days Inn, Frankfort, KY has a drive-through Starbucks and a charming Kroeger grocery store. Ben picked up some fruit last night, which we nearly tackled him for after several days of burgers and fries.

When the Subaru was full, we stopped at the beloved Starbucks drive-through and headed west toward the Louisville Airport, following the same route as the beginning of our bourbon tour. Ben had booked a flight out to San Francisco to attend the wedding of a close friend. We dropped him off at the sleepy ‘international’ airport, the commercial aviation section of which is totally overwhelmed by the massive UPS Worldport. UPS has built a rival to Fedex’s Memphis facility in Louisville. I think Bennie wanted to take a tour after reading about it in the Economist, but I don’t think he made it happen.

Peter and I repacked the Subaru to create a space through which we could see out of the back. The bike had traveled so far nicely on the roof, so we left it up there.

We roared south on I-65 from Louisville in the direction of Nashville. Peter and I were still in total need of some vegetables. We stopped at the Olive Garden in a northern suburb of Nashville, banking that it was about the only place where we could reliably get a salad.

After a nice lunch of something other than a meal ordered by number, we moved on to Memphis. After setting our clocks back to Central Time, we pulled into the Memphis Sleep Inn, which has so far proven to be Olympic leaps and bounds nicer and more comfortable than the Frankfort Days Inn.

We didn’t realize until just a few days ago (no joke here) that we would be arriving in Memphis on the 30th anniversary of the death of Elvis Presley. Our hotel is packed with Germans wearing tacky Elvis shirts. We honestly can’t believe that we got a room.

Well, we’re on our way out the door for some BBQ at a legendary place called Rendezvous just down the street. I hope everyone is doing very well. Please stay tuned for more details.

Arrived in Memphis

Peter and I just pulled into the Sleep Inn in downtown Memphis. Safe and uneventful drive – details to follow.