2-7-2011: Migas Monday

We woke up to what would become a somewhat familiar scene: two people somehow finding enough privacy in a Walmart parking lot and next to the largest vehicle in that lot to carry out an illicit affair. Ward took the dogs out at 8:30, and noticed that despite the almost empty parking lot, a middle age woman had decided to park right next to the RV. She was still in the car, putting on make-up and adjusting her hair. Ward didn't think much of it until he walked back to the RV and saw a second vehicle, a truck that now housed the woman and a man canoodling in the front seat. They didn't pay much mind to Ward or the dogs. When we pulled away at 8:55, both cars were gone, presumably off to work. So it appears that Walmart now rolls-back prices and wedding vows. But the sad thing isn't how public this tryst was, but how short; 20 minutes in the morning in the front seat of a Ford 350 just isn't enough, but what do we know about modern romance? We are just proud that they chose to park by us, and like to think that they saw the RV as a symbol for Love on the Run.

As hot as that might have been, the weather had again turned against us, dropping into the 30s and threatening not to get much warmer. The next thing on our calendar was another library booksale in San Antonio the following Friday, so we decided to head back to Pecan Park in San Marcos so that we could at least freeze in comfort. But first, we had to hit up The Tamale House, a famed Mexican breakfast/lunch spot with cheap eats. Under the astute and remote guidance of Joel and Andrew, we made sure to order Migas, a breakfast favorite of scrambled eggs, onions, and stale tortilla chips served with rice, beans, and flour tortillas. Amazing. Stephanie ordered a few 85 cent tacos, and it was clear why Migas was the famed dish. Not that the tacos were necessarily bad, but the Migas was perfect.

Later in the day, back in San Marcos, we mailed 6 boxes of books back to Richmond. At the time we're writing this, 1 month later, one box still hasn't arrived. It most likely is with the box that is still en route from New Orleans, mailed on February 1st. Hmmmm. The USPS has been a good friend to Chop Suey over the years, so we're hoping that they are just taking our books on a nice tour of the United States before carefully and kindly delivering them to Cary Street.

As the Texas light faded and gave way to bright stars and freezing winds, we made great use of the recreation room at Pecan Park. During our first visit we noticed that the 800 square foot room was heated and equipped with a full kitchen, a huge flat screen, and 6 large tables that were apparently only used for puzzles. We had just bought a 1000 piece puzzle that morning at a thrift store and were anxious to start it, so we basically set up camp there for the night. The best thing about this room is that nobody used it after 5 pm, and we were given the keys so we could stay as late as we wanted. This is one thing that we have noticed about RV parks: despite the amenities (heated pool, hot tub, clean bathrooms, rec room with a full kitchen, beautiful river walks, etc.), the residents don't really seem to care enough to use them. Maybe it's the cold weather that is keeping people inside, but even when it is warm, we have noticed that people just like to hang out in or around their RVs. Granted, they are living in mobile homes that cost well over $100,000 and are full of plenty of modern comforts, but this tendency to stay put runs contrary to the very idea of RVs: movement, travel, and adventure. Rather than exploring, most of the people we have met just travel enough to get to the park, and then they don't leave until they are on to the next one. It reminds us of the people who buy SUVs because of the adventurous commercials, but then hate to get them dirty on city streets. In any case, their inertia was to our benefit, giving us the full run of this large room. We cooked a red Thai curry, started our puzzle, and watched Rocky on AMC.

2-6-2011: Chili-bowl Sunday!

We really liked San Marcos, a smaller town with a thriving downtown area and two beautiful rivers cutting through it, so we thought it would be nice to find a sports bar to watch the Superbowl and meet locals. Ward asked the older woman working the desk at Pecan Park if she had any suggestions.

“Oh, you have to go to Bikinis! We went the other night and had the best meal!!!”
“Really? Ok. I guess I thought that Bikinis was a strip club.”
“Oh no, it's not a strip club!.....The girls do wear bikinis, but the food is amazing!”

Yielding to social pressure, Ward assured her that they would not only go, but that he, a vegetarian, would try the hot wings. The promise lasted almost to the front door.

Meanwhile, Stephanie talked to a friend who had moved from Norfolk to Austin years ago, and he invited us to a Superbowl Chili Cookoff, so we unhooked ourselves and headed north. We arrived in Austin with enough time to set up camp at a Walmart. The store was nice enough (when we say this, we are judging based entirely on the quality and cleanliness of the bathrooms), but the parking lot was built on a hill, leaving our RV at a tilt and very difficult to sleep in. But that problem was hours away, and we had chili to deal with.

Turbo picked us up and drove us to Nomad, the bar hosting the Chili Bowl. Leaving the Walmart parking lot, we noticed a bell tower set in a marshy valley between the megastore and the highway. We were struck by how lonely, sad, and useless this abandoned tower looked, and Ward jokingly asked Turbo if it was a life-sized replica of the tragic bell tower on the University of Texas campus. He had never noticed it before, as we're sure is true with most people who pass it. But it turns out that it is a memorial site, most likely built within the past 10 years and placed in the worst spot. There are plenty of tower memorials around town, and scores of ways to pay tribute to the sniper tragedy, but this remembrance housed in the shadow of a Walmart stripmall definitely numbers among the poorest of all commemorations. If you were to tell us that George W. Bush had unveiled this monument as part of his re-election as governor campaign, we might be able to understand it better.

The Nomad Chili Bowl was the perfect Superbowl party that we were hoping to find, and we got to talk with “locals” that we knew when they called themselves Virginians. That night, we had our weekly check in with WRIR, and Ward saw a shooting star when he was signing off. Meanwhile, Stephanie saw a taco cart in a mini-school bus, and we topped off our chili with great tacos. Our future was looking great. And it was. Turbo and Sarah drove us home to Walmart, and we showed them around. Ward wandered off to look for boxes to ship books in, leaving Stephanie confused about where he was. She called him, and he said “I'm in the Pampers isle!” He got a stack of empty boxes, and then another call from Stephanie: “It's freezing! Where are you?!?” “I'm leaving the Pampers isle now.” “What? I thought you said you were in the camper! We're waiting for you to unlock it. Hurry!!!”

2-4-2011 Through 2-5-2011: Booksales and Waterfalls

The main premise for our cross country travel is to restock Richmond with quality used books from around the country, and no place is better for mass quantity and low prices than library booksales. These are hosted across America in nearly every town's library system, a way for them to weed out old books from their collection, ease themselves of unwanted book donations from well meaning patrons, and to raise money for new books and library updates. Ward's dream trip was to bounce from town to town, hitting a sale like this every weekend. In reality, there is no way to do this without traveling thousands of miles between each sale. So we had to bide our time and wait until our schedule synched up with a convenient sale. That happened to be in San Antonio. The sale was small, but their sellection was great, and we bought 6 boxes to send home. The people working the sale had never seen one person buy so many books from their sale, and were hesitant to take our out of state check, but we smiled and offered up everything but our DNA as proof that we were not flying kites across America, and they seemed to be satisfied. The volunteers were extremely nice and gave us a list of other places to purchase books before wishing us luck and prosperity on the road.

Talking about the weather has a very limited shelf life, so we left out the fact that we woke up to the sound of tires spinning on ice left from San Antonio's first snowfall in 20 years. That was the topic of discussion all morning, and was also the deciding factor in us heading north to San Marcos to camp for a couple of nights at Pecan Park, an RV site that boasted of heated pools, clean bathrooms, and electric hookups. The actual campsite didn't disappoint. In fact, despite the freezing weather, we felt like we were spoiled in paradise. Getting into the 90 degree salt water pool with a waterfall, we realized that this was the first time that our bodies had actually been warm in days. The hot tub was even better. Burst pipes had left two of the three bathroom/showers out of service, so the camp hosts had equipped our bathroom with a large space heater. We stayed for two nights.

2-3-2011- The Stars on Ice

So far in our trip, we have held the same false hope each time we leave a state after freezing for nights on end to drive west: The sun is only a zip code away. Driving into Texas from Louisiana did nothing to satisfy our hopes. We not only froze in Beaumont, Texas that night, but during the day as well. While filling up our tank, Ward tried to wash the windows, but found the squeegee frozen in a block of water. Isn't that blue stuff they put in there supposed to keep the water from freezing? Well, it was that cold.

It turns out that Beaumont is a beautiful town, or was at one point. Unlike Florence, SC, this town perfectly matched our expectations of small town America: a downtown area filled with beautiful architecture, amazing storefronts with cool signage, and not a person in sight. We did find a great thrift store that had thousands of books for us to pick through, but that was the only thriving business for blocks. Meanwhile, the highways in and out of town were littered with a rash of strip malls and fast food chains, repeated over and over like the background from an old animation. We drove through this charming downtown with a nostalgia for a city we never knew and ideas for renovating a town we would never see again.

2-2-2011

Our first library booksale was taking place in San Antonio on the 4th, so we left New Orleans with enough time to make some thrift pit stops and to stay the night in Beaumont, TX. One of the first thrift stops we made was outside of Baton Rouge, but our GPS kept pointing us to a peculiar part of the street that housed a few trees and a drainage ditch. We called the store for directions: “Hello, we can't seem to find your store. We're on Branford, but we're not sure where you are.” “Y'all know where Gautier is?” “No, we're not from here. How far are you from Louisiana State University?” “I don't know about that.” Well, it turns out that the store is within 2 miles of LSU, on the same road in fact. This is a problem we have encountered any time we ask for directions; the person we're asking has very little comprehension of where they are in relation to anything around them. Even if said landmark is the one of the most notable locations in their city. The best most have been able to do is give us fast food restaurants and bearing points. Sonic has been used 3 or 4 times, each time in a different city. We've come to realize that if our final destination isn't within 400 feet of a Taco Bell, Sonic, or Jack in the Box, we're on our own.

Speaking of getting lost near great restaurants, we are reminded that we forgot to mention one of the best things about Mobile, AL, a city that was adept in hiding the rest of it's better things from us. After visiting a Salvation Army thrift store on the west side of the city, we were told of a great downtown thrift store that was behind the Department of Health. The directions turned out to be somewhat accurate, but we ended up circling the Health Department twice. The first time, Stephanie noticed a pretty gnarly food cart on the sidewalk behind the state building. We took a closer look on the second pass, and caught more details: a package of Wonder Bread, dirty and peeling menu, a lit cigarette within reach of the owner, and a line of 4 people who were dressed like they worked at the Health Department. All in the backyard of an agency entrusted with protecting the health of the city. We found the thrift store after two more turns, and enjoyed a great lunch in our RV about 60 miles west of Mobile.

1-29-2011 through 2-1-2011, New Orleans

Our week in New Orleans was full of the normal things: Po' Boys, morning drinks on Bourbon Street, a ferry ride to Algiers, biking along the Mississippi, leaving bars at 4 am because they won't close, etc. The highlight of our stay there was biking to Tipitina's to see Yo La Tengo play with our friend Elise's brother William Tyler. The show was great, and the bike ride to and from was almost as good. That was Saturday night, and was also the end of the good weather. It rained all Sunday, and the temperature dropped as low as the upper 20s at night.

On Sunday, we used the rainy day as an excuse to see The King's Speech, and then to start working on our plumbing system. When we bought the RV, the previous owner told us that he hadn't winterized the year before (clearing all the water out of the tanks and pipes), and had to replace a bunch of burst pipes. We're assuming the repair shop overlooked the drain pipe running from the kitchen sink as it was completely split. We found this out on our first camping trip to VA Beach, and weren't too worried as the pipe seemed to just leak out of the wheel well. However, in Gainesville we noticed that the leak was coming from just under the shower unit, and was soaking the floorboards and the wood around the wheel well. Assessing the situation, we weighed our options: pay Camping World $120/hour, or just remove the shower, the shower pan, repair the pipe, and then put them all back together. It couldn't be that hard, right?

Well, it actually wasn't so hard, and we finished the job within 4 hours. The only thing, those 4 hours spanned two days; we didn't take into account that Lowe's closed at 7 on Sundays, and the most essential piece for the whole project was needed at 7:15. So we stayed at the neighboring Walmart on the Westbank of New Orleans. That night, with our shower taking up most of the living space and the smell of plumbing cement giving us a headache/high, we had our first WRIR Road Trip Update on Can't Stop the Music with P. Swann, the first of what should be a regular appearance.

The next day, we finished up the plumbing and put the shower back together. We're pretty proud of ourselves, and we left NOLA with more plumbing skills than we ever hoped for.

Before leaving New Orleans we trekked back to Mosca's for what by now seemed like it would be the best thing we would eat all trip, if not our entire life. Most people hadn't heard of it, and nobody we talked to had actually been. The one person who knew about it told us that it was the old hangout for the Marcello Family, New Orleans' famed mafia organization that may or may not have had a hand in JFK's assassination. We were sure we were heading toward one of the most authentic of all Italian restaurants in this country. Perhaps it was this build up, or the 5 day wait, or just our timing, but, while the food was very good, we couldn't help but be a little homesick for the Italian restaurants we left behind in Richmond. You know which ones we are talking about, and if you don't, it's not Pizza Hut Bistro or Olive Garden.

1-27-2011, Our Role in a hit HBO Series

We left Pensacola to drive to New Orleans, or more accurately to drive 40 minutes west of New Orleans. Stephanie had read a New Yorker article about Mosca's, a great Italian restaurant that stood alone on a small road heading out to the bayou. Small menu, cash only, and a 50 minute wait on food due to the fact that everything was made to order. They are closed on Sundays and Mondays, so we decided that even though it meant overshooting our final destination of New Orleans, Thursday night was probably our best bet. Ward's iPhone GPS routed us through Jefferson Parrish and then over the Huey P. Long Bridge, perhaps the scariest piece of road know to man. Later we would find out that most locals refuse to cross this bridge, but that night, with a warm Italian meal only minutes away, we braved the tall, skinny bridge with white knuckles and thoughts of immediate demise. The wind kept pushing us toward the outer-wall, a small concrete barrier reinforced by wobbly scaffolding. Still, we made it across, and, finally, to Mosca's front door.

We initially thought that the trailers parked in the lot were a good thing, that we would be welcomed in our unwieldy home. But those trailers turned out to be for a film crew, and the restaurant was closed that night for the filming of the hit HBO series Treme. At 8:30, after a full day of driving and visions of Italian food I our head, this wasn't the best news for us, but we persevered and headed for a Pho spot that one of the grips recommended. Signs were in our favor as the directions brought us to New Orleans by not using the Huey P. Long Bridge. Only, they brought us there too late; Pho Tau Bay closed at 9 pm, right when we pulled in. Tired and hungry, we somehow kept a great attitude. There are worse things then having to give up and drive into New Orleans for dinner.

We ended up meeting our friend Becka and going to Juan's Flying Burrito for dinner. As we walked in Becka asked us if Erin, who is two weeks ahead of us on our cross country trip, had told us of all the Richmond people she had run into in NOLA. As she listed them off, Ward spotted Steve Earle at a table and, thinking he was someone he knew, loudly said “There's Steve Earle!” Loud enough for him to hear. Ward sunk into his seat with embarrassment. Still, it was funny to be turned away from one restaurant because of Treme, and then to end up having dinner next to an actor from the same show.

That night we slept at the new Walmart set between the Mississippi River and the Garden District. It was only blocks away from Becka's house and Magazine Street, had a police station right next door, and was close enough to the river that we could hear barge horns and train whistles all night. We found out later that this Walmart was under construction when Katrina hit, and the city used it as a morgue since their refrigeration had already been installed. It is a common accusation that Walmart masks an oppressive work environment, poverty wages, and aggressive capitalist take-overs with a bright, clean store, seemingly cheap products, and a really happy smiley face, but it was a real mind bender for us to attempt to visualize the death and destruction that was intertwined with this particular store.

1-26-2011, We Live Here

The ride to Pensacola the next day was dotted with great thrift store stops, so the 3 hour drive ended up taking all day. Especially once we hit Panama City Beach, now the Spring Break Capital of the East Coast. Too early for bikinis and keggers, we tried to make it through as quick as possible.

It was dark when we finally got into Pensacola proper, so navigating our way in this 33 foot vehicle was made a little harder. That plus the fact that even though our turn signals definitely work, nobody can ever see them. Ward signaled to get into the left lane that was about to start, but a small sports car tried to whip around him to get there first. Girth can sometimes conquer speed, and we ended up in the lane first with an irate driver on our tale. At the next light, the car sped up on our right and stopped next to us. The young girl looked up at us, smirked, and, pointing to her dashboard, said “I live here.” Our immediate question was “So that means you can drive like an asshole?”, but after thinking about it for a second, we came up with a better response: “No, we live here. You might live across town, but this is our house, and that means you're in our front yard now. Locals ONLY!” Since then, we have used the same logic for all aggressive drivers; you're in our yard now, you play by our rules.

Dinner at the new Sluggo's location in Pensacola was perfect. They serve a completely vegetarian menu, and everything we've ever had there has been delicious. Ward had the Culture Club sandwich, and Stephanie had a Tempeh Rueben. When Ryan got off from behind the bar, we took him home to walk the dog, then he took us to The Elbow Room, a throwback bar from the 60s. All of the décor has been there for decades, and it has a real speak easy feel. The lighting is so dim that they give you a reading light with the bill. They also have a list of rules and regulations including, but not limited to the following: Always use coasters, even on the tablecloths; You have to drink your beer from a glass, not from the bottle (the waitress will periodically come by to re-fill your glass); Same day service guaranteed; Overuse of the F word will not be tolerated. If you ever find yourself in Pensacola and are on good behavior, we seriously suggest that you visit The Elbow Room.

1-25-2011, Rainy Day on the Forgotten Coast

Rainy day at the Ho-Hum. The amazing beauty we had been welcomed by the night before had given way to dark skies and wind blown rain. The sunset the night before was so beautiful that we set our alarm for 5:30 am so that we could check out the sunrise, but there was nothing to see. For the entire day. So we did laundry, played puzzle, and had some early afternoon beers while listening to the intense waves off the gulf.

The two great things about Carrabelle, Ho Hum's neighboring town: the county jail was located on Morality Lake Road, and they had a one good seafood restaurant open despite “the season.” This was Two Al's On the Beach, or, as Ward heard it, Two Al's. The food hit the spot, and Al junior stopped by our table to chat. Turns out he isn't even an Al, but an Angelo. “But Two Angelos On the Beach doesn't have the same ring,” he told us, “so we just used our initials. A L.” Ward told him that he had originally thought it was Two Owls, which, it turns out, wasn't so far off. About 2 years ago, two Horned Owls had nested in a tree right above the restaurant and had stayed long enough to raise two baby owls. News of the spread as far as a Georgia newspaper, and there was even a caricature of the birds next to the one of the two Als. Oh, and they had an really cool camper outside that they used for their office.

Two Al's is also where we overheard some people talking about local doctors and one of them said, without meaning to make a joke, ““Well, the chiropractor seems like a straight player.”

1-24-2011, Heading West

Since we had only been to this town for Gainesville Fest, and since that is held in the cool part of town, we didn't know that Gainesville had an “uncool” part. But just past the University, the strip of great, small, locally owned businesses gives way to Sprawl Boulevard, USA. We only discovered this on our way out of town when we took an hour running in circles looking for the oil change garage. Gainesville might come up with some unique names for businesses, but when it came to naming their streets they failed. They're all numbers! 47th Street crosses 47th Avenue, but if you're looking for 47th Boulevard that's between 46th Place and 48th Terrace. It's mind numbing. We drove out of our way to an Avenue before realizing we wanted a Boulevard. Luckily, our appointment at the garage was held, and we got lubed up and on the road.

We were spoiled by Keith's RV Haven, and figured we needed to stay somewhere for the next couple of nights that had electric and water hook ups. This made staying in Apalachicola State Park kind of hard, as Tate's Hell was the most convenient park area, and they only allowed for “primitive” camping. We weren't feeling primitive. Ward looked online for an RV park in the area while Steph caught them both up on US Weekly (OMG, I still can't believe Sandra had to find out about Jesse's engagement to Kat in the newspaper!), and we settled on Ho Hum RV Park, right outside of Carrabelle, FLA. Here's the conversation that solidified our plans:

“Hello, do you have room for us for a couple of nights?”
“Sure do.”
“Great! It looks like your right by Apalachicola State Park. What kind of things can we do there?”
“Um, we're called Ho Hum for a reason. Not much to do here.”
“No?”
“Nope. I mean, you can walk on the beach, or go to the park, or go into town. But there's nothing to do.”
“Put us down for 2 nights, please.”

That was just the “nothing” we were hoping to get into!

When we arrived, it was paradise, we parked for the night facing the water, and made it just in time for an amazing sunset. Inspired by the warmer temperature, Stephanie cooked hot dogs and hamburgers and baked beans and coleslaw, and we watched as the last light sunk into the western horizon. Amazing.

1-20-2011 through 1-23-2011, Gainesville

Gainesville is a great place, made even better by great hosts like Keith and Senta. Our stay there consisted of us riding bikes around, picking up some great books and cloths, and eating amazing food both at local restaurants and in the RV. We were lucky to catch up with Tony Foresta when No Friends played Tony W. and Ryan Geis' birthday party. The temperature dropped pretty low, and on our second night there it hit 32 degrees.

We did get to finally ride our bikes around, and spent most of our time wheeling around Gainesville. We found some great thrift stores, a cool bike shop/cafe (if you spent more than $10 on bike parts, you got a free coffee!), and saw some really beautiful Arts & Crafts style houses. Oh, we also started our list of cool business names:

Doggy Styles (mobile pet care and grooming)
Fades and Fros (barbershop)
Captain SeaNiles Pub
Tan Fannies (strip club)
Bambi's Dollhouse (um, duh)

There will definitely be more of those over then next 6 months!

Our favorite store in Gainesville actually had the best name. Ward's Supermarket is one of those rare places that somehow still exists among the chain stores. It has been a family store for over 50 years, and we actually got to meet one of the owners, the great granddaughter of the man who started the grocery. They have a smaller space, but somehow fit in the best variety of groceries we have seen. They are a health food store without being a "Health Food Store," a local market without being a "Local Market," and all around a great place. We told the owner how much we liked the store, and she responded with sincere humbleness, as if they had opened 5 months ago and it mattered what every person thought of their store. She told us that they had just shut down their second location, not because it wasn't doing well, but because it didn't feel like a family business anymore. She told us all of this while bagging our groceries. So rad!

Gainesville was also the site of our first booksale, though it was more of a CD sale with some books thrown in. Ward picked up some good titles for the store, but over the four days we were there we ended up finding some really awesome clothes. Maynee from Bygones asked us to look for nice vintage men's wear, and we scored in Gainesville. We're shipping back a good amount of Western Wear shirts, some Guayaberas, and some vintage vests and suits. We hope to find a larger amount of books soon, but for now, vintage clothes are kicking ass!

Day 5, 1-19-2011

The thing that both of us have been super nervous about ever since buying the RV is dumping our gray (sink) and black (toilet) water tanks. Of course, we could always go the way of DMB (Dave Matthew's Band) and dump it through grated bridges as they did a few years back in Chicago. But they ended up dumping on a boat full of tourists, so we've learned from their mistake. Plus, nothing we can dump will be as cool sounding as DMBBM.

That said, we have been really careful about dumping our waste, or have tried to be the two times we did it prior to this trip. We have watched other RV owners with crazy expensive units that are equipped with mechanical dumping stations spray their DNA across campgrounds, and we have sworn that we would never drip more than a drop. Easier said than done. Before dealing with the flat tire, Ward went out to dump the tank. He got the drain pipe ready, pulled on his long rubber gloves, and unscrewed the main cap. Usually when this cap is removed, a little bit of liquid drips out, but this stream was heavy and showed no signs of stopping. He put the cap back on, and assessed the situation: wet toilet paper and old urine in a sizable pond under the RV. The smell was strong. He called for Stephanie, and she came out. “Man, it stinks pretty bad” she noted while Ward tried to subtly signal for her to keep a low profile. “Shhh! We've leaked all over the place!” “Oh shit! What do we do?!?” The first thing was a identify the problem, which was the release valve having been blocked from closing completely the last time we dumped. In October. There was nothing to hold back our waste once the cap came off. So Ward grabbed the drain pipe, twisted the cap off, and struggled to get the pipe to fit. Needless to say, it was lucky that he was wearing flip-flops, though he wasn't sure of that immediately.

Somehow we finished this dirty task right as our “family” friends returned from breakfast, and as we were trying to clean up from our mini-disaster, the woman walked over to ask us if we wanted Fix-A-Flat. We think they left camp to pick it up. We had to resist any social pressure to accept her offer, both because we really wanted to figure out our tire problem, not just mask it, and because we didn't want her to stick around long enough to ask us about the yellow pulpy mess under our RV. So Ward ran off to the showers and Steph readied the RV to drive.

The small bio-hazard and our neighbors being a good reason to drive on the flat tire, we pulled around to the Salt Spring parking lot to change our tire in a clean, quiet area. Though we have both change car tires before, the RV was a little different, and the jack we had didn't come close to reaching the frame. We ended up heading back to the main camp and asking some men in the camp woodshop for advice. Advice turned into them taking over the whole process, jacking up the RV on the axle and bringing the tire to Richard (known throughout the camp as the guy with the air compressor) to pump it up. As we were waiting for the pump to get the tire up to snuff, Richard told us that the compressor use to be used for putting pressure in beer vats. This was a perfect set up for Ward's first old man joke of the trip: “Hmmm, I don't know about that, but I do know how to relieve the pressure in one of those.” The change after their laughter wasn't distinct, but we definitely felt more at ease with these experienced “campers” after that.

After our tire was fixed, we each swam in the Salt Spings. It was only about 55 degrees out, but the Salt Spring stays at a constant 72 degrees throughout the year. It took a little convincing to take the plunge in such chilly weather, but we're glad we did. Mike had loaned us a mask and snorkel, and we took turns swimming around with the mullets and bass. It was hard to get out, both because of the drop in temperature and the beauty of the water. Ward took a sample taste of the water, and while it wasn't bad, he also wasn't sure of it's healing properties.

Later that night, after parking in Keith's gated back yard in Gainesville and eating a great dinner, we went to The Top for a drink and to wait for Senta to get off work. We were the only three in their outside area besides a man reading a book by the fire pit, so when a random guy walked out with two shots of tequila, looked at us, then over to the reader, then back to us before putting the shots down at our table and telling us to wait, Stephanie and Ward assumed that he was a friend of Keith's. But Keith had no idea who he was. He returned with three shots, called over the reader, and said that they were on him. Ward borrowed a great toast from Paul Micou, as best as he could remember: “There are poker chips, and there are tortilla chips, but the best chips of all are friendchips.” Royce, our new friend, ended up buying us another 3 rounds before we went across the street to The Atlantic for dance night. Royce followed us, and everyone there assumed he was an old friend of ours. We found out over the next few days in Gainesville that this might not have been in our favor. Basically, it boiled down to this: “Who was that friend of yours? He tried to not pay for a beer, got thrown out of The Atlantic, followed us home to a small party, and finally got kicked out of there when, told he couldn't sleep in the bed of the guy who lived there, complained 'Well where the hell am I supposed to sleep?!?'” We don't know what happened to our friend, but we have his address and look forward to sending him a postcard from two people he might not remember meeting.

Day 4, 1-18-2011

Waking up at 7 after being out past 2 isn't any more glamorous in an RV, but we had a mission: head to Camping World to have our electricity, our tires, and our broken water filter looked at. The name Camping World is a bit of a misnomer; the store caters exclusively to people in RVs, selling such “camping” amenities as propane logs made to look like campfires, satellite dishes, and an assortment of Christmas lights for your front awning, now on sale! Definitely not our kind of store, even more so after we paid $150 to basically have nothing done to our RV. It would have been $170, but we turned down their offer to inflate our tires for $20. The Ford dealer next door did this for free, with a smirk and shake of his head when we told them what Camping World wanted to charge. Still, the store is thriving, with wealthy “campers” paying to have their Rvs hand washed and their mirrors adjusted. Not kidding.

Mike Pius stayed in St. Augustine to surf a surprise swell, and we headed to Salt Spring in Ocala National Forest. There are a few campgrounds around the actual salt spring, and we met a man in a parking lot who had stayed in all of them and made some great suggestions. He was living out of an old Dodge van, sleeping a tent when the weather was nicer. He claimed that while he didn't enjoy swimming in the salt spring, he made sure to drink a cup of it every day. “It's pretty salty,” he said, “but I have rheumatoid arthritis so I drink it for that.” “Does it help?” “Well, I guess I think it does.” After giving us a few more tips, Ward introduced himself. “Oh, I'm Shakey” he said, and waved his arms around to demonstrate.

Setting up our RV in the state park, Stephanie noticed that one of our newly filled tires was now flat, most likely from the valve extension we put on earlier. Almost immediately, the young woman from the next site over was at our side, asking us if we needed help. This despite the fact that she and her boyfriend were living in a tent and didn't have any visible means with which to help us. She was kind of odd, and seemed to want something from us. “Are you family?” she asked. Ward said yes to not have to go into any further explanation, but this was the wrong answer. “Oh cool, us too! Do you know where everyone's heading. It's a great lifestyle. I've been trying to get him into it but he still isn't sure.” Without knowing it, we had committed ourselves to this woman's “family.” RV-ers? Swingers? Meth Mules? Any of them could have applied, and in her case, these “lifestyles” weren't mutually exclusive.

We felt her eyes on us for the rest of the evening. If one of us happened to look that way, she would perk up and move to the edge of her seat, ready to come over if we so much as said hello. Stephanie told Ward not to answer the door if anyone knocked. “Yeah, I guess we'll just ask who it is?” She got a kick out of that. “Oh, like that's going to make a difference? We don't know anyone here!” Nobody ever knocked, but we found ourselves pining for the good old everyday creepiness of the Walmart parking lot.

Day Three, 1-17-2011

1-17-2011

Sick of being on the highway, we jumped on smaller roads to take us south to St. Augustine. This was much better in terms of sights (we finally saw America's Smallest Church, which was about the size and shape of Snoopy's doghouse), but also great for us finally being able to shop at thrift stores. We hit up a couple around Brunswick, GA, but it was also Martin Luther King day, so a lot of the stores we saw were closed.

We stopped in St. Mary's, GA and were told that this town was “arguably the oldest city in America. But all the records proving that we were here before St. Augustine were lost in a fire.” Aren't they always. But one thing St. Mary's has that St. Augustine can't take away is a used bookstore called Once Upon a Bookseller. Which, to borrow a joke from a friend, it the beginning of a very accurate statement: Once upon a bookseller, you never go back.

We met Mike Pius at his house in St. Augustine, and then went to Jeff and Jeannie's new restaurant, The Floridian. Amazing food! The funniest part of the restaurant is that due to local ABC laws and the fact that their front door is within 50 feet of a church, they can only serve draft beer in the back room, which, thank God, is far enough from the church to corrupt any delicate souls.

It was really nice to spend MLK day in a place where his legacy wasn't shared with those of Stonewall Jackson and Robert E. Lee. Richmond, if you don't already know, officially celebrates Lee-Jackson-King Day, so it was refreshing to see an MLK parade as we left Savannah and to read an article in the St. Augustine free weekly about their spotty history of civil rights. But that night, as if to remind us that we were only so far from Richmond, we were plagued by a 35 year old wearing overalls, a Bob Marley shirt, and a knit hat with Jamaican colors (presumably to hold back his dreads). We ran into him at a quiet bar when his friend offered us a beer and he offered us some poorly veiled insults, but when he found out we were from Richmond he became our immediate ally. “No shit! I'm from Henrico, boy! Hermitage High, class of 93!” This was our bond for the rest of the night, one we could not shake even with direct suggestions that we would be happy if he walked home to Henrico. The worst part is that in reminiscing about his beloved home town, he bemoaned the Arthur Ashe statue on Monument Avenue. “I mean, here's a black guy, who died from AIDS, and they have the nerve to put him on a street honoring war heroes who died for their country.” OK, keep in mind that he was wearing a Marley t-shirt and rasta hat (a fact that he advised we not let fool us when Stephanie pointed out the contradiction), and let us also remember that most of the Confederates honored did not die in battle, and that they were fighting to secede from their country. But facts weren't really an issue here. “He already has a sports center named for him. Why didn't they put the statue there?” Ward replied “Probably for the same reason they didn't put Lee's statue in front of the Confederacy Museum.” Again, logic could not derail his rant. And all this proved on Martin Luther King Day, 2011, was that the old adage still rings true: No matter where you go, there you are... drinking with a racist from Richmond.

Day 2, 1-16-2011

1-16-2011

Waking up in Florence was lazy and relaxed. We used Walmart for bathroom needs again, and waited around for the garage to open at 1:30 so that someone could help us check our tire pressure. This isn't as bad as it sounds; the rear tires are dual mounted, and the outer ones don't have an extension, making the valve really hard to access. We figured we were doing something wrong, but the mechanic, who initially gave us a check-your-tire-pressure-please look, wasn't able to do any better than us. Which was good for our egos, but not so good for the tires. They looked a little low, and we knew we would have to figure out a good way to check them soon.

One of the cool things about driving in and out of Florence was seeing all of the locally owned businesses. Not just the common small businesses that you would expect to see, but larger things, like the bowling alley (as opposed to AMF), The Julia Theater (a really cool 4 screen movie palace), and random video stores (not Blockbuster). Seeing businesses like these surviving both the national chains and the recent recession was really impressive and definitely not what we'd expected to find in the smaller towns.

We left Florence at about 3, and took 95 South to Savannah. Our friend Summer now lives in Philly, and Laura was in Tampa that night. We had just missed seeing her. Kylesa played a “Metal Homecoming” show on Friday, and immediately left town on tour again. The local free weekly, Connect, had a cover article on them titled Heavy Duty. But that's all we got of our friend. Oh, and Ward forgot that Jennylyn, his friend since high school days, lived in Savannah, so we spent the night friendless in this great city.

So, with nothing to do, and nowhere in particular to stay, we parked off of Forsyth Park in front of what looked like a million dollar, ante-bellum Savannah mansion. Southern hospitality did us well, and they residents of this beautiful street put up no fuss over our RV.

First Day Out, 1-15-2011

After spending most of the morning packing the RV, we met at 821 Cafe for a farewell lunch with Skylar, Andrew, April, Curtis, Talia, Shony, Murty, and Michael. Squeezed in at a corner booth, we all shared jokes and stories and food like it was a regular day, so when we got up to leave it was a shocking and sad realization that we would most likely not see these friends for seven months. Leaving home, we had been distracted by all that we had to pack, organizing the RV, and securing our belongings for the bumpy ride south, but our sudden emotions about leaving our friends triggered an immediate sadness for everything else we were leaving behind: our pets, our house, our family, our jobs (we're weird), our daily routines. In short, Richmond. We really are going to miss you!

Not enough, however, to turn around yet. This despite the fact that our crew stayed at 821 Cafe drinking all day, calling us every ½ hour or so to update us on what we were missing and trying to get us to turn around to take shots with them at the bar. It's nice to think that our friends will be right where we left them, waiting for us to return home. Well, all except for Murty, who we were told (erroneously) was so distraught over our leaving that, emboldened by whiskey, he began tipping over tables and throwing chairs until the police came to arrest him. Curtis is still bugging us about the bail money.