A Quick Retrospective

Pennsylvania to
Ohio to
Kentucky to
Tennessee to
Mississippi to
Louisiana to
Mississippi to
Alabama to
Tennessee to
Virginia to
West Virginia to
Pennsylvania.

Nine different states.

Almost 2600 miles.

A stupid amount of gas money.

Memories that will last a lifetime.

That's how you categorize a road trip. What set out as a poorly-planned trip turned into the best week of my life. Sure, I could have known exactly how much I would have spent, exactly where I would have gone, and exactly what I would have seen, but that's not for me. I crave uncertainty. I long for adversity. I'm desperate for a new challenge.

This was our first road trip, and I promise it will not be our last. Roadsickness is a term not taken lightly. When you return from a road trip, I promise if you did it right, you will feel a longing for the road. While I was on the trip, I saw completely new things for an entire week. Every second my eyes were open, I was seeing something I had never seen before. Think about that.

"Miles to Graceland" is the record of a promise fulfilled - a promise made many years ago. It may have been a pipe dream at the time, but stranger plans have been made. I'm glad this one came to fruition.

Get a car. Get a scooter. Stick your thumb out on the side of the road. I don't care, just get out on the road. You will never fully experience life unless you venture outside of the norm. I say this not from a presumptuous position; instead, I say it as a word of encouragement. Go out and talk to a stranger. Go somewhere you have never been before. Go eat something you would never eat in your hometown. Go live..

Sure, I look forward to the future, though I can't help but look back on the past one last time. It was fun, but it's time to move on. I learned a lot on the road. If I could do one-tenth of what I did, for a living, I could not ask for a better life. To be honest, writing this blog was probably the most fun I've ever had writing. I wrote what I saw, and I was overwhelmed by how many people enjoyed it.

The next post will contain some of the hundreds of other pictures we never published. The thousands of words contained in these pictures are no match to anything I can write. Enjoy.

For those of you who have been reading: thank you. I never expected such a positive response. Who knows what the next blog will bring? For now, I can safely look back and call it a blog.

Thanks again everyone,

CPS

Leg 5 to 6: Abingdon to Pittsburgh aka What a Long, Strange Trip It's Been

Could it really be? Could this really be the end of the mindless journey we set out upon almost six days ago? I wish I could say the trip ended with a roar, but unfortunately, the final leg was more of a whimper than we expected.



The western half of Virginia is the skinniest part of Virginia, meaning we were not on the road very long before we careened in to the home of Pitt's rival: West Virginia. The first thing we noticed was mountains; undoubtedly the largest we had seen in several states. It looked like the chorus of "God Bless America" no matter where we went.



Our first stop led us to Beckley, a small but dense town in the southern swing of West Virginia. After taking the exit ramp, I phoned my Grandma and asked for her recommendation on the best place to eat in Beckley. Granted, IHOP looked comparable to the other fine establishments in Beckley, but we nonetheless decided to press on. Around this time, I began trying to persuade Marc to take exit 47 to the local casino, knowing that table games were legal in West Virginia. Apparently, we stumbled into the Bermuda Triangle of West Virginia, and watched as exit 46 quickly evaporated into exit 48 without warning. My wallet thanked me as we headed to the next eatery.

The road north through West Virginia is - in comparison to others we had seen - a scenic route. Indecisive topography made for decisive photography, and we would have been crazy to pass on such miraculous sights. A quick detour led us to the second largest arch bridge in the country. Words can not do it justice, so I'll let you decide if the stop was worthy of a blog post:




As we passed through nameless town after nameless town, we eventually came across a quaint little strip of strip mall to our left. My stomach gurgled and quickly persuaded us to stop.

I never thought I would find authentic Mexican food in West Virginia, but given the circumstances so far, it really did not seem so far out of the ordinary. We took a quick exit aka left turn in to a strip mall directly off the interstate. We opened the door to La Carretta, which is Spanish for "delicious Mexican restaurant where the only other patron is a young mother with four screaming kids" (source: Wikipedia). I was skeptical, right up until the point where a God-gifted hostess led us to our table.



I ordered a plate of crispy chimichangas, and Marc ordered a plate of random Mexican ingredients aka fajitas. The great thing about Mexican food is this: the ingredients pretty much stay the same, while the mix of these ingredients changes with each dish. After almost no time, my two cylinders of deliciousness arrived. They were packed with steaming beef tips and covered in a bevy of quacamole, queso sauce, sour cream, and lettuce. I barely blinked before I deposited every morsel on my plate in to my eager stomach. Marc followed suit. It seemed almost rude not to.



What else was there? After such a good meal, the rest of the trip seemed like a bleak, foregone conclusion. I secretly hoped for a casino that never came. Believe it or not, there are no casinos between the southern half of West Virginia and the northern half, at least via the interstate (further research revealed several "really?" locations, none of which were blatantly advertised). Green signs flew through the rear view mirror until finally we reached our final state: Pennsylvania (sorry for the lack of state sign - I was slow on the trigger finger).




For the first time in the trip, I recognized our surroundings. I saw familiar road signs. I saw familiar surroundings. For the first time in the trip, I saw something I had seen before. It was miraculous that we had survived so much. The final stretch to Pittsburgh felt more like a victory lap than anything else. There would be no unnecessary road stops; there would be no random departures from the interstate. This was the last stretch of road before home, and frankly, it felt like the longest stretch of the trip. For the first time in the trip, we hit traffic. Hundreds of hesitant-to-drive-through-a-tunnel Pittsburghers stood between us and home.



It was here that I began to feel a strange feeling; something I had never expected to feel throughout the entire trip. In a word, I can only describe it as: roadsickness. I didn't want this to trip to end. I yearned for the road. I craved the uncertainty of an unfamiliar destination. I desperately sought a place where citizens looked at me as the stranger.



As Marc affixed the playlist to the most appropriately depressing songs he could find, we made our final trek in to Oakland. It had been a long, unforgettable trip. If I could describe it in one word; well, I can't. I'll save that for another post, for one word can not do it justice. I had just been on one of the greatest journeys of my life, and to try and sum it up in one word would be doing a terrible disservice to the adventurous spirit of all travelers of the world. I looked up at the Oakland sign and in that moment, I saw home.



At the same time, I saw the most unfamiliar place I had seen in seven days. I realized after traveling for six days with no plan, that my only home was the road. Roadsickness is a disease that never goes away. It stays with you until you make the next pitiful attempt to satisfy its unquenchable thirst. No number of untraveled miles will ever satisfy this thirst; however, the beauty of life is constantly trying to satisfy the unsatisfiable, while at the same time having absolutely no idea why the hell you are even trying.

I came, I saw, and I will never conquer, and that could not make me more happy.

Road is where the heart is,

CPS

Top Ten Rules for any Road Trip

In light of the overwhelmingly positive response to the travel log so far, I thought I would share a few tips we learned on the road before publishing the final two entries. As you probably have figured out by now, our trip ended on Wednesday night. Along the way, we saw some cool stuff, heard some cool stories, and learned some cool tips. Here are the top ten rules to remember for your journey:

10. Pictures are the cheapest souvenirs.

Sure, a tacky shirt that says "I got Bourbon faced on Shit Street," will be good for a laugh, but how many times can you actually wear it? Save your money for something else. Take a ton of pictures, they will be the most memorable souvenir you can buy.

9. Take care of your greatest asset: your car.

If you plan on traveling thousands of miles in a dilapidated coupe, it may be time for a little preventative maintenance. Get your oil changed, get a car wash, and get your tires rotated. A little extra effort will do wonders in the long-run.

8. If it sounds too good to be true, it probably is.

Remember, not everyone on the road is trying to help you get to the next place. Some people get wide-eyed when they see a tourist wandering around the streets, and if you're not careful, you might get caught in a scam. Do you really think someone can tell you where you got your shoes? Do you really think there are many gentleman's clubs with no cover? Not likely.

7. Keep your wallet in your front pocket, and keep all valuables secure and within reach.

You won't get very far on your journey without money, and unless you keep it secure, you're asking for trouble. Scammers see tourists as easy target, so keep walking if you hear a lame proposal for money (i.e. I need $10 for a deposit on a gas can). Scammers typically use very detailed stories and will make promises to pay back more than they borrow. Don't be fooled.

6. Carry enough cash with you, especially if you're headed to an unfamiliar location.

If you're headed in to a major city, you probably won't need tons of cash; but when you head further in to the outskirts, remember that an ATM could be miles away. The only thing worse than being stranded is being stranded and broke. Keep in mind though, if you do carry cash, keep it secure.

5. When in doubt, ask a local.

In our case, 90% of the locals we talked to were more than happy to share their opinion on the best things to see or the best places to eat. Most people are happy to help out a naive tourist, but you won't get far unless any request you make is accompanied by a "please" and "thank you."

4. Sometimes, the quickest way isn't always the best.

Or, as some might say, it's the journey, not the destination. You don't have to stick to every interstate. A departure from the norm, even if slower, can offer scenic views and is a welcome change from the familiarity of the main road.

3. Manage your time wisely.

This not to say you need to plan the trip down to every minute; however, a little bit of planning will keep you from being tied down to the same place all day. There is lots to see in this world, so if you spend all your day on one street, you're going to miss out on a lot of really cool stuff.

2. Never, ever be afraid to try new things.

After all, that's the point of the road trip, isn't it? If you've never tried an oyster before, and you end up in the oyster capital of the world, it may be time to break the hiatus. People are often surprised to find they like something they never expected to like. It's out there, so go out and try it.

1. When in [blank], do as the [blanks] do.

I've said this time and time again, but I guarantee it will help you on the road. Remember, you are in their territory, not the other way around. Save your hometown customs for your hometown. When you go somewhere else, you will stand out like a sore thumb unless you consider your surroundings, and the last thing you want to do is offend anyone with a social faux pas (this is especially relevant abroad). Though, this is not to say you can't share a little bit of your hometown flavor with the world, just be smart about it; after all, you are the guest.

Keep these things in mind, and you just might survive your own trip,

CPS

Abingdon: We Showed Up and Doubled the Population

With one day of money left, and exhausted from several consecutive states of driving, we sat down to pick our final location. Several possibilities crossed my mind: Roanoke, Asheville, Blacksburg, Charlotte, etc. All of these locations fell about halfway between Birmingham and Pittsburgh; however, none of these locations stood out more than our final choice: Abingdon, Va. Abingdon, Va., for the six of you who have never heard of it, is where the first space shuttle was launched, the birthplace of the Rolling Stones, and the site of the world's largest brewery (source: Wikipedia).

Alright, none of these things are in Abingdon. In fact, the only recognizable landmark in Abingdon is the Martha Washington Inn, which I assume, based on my one poor-quality iPhone picture (sorry for the quality, the camera was absent for our trip to main street), is full of lots of argyle socks and overpriced brandy.




Further down the road from the Inn, the main stretch turned into a college-looking town, the likes of which Marc compared to Miami of Ohio. It's a quaint stretch of existence; it's full of quiet college students. I have a special admiration for towns like these. One can only look at so many Wal-Marts before you begin to miss the traditional hard-working spirit of a small business.



With our limited repertoire of activities, we decided the most appropriate course of action would be to eat well and subsequently drink well. A trip to the liquor store would provide the best blog material of this visit. We walked in and perused the isles of aisles scattered around the store. We noticed high prices on just about everything but whiskey/bourbon, so once again we followed our old motto: "When in Abingdon, drink as the Abindonians drink." Before settling on an old favorite, Black Velvet, we heard the front door chirp and the subsequent exclamation, in a deep southern draw, of "Hey Mama!" A portly Po’ Boy with a belt buckle the size of Abingdon's high school exchanged pleasantries with his mom while picking out a bottle of hooch. It's moments like these that make travel worthwhile.

Nava, one of the thousands of attractive older women we saw in the South, directed us to Alison's, a local, casual eatery perfect for our current down attire. We hopped back on the main stretch and continued to the restaurant. Allison's was nice. Nothing special, but a perfectly filling meal and exactly what we expected. I downed a cup of the famous potato soup (which was somewhat reminiscent of the same soup I used to eat in eighth grade - my favorite soup of all time). For an entree, I, fighting a slight unrelated stomachache, ate a small quesadilla. Marc had a smothered burger with enough toppings to lift the top bun to the ceiling. We paid the tab and ran home.




Marc, exhausted from a long day of travel, took a few sips of his strong drink and called it a night at 10:30pm. He mentioned something about the time messing with his sleep pattern, but we actually lost an hour, so I think he really was just that tired. I decided to stay up and wrestle with the bottle while doing several activities: chatting on Facebook, calling our friends in Vegas (somehow my over-the-phone "good mojo" didn't result in a win), and updating the travel log.

Wednesday would be the beginning of the end. I took one final sip and closed my eyes.

Sometimes nowhere is a good destination,

CPS

Leg 4 to 5: Birmingham to Abingdon aka "No You Can Not Sit in the Back of the Cop Car"

I awoke, head pounding, to see a coffee next to my bed. Thank God. I shotgunned my Starbucks and set sail for our destination: Abingdon, Va. Our thought process on picking this place is explained in the next post. Let's just say it was not because of the large number of attractions in Abingdon.

We waved goodbye to the last big city of the trip and exited for the interstate. Now, there are two roads out of Birmingham: I-20 East and I-59 North. I don't know if you're familiar with the layout of our country, but Virginia is actually north of Alabama, not east.



Two hours into I-20 East, Marc once again had a navigator-seat epiphany. We were lost. We needed to get to I-59 North or risk ending up in Atlanta. A quick peak of the map, and a stop at a local gas station pointed us to 77 North, a connecting road heading straight north. To be fair, Marc picked the absolute perfect place to find out we were lost. The next exit from our current one was the junction for 77 North, meaning a quick detour through an Alabama back road was next on our agenda. "Just when I think you can't get any dumber, you go and do something like this...AND TOTALLY REDEEM YOURSELF."



77 North is a long, bumpy road with scenic views and condemning billboards. We drove over our fair share of bridges and stared longingly at endless stretches of still water. We even passed through Rainbow, Al. before finally reaching our destination. It was, as per usual, a pleasant departure from the norm. Marc took tons of pictures while fighting off the nausea induced by his pork rinds (which actually have less calories than a bag of Doritos).



Lunch was next. We stopped at Collinsville, a random departure from the highway, to try and find a lake and hopefully a spot to eat some country cooking. Collinsville was a town where they may have filmed "The Crazies." The only two things in the one-horse town were a Mexican grocery store and a kaboose. Marc made one of the few astute observations in his lifetime by pointing out that we had little chance of finding a lake if we were headed uphill. Elementary, my dear Watson. We never did find that damn lake.




Before hooking up with the highway, we stopped at a small eatery called Smokin' Joes. We opened the door and heard the screech of a record needle. You'd think it was the first time two Pittsburghers on a road trip stopped in there...err...nevermind.

I ordered a cafeteria tray full of sweet country goodness, and Marc took his chances with a barbeque sandwich. Rule of thumb: if you see this written in the bathroom:


"This is a real s*** hole. And your a real bastard"

You can be sure it's going to be a good meal. For something like 4 pieces of eight, I ordered a country-fried steak, fried okra, fried squash, a baked potato, and two pieces of cornbread. If it was possible to fry an entire baked potato, they would have done it. The okra (probably one of the first times I had ever eaten okra) was soft and had a taste similar to fried zucchini. The country fried steak was drowning in white gravy, and although it wasn't the best I had ever eaten, I could safely say that it was fried in the country. The biggest disappointment was the corn bread, which I half-expected to change my life. Instead, I got a dry piece of salty bread. Bummer. Luckily, Marc's sandwich made up for this. The beef was tender, and the sauce had enough bite to startle my taste buds for the ride ahead. Before we left, we got a picture with arguably the two most intimidating men I had ever laid eyes on (despite the appearance, they could not have been nicer).




The final stretch of road from Alabama, through Tennessee, and into Virginia was fairly mundane. Tennessee, based on my observations from the interstate, is known for two things: fireworks and having the most unoriginal city names of all time. This was the first time in the trip that I felt like the destination was more welcome than the journey. I wish I could say stopped to go skeet shooting with Santa Claus, but sometimes it is what it is.




Our Virginia sign pic leaves something to be desired, (no) thanks to a slow trigger finger. We passed through Bristol, hoping that the racetrack somehow intersected with 81 North, but were disappointed. As we passed through the outskirts of the outskirts of Bristol, we noticed the small sign for our destination: Abingdon, Va.




Wait, that's not the Puerto Rican flag,

CPS

Birmingham: Birming Down the House

Another strange city. Another city full of strangers.

It was Monday night in Birmingham, and once again we had no idea what to do, meaning once again we needed to chat it up with a local and learn how we could best utilize our one night in Birmingham.



We stayed in an industrial park, so cruising the sidewalks for answers would yield no results. Instead, we asked the hotel clerk how to find "Five Points South," a location recommended by Trevor. "Five Points South" is a small but bustling little college town located just outside Downtown Birmingham on the University of Alabama-Birmingham's campus. After she gave us (completely wrong) directions to get there, we put on our spats and jumped in the car.

The first recommendation, Highlands, was an expensive, very nice-looking Italian restaurant. It was also closed (at 8:00pm no less). Again, we had to patronize some patrons in order to get the next best bet. We dodged a couple of homeless beggars soliciting us for change, and settled on 26, an upscale seafood/Italian/sushi/couldn't-really-decide-what-it-was joint with dim lighting. Perfect.



We were sat by our second Trey of the trip. We were surrounded by an older crowd, all of whom likely went to college for at least 8 years. They stared in bewilderment as we sat down and scanned the menu for anything that fit in our limited price range. Trey had dreadlocks climbing down his back and had much to offer for our tour of Birmingham. Friendly dude.

Marc ordered his usual "filthy" martini - a strong combination of what basically amounts to vodka and olive juice. The coup de gras on these beverages was the addition of two hand-stuffed blue cheese olives pierced by a long toothpick. I'm not usually a martini drinker, but this order sounded too good to pass up.



I started with a goat cheese/pomodoro dip that turned out to be not at all what I expected. That didn't bother me though, because anything with goat cheese is OK in my book. For dinner, Marc ordered osso bucco aka slow-roasted, bone-in meat. The meat was absurdly tender, and Marc verified this by effortlessly removing the bone. No seasoning was necessary for this roast, a true sign of a well-cooked tail. Marc validated his reduction using a "back-of-the-spoon" technique that only seasoned foodies will understand. My culinary reviewing skills amount to a dish being classified as either "good" or "not that good but I'll eat it anyway."

I ordered seafood pasta in a white cream sauce. Enormous shrimp tails swam amongst tender scallops, and I downed these first before even considering the homemade pasta twirling around the plate. We finished up our meals, played "26" questions with Trey as to the best local watering hole, dropped a few thousand dollars for dinner, and peaced.

We found our way to a sports bar just up the street. We downed a few pitchers. We shot pool. We listened to a bar quiz in progress (Cate Blanchett is the only actress to win an Oscar for playing a previous Oscar winner [Katherine Hepburn]). We stared across the bar at a local high-stakes poker game in progress. In summary, we had a hell of a night. We headed home.

The following passage will be told from the perspective of a case of Miller-Lite that was sitting in our fridge and had accompanied us throughout most of the journey.

"It's dark in here, and I'm freezing. The front door just opened, and I can hear talking. A flash of light, and suddenly I can feel my contents getting lighter. Darkness, once again. I hear laughing. The TV clicks on and from my cold prison I can hear the faint sound of a movie. Suddenly, the voices rise. I hear arguing. Something about where to post the link to the blog. One side wants to drive people to the site by posting negative comments on Clapton videos. The other thinks that's a stupid idea and he is right. It seems like this argument is going nowhere. The door clicks again. One (or both) leave. I wait in silence. The front door opens again. Another flash of light. No more arguing."



OK maybe I got a little caught up in the whole traffic thing. After all, our names are on this site, and there will be a time to play those silly internet games, just not for this blog. Sometimes, the less you know about the internet, the better. We squashed our differences and fell asleep watching The Professional. Tomorrow would bring a new adventure, and a new argument...the kind that can only take place between friends.

This is for Matilda,

CPS

Leg 3.5 to 4: Biloxi to Birmingham aka Barbeque and Huge Slot Machines

We took one final look at the ocean and headed - for the first time in 4 days - to the North. A small connecting road put us back on the interstate and led us to our sixth state of the trip – Alabama. The ride would assuredly be filled with Forrest Gump quotes.




No more than 20 minutes in to our ride and before we even reached Alabama, Captain Marc exclaimed with a raucous exclamation, “NO WAY! IT CAN’T BE.” Half asleep and still half drunk from such a good breakfast, I inquired as to the source of his jubilation. A roadside sign advertised “The Shed BBQ.” For those who do not watch The Travel Channel, “The Shed BBQ” was featured as a backwoods rest stop with live music and damn good barbeque. Built entirely out of spare parts by a redheaded, bearded young adult, you might mistake it for a shanty were it not for the captivating smell of smoky, slow-roasted meat.



The building looks somewhat like the raft built by Tom Hanks in Cast Away. Tin panels covered the roof, and spare two-by-fours made up the foundation. The sign displaying the upcoming bands was donated from a (likely) local middle school. Despite it’s ragtag design, “The Shed BBQ” is an amazing estate. There are several bars, a live music stage, an outdoor fire pit, and enough seats to house three football teams. I’ve never regretted eating breakfast more. I would have loved nothing more than to eat there, but I was so full that it would have not ended well; instead, we chatted with the owner and several of the servers, all of whom were glad to have an outsider but disappointed not to have a customer.





To check out any of the six "The Shed BBQ" locations, visit www.theshedbbq.com, or follow "The Shed BBQ - A Family Food Drinkery" on Facebook. We visited the original location in Gulfport, but there may be one by you...check it out and let us know if the meat tastes as good as it smells.

After a quick refuel across the street, we hopped back on the interstate and continued on our way. We eventually made it to Alabama and hopped off at a rest stop to snap a few pictures. The first sign we saw welcomed us to Alabama. The second sign we saw was this:




After passing through miles and miles without seeing so much as a McDonald’s, we happened upon an Indian Casino/Resort called “Wind Creek.” We were somewhat bored and hadn’t stopped in like 13 minutes, so we again pulled over and decided to check it out.



My eyes grew wide as we approached the oasis of fun. Marc kept a close eye on me, fearing I would disappear for four hours and return with a broken kneecap and no clothes. Unfortunately (see also: fortunately), there were no table games at this particular casino, so I instead had to satisfy my thirst for fun (see also: gambling problem) with slots. I sat down amongst the elder, blank-faced gamblers and watched as a blinking colossus sucked down my dollar bill with no intention of returning it. I chose literally the largest slot machine in the casino, hit the button, and watched as BAR-BAR-BAR came up. I now had five dollars. The woman next to me glared in jealousy as I cashed out and walked to the next row. Once again, I threw a dollar in, hit a line, and realized a 1200% return in just two minutes. Suck it Madoff.

If you ever find yourself in Atmore, AL with nothing to do...you'll find a big slot machine with guaranteed (almost) winnings at the Wind Creek. www.windcreekcasino.com

With a few bucks more in gas money, we scooted over to the interstate and restarted on our journey. We actually managed to make it more than 20 minutes this time without something shiny detracting us from our final destination.



Eventually though, hunger got the best of us, and we stopped at a Whataburger. Whataburger, as described by Marc, serves burgers that taste like a Whopper with a McDonald’s bun. It’s topped with jalapenos and grilled onions, and it’s good. It’s damn good. We sat and ate our burgers, toppings spilling all over the place, while we eavesdropped on a conversation between what I gathered to be a pep talk from a district manager to an employee considering a management position. Before leaving, we stopped to tell him that this was our first Whataburger, and it wouldn’t be our last. He was pleased.




The final stretch after Whataburger took about an hour, and I chatted with my way-too-far-away girlfriend while Marc put on his game face and drove straight to Birmingham. After a long day of far too many rest stops, we checked in to our extended stay hotel (complete with a full kitchen and a couch for just $45, and how!) and cashed in on some well-earned rest.

Still chasing triple 7’s,

CPS

Leg 3 to 3.5: New Orleans to Biloxi

Another early morning start for your protagonists meant another 6:20am trip to Starbucks. This officially marked the unofficial halfway point of our trip. New Orleans would be the farthest south we would, or could travel. From here, it was east to Biloxi, and north to Birmingham. From there, well, that has yet to be decided.



We dodged early morning traffic as we waved our final goodbye to New Orleans. A cloud of haze hung over the horizon, yet off in the distance, we could see a faint outline of the remaining patch of land before the Gulf of Mexico. We followed the signs for I-10 east en route to Biloxi, but curiosity got the best of us and we stopped at what we like to believe was a NASA Secret Underground Nuclear Missile Facility. This unassuming rest stop gave us the chance to examine a large map and revealed a scenic route that ran along the southern coast of Mississippi. Having seen our share of tree-lined interstate, we decided a departure from the norm was not only nice - it was mandatory.



Needless to say, we were not disappointed. After passing through a small town, we found ourselves cruising along a calm stretch of highway, flanked on our left by gorgeous, sprawling Southern estates, and on our right by an infinite blue canvas stretching clear out to the horizon. At the first chance, we stopped on the side of the road, kicked off our loafers, and ran across the white-sand beaches until our toes barely touched the cool Gulf of Mexico water. Since it was so flat, Marc was able to walk almost 100 yds. into the water without getting so much as his ankles wet.





We continued on this road for some time until reaching Biloxi, a sunny town filled with casinos, resorts, and tiny restaurants. We were in desperate need of sustenance, so we hightailed it to Snapper’s Seafood Restaurant. The restaurant was full of nothing but two road trippers and two servers, so breakfast took all of six minutes to arrive. We each ordered breakfast platters, and they were delivered piping hot. I enjoyed creamy, buttery grits with my eggs and sausage, while Marc had the same, minus the grits and plus hash browns. We scarfed down our meals while gazing out over the empty beach.



In speaking with our server, Trevor, we learned that he was actually from Birmingham, and was kind enough to share several hot spots for us to visit. One of these spots included “the spot where I met my second ex-wife.” Tell me how one can have a bad time with a build up like that. We threw down a pittance for how much we ate, and departed for Alabama.

If you don't see me for a while, it means I moved to Biloxi,

CPS