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

Leg 2 to 3: Memphis to New Orleans aka Lemme Bayou a Drank

The third leg of our journey started with a word of positivity from an elderly woman in McDonald's. Awestruck by her benevolence, Marc cranked out a few words to commemorate the occasion.

"I’m not very good at writing with feeling. It’s about 6 am. Chris is zonked at our palace suite aka the Rest Inn. I’ve been at McDonalds down the block using their wireless and staring at a computer screen while doing two things: booking our next shitty motel room, and finding directions to the next shitty motel room.

This morning we leave Memphis, after seeing my favorite at the FedEx Forum last night. I’ll leave the concert review to Salera and Ebert. We’re heading to New Orleans today, and the weather is supposed to be incredible. I just finished booking our room for the next two days; we’re staying an extra day to take in as much of the Big Easy as we can. Seafood and jazz – what in the hell could be better?

Ever since I’ve known Chris, everything we have done together has turned into a circus in some way or another. Most people can’t comprehend the decisions we make – sometimes we can’t. We’ve talked about this trip for as long as I can remember.

Some old woman just walked past and asked where I was headed – she said our trip is “a blessing from Jesus”, smiled, and said, “Imma pray for ya both, Hunny”. I’m not very religious, anymore, but that’s all I needed to make this moment one of the best on the trip so far.

It’s back in the car for another 6 and some hours. I’m traveling the country with my best friend – I’m so happy. McDonald’s coffee is pretty good.

That’s how you do it, Son.

Marc."

Well put.

Mississippi (I had to do the old M-I-Ess-Ess spelling thing to remember) crept up on us. The drive from Memphis to New Orleans is basically one road, I-55 South, the entire way. I watched as the odometer simultaneously rose with the temperature, sipped coffee, and downed a Super Bun for fuel.



As we floated past cars on I-55, I felt, for the first time in the trip, that we really had no deadlines and no reason to hurry. We had seen so much in 48 hours, and there was nothing I looked forward to more than taking it easy in the The Big Easy. With that in mind, we looked for some brown side-of-the-road signs aka attractions. About 60 miles outside of New Orleans, we found our winner.



The Camp Moore Historical Association is a museum/memorial cemetery located in Tangipahoa, La. Camp Moore was the site of the largest Confederate training grounds during the Civil War. The upstairs is complete with shelves of historical artifacts, including medical kits, shell fragments, historical documents, and more. Allison was kind enough to show us around. She said she had been working there for seven years, and by all accounts, she knew her stuff.




We took a walk downstairs and saw a huge work-in-progess: sprawling timelines, pictures of famous soldiers, historical documents (including General Lee's final orders), and much more. I probably learned more in 10 minutes than I did in any social studies class. A final walk outside through the memorial cemetery was the cap on a fine visit to Camp Moore.




If you want to check it out, you can become a fan on Facebook, the page is called:

Camp Moore Historical Association

Or, visit it for yourself if you're ever in the area (from the Facebook page):

"Camp Moore is open Wednesday-Saturday, 10:00 am- 3pm. $2 for students, $3 for adults, free for kids 6 and under. Come visit today!

Tangipahoa, LA, 70465
(985) 229-2438"



The final 60 miles felt like 1000 miles. I could not wait to get there and suck crawfish heads while sipping a cool beer. This last road was arguably the most scenic part of the trip, which given the competition so far, was not saying much (you can only look at so many miles of trees). As you drive in to New Orleans, you pass through miles and miles of marsh land. There's a long stretch of elevated road running through the bayou - certainly a dangerous place to run out of gas. However, this stretch offered some of the best, and flattest views of the trip.



The cool thing about driving here is just how flat it really is. In Pittsburgh, you don't see the city until you're halfway down Grant St. Here, you can actually see the city from about 20 miles away. With our goal in sight, we rolled down the windows and let the salty air permeate the car.



I could write a separate blog just on my first impression of New Orleans. Hulking by-ways loop through the city, and by all accounts, there is no indication that this city was almost underwater just five years ago. There is so much to say, and so much to see, but it will have to wait until I get a better look before I write more.



We eventually dodged traffic and found our way to the Sun Suites Hotel, located about 10 miles outside the city. Once again weary from a long day of travel, we checked in to the room (a legendary upgrade from our past accommodations) and prepared for what would be an unforgettable night.

Who Dat,

CPS