Melissa and I rolled out of Iowa City on the afternoon of November 1. The sky was clear blue and the weather was warm for November. We drove down 218, crossing into Missouri and decided to stop at a Dairy Queen for a frozen treat. We continued our journey on through rush hour traffic on the outskirts of St. Louis. Melissa said I didn’t seem nervous driving in heavy traffic, but I was somewhat terrified. I grew up driving on country gravel and in snow storms. The most congested traffic I’ve ever driven in was the parking lot at the Clay County Fair…half of that congestion was from a farmer unloading his cattle…not a great comparison.
As we put more miles between us and home, Melissa and I started to notice that the names of towns were pretty funny. Places like Hickahola and Coffeeville made us giggle. The town of Festus really made us laugh…it popped up at an opportune moment in our conversation. We cranked our music and sang at the top of our lungs. We busted out some oldies but goodies from junior high—No Doubt, Oasis, Jewel, and Alanis Morisette. We stopped for gas and I made friends with a guy driving a camper. He and I commiserated about the price of gas and celebrated the light traffic on the interstate. The thought occurred to me that the next time I go on a road trip, I might want to consider taking a camper. After we filled up, Melissa took over the driving until Memphis. A few hours outside the city, we saw a falling star which we took as a fortuitous sign that this trip would be amazing.
We had blindly booked our room in the Graceland Super 8 downtown hotel before we embarked on this journey, deciding that since it had 1 ½ stars on Hotels.com it had to be okay. It was…kind of. The bathroom door didn’t close and the wall by my bed had a giant bug smooshed on it, but the room had two beds and a bathroom and a sink. We couldn’t ask for more from 1 ½ stars.
The courteous young man at the front desk called a cab for us and we headed downtown to legendary Beale Street. Unfortunately Beale Street wasn’t very happening since it was the day after Halloween.
But we made a beeline for the first bar (Alfred’s) with live music, ordered a beer, and collapsed into our chairs. The band was a decent cover band, playing some classic blues and rock and roll. The bar remained relatively empty until a bachelorette party came crashing through the doors. The band took a break, and the canned dance music came on the speakers. Melissa and I were debating leaving when a guy came over to our table and asked us where we were from. Once the introductions were done, he offered to buy us a beer. Now—we were road weary, still wearing our traveling clothes, and completely uninterested in picking up dudes. Naturally, our disinterest caused Mark to stay and talk to us for quite some time. So we ended up staying at that bar longer than we planned. Once the bachelorette party left, the band came back on and started to talk to Melissa and I while they were warming up. They asked where we were from and what brought us to town. The also offered to play us a song. When we said, “play whatever”, they broke into an off-key rendition of “Puff the Magic Dragon” followed by “Kumbaya”. It was hilarious. We thanked them for their musical talent and made a graceful exit.
The next bar was a little livelier, the band was very energetic. The lead singer yelled at Melissa for taking pictures, but was really just kidding. A mysterious guy in a fedora came over to talk to us and kindly informed us that most bars stay open until 3 a.m. on Beale Street. Excited, we headed out to find the next great bar. As we were walking down the street a guy came out of a different bar and said, “Hey! Weren’t you guys at Alfred’s earlier? I was working there and remember you. You’re welcome to come in here, this is where all the bartenders and waiters hang out after shift and after hours. I’ll buy you a beer!” Surely enough, we didn’t pay for another beer that night.The guy’s name was Chas. He lives in Memphis and (supposedly) has an amazing African art collection which piqued Melissa’s interest. While she was talking to Chas, a guy in a red baseball cap approached us and said, “Excuse me, I just got out of prison and I have to tell you both that you have the most beautiful smiles I’ve ever seen.” Oh yes, my friends. He had just gotten out of prison. His name was Matt. This is Matt’s story…
Matt is 38 and was a ranger in the Special Forces. He was in Somalia and was present for Black Hawk Down. He has been shot 13 times and stabbed once, although the stabbing was from his wife. Matt has two daughters, one is 21, the other 19. He also has a 1 year old son. “Why such a young son?” you ask. Well, I’ll tell you. Matt’s wife, out of the goodness of her heart, decided to give him the gift of a threesome for his birthday last year. Unfortunately, the young woman they invited to join them…ended up pregnant. (“No, not the extra!”)This woman is a bit unstable, and her son was admitted to the hospital for an illness earlier this year. Matt was on his way to the hospital to retrieve his son and save him from his crazy mother, when he was pulled over. Sadly, Matt was in violation of a DUI, so he was thrown in jail for 90 days. He had just gotten out on November 1. Matt loves music. We talked at length about Radiohead’s new downloadable album and of the genius of Johnny Cash. Apparently, Toby Keith is his cousin.
We also met a woman who’s a cigarette distributor by day and a DJ by night. Her name was Colette. In the bathroom, we made friends with some girls, one of whom was named Brittany. Brittany was very energetic and was fascinated by the fact that we were from Iowa. Our new Memphis friends were awesome. When we told them where we were staying, they immediately warned us not to go anywhere outside of our hotel. Apparently 1 ½ stars is not quite as sufficient as we thought. But we had no problems with our hotel room.
The next morning we decided to go to Elmwood Cemetary. Supposedly this is where the first grand wizard of the KKK is buried, but for some reason it wasn’t on the cemetary map…I guess they don’t want to advertise that. There were some beautiful memorials to slaves and to confederate soldiers, however. Melissa and I had a long conversation about the afterlife and how it’s represented and documented within a cemetary. And what that means to those of us living and walking amongst the headstones. Elmwood is huge, so it took us quite a while to make our way around. Afterwards, we hopped in the car and decided to do a 180—we headed to Graceland.
Graceland was…something. The most surprising thing is how small it is. Elvis was such a huge pop culture icon that you expect his house to look like something out of Cribs…but it doesn’t. It’s elaborate and ostentatious, but not overly large. The other thing was, I expected it to be in the country, but it was actually right off a busy street, not too far from the interstate. I was really impressed by the trophy room. Elvis had so many gold records. He was also quite the philanthropist. And he was a black belt in karate which apparently carried over from his time in the military. He had horses and a racquetball court. Overall, I can confidently say, I will never go back to Graceland. I’ve had my fill.After Graceland, we swung through the Checkers drive through to get some sandwiches.
Somehow between us ordering and us picking the food up, an order of cheese fries made its way into our bag. But these weren’t just fries with a little cheese sprinkled on them. Oh no. They were spicy fries, covered in gooey cheese, ranch dressing and topped with real chunks of bacon. It was a heart attack in a cardboard box. And we ate them all. Yum!The drive to Baton Rouge was pretty uneventful. There was more singing and a lot of silly conversation. During our trip, we decided to collect quotes, mostly from ourselves, but also from the fun people we encountered on our travels. I don’t have the list right now, Melissa still has it, but once I get my mitts on it, I will post our silly quotes. There was one cool thing we saw on the way to Baton Rouge—this horse sticking her head out the side of the trailer. It’s nice that she got to catch the breeze while traveling. We pulled up alongside her to say “hi”. She was unimpressed.
We pulled into Brittan’s driveway around 7:30. Brittan and Lucy (her sweet Boston Terrier) were outside waiting to meet us. Big hugs were exchanged and introductions were made. Brittan gave us the grand tour of her home (so beautiful!) and then helped us haul our stuff inside.
Then the presentation of the painting took place. It was magical. The greens of the painting matched Brittan’s walls perfectly. I was so happy to finally have finished this personal journey. Brittan and
I both experienced painful happenings in our lives around the same time almost two years ago. I don’t know if she even knows what an influence she’s had on my life, but I look to her as an older sister and mentor. This painting was as much for me as it was for her and I tied a lot of personal and shared things into its composition. I struggled for a few months to come up with the text for this painting. So I looked to the artifacts of that time in my life and stumbled back upon a book that Brittan recommended to me – Succulent Wild Woman by Sark. The title, “Nice Girls Do” is a quote from this book. I encourage all women (or the men who love them!) who have experience…life…to read this book. It’s wonderful and beautiful and very, very encouraging.Brittan is a professor at LSU, so she took us down to the local college hangout called The Chimes (conveniently located on Chimes Street) where we met up with her handsome beau and his roommate. We ate so much food! We tried (untraditional) Boudin Balls, fresh oysters, shrimp and corn chowder, crawfish and rice, more shrimp, and a sampler of Abita beers which are brewed locally.
Once our bellies were sufficiently overstuffed, we wandered over to the street fair that was going on adjacent to Chimes Street. Live bands, vendors and LSU students crowded the block.
The Tigers were playing their arch-nemesis-rivals, Alabama, on Saturday. For those of you who don’t know, LSU’s former head coach, Nick Saban, decided to leave Baton Rouge and transfer to Alabama, leaving many bitter, jilted LSU fans behind. This awesome local campus t-shirt shop by the name of Storyville was selling “Nick Saban is a Douche” t-shirts in honor of the upcoming big game. We each bought one in a different color. It was awesome.We called it an early night on Friday and were up bright and early on Saturday to hit the local farmer’s market, artisans market, and book festival. There were so many great booths! We each bought a couple of photos by a local photographer and some other great little things that will make wonderful Christmas presents. We wore our Nick Saban tees which proved to be quite polarizing. People were coming up to us and telling us either they loved our shirts or they hated our shirts. Everyone was pretty vocal about their opinion. “I just love y’all’s shirts…”
We walked on to the book fair in front of the capital building where we sadly had just missed the reading of “Giraffe's Can't Dance.” But we did run into a local legend—the Peanut Man. Apparently boiled peanuts are quite popular in the South, so we bravely walked up to the cart to try them. Up until this point, Melissa had been scoring quite a bit of free stuff (free beers, discount photos, etc) and the peanut stand was no exception. Not only did he give us free peanuts, he also told us to contact his brother, a jazz trumpet player, in New Orleans if we managed to make our way over there. The peanut man sure did like us!
Boiled peanuts weren’t the only delicacy we tried at the book festival. Brittan treated us to some delicious hog cracklings (which is, literally, hog skin, dipped in lard, and deep fried…in lard.) The cracklings were enjoyed on a nice grassy area. We did manage to go look at some books. Brittan happened to run into some friends she volunteers with and stopped to chat with them. Melissa and I continued our wanderings. It was at the end of the last tent that we found a booth that was offering free “stress tests”. Intrigued, Melissa and I decided to sit down and be tested.
Melissa went first. The lady handed her some metal calibers and asked her to think of someone stressful in her life. So Melissa thought of someone stressful. The meter on the machine zoomed over to “STRESS”. So the woman asked Melissa to think of a series of things, work, school, finances—all zoomed to either “STRESS” or “ANXIETY”. Poor Melissa. By this time, she was very intrigued as to how and why this test worked. But when she asked for more information, the woman smiled and said “It’s just a stress test, thanks for stopping.” Ouch!
I was next. I took the metal calibers, and the gentleman asked me to think of a stressful person in my life. I thought of a particular person I work with. And the machine zoomed to “STRESS”. Hmmm. Okay. He then asked me about finances, love life, family and the like. None of those even got a rise out of the machine. So the only stressful part of my life was work. He started talking to me again about work, but noticed that the machine wasn’t moving toward stress anymore. He was intrigued. “How can you now be talking about work and not be stressed?” He asked. I explained that I do a lot of yoga and meditation which helps me identify problems and calm my mind and body. By this time, I was dying of curiosity to find out what this booth was all about. Were they going to try to sell some new self-help book? Was it a new diet book? I started to ask, but the guy just smiled brightly and said, “Well, thanks for stopping!”
During this time, Brittan had finished talking to her friends, and was searching the crowd to find where we had disappeared to. She made her way to the end of the tent, and discovered us. All this time she was thinking to herself, “Where are they? Where have my friends gone?...Wait! There they are…and they’re at…the…Scientology booooothhhhh…..” Indeed, we were rubbing elbows with scientologists. But…they didn’t want us. When we expressed interest, they remained closed-lipped. Clearly, Melissa is too stressed and I’m too relaxed to be desirable Scientology material.
The intention for lunch was to grab something light, so we headed to Brittan’s favorite sushi place…which apparently wasn’t open that day. So we went across the street to Cane’s and had
some chicken strips and famous Cane’s sauce. It was delish, but once again…fried in lard. We then drove over to campus to see Brittan’s office and research lab. We also got to see Mike, LSU’s living mascot. I wonder why Iowa doesn’t keep a live hawk…That would be cool! Following campus, we went home and crashed for a while. Melissa and I had intended to go out to Avery Island to see where Tabasco sauce is made and to walk through the alligators (“zig and zag, ladies!”), but there wasn’t time for it. So we called out to Alligator Bayou to book a boat tour, but due to low attendance because of the game, they weren’t running any boats that day. What do you do when your plans fall through? DISCOUNT SHOPPING! Retail therapy…it’s a good thing. 
After shopping, Brittan’s BFF Katy met us back at the house and we proceeded to beautify ourselves for an evening out on the town. We went to a nearby Mexican restaurant, Zippy’s, which is actually an old gas station. They serve delicious enchiladas and 32 ounce frozen alcoholic beverages. We sat outside and watched LSU whoop Alabama (“Oh, too bad! It’s tough being a douche!”) and enjoyed some free shots courtesy of Zippy’s. Brittan’s beau stopped by to see us (and express his love of Iowa). But it was a girls-only night, so we left sweet Joe to his own devices and made our way downtown to the arts center for rooftop drinking. Silliness ensued.
One of Brittan’s students knew of a bar that had dancing, so we went there and had a run in with the door girl. She really didn’t like me. But Melissa breezed in unnoticed, as if she owned the place, and made her way toward the bar. Once the door dragon was tamed, the rest of us proceeded to dance the night away. I busted out some moves that I never get to use in Iowa City (there’s never enough room!). Free shots abounded and Melissa and I were respectively successful in our goal of having a good time. Click this link for a montage of our shenanigans...
http://s214.photobucket.com/albums/cc241/mpettit/
The next morning our looks reflected our previous evening and we were thoroughly hungover. Melissa and I had been kicking around the idea of heading to New Orleans. This idea was cemented by the fact that Katy offered to let us stay at her place (she lives in NOLA) if we came over. So after a deliciously lard-filled breakfast at the Waffle House, we hit the road to New Orleans.
It was a relatively short drive, considering the distances we traveled previously. We parked downtown and began to roam the French Quarter. There were great shops and good food. We found a charming little boutique with good deals. The guy working there was very friendly and offered up information on the good places to eat food and listen to music. We grabbed some pizza-by-the-slice and watched the end of the Saints game and the beginning of the Colts game at a bar. I still couldn’t get over the fact that you could buy alcohol pretty much anywhere. We were still hurting from the night before, so we stuck with cola and water.
On a whim (an underlying theme of this road trip) we decided to get an Old Time photo taken. We agonized over what we should wear, finally settling on being gangster flappers. This process took much longer than we anticipated and we were thoroughly exhausted when we were done. We wandered aimlessly over to Bourbon Street and quickly left. We were in no shape to contend with drunken people wandering in and out of bars. Just when we were about to collapse on the sidewalk, Melissa spotted an oasis down a long, brick tunnel. At then end was a garden and a coffee shop. We rejuvenated and made plans for the evening. The next stop was a ghost tour.
Our tour began in front of the Voodoo shop. Our tour guide was a
charming gentleman named Bill. Bill walked us around town and told us tales of singing ghosts and dueling ghosts, civil war soldiers, and the sadistic, cruel treatment of slaves. Sure the tales were gruesome and exciting, but Bill was unique in that he always brought us back to reality. For instance, after recounting the horrific story of Madame LaLaurie and her slaves, one of whom supposedly jumped out a third-story window, Bill informed us that there was a law during the time of the LeLauries that prohibited any building to be taller than two stories. So the house didn’t have a third floor at the time of his tale. The mysterious window that was supposedly bricked up because of a slave girl’s suicide…actually just happened to be the window to a room that was now a bathroom.
We were by far the youngest on the tour, so Bill (who was also younger) chatted with us quite a bit in between his tales. At the end of the tour, he asked if we were headed to Bourbon Street. When we said, “Hell no!” he happily pointed us in the direction of a great restaurant that wasn’t touristy and also told us the best places to go to hear jazz. I think he would have joined us if he didn’t have to go back and give another tour. We happily headed off to Coops for their Cajun sampler. It was delish…and fried in lard.
The bar Bill recommended was called the Spotted Cat. It was this little hole in the wall that had wicker furniture and a tiny stage jammed in one corner. We ordered some Merlot and curled up on the wicker couch to listen to the blues band. They were pretty good. The lead singer had a smoky, rich voice. When they were finished with their set, they started chatting us up. When they found out we were from Iowa, they told us their drummer had gone to the U of I. He and I chatted about some of the people in the music department we both knew and he recommended some bars in New Orleans and in Iowa City for us to go to for good music. The next group was a jazz ensemble. The trumpet player had the most beautiful tone, which made me long to get my horn out and play. Melissa said she was pretty inspired to get back into music (she plays piano and sax) after this trip.
We couldn’t stay out too late at the Spotted Cat. We’d promised Katy we would be home by 11 and didn’t really want to be in that part of town too late anyways. So we tiredly but happily drug ourselves back to the car and drove over to Katy’s.
The next morning we were up bright and early and on the road by 7:30. The mist on the bayou as we were driving out of the city was absolutely beautiful. The sun was rising and struggling to burn through the fog so everything was ghostlike. It was a beautiful way to say goodbye (for now) to New Orleans. Monday was a long day of driving. We pushed through and barely stopped. It went relatively quickly, but we still logged 12 hours of driving time.
We had decided to take yet another detour to the St. Louis area to visit Melissa’s parents in her hometown of Alton, IL. Her parents live in a big, historic home and are both artists who work from home, so the place was breathtakingly beautiful. Antiques, old photos, and gorgeous pieces of furniture were everywhere. The house even came with its own ghost. We pulled into town just in time to enjoy happy hour with her mom and dad. There was wine and cheese and grapes (fruit was a foreign substance to us by this point.) Her dad grilled chicken and veggies. We regaled them with tales of our journey until we were all yawning. They tucked us into bed and I swear I was asleep before my head hit the pillow.
The next morning we headed out to see the sights of Alton. Melissa drove me around to see all the historic homes. Alton is the hometown of some interesting historic figures, notably Elijah Lovejoy, a minister who was murdered for his abolitionist views. I got to see the statue of Robert Wadlow, the tallest man…ever! These were the small town attractions I had been craving. We also saw the Piasa bird, a legendary painting on a rock formation outside the town. How lucky was Melissa to have spent a large chunk of her childhood in such an interesting town? We went by her high school, several of her friends’ homes, and the municipal park where she played in the band…
The last leg of our trip led us through winding country highways. It was nice to be back in a land whose trees and smells were familiar. Pulling into Iowa City, I didn’t quite feel like myself anymore. My first independent road trip was over. And I was sad, but grateful to be home. Such a bittersweet homecoming. I’m afraid I’ve been bitten by the travel bug. I can’t wait to go on my next adventure!
The next morning our looks reflected our previous evening and we were thoroughly hungover. Melissa and I had been kicking around the idea of heading to New Orleans. This idea was cemented by the fact that Katy offered to let us stay at her place (she lives in NOLA) if we came over. So after a deliciously lard-filled breakfast at the Waffle House, we hit the road to New Orleans.
It was a relatively short drive, considering the distances we traveled previously. We parked downtown and began to roam the French Quarter. There were great shops and good food. We found a charming little boutique with good deals. The guy working there was very friendly and offered up information on the good places to eat food and listen to music. We grabbed some pizza-by-the-slice and watched the end of the Saints game and the beginning of the Colts game at a bar. I still couldn’t get over the fact that you could buy alcohol pretty much anywhere. We were still hurting from the night before, so we stuck with cola and water.
On a whim (an underlying theme of this road trip) we decided to get an Old Time photo taken. We agonized over what we should wear, finally settling on being gangster flappers. This process took much longer than we anticipated and we were thoroughly exhausted when we were done. We wandered aimlessly over to Bourbon Street and quickly left. We were in no shape to contend with drunken people wandering in and out of bars. Just when we were about to collapse on the sidewalk, Melissa spotted an oasis down a long, brick tunnel. At then end was a garden and a coffee shop. We rejuvenated and made plans for the evening. The next stop was a ghost tour.Our tour began in front of the Voodoo shop. Our tour guide was a
charming gentleman named Bill. Bill walked us around town and told us tales of singing ghosts and dueling ghosts, civil war soldiers, and the sadistic, cruel treatment of slaves. Sure the tales were gruesome and exciting, but Bill was unique in that he always brought us back to reality. For instance, after recounting the horrific story of Madame LaLaurie and her slaves, one of whom supposedly jumped out a third-story window, Bill informed us that there was a law during the time of the LeLauries that prohibited any building to be taller than two stories. So the house didn’t have a third floor at the time of his tale. The mysterious window that was supposedly bricked up because of a slave girl’s suicide…actually just happened to be the window to a room that was now a bathroom.
We were by far the youngest on the tour, so Bill (who was also younger) chatted with us quite a bit in between his tales. At the end of the tour, he asked if we were headed to Bourbon Street. When we said, “Hell no!” he happily pointed us in the direction of a great restaurant that wasn’t touristy and also told us the best places to go to hear jazz. I think he would have joined us if he didn’t have to go back and give another tour. We happily headed off to Coops for their Cajun sampler. It was delish…and fried in lard.The bar Bill recommended was called the Spotted Cat. It was this little hole in the wall that had wicker furniture and a tiny stage jammed in one corner. We ordered some Merlot and curled up on the wicker couch to listen to the blues band. They were pretty good. The lead singer had a smoky, rich voice. When they were finished with their set, they started chatting us up. When they found out we were from Iowa, they told us their drummer had gone to the U of I. He and I chatted about some of the people in the music department we both knew and he recommended some bars in New Orleans and in Iowa City for us to go to for good music. The next group was a jazz ensemble. The trumpet player had the most beautiful tone, which made me long to get my horn out and play. Melissa said she was pretty inspired to get back into music (she plays piano and sax) after this trip.
We couldn’t stay out too late at the Spotted Cat. We’d promised Katy we would be home by 11 and didn’t really want to be in that part of town too late anyways. So we tiredly but happily drug ourselves back to the car and drove over to Katy’s.
The next morning we were up bright and early and on the road by 7:30. The mist on the bayou as we were driving out of the city was absolutely beautiful. The sun was rising and struggling to burn through the fog so everything was ghostlike. It was a beautiful way to say goodbye (for now) to New Orleans. Monday was a long day of driving. We pushed through and barely stopped. It went relatively quickly, but we still logged 12 hours of driving time.
We had decided to take yet another detour to the St. Louis area to visit Melissa’s parents in her hometown of Alton, IL. Her parents live in a big, historic home and are both artists who work from home, so the place was breathtakingly beautiful. Antiques, old photos, and gorgeous pieces of furniture were everywhere. The house even came with its own ghost. We pulled into town just in time to enjoy happy hour with her mom and dad. There was wine and cheese and grapes (fruit was a foreign substance to us by this point.) Her dad grilled chicken and veggies. We regaled them with tales of our journey until we were all yawning. They tucked us into bed and I swear I was asleep before my head hit the pillow.
The next morning we headed out to see the sights of Alton. Melissa drove me around to see all the historic homes. Alton is the hometown of some interesting historic figures, notably Elijah Lovejoy, a minister who was murdered for his abolitionist views. I got to see the statue of Robert Wadlow, the tallest man…ever! These were the small town attractions I had been craving. We also saw the Piasa bird, a legendary painting on a rock formation outside the town. How lucky was Melissa to have spent a large chunk of her childhood in such an interesting town? We went by her high school, several of her friends’ homes, and the municipal park where she played in the band…
The last leg of our trip led us through winding country highways. It was nice to be back in a land whose trees and smells were familiar. Pulling into Iowa City, I didn’t quite feel like myself anymore. My first independent road trip was over. And I was sad, but grateful to be home. Such a bittersweet homecoming. I’m afraid I’ve been bitten by the travel bug. I can’t wait to go on my next adventure!
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