Day 5 - El Paso, TX to Mesa, AZ

MESA, Ariz. -- We're here.

We've unpacked the items we had ghetto-packed in the hour before we moved so that Martin's co-workers won't judge him, we've set up the Internet, we've toured the grounds, and we've had a few beers with limes picked fresh from the tree just outside Martin's front door.

Speaking of which, here's Martin's tour of his apartment complex, quoted almost exactly: "Here's my palm trees; here's my lemon tree; here's my lime tree; here's my pool, surrounded by my fountains; here's my clubhouse; here's my pool table, here's my racquetball court..."

So yeah, it's a pretty nice place, perhaps even nicer than my new place in Akron. Whatevs.

The point is: It's the end of a long day, which involved equal parts fun and driving. After waking up at the campsite, we drove down to the H&H Car Wash and Coffee Shop for an authentic Tex-Mex breakfast. The restaurant is an American Classic, so Martin was excited, and I was intrigued by the idea of a business that washes your car while you eat.

Martin couldn't understand the 80-year-old Mexican waitress, so I had to order the chorizo breakfast tacos for him, and I got the huevos rancheros. Both were incredibly good, and Martin stole my tortillas, which he claims not to know were mine because of the waitress' accent.

After that, we went into a local pawn shop. I've always wanted to go into one, but never bothered. I thought it would be like the cool ones you always see on Law & Order, but it turned out just to be a lame store with ugly jewelry, the Spanish version of Ferris Bueller (Un Experto en Diversions), and Paula Abdul on the radio. Pretty disappointing.

We made our way down to the Rio Grande, where we payed 35 cents to cross the border and headed into Ciudad Juarez, home of cheap stuff, poor infrastructure and Mexicans.

You know what you imagine when you imagine a Mexican border town? Well, unlike a pawn store, your imagination is exactly right this time. Immediately upon entering, you have cabbies fighting over your business, despite the fact that you've already told both of them that you aren't interested in their services.

Down the block, it's the vendors whose prices start with "Is $20, but for you, $17." They actually had some super-sweet NFL ponchos, but they did not have any with the Cleveland Browns, so I had to pass. He tried to sell me on the Denver Broncos instead. Apparently he hadn't heard about 1987. We ended up buying some Mexican wrestling masks as potential Halloween costumes and moved on.

We meandered past the section with consumer goods and into the grocery section, where they were selling Froot Loops by the pound out of a box as if they were a legitimate offering for a farmer's market like the poblano chiles right next to them.

We found an outfitter who provided me with a pretty sweet cowboy shirt, though I was not able to find a suitable hat or pair of boots. Martin bought some of those skull candies, which I was (am) pretty sure were actually just wax art.

Soon enough, Martin let us get sucked into a restaurant by a smooth-talking waiter. I wanted to hold off until we found a dicier-looking establishment, but Martin was afraid of diarrhea, so we ended up getting some tacos and Fanta at a reasonable price. Not a bad situation.

We went back toward the border and ended up in that first stretch of stands where we'd bought the masks and ended up buying about $40 worth of other stuff. Martin, whose superior negotiation skills I bow to, managed to get the world's largest hammock and a rug for $36, while I got a hammock chair for $15. It was a considerable markdown, and although I could have gotten the guy lower, it turns out I hate negotiating.

Once we had come back across the border, we saw another pawn shop, and I decided to give the industry another chance. It was completely worth it, as this was exactly the kind of store I always thought of. As Martin noted, it was all the things a man would want, and none of the things a woman would want. There were electric guitars. There were car stereos. There were knives. There were guns. It was perfect, but I didn't buy anything.

Next was a quick trip up to New Mexico State University, where one of Martin's co-workers went to school. We snapped some pictures and toured the facilities for a little bit. I wasn't excited about the stop, but the school was actually a really nice looking place, and I accidentally stole a postcard from the bookstore, so it was a good deal.

Then, it was back on the road for another many hours. As we approached Phoenix, we found prideful driver after prideful driver, all of whom refused to be passed by a U-Haul truck. It was a pretty annoying situation, but I ended up beating all of them.

Soon enough, we were in Mesa, where the roads are wide, the lanes are plentiful, the bridges are beautiful, and the apartments are surrounded by palm and lime trees. It's a pretty awesome place, and although I'm glad the driving part of this road trip is done, I'm not excited to unpack that truck tomorrow. In fact, I'd rather drive to San Diego.

Road Trip Round-Up: Five days, six states, two countries, four time zones, 2,676 miles.

Day 5 Itinerary

We just woke up on a mountaintop campsite, surrounded by cactus and rattlesnakes, and overlooking El Paso and Mexico.

Today's plan: eat breakfast at a car wash, cross the border into Juarez, visit New Mexico State University and then finish this sucker off with a six-hour drive to Mesa.

See you there, reader.

Moning in El Paso

Wednesday is here in Texas' most western city, where we camped last night on the side of a mountain overlooking the city. The campground isn't heavily used, it seems, since we had to call ahead and get the combonation for the gate. Right now, there's not another person for at least a quarter mile, but below a city of a million sits. Weird. The wide array of desert vegetation is gorgeous - several species of cacti and more kinds of dusty little brush than I ever knew existed. Breakfast, mexico and NEW mexico await. Then Mesa.

I wanted to check out the Two Pines wedding chapel, but it turns out that's actually somewhere in California.

The real middle of nowhere

We just filled up at a gas station plopped in the middle of a ranch that stretches farther than the eye can see in every direction.

We're so far from anything, in fact, that the gas is a good fifty cents more expensive than it is in the suburbs.

The kid working there used to live wth his daddy in the trailer next door, but he got bored and moved to Midland, two and a half hours away. Soon after, his dad begged him to help out at the store, so now he spends 20 percent of his day commuting to a gas station.

He's got his eye on one of the rancher's daughters, but her father isn't too keen on that idea. So for now, he's just killing time by sneaking onto the ranch to hunt some deer, shooting his paintball gun in the parking lot and staring off into the mountains.

If you're ever in the area, stop in at the Cherry Creek Chevron and say hi to Ricky. He's always glad to have some company.

Day 4 - Lockhart, Texas to El Paso, Texas

LOCKHART, Texas -- We're connecting now from Raymond's Barber Shop, where Raymond is hooking Martin up with a $10 Texas haircut.

We camped out last night at a state park, surrounded howling coyotes and drenched in enough moonlight to make it hard to sleep. We woke up at about 8, packed up the campsite and headed to Smitty's Market, where we ate brisket, sausage and ribs for breakfast. It was unbelievably good, and the ribs were definitely better than the ones we had in Memphis.

we took off for a walk around downtown to let the food settle before we hit Kreuz's Market, which is supposed to be the best barbecue in Lockhart, which is the heart of the Texas Barbecue Trail.

So now we're sitting at Ray's, where he and Martin are discussing the differences between Virginia and Texas barbecue, the time they came into town to film Hard Promise, and the high school football games.

After Kreuz's, we'll be hitting the road for El Paso or maybe Las Cruces, depending on the time we make.

Road Trip Round-Up: Fourth day, four states, 1,400 miles

15 minutes too late...

So I'm coming to you live from McDonalds, an empty sundae in front of me and a piping hot apple pie currently finding it's way to Brian's gullet. Just arrived in Lockhart, Barbecue Mecca, about 15 minutes too late for any 'cue.

Still, the smoke lingers. Outside a McDonald's, across from a Taco Bell, the smell of charcoal hangs thick. I think you might end up smelling like you went camping if you stand out on a Lockhart street corner for an hour or so. We've seen at least four barbecue restaurants already -- in a town of 11,000 -- and it's dark.

Anyway, today was our lazy day, progress-wise. We only went about 200 miles towards our destination, the rest of the drive time spent traveling to and fro in the vicinity of World Famous Waco, Playground of the Stars.

First stop was the Branch Davidian compound outside town. I, but not Brian, have vivid memories of the siege from back when I first got interested in news/politics/etc. It was interesting to see in person. Smaller than it looked on TV, like everything, and a bit creepy. The Davidians still own the land, have a new church, a small unmanned visitors building, some granite monuments and what appears to be a small commune of trailers parked behind the foundation of the old facility.

I don't know enough to know how much fault the young Clinton administration had in the matter, and how much in was unavoidable, but the folks who run it now put the blame on both. There's a plaque honoring the four fallen ATF agents killed in the initial assault and the brochures express the belief that Koresh was a misguided man who died as part of a prophecy. They seem to have forgiven the go'ment, makes them seem reasonable enough, then again...

We spent an hour or so at the compound, looking at the memorials and exploring what's left of the burned compound.

Eventually we made our way back down the long dirt road, back toward civilization. Next stop was the Dr (no period) Pepper museum where we learned all sorts of interesting facts about what Brian calls The Most American Pop and tasted the good stuff, Dublin Dr Pepper.

Yes, the Dr Pepper you know and love is not the real deal. It's not made with pure cane sugar, as the original recipe calls for, and isn't quite as peppery. They have the original recipe all over down here, as well as the standard fit-for-national-distribution variety, side by side in the soda spickets.

So then there was the President's ranch in Crawford. That's more of a Brian story.

After the ranch escapade we stopped for some 'cue in one of Crawford's two eateries, a gas station/restaurant/grocery that makes it's own beef brisket. It was incredible. The guy who ran the place makes it himself, and the girl who works there makes homemade hot sauce (salsa) and both are truly fantastic. Sadly, a lot better than the 'cue in Clinton's hometown of Hope, Ark.

Hope makes better presidents though.

Crawford

We just went to Bush's Crawford ranch. Mission accomplished.

Google maps, where are we?

All the maps we've looked at seem to indicate dallas and waco are connected by freeways, but martin is too cheap to buy an atlas, so we are now driving around on some bizarre network of country roads.

Pictures to follow, if we make it out.

Rainy days and Mondays

CEDAR HILL, TEXAS - It's just before daybreak and, for the second day in a row, I'm wide awake.

Yesterday morning was rough. Stuffed behind the wheel of a Uhaul, next to a park where a statue of Jefferson Davis ("American Patriot") held his hand high in a wave, looking regal, while homeless black people slept on the park benches below. It was everything that's wrong with the South.

There's something really odd about waking up next to a homeless guy, by the way. I was in a truck, of course, under a soft fleece throw given to me by Jenn, but he wasn't more than 50 feet away, so it was weird. Really made me appreciate having a truck to sleep in, even if a hotel was out of my price range.

Today I feel great. The best night sleep I've had in recent memory, even though the Indians just lost and I ate a Frito Pie for dinner. Outside it's raining, big winds blowing the scrubby Texas trees.

Brian covered pretty much everything, I guess, though with a few errors and omissions.

Brian really did go to Memphis to get ribs then soaked his dry ribs -- the house specialty -- in sauce as though they were fast food fries in need of ketchup. It was horrifying.

"What? You know I like sauce."

Beale Street really was cool. Like Bourbon Street but smaller and more laid back. It was far from the only partying area in town though. Memphis had bars everywhere. Also everywhere: homeless people. Asleep on pretty much any flat surface you could find. They didn't seem like the kind of homless people that are there cuz they're crazy but rather the kind that have just had bad luck and a few big mistakes. Again, I was thankful to have a truck full of possessions.

The Hell House was great. First off, it was pretty well done. Second, everyone we met there was beyond nice. Not just nice, but genuine and friendly. Good hearted, if at times a little misguided.

The house sounds a lot crazier than it was. Overall, it was an incredibly pleasant experience all around.... Though, I'm pretty sure Wiccans don't taste the blood of sacrificed humans, abortion doctors don't hold patients down while they scream to be let up and kids aren't taking flavored meth that looks and tastes like rock candy, as a woman behind us in line alleged. I also, however, don't doubt that the people who put this thing on believe those things to be true. Just as you can see in the documentary done on this particular house, these people seem believe everything they're saying (watch for the description of what a date-rape drug does) they're just a little naive about the secular world. Still, like I said, great people, some important messages about how you should treat other people. This particular house seemed more on message than those run by, say, Jerry Falwell, which, like his ministry, are all about the politics.

Also, this house been around 17 years, which is why our tickets were for the 17th annual Hell House. I'm not sure where Brian got 16 from. Also also, Brian's smellyness really was readily apparent where he, I and two other souls were stuffed into a coffin-sized closet at one point. Oof.

Anyway, so far the 'cue hasn't blown me away, which is disappointing. I'm hoping that will change today though, in Lockhart.

Day 2 - Memphis, TN to Dallas TX

Losing the American League Championship Series was an awful way to end the day. My condolences for all those fans who know what a curse is really like.

Moving along: Today was a bit longer and more eventful than the last, with less driving and more time for fun. When we last left you, we were just waking up inside the cab of a U-Haul outside a memorial to traitor Jefferson Davis.

It was 5:30 a.m., and Martin claimed to have slept for no more than two hours total. I slept straight through the night. We starte moving and headed straight for Graceland, home of the rock 'n' roller with the highest ratio of being good to being overrated.

We arrived right at 6 a.m., about an hour before the sun came up, and another three hours before they would start asking for $25 to give us a tour. So we peeked around ourselves, walking along the graffiti-covered stone wall to the main gates, where we were not permitted entry. We took a few pictures and went across the street to the Elvis Presley Strip Mall.

There we saw airplanes, armed guards and all the other things you'd expect to see at an Elvis-themed shopping plaza. Even at 6 in the morning, they were blaring the all-Elvis, all-the-time XM station loud enough for you to hear from a block away.

It turns out Elvis lived in a quiet little neighborhood, right next to a podiatrist's office and a wing shack. We took a walk down the street to see his next-door neighbors, who lived in this house.

It didn't appear as though living next door to the King had driven property values up too unreasonably. It turns out living next to this King is just as affordable as living by this one. We were disappointed, however, to find that you couldn't just walk into these people's back yards to peer over their fences. Sad but true.

So we got on the road about 45 minutes later and headed west. We hopped on the Hernando DeSoto Bridge and crossed the Mississippi River just as the sun was peeking over the horizon to see the back end of our truck.

And with that, we had left the East behind.

We kept on for another 250 miles or so before reaching Hope, Arkansas, the home of the greatest president of the 21st Century, as well as home to my second-favorite Republican candidate for president.

Again, we weren't there while Clinton's childhood home was open for tours, but I snuck through the fence and peered through the windows a bit before we headed down the road for Uncle Henry's Smokehouse BBQ, where we would indulge in several varities of smoked pork, sweet potato fries, cole slaw, potato salad and sweet tea. It was so delicious that I asked to buy one of the T-shirts they had on display. They told me no.

From there, it was back on the road and off to Texas. We crossed the state line, Martin fell asleep, I turned up the country music, and before you knew it, we were in Dallas, where everyone drives their trucks in the passing lane only and wears a hat. We considered buying hats for ourselves at a gas station just outside the city limits, but we thought better of it.

After about an hour trying to find our hotel, we finally got settled in, blogged a little for you, our favorite reader/fan, and then headed back out for the Dark Rail Hell House, "City of Death," presented by Trinity Church of Cedar Hill.

Given that the high school youth group would comprise 95 percent of the cast, I'll admit that I was not excited to pay $10 to get in. But the folks at the ticket booth were pleasant, we spent quite a while talking to the folks at the concession stand, and we were regaled with tales of local high school violence by the woman behind us in line, who was chaperoning about a dozen high school girls who had come to be scared back into virginity.

I wasn't familiar with the concept of Hell Houses until pretty recently, so in case you're in the same situation, the idea is to set up a haunted house that swaps out the Jason masks and werewolves and subs in scenes of "real life" tragedy caused by sin. It's kind of crazy, and I'm not sure I love these people's methods, but after getting checked for weapons by security (Did I mention this was a youth-group event at an evangelical church?), it turned out to be well worth the price of admission.

The acting was pretty cheesy for the first scene, where you walk in to find five kids lying bloody and dead around a classroom floor as an unhinged high schooler points a gun at his sobbing girlfriend's head. Meanwhile, Grim Reaper-style demons -- whom we would see in every scene -- paced the room, egging him on.

Everyone dies.

Next were some girls who tried meth because their boyfriends were having sex with other people. The girls got high, and the theatric demonstration of their hallucinations was pretty hilarious, although Martin was quick to point out that meth is not actually a hallucinogen.

Everyone dies.

Next up was a girl who fell in love with a Satanist -- played by the only black person on the premises -- and was trying some occult business to get in touch with her dead mother, despite her brother's attempts to shut it down.

Everyone but the Satanist dies.

We moved on to an apartment, where an impatient and abusive boyfriend was just finding out that his girlfriend was pregnant. He slaps her around a bit until she ends up out of sight, and we're ushered around the corner to the abortion clinic, where she's on the examining bench with her legs in imaginary stirrups. There's some fighting between her and her boyfriend, some name-calling, and pretty soon, you're watching the abortionist dropping pieces of fake fetus into a bowl, while TV screens overhead show documentary footage of the real thing.

Mother and fetus die.

While that was the scene everyone expects from a Hell House, the final one featured the highest-quality writing and acting: A girl comes barging into her living room, summoned home from college by her little sister, who we see sobbing on the couch.

After a little bickering back and forth, we find out that their father, who is hopelessly addicted to alcohol and pornography, has been molesting little sister. Soon enough, we find out that he's already victimized the older sister as well.

Dad comes in, smacks both the girls around a little and pulls a gun on big sister. Little sister bushwhacks him from behind with a metal something or other, and big sister gets her hands on the gun. Dad is backed into the corner, and as big sister tries to unload the gun, it goes off in her hand and kills her sister.

Big sister freaks; Dad tries talking her down, but to no avail.

"I'll see you in hell!" BLAMMO!

Dad crumples to the floor, and big sister runs into her bedroom to call the police. She starts to pray to Jesus, but it's been so long that she can't remember how. She's looking through the Bible for something to jog her memory, but she sets it down to let the police in the house.

But surprise! It's not the police! It's her father, who has staggered across the room to administer some discipline. With his dying breath, he strangles his eldest, who goes to hell because she couldn't find John 3:16 fast enough.

Did I mention that everyone dies?

After that, we see a little video with stats about kids who do bad things, and then we go to heaven for another video. After that, we go to hell, which turns out to be a lot like you expected: musty, humid, crowded, generally unpleasant. Had I been in charge, there would have been more wailing and gnashing of teeth.

After that, we're treated to a little sermon from one of the church's talented speechifyers, who then offers to let us into the back room to be prayed for. I go in; Martin opts out.

All in all, pretty awesome. It turns out that thousands of people come every year, and they'll typically rake in something around $100,000 a year, about a quarter of which will be used to put together the next year's show. This was maybe the 16th year; right after it had happened, they even had the cajones to put on a Columbine re-enactment. I'm not one for sensitivity, but even I know that's a bad idea.

Afterward, we headed back to the hotel just in time for a heartbreaking eighth inning of ALCS Game 7. It was a tragedy, and I think we should return to the five-game LCS set-up.

By the way, we've worked and driven so hard and been on such a tight schedule that after countless hours in a truck -- several of them spent sleeping -- I am just now preparing to take my first shower since I left D.C. on Friday. I am smelly, and the three people who were in the Hell House coffin with me will verify that.

Road Trip Round-Up: Two days, four states, 1,200 miles.

Day 1 - Harrisonburg, VA to Memphis, TN

Holler.

We're going to try to get ourselves caught up here in a hurry; we've got almost two days of traveling done, but zero words of blogging yet.

After a heartwarming send-off party hosted by Julianna, we got five hours of sleep, finished packing, cleaned up Martin's apartment and got on the road just after 11 a.m.

We were already well behind schedule, so we had to (U-)haul ass for about 700 miles south through Virginia and Tennessee, where we would make our first barbecue-related stop in Memphis: Charlie Vargo's Rendezvous.

This place is supposed to be home of the best ribs in the world, but Martin and I agreed that although they were very good, they were also overrated. The fact that the two-hour wait we were told to expect was actually only a 25-second wait probably should have tipped us off.

The dry rub was delicious, and no matter what Martin tells you, I only put sauce on my last one. The loin, however, was fantastic. Worth driving from Knoxville for, I'd say, but not worth driving 700 miles for. Fortunately for us, it was on our way anyway.

After that, we took a walk down the street to take a look at the Mighty Mississippi, which we would be crossing in just a few hours time. That was followed with a walk to Beale Street, which is where the magic started.

You come down the street to a stretch of five blocks or that had been blockaded by the police, sherrif's deputies, firefighters and private security, who are checking you ID just to let you walk down the street, where you may then proceed to do all the drinking in public that you could want.

The streets are packed with frat boys, hippies, thugs, street performers, party whores, trannies, yuppies, and me and Martin. There's drinking, dancing and carousing as far as the eye can see down the brick road. Thousands of people from all walks of Tennessee life were jammed together to spend a Saturday night together, and the amazing thing was how laid back the whole scene was.

Martin was dressed like a slob, but no one looked twice. Big crowds of badass black folk are standing around, but no one's interested in acting tough. Guys are making catcalls at girls, and they just think it's cute. Everyone's bumping into each other's beers, but hey man, don't worry about it, it's cool.

Nothing chills me out like seeing other laid-back people, and this was about as good as it gets. I don't remember how or why we eventually decided to leave the vicinity, but I wish we hadn't.

We walked back to the U-Haul, drove down a few blocks to some on-street parking across from Confederacy Park, and slept in the cab. I slept like a baby, as did the homeless man on the bench right across the sidewalk, but Martin tells me he woke up several times.

We've got to head out for the Hell House now, but we'll have more updates later tonight.

Road Trip Round-Up: One day, two states, 748 miles