Traffic and hills and construction and crap

Friday's drive from Denver to somewhere west sucked. 

Before that, I got to catch up with ol' buddy James -- and, briefly, with Joel and Jason. We were like a J crew. But not like that. Whatever. Anyway. 

James is doing stuff with mapquest. He gave me a tshirt. 

I also went to Second Spin records to add nonsense to our road trip cd selection. And, due to issues with the new cash register, they gave me a tshirt for free. It only would have cost $1.50, but still. That's two tshirts. 

Among the tunes I picked up were CDs by Counting Crows, Springsteen, Tanya Donelly, They Might Be Giants, the Bangles, Gin Blossoms and Britney Spears. It's Britney, bitches. 

Andrew had a work thing. Ended around 4. We took off. Hit rush hour. Hit lots of big hills; apparently there's a big mountain range near Denver. Hit construction. Finally reached whatevertown, Utah around12:30 a.m.  The drive sucked. But it was the only bad one thus far, so we're doing ok. 

The music of the drive:

Richard Thompson

Warren Zevon

Soul Asylum

Johnny Cash

Black 47

Ace of Bass

Steve Earle

Gin blossoms

Oh, also...

Danish fist

Floy

Sulphur

Silt

Mystery light

Goblin valley

Rabbit valley 

Black dragon

Ghost rock

Lone tree

Salt wash

Most of those are places or things we passed. You are welcome. 

Oh, UConn was playing at BYU that night. We weren't close to Provo, but I got to watch some at a rest stop. Tight game for three quarters, anyway. 

Breakfast of champions at the Marriott

Crime in the heartland

We leave Kansas City and roll a couple of hours before stopping at the Kansas Auto Racing Museum in Chapman, Ks., where cars are on display, legal advice is given and Jesus will Jesus your Jesus if you are a true Jesusing Jesus.

Andrew already covered some museum stuff - and some detail about the town. Museum was interesting, but could have been better. Chatting with owner (and past driver/team owner and current lawyer) Doug Thompson was cool. He said Ken Schrader had stopped by recently, as had Dave Marcis. The former is still missing part of a finger; the latter still wears wing tips. 

They also had a JesusCopter. Not to be confused with a Ry Cooder. 

Anyway, we then went to eat at Southern Comfort. They have funny signs and a Confederate clock.

I have little recollection of the meal, but the waitress immediately identified me as "a pain" because I asked for a straw. Another customer was jokingly annoying her ("I had to run him out of here last time"), so she threatened to slash his tires. Awesome. 

Though the impact of such an act might be negligible, because ...

"It's no fair -- he has a tire shop."

Then a cop came in asking if anyone knew anything about the tractor/truck parked across the street. The cop checked last night but there was no answer. One of the waitresses got in early and saw nobody, but he was blocking the turnaround. This was all quite the kerfuffle. 

Roger. The pain.

Andrew theorized that it was the Waffle House waitress' ex-husband. 

Anyway, we leave and I get change but ask for singles instead of a five. I apologize and say I'm really not trying to be a pain. 

"You're not a pain," waitress says. "Not like some people!" 

She points to Roger at the end of the counter. Poor Roger. 

So we walk out and the cop is talking to the driver of the mystery truck, who apparenty was asleep in the back. Cop wants him to move the truck roughly 50 feet down the street. The driver is explaining in some detail how it came to pass that he parked in the middle of the turnaround. The cop explains why that's not allowed and reiterates his desire for the guy to move. 

Roughly 90 seconds later, Andrew blew through a stop sign (this after the two of us had combined to stop in the middle of at least three intersections at which one isn't supposed to stop). Thankfully the town's (presumably) only cop was otherwise occupied with a defiant truck driver. 

Kerfuffle.

Clock 'n' sign.

Oh, almost forgot -- the music rundown for the day:

Michael penn

Nick Cave -- or was it Nick Lowe? Nicholas Nickleby? Nick Hornby? Some old czar? I don't remember. 

Phish

The Killers

Ray lamontagne

Jonatha Brooke 

Lake Street Dive

Rage Against the Machine

Carole King

REM

Sky

Feeling lazy. Maybe I'll post more tomorrow. So in the meantime, here's the Kansas sky. Or Colorado. I don't remember. Probably the latter. Whatever. 

Let's make some Illinois!

Andrew planned well. There was a Waffle House right across the street from our hotel.

We went there. I had a waffle. I jokingly asked a waitress, "So what do you guys think of IHOP? Is there a fierce rivalry?"

Kathy of Waffle House employ replied, "No, IHOP is good. But there aren't any around here anymore. They still have them in Connecticut."

Connecticut?! I mean, they do, but of all the totally awesome states for her to reference? Go Kathy!

"I'm from Connecticut!," I say.

"Oh, I used to live there -- until my husband found someone he liked better ... for the fifth time."

Ouch. Though Andrew and I were unclear on whether this meant that the same husband had stepped out five times, with the aforementioned fifth occasion being the straw that literally broke the camel's back (OK, not literally. It's an old back-and-forth I had with an old writer of mine.), or whether this was the fifth different husband to cheat. 

Either way, ouch.

Naturally, divorce was quick to follow. Sort of.

Husband the truck driver was away for a while. He came home to find some other dude messaging Kathy on the computer while she was in the kitchen.

Husband: "You can't be doing this! You're my wife!"

Wife: "No, honey, I'm not your wife."

They had been divorced for eight months. And he didn't know it. Brilliant!

Papers had been drawn but not acted upon. Then court date was changed, but guy didn't know and didn't show. And so it was all wrapped up without him even knowing.

This begs many other questions about him returning, etc., but whatever. Fun story.

And good waffle.

---

He seems to like that mug.

So back in 2006, Andrew dragged a bunch of us to Phoenix for Spring Training and the World Baseball Classic for a weekend celebrating the end of his freedom (his wife was very pregnant at the time with their first child). On that trip we went to a Waffle House. Toward the end of the meal, Andrew posed this question to our waitress:

"So how much for one of these mugs," he said, holding up a Waffle House coffee mug.

"Well, if I don't see you take it ...," replied the waitress. Awesome.

Fast forward nine-plus years and Andrew's mug had vanished. So there we were at another Waffle House.

Without sharing incriminating details ... well, never mind.

So we hit the road, and Andrew proclaims that "somewhere in this car is a bag with one pair of underwear in it."

OK.

We roll along interstate whatever toward St. Louis until we see a sign for a winery. Andrew likes wine. I mean, I like wine, but Andrew really likes wine. And really wants to go to this random winery right across the Illinois border. So, we go.

Winery.

Welcome to Castle Finn Vineyard & Winery in Marshall, Ill. Sonya (pronounced sah-nya) is your proprietor. She and her boyfriend live in a neighboring town, which has a population of 2.

They make wine. Including that of rhubarb, cherry, blackberry and blueberry. They also have some cheese, including one called Cojack.

Who loves ya, baby?!

Andrew asks if they serve lollipops with it. Sonya doesn't get it. Andrew explains that in the show "Kojak," Telly Savalas' titular character often was sucking on a lollipop as he tried to quit smoking.

I then asked Sonya if she had heard of Steve McQueen. She said she knew the name but wasn't good with movies or actors, as she watched virtually no TV growing up.

I said I stopped watching TV when "Alf" went off the air.

"Oh, I used to watch that -- I like that show," she said.

Awesome.

So we tasted wine and bought wine. And were relieved to find that the concord grape juice we saw outside was an incorrect delivery, and that different juice would be arriving later that day. Though Andrew had no confidence that it would be much better.

Dead thing on winery wall.

Also learned:

*The town is largely owned by Gerry Forsythe, he of race team ownership fame. He was running Alex Tagliani and Patrick Carpentier in CART/Champ Car back when I was on the beat at ESPN.com. Also, Forsythe apparently has a golf course that costs a few grand per round.

*Sonya, 33, never has been farther west than St. Louis. She was supposed to go to LA with her then-husband, but his sciatica acted up and their would-be host in LA had lupus and was pregnant, so it didn't quite work out.

Then the husband cheated (not sure if he also was a five-timer), they divorced, and she found her current guy. They are going to Vegas soon. Oh, and she has been to Canada and Mexico already.

Andrew procures wine.

*The blackberry wine is their top seller.

So we head back out and roll along the old U.S. highway that parallels the interstate. Then we get back on interstate. Or something. I don't remember. But we find a place that is famous for its "foot-high pies."

We had good luck with pie yesterday. So we go.

The pie sucked.

Back on the road. We pass a Steak 'N' Shake billboard advertising the chain's $4 meals.

Andrew: "I don't think I've ever eaten at a Steak 'N' Shake."
Me: "I think you'd respect what they do."

Oh, the music of the day...

Raconteurs
Decemberists
Steve Earle
Levon Helm
Alison Krauss and Union Station
Dire Straits
     ~Harry might not mind if he doesn't make the scene, but does he care what the rest of the band thinks? What if Guitar George, who knows all the chords, feeds off Harry's energy? Harry's a selfish bastard. Don't quit your daytime job.
REM
Warren Zevon
Belly
Donavon Frankenreiter
Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers

Then Alfred called Andrew. I think he will explain the awesomeness of this better than I can. So I'll leave it to him. For now.

Anyway, we reach Kansas City and hit a famous BBQ joint. Which Andrew also will describe better. So I'll leave it to him. For now.

Then we get to hotel. We get out.

Andrew reaches into the truck.

"Is this my bag of underwear?" he muses, lifting a plastic bag and groping at it. "It is."

B B Q

You thought this would be an underwear pic, didn't you? Sick bastards. Just sick.

Planet Cleve-land

Who is in the Hall.

Rock and Roll Hall of Fame. 

I was there in 1996 with ol' buddy Kathryn. Then we grabbed dinner at Bertucci's -- which, for 21/20-year-olds, was a nice night out!

Anyway, went back today as the cross-country chaos with Andrew continued in Cleveland.

But I don't feel like writing all that much about the Hall. So I won't.

Hall.

OK, fine -- how the hell is Green Day in before, like, 37 other bands who are more deserving? I'm cool with them being in, but they could have been made to wait a few years while the likes of the B-52's, Warren Zevon, Oxnard of Saturn, The Cars and Ampersand were inducted. Whatevs.

Random crap:

Andrew's mother is collecting the state park quarters, so we're keeping our eyes out. I encounter the Connecticut state quarter with the Charter Oak on the back. I proceed to tell Andrew about the Charter Oak and its critical role during the revolution.

Said Andrew, "That's a good story. Thanks."

I don't think he meant it.

Earlier in the day he proclaimed,  "It might have been worth spending $10 on the brown stuff."

So we do the Hall -- it's cool. Solid exhibits. And I got to hear "Now I'm a Farmer" by The Who. It's in the Hall of Fame. How great is that?

Andrew fighting with port-o-potty
lock. Yes, it had a padlock.

Then we leave, stopping to get gas before hitting the highway. And we encounter one of the more absurd gas station bathrooms one might see.

So we hit the road, drive to Columbus, take a right and head west, then eventually head a couple miles off the highway to an off-the-beaten-path (AKA "highway") restaurant called Henry's Restaurant.

We read they had amazing pie. So we went. There was a regular named Steve sitting down the counter. He called over waitress/cashier Jessica and told her, "There's something seriously wrong with this ham and cheese."

Jessica looks.

Steve, who slightly resembles a crankier Gerald McRaney, points out that there's no ham.

Jessica tells Alissa back in the kitchen. Alissa feels bad.

"Want to come back here and beat me?" Alissa asks Steve.

"Want to go back there and beat her?" Jessica asks Steve.

Alissa questions whether Jessica told her the right order.

"I said 'ham and cheese'," asserted Jessica. "It's not my fault this time." 

Jessica and Steve.

Jessica also suggested we order the fried corn nuggets. So we did. They were tasty.

Steve then noted, incredulously, that he never had heard of the fried corn nuggets and complained that in all his years eating there, Jessica never had suggested he order them.

Corn nuggets ain't for everyone, bro.

Later, Alissa emerges from kitchen to talk to Steve.

"I had to be at work at 6," she says. "I have an excuse" for messing up the sandwich.

"I had to be up at 6," Steve replied, "and I remembered how to order." 

Steve then told us to check out Kent Murphy Baseball for some funny youtube stuff.

"Just google it -- 'Kent Murphy'," he said. "If 'right field' comes up, that's a good one."

Based on the first 15 seconds, it was pretty good.

Back in the kitchen, Melissa laments, "I have to put up with the men. I have to put up with my husband and my daughter's boyfriend." 

To which Steve replied, "You married your daughter's boyfriend?"

We had food. Then we had pie. The pie was delicious. That -- and the atmosphere/character of the place -- easily made the side trip worth it.

Blackberry pie.

Oh, today's music rundown:

Tom Petty & The Heartbreakers

Little Feet

Warren Zevon

Arcade Fire

Paul Westerberg

Vanilla Ice

B-52's

Debbie Gibson

Yes, those last three. We stopped at a gas station right after dinner. They had a bargain rack. I couldn't resist. So I stopped, collaborated and listened. And got me some of that good stuff.

Back on the road, we encountered some tricky weather and dicey traffic.

"After this truck I think I can go," Andrew said.

We regained consciousness several hours later.

A truck and a restaurant, somewhere in Ohio -- where all is strange and vague.

Smiling sink