Archive for January 2010
Let it snow let it snow let it snow
Well the much-hyped snowstorm finally hit Virginia and the entire state has been in ice-induced chaos for the past 24 hours. But I wasn’t in the slightest bit concerned.
The reason? I was safely ensconced in the well-equipped Marriott Potomac Mills, which had been procured for a relative pittance through priceline. There was a pool, a hot tub, English footie on ESPN and a view of the cars slipping and sliding all over the highway outside. I was able to relax in the bubbles with a book and a feeling of warm, smug schadenfreude.
All was hunky dory until later that evening, when I clicked on “Extend your stay for the same price”. No way Jose. Priceline wasn’t having it. Bollocks.
Given the state of the roads, I wasn’t going anywhere. But increasingly desperate searches of Hotwire, Expedia and Travelocity yielded no offers for my hotel. Eventually I called the front desk. Yes, they said, of course I could extend my stay – for a three-figure sum.
Now, I don’t pay three figure sums for hotel rooms unless those figures are Indian rupees. But after glancing out of the window once more at those slipping, sliding SUV’s I was forced to bite the bullet. As a result, I’m staying what is almost probably my most expensive-ever hotel room without a girl being involved.
Come to think of it, maybe even WITH a girl being involved.
Earlier, I’d gone to see “Avatar” with my ex partner. While it was great to see her again, the film was appalling. Three hours of special effects, lame tree hugging sentiments and tired action movie clichés all served up through headache-inducing 3D glasses. Has James Cameron made a decent film since Terminator 2: Judgment Day? I thnk not.
The film’s only saving grace was that it provided a showcase for the latest advances in 3D technology. I can’t wait to see it applied to more worthy cultural endeavors, like porn and football. Forget Avatars. I want a 3D England v Argentina, or failing that, Matt Morningwood vs Jezebel Juggs.
I’m now sorely tempted to put my foot down and not stop until I reach St Pete’s Beach, but there is the small matter of the car to consider. When I turn the ignition, ALL the warning lights come on at the same time. Airbag, oil, brakes, you name it. Surely everything can’t have screwed up simultaneously – can it?
A walk in the woods
Ever wondered what it was like being a member of a bedraggled, hungry, dispirited army during the Civil War? Trudging through mile after mile of harsh terrain with little or no food to sustain you, and living in constant fear of attack from a hostile population?
Well yesterday, I experienced it first hand.
The day started well. A short drive to the Bull Run visitor’s center and I was being entertained with tales of Stonewall Jackson, the importance of the first Manassas battle, and the origin of the Rebel Yell,.
Wrong. The further I ventured into the woods, the darker it got and the less signs of civilization there seemed to be. The flimsy map I had been given seemed to have no relation to the actual lay of the land, and before I knew it, I was lost.
Then I started to come across weird, Blair-Witch-like stick formations. Strange sounds filled the air, which could have been hostile animals or the ghosts of long-dead rebel soldiers. The ground became sodden underfoot and the air became chilly. My phone lost its signal. I hurried on.
Then I started to have a bear panic. Bears live in Virginia, don’t they? What if a rogue bruin had awoke from hibernation and strayed to this godforsaken spot, its belly churning with hunger. What chance would I have?
It can’t have been more than an hour before I stumbled upon the Lee highway, but it gave me a taste of things to come. How am I going to cope in the Appalachians or the Rockies? I vowed to buy a compass and something to avoid becoming the next Timothy Tredwell. A flare? A tazer perhaps?
Anyway, I’m now back in civilization, staying at the Extended Stay America Centerville, with an aerial view of a Macdonald’s. My trip is supposed to really take off after the weekend, as I plan to head for the Appalachians. But I first need to meet the only girl in the world who has a wombat tattoo that matches mine, and get my car checked out. Two warning lights that come on when I start it up – the first looks like a Cyberman’s head, the second has the initials ABS. Any suggestions?
Toyota, by the way, is recalling all its newer vehicles as their accelerator has been known to stick in the “down” position. Mine seems to be okay though. In fact, a friend recently commented that my gas pedal appears to be stuck in the “up” position. A reference to my chugging along in the slow lane at 65 mph. Ha Ha.
In after three, out by 11
yet another bed
When I last blogged I was in a Super 8 in Delaware, worried about my finances and looking forward to a trip to this glorious nation’s capital. Since then, I’ve been laid up in a series of anonymous upmarket hotels in the Washington DC area.
On Wednesday and Thursday I was a guest of the Sheraton Annapolis. On Friday and Saturday I overnighted at the Renaissance Washington D.C Convention Center. On Sunday, with Jang – my sometime girlfriend from New York – in tow, I transferred to the Hyatt Regency, Bethesda. On Monday I decamped yet again, this time to the Marriott Residence, Alexandria. And today finds me residing at the “Courtyard By Marriott Manassas Battlefield Park”.
All of these places have been acquired by bidding between $40-45 on Priceline, and being very flexible. Sounds good, until you include the taxes, parking fees and Internet access. I’ve actually been bidding for crapper places and ending up with these pretentious, nickel-and-diming establishments with their $13.95 Internet, $15 parking and $17.95 breakfasts.
Still, at least I’ve been helping the environment and reducing my carbon footprint en-route. Most of these hotels are members of the “Rainforest Alliance” or similar, which means that I’m helping to save the planet by not having my towels washed every day.
For a brief moment, I actually wondered if the cost of producing all the cardboard signs describing the no-doubt sterling work of the Rainforest Alliance might actually negate any savings made by washing a few less towels. I also wondered briefly how much cash is being donated from the vast savings on detergent. However, as I’m trying to be less cynical, I am sure that no gimmicks are involved, and Messrs Sheraton, Marriott and Hyatt are fully committed to saving the planet.
I won’t bore you with my trips to tourist bumph – Arlington Cemetery, the Lincoln Memorial and the White House (no sign of Obama sneaking out for a fag, unfortunately). Nor will I regale you with tales of getting lost in DC’s endless suburbs. Instead, I’ll leave you with the latest on my rapidly-disintegrating vehicle
The unpredictable Jang arrived for the weekend with so much luggage that I had to take the damn roof down to cram it all into the car. As a result I appear to have dislodged one of my rear windows, so am now driving in constant fear that the thing is going to fly out completely and slice a pedestrian ear-to-ear. Stay tuned.
I think I’ve found my level
Greetings from Harpington, Delaware, or some similar-sounding place.
Gone are the heady days of Bestwesterns and Holiday Inn Expresses. I’m currently staying in my first Super 8. To those not in the know, Super 8 is one of the more downmarket US chains, on a par with Econo Lodge and Motel 6. These Cheetos-under-the-bed type places offer basic accommodation with none of the luxurious frills of, say, a Day’s Inn. Flat screen TV’s, pools and fitness centers are unknown here, as are choices of pillows, fluffy dressing gowns and mini bars. They’re generally populated by truck drivers, criminals on the run and the non-Priceline savvy.
The reason I’m here? I’ve already blown my travel budget for January. Regular restaurant meals, occasional blasts in the bar, and other “because you’re worth it” decisions have taken their toll. So that’s it. For the rest of the month I’ll be exploring the seedier side of the American highway, and living on crisps and Hershey bars from Rite Aid.
Speaking of which, I almost got marooned on the central reservation when I tried to walk to the Rite Aid earlier today. It’s directly across the road from the Super 8, but on the other side of a busy highway, which seemingly never has a break in traffic. I found myself defying death in a crazy game of human Frogger, and for a time it seemed there was no way forward – or back.
JG Ballard wrote a book called the Concrete Island about a bloke whose car breaks down on a section of fenced-off wasteland in the middle of a motorway intersection. As he cannot cross the busy road, he soon realizes that he has no way of getting back to the outside world. He ends up living there, forced to survive on what he can salvage from his crashed car and the discarded waste of others.
Eventually I made it to the Rite Aid, and learned an important lesson in the process, that will no doubt serve me well during my US travels.
If you want to cross the road, take the car.
Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered weak and weary
Last night I went to a bar to watch the Baltimore Ravens lose to the Indianapolis Colts, who used to be the Baltimore Colts until the franchise was moved to Indianapolis in 1984.
According to Wikipedia, “15 trucks were dispatched to the team’s training complex at 2:00 AM. Workers loaded all of the team’s belongings and the trucks left for Indianapolis. By 10:00 AM, the Colts were completely gone from Baltimore. Each of the trucks took a slightly different route on the way to Indianapolis. This was done to confuse the Maryland police, who could’ve been called on to put a stop to the move. Once each van was at the Indiana state line, it was met by Indiana state troopers, who escorted each van to the Colts’ new home in Indianapolis”.
The Baltimore Colts’ stadium was then demolished, leaving Charm City without a football team for 12 years. At a bar a few years ago I spoke to a couple of old Colts fans who spoke of sitting on a hill overlooking the old stadium, drinking cans of beer as it was demolished by a wrecking ball.
There was a happy ending of sorts. In 1996 most of the Cleveland Browns team moved to Baltimore to become the Ravens, leaving Cleveland without a team. A new stadium was built near the inner harbor, and the Ravens won the Superbowl four years later.
I don’t particularly like watching the game. But its history and fan culture have plenty in common with the British game, and I can enjoy a big-match atmosphere in the bar. And it’s good not to feel gutted when the local team chokes, as they did last night.
More seaside musings
For the past week, my conversation partners have consisted of waitresses, hotel receptionists and petrol station attendants. I’ve also been singing in the car, and the bath, often quite loudly and have begun holding quite audible conversations with myself.
There’s a lot to be said for living a conventional lifestyle with a 9-5 job and a permanent place to stay. You know where to get a curry and a decent beer locally, you know which areas of town to avoid, and you can call your friends up at a moment’s notice for a meal, a movie, a pint and a chat.
I’ve had more than my fair share of being alone in strange towns, so being in Ocean City on a Friday night shouldn’t be cause for undue melancholy. But it is, a little. Maybe it’s something to do with the fact that this is a seaside town with reminders everywhere of how much fun this town is in the summer.
I almost walked past this without noticing it
Wonder if they have whoopee cushions?
Every day is like Sunday...
Even Jaws is wrapped up for the winter
No baskets on the big wheel.
What else has happened? Well, as you can see, I’m still in Ocean City, but in a new, cheaper hotel with a view of the wetlands. I’m listening to the excellent new Morrissey album. A friend from New York is threatening to visit. I’m working out, trying to prevent the onset of the dreaded man-breasts And the Mormons are having a big meeting at the local conference center this weekend which I may attend, if only for the conversation.
And tonight I plan to go out and have a few beers at a bar I’ve just discovered that’s within walking distance of my hotel. Hopefully I’ll speak more to people tonight than I have done in the past week put together.
A walk on the mild side
It's freezing out there!!
This lunchtime I rolled out of Baltimore, put my foot down, and made it to Ocean City – a distance of 100 miles – in a mere 2½ hours. After driving half way to Washington I realized that I’d missed the turning for the Bay Bridge and had to double back. It was certainly not the first time I’ve been lost, but I still refuse to get a sat nav on principle. (Though I’m not quite sure what the principle is)
Being behind the wheel is still a wonderful novelty. I’ve not had a car for over 20 years and never had a full license until recently. I was always the passenger, never the driver. And the longer I went without a car, the more difficult it seemed to make the switch. As a regular cyclist, driving at speed still seems a little crazy and frightening, and every day I half-expect the car to die, be involved in a crash, or be stolen.
- Holiday Inn chic….
Anyway, Ocean City is where the Washington and Baltimore masses come for their summer vacation. Not many foreign tourists show up off-season. In fact, I seem to have the place to myself. I checked into a deserted Holiday Inn just in time to hear the Blades beat QPR in the FA Cup replay. To celebrate, I had a dip in the empty pool, and then ate a frozen lasagne.
Life doesn’t come any crazier than this….
Nearly a big bummer
I’ve done my best to avoid rear end shunts ever since Peter Purvis’s infamous TV warning, which, thanks to the wonders of modern technology, can be viewed Here
But coming into Baltimore on route 40, yesterday, I was unfortunate enough to experience just such an assault, perpetrated by an elderly man. Luckily we both survived the ordeal intact and I was able to head on towards the city with my back end intact.
Yes, another crap picture.
Earlier, I’d passed by the Enchanted Forest in Ellicott City , which has been closed for some time now. When it opened in 1955, it was the second oldest theme park in the USA after Disneyland. Today, it is the haunt of graffiti artists, junkies, necking teenagers and rogue academics. I believe my sister might have made an illegal reconnaissance quite recently.
Once you get away from the sterile inner harbor, Baltimore is full of kitsch reminders of bygone days, which is one of the reasons I like it so much. It also has a light rail, which shares the street with cars and thus caused me a couple of panicky moments.
I’m now securely ensconced at a former savings bank on Gay St, which has been transformed into a posh hotel. My hotel budget for January is almost shot, I need to see a dentist and my new Internet phone has crap coverage. But overall I’m enjoying the freewheelin’ life of a Gypsy rover. Especially when it allows you to lay in bed and listen to the Blades commentary, which is what I intend to do this afternoon (EDIT: ‘cept the game’s tomorrow.)
Next stop is Virginia, where I must be on my best behaviour. The cops love meeting single guys driving convertibles with NY plates, apparently.
You aint from round here, is ya?
This building houses strange four-legged beasts
I just spent two days in the middle of fuckin’ NOWHERE! No phone reception, no pubs, no people – in fact and no noise at night at all, apart from, quite possibly, bears defecating in the nearby woods. It was great to see my dad’s friends, but it’s something of a relief to put the harsh land of the mountain folk behind me and return to something approaching civilization. There’s only so much wood gathering you can do before cabin fever sets in.
Despite the isolation and minor annoyances, I was grateful for the chance to stay with my dad’s old friends. They fed me, gave me a nice warm bed, and gave me a highly educational taste of country living in midwinter.
Anyway I’m now living it up in the Best Western, Cumberland MA, and it’s an hour until check out. Considering taking a side trip to Bimo City to check out my old haunts and hopefully get a phone signal. A curse on you, T-mobile.
Home, home on the range
My mum and dad split up they were around my age. After the separation, my dad decided to bum round the world and grow his hair long, or should I say longer. He traveled round India and South East Asia and also spent long periods in the States. He rode the greyhound buses, and trains; hitch hiked and bummed lifts and drove in borrowed cars. He lived off his early retirement income and did odd jobs like gardening and mowing people’s lawns. As a result of his US travels, he developed a taste for Americana – “Stars and Bars” car stickers, plastic Elvises, etc – that is still in evidence today.
My dad always claimed that the Yanks were some of the kindest, most hospitable people you could hope to meet. But who listens to their dad? I certainly didn’t. Up until my mid thirties, I had no interest in visiting the USA. Why would I want to visit a nation populated by, greedy, uninformed, reactionary, polluting, gun-happy rednecks who drank crap beer?
I would have remained in this unenlightened state if it wasn’t for an often-tempestuous relationship with MW, who I first met in the SUFC chatroom. Until recently, MW lived in the Baltimore suburbs. Her blog, which is as well-written as ever and much better than this one, can be viewed at www.ecblade.com.
MW and her family couldn’t have been nicer to me, and despite some horrendous arguments I still have fond memories of the period when I first entered her life and the USA.
Anyway, during his 80’s wanderings my dad befriended a nice couple from Washington DC, who have since visited Sheffield a few times. Today, after a hair-raising drive along a snowy route 30 and various back roads, I’m staying at their farm in the mountains of southern Pennsylvania. I’ve just been out to feed the horses and am now sat in front of a crackling fire and an impressive Christmas tree watching PBS with a lazy hound.
A prarie home companion
Nice tree - but shouldn't it be chucked out today?
You know what they say about.... 