Headed South

So, the road trip is officially underway. I head out kind of late from my parent's house on Monday, giving my mama a big kiss goodbye and assuring her I would stay safe and call often. The path to Savannah was familiar but, nonetheless, somewhat difficult as a white-out rainstorm compromised my visibility while both darkness and the monotony of I-16 provided me with adequate temptation to sleep. All the same, I reached Savannah just after 10PM, welcomed by recognizable street names, like Abercorn and Henry, and trees draped in Spanish moss. I was staying with a good friend, the very creative and talented (and tatted) Emily Mclaughlin, the older sister of Elizabeth Mclaughlin, with whom I went to college.

Upon arriving at her place, I was, at first, surprised that it was in the middle of the Savannah hood....but whatever...the place was nice and some of the neighbors friendly...and her French bulldog Maddy proved to be the perfect playmate for little Mia while we, along with her friend Jessica, hit the bars for the night. As it was Monday night, many of the bars closed early, but we found a couple that were open late. First was Churchill's, an English-style bar/pub with a pretty big weird/older/business crowd. It's always interesting to see guys in suits pounding beers, fathers/husbands white-boy dancing, and drunk professionally-clad women falling and eating shit. Aside from the environment, the food there was delicious. And after a tasty order of fish and chips (had to get it) and a few drinks, we were ready to move on and head to The Rail, a bar for locals off of the City Market. Greeted with a "Welcome to America" at the door upon presenting my American passport (didn't have my license), I figured the vibes here would probably be a little different (quainter). I was immediately impressed by the bar's drink deals...double your drink's alcohol content for only one dollar more...hmmm. So with whiskey sour in hand, I was kicking it with the two girls when this drunkass, frumpy fellow came over and is really into Emily and her tattoos. He’s asking where to get em while touching her sleeve and just being overall a little creepy….but it turns out he was tatted up too and just too drunk to not come off as awkward. Anyway, we finished up there and headed home...only to all be woken up the next morning by the two dogs going insane playing/fighting with each other all over the apartment.

Despite my best efforts to keep sleeping, I ended up getting up and making my way to my favorite place on Earth…the DMV (DDS). As much as I hated spending my downtime in the Department of Driver’s Services office, I could not continue my road trip without a license on my person, and mine was uhh lost (you’re welcome Alfie). So an hour or so later, with a temporary license in my pocket, I made my way into the city and ate at the Sentient Bean, a hippy-ish, fair-trade, organic, vegetarian coffee house/restaurant (Savannah’s only one). The vibes there were really mellow, the walls colorful, and the crowd eclectic. We sat outside to eat, and there, as I observed the people and places nearby, I noted the sort of bi-cultural character that Savannah is known for…that is, the city contains both Southern and artsy/creative/liberal/progressive elements. Southern due to its geography and history and artsy/creative/liberal/progressive due to the presence of SCAD (Savannah College of Art and Design) at its center, Savannah can boast organic grocery stores and vegetarian/vegan eateries while still embracing Southern cooking at its best and being the proud home of Mrs. Paula Deen….After lunch, it was about time to keep on moving. So we visited Emily’s store, Fabrika, run by her friend Ashley and her (both SCAD grads), watched a little Crack Fox and Old Greg, and then I was headed for Orlando…or at least I thought I was.

I was going to stay with my buddy, Dan Crotty’s, family in Orlando that night, but when I couldn’t get in touch with him, I had to make a little detour. I was passing signs for the Okefenokee National Wildlife Refuge, so I figured, “Why not? What the hell…” I had always wanted to go camp there; I had just never gotten around to it. So I headed westward toward Stephen C. Foster State Park, which is located within the refuge. It was dark by this time, and the drive was eerily long and uneventful. There was nothing for miles and miles, and I was starting to get a little hypnotized by the backwoods back roads when I finally made it to the park’s gate. Although the gate was open, it turned out the park’s registration office was closed, which meant I could not register for a camp spot. Completely unwilling to turn around and trek back through the nothingness but also hesitant about squatting a spot without consent, I continued driving through the park, hoping I’d figure something out. And lo and behold, the campground host’s trailer door was open, and I could see her sitting inside. I honked gently so she knew I wasn’t trouble, and when she came to my car door, I talked her up and explained my predicament. Fortunately enough, she let me grab a spot and pay in the morning…what a wonderful woman! So I set up tent at my spot, and Mia and I got in. But it ended up taking a good hour or so to get to bed because deer kept creeping around the tent, and Mia wouldn’t stop barking. Eventually, though, she got a bit desensitized to their rustling about, and we enjoyed a decent night’s sleep under a sky fullll of stars.

In the morning, we packed up and paid, and although I wanted to rent a boat and go see some gators, I, once again, had to roll out; my buddy Dan had since contacted me, so I was headed to Orlando…for real this time. But first, I had to let Mia exhaust a little energy and get some revenge for the nighttime disturbances…so I let her chase some deer for a bit, which was an awesome sight to see, even though the deer were easily a lot faster. On the road, I got a country breakfast sandwich at a small gas station/restaurant north of Lake City, where the people were really nice and interested in my trip plans. In driving, I have always noticed (this may seem pretty obvious) very little difference between South Georgia and North Florida in terms of people, landscape, and overall feel.

Once in Orlando, I was warmly greeted by Dan’s mom, Mrs. Jane Brownlee, one of the most hospitable, motherly women I have ever met. We had never met before, but she was more than happy to hook me up with a PB&J and house Mia there while I went out to rock climb. I climb at Stone Summit in Atlanta, and one of my buddies, Narjit, told me about his gym, Aiguille Rock Climbing Center, down in the Otown. Since I was there, I felt obligated to give it a visit. Although a lot smaller than the Summit, Aiguille was, in my opinion, tougher overall. Some of the routes were more technical and the pieces older and worn. Long story short, it kicked my ass, and I have mad blisters to prove it….definitely worth the trip though. Upon returning to the house, I got a much-needed shower in and then had a pot-roast dinner (mmm mmm) with Mrs. Brownlee. We shot the shit, talking about America and possible routes, people to stay with, and attractions to see (including a quilt museum in Paduka, KY, which is apparently pretty badass- I know..I laughed too…quilts + badass don’t usually go hand in hand). Anyway, after a good dinner and even better talk, I said my goodbyes and, yet again, hit the road…this time to the dirty Dade. Never before had I noticed how bullshit Florida and all of their toll-booth stops are until last night….unbelievable…where do they get off?

Anyway, after what seemed like the longest drive to date, I made my way to some pet-friendly lodging near the airport, an Extended Stay Hotel. Upon arriving, I had a little Déjà vu, for the main office of the hotel, where check-in was, was closed up for the night (WTF right?) Once again, I got really lucky and talked with/convinced the laundry lady to go in the office and check me into a room.
It felt so good sleeping in a big bed again last night, and this morning, well-rested and amped to be in Miami, I met up with my homeboy, Andres Weisz, and hopefully, we’ll get into a little mischief today and tomorrow.

“My father was a gambler down in Georgia
He wound up on the wrong end of a gun
And I was born in the back seat of a Greyhound bus
Rolling down highway forty-one” –The Allman Brothers