Monthly Archives: March 2010

As promised, here’s a little fill in on how we came to Mobile, Alabama. As you may know, our Subaru broke down 30 miles north of Asheville in Hot Springs, North Carolina two Sundays ago. The original diagnosis was a thermostat which turned into a head gasket which turned into a week long repair.

We rented a Sebring for three days and drove to Myrtle Beach to visit Kyle and company. His house is directly adjacent to a slew of friends, and so there was a revolving cast of characters who contributed to a good couple of days. The weather was ideal our first day there and so we headed to the beach and then to an adult version of Pinocchio’s Pleasure Island minus the donkeys. That night we drove to Kyle’s intramural basketball championship in which he led his team, The Beavers, on a dramatic path to victory. The next day we found ourselves rainbound in Kyles house which gave us time to unwind and think about our lost Subaru. I could feel a cold creeping in (which I’m finally over) and so the day was passed with guitars and rest. We went to happy hour at a Mexican restaurant where we supplemented our ramen noodle diet with an impressive amount of free chicken wings and chips and salsa.

The next morning (friday) we awoke at 4:30 to drive back to Asheville. The Organic Mechanic had said that the car might be ready by that day, but we had little hope. We showed up at 9:30 to meet our repair people who were jokingly curious about what our deal was. When we pulled up in our Sebring they shot us a look like we are high rollers (a look which we are graced with often.) We stoically took the news that our Subaru wasn’t done yet, and began preparations for our next little excursion to Florida. Our friend Anne picked us up in her Passat, and we took off for St Augustine, Florida (the oldest city in the country) for the Harvest of Hope festival.

We raced the clock down south, trying to make it in time for Dr. Dog. Upon arrival we rushed to buy tickets. Unfortunately they wouldn’t let my camera in, so we had to run it back to the car and then hurry back to the entrance gate managing to get to the stage just as Dr. Dog walked out. They delivered an energetic five song set before having to stop because of pouring rain. Chris, Anne and I scurried into one of the numerous vendor’s tents to take cover and stay dry. We started talking with the people underneath one of which was the curator of the festival, and another the CEO of REAX Music. I told him that they hadn’t let me take my camera in and he said that he could get me a press pass the next day if I took some pictures for him, a deal to which I enthusiastically consented. Eventually the rain let up and we walked over to catch the end of Dead Prez’s set. That night we set up camp in the dark, a decision which placed our campsite directly upon a mound of fire ants.

The next few days were spent directly in front of the various stages of the festival snapping pictures of acts such as Kimya Dawson, The Mountain Goats, Matt Pond PA, and Broken Social Scene. The first night’s rain did not set the standard for the weekend, and we were under sunny skies for the rest of the festival. We made friends with many of our neighbors including Mother@#$@#$ Steve, a resident of Navar who filled us in on everything from alien sitings to the silver standard, as well as Veronica, a blond from Miami who didn’t seem to leave the camping area and was always good company while we took breaks from the music. Overall, it seemed that we were the only out-of-staters there, and we were greeted with curious enthusiasm by everyone who found out we were from Maine.

Broken Social Scene closed the festival on Sunday night and after waiting for the long lines of cars to file out we jumped in our car and drove through the night back to Asheville where we immediately began sleeping. We awoke in the afternoon, and made a call to our organic friends who finally gave us the good news that our car was ready. So at 4:30 we finally collected our sweet Subaru, withstood another painful credit card swipe and took off.

We didn’t really have a set destination but the time had come to say farewell to North Carolina. With the light fading, we found ourselves in the middle of Georgia, and decided to find a campsite for the night. A detour to a closed State Park later, we ended up in Cleveland, GA at a campground called Jenny’s Creek (pronounced Ginny’s Creek in the South.) We set up a small campfire and watched it burn until bedtime. When we awoke me made a hearty breakfast of sausage and eggs and packed up camp. We wanted to do some hiking, and were excited to find out that Brasstown Bald, the highest peak in Georgia, was a short drive away. Unfortunately, the short drive to the mountain also took us within 6/10 of a mile of the summit. We were disappointed by our thwarted hike, but made the most of it, driving around and checking out scenery and Desoto Falls.

Around 5 we made a break from Georgia and set our GPS to New Orleans. We didn’t have a definite place to stay, but thought it necessary to keep things moving along. When 10 rolled around we decided that it was time to start thinking about a cheap place to stay for the night. We shopped around a bit, and finally settle on the illustrious Red Roof Inn of Greater Mobile, Alabama – a spot picked for its modest price and free wireless internet. And so here we are in Mobile. It seems that Chris is stirring so we will soon drive to New Orleans where we have a cheap room lined up downtown at Hotel New Orleans.

We are in a Red Roof Inn in Mobile, Alabama. There has been a huge lapse in updates, but that is all I will tell you for now because I’m damn tired. No, we are not stuck here. It is entirely of our own volition.

So going into the weekend here’s how it’s looking for the Subaru:

This means that she’s Asheville bound til at least Monday, but not us, no sir, we’re heading to Florida for the Harvest of Hope Festival to see a bunch of bands including The Mountain Goats, Broken Social Scene and Billy Bragg. More updates to follow after the weekend.

Myrtle Beach. What is there to say about such a seasonal debaucherous town. Beautiful beaches lined with cheap bars, bountiful hotels with pools two hundred feet from the Atlantic, and smoke filled clubs that could trigger an asthma attack in a marathon runner. Strip clubs line the highway beckoning to unfortunate and lonely travelers who need to pay for unfamiliar, scantily clad attention. Myrtle beach is like the geographic equivalent of dousing oneself in cologne instead of taking a shower. Or covering a dirty face with glitter instead of cleaning it. But with all the glitter and axe body spray, polo shirts, dubs, bros, and two dollar pitchers, there is something about this area that ensures you that its okay to be loud and boisterous. Its alright to swear across a crowded bar to a friend and to hang out on a beach all day even though its only 60 degrees. And we got a brand new Sebring for a couple days so I suppose my baller status is up to par with the local bros. Lets go jump it off speed bumps.

Louisville was much fun. Tommy and Katie were at the pinnacle of hostiness and they have two awesome cats. We went for a hike with Tommy on some mole hills called Scott’s Gap and encountered a boy scout troop the leader of which was smoking a cigarette during the group’s reprise. We also went out to some bars including The Back Door (a bar that provided a cross-section of some of America’s finest) and another dive where we saw a great band called The Young Republic play.

The next morning Tommy made us some farewell breakfast burritos and we found ourselves hurtling down the highway toward Asheville. It was a grand day, and we were unfazed to find that I-40 East was closed right outside of Asheville due to an enormous rock slide. We decided on a mountain pass detour that brought us down 25 through Marshall smack dab into Asheville. Our plan was flawless and our resolve has never been matched by any other travelers. Upon entering the lovely town of Hot Springs, the Subaru began her ascent up a particularly large mountain. We were within 30 miles, and anticipatory of our arrival. Billowing hood smoke was the last thing that we would have expected. But sure enough our radiator had suddenly began smoking like the caterpillar in Alice In Wonderland. We were suddenly at the mercy of the Gods of car repair.

While waiting for the flatbed driver Chris played some guitar, while I attempted to get my camp stove started. A kind man of Hot Springs pulled up in a truck as big as his heart, and was kind of curious about the two hobos that had shown up suddenly in his town.

Our flatbed driver was a man by the name of Wayne. He possessed one of the thickest accents in Appalachia, and over the course of our 45 minute ride, told a long-winded story the content of which was cloaked in his mysterious tongue. Chris sat directly next to him and understood enough to fuel Wayne’s gab with agreeing phrases.

And so we found ourselves in Asheville. We brought our Subaru to the Organic Mechanic the next day, only barely getting it there before the temperature gauge hit the dangerous red. The whole day we anxiously anticipated a quote on repair costs, and were discouraged to hear that it was a broken thermostat that they were going to have to fix the next morning. We waited patiently overnight, and showed up to collect our glorious ride. The mechanic confronted us with news for which we were unprepared. We had a blown head gasket.

For the first time in our trip, it seemed like the bottom had fallen out. Chris staggered back a step as the news hit him and my jaw dropped. Seeing the crazy look in our eyes, the mechanic stepped back a little. We had no choice but to go for the expensive repair.

The only other problem at hand was that we were due to be at Myrtle Beach in five hours. A rental place was decided on and we were set up with a Sebring. The rental place had free popcorn and soda, a hospitality which we took full advantage of. As he watched the fees pile up, Chris gave the woman behind the desk increasing amount of grief. After a painful swipe of the credit card, we were on our way to Myrtle Beach, and that’s where we are now missing our Subaru which should be fixed by Friday.