I feel guilty starting the Homblog so late in my expedition to California. I'm sure I've already spaced just about everything that has happened on my trip, but I'll be sure to hit on the finer points so you too can experience what it's like to ride shotgun in the Blue Dragon for 30 hours listening to nothing but Bruce Springsteen (for those of you that are mathmagicians, you'd already know that 3o hrs./53.1333333 equals roughly 34 Boss revolutions).
I took off April 1, 2010 at around 8 a.m. After passing through the most lame driving state of the union other than Texas (more later) in Illinois, I arrived in Missouri and saw the arches from a far and crossed the Mississippi River. Both of these were landmarks i'd never seen (now glad to say that I have) and really the last iota of thoughts of turning back. The landscape of Mizzou is flat-out breathtaking once you get reach the outskirts of the STL. Hit the great state of Oklahoma where my main man Dougie resides in Tulsa. OK was the first instance where the sil changed color; transitioning from the normal Indiana shit brown to a handsome shade of orange.
On the trip I hadn't eaten and took my maiden voyage with a bit of Aderol to keep me pepped up. Needless to say that was the first and last time I sample Aderol, because my body crashed upon arrival in rush hour Tulsa at 5 p.m. and my car nearly did the same. Serving to the shoulder, I became quickly aware that it was not kosher cruising at 78 m.p.h. on the same Will Rogers Highway (RT. 66).
/quick fact, Will Rogers, great American humorist who was the first of his kind, and I share the same personality traits. ENFP! The Meyer's Briggs personality test proves that me and Will, whose epitaph famously reads "I never met a man I didn't like," are both considered "Discoverer Advocates?" Cheers!
In Tulsa, Doug hooked it up. We ate delicious meats and had ice cold Budweiser Lites. Cheers! On the first night Doug respected that I needed to sleep, so he lent me a couch. Cheers! Sorry. Next day we went to a Native American casino, where we both proceeded to hand the blackjack dealer a hundred dollars and left shortly there after. Did you know Tulsa is home to Oral Roberts University. After braining up on the man, I learned he is bat-shit crazy:
To summarize, Roberts (the first televangelist) basically commanded Protestants who followed him to donate to his efforts. Then he did two things. 1. He decided to build maybe the least structurally-sensible building in the entire country.
In 1977, Roberts claimed to have had a vision from a 900-foot-tall Jesus..."
Hey, to each his own. But to rationalize...Roberts had an epiphany and opted to build the worlds worst hospital.
The City of Faith Medical and Research Center consists of three triangular buildings, the tallest being 60 stories. Generally, hospitals have things called wards which are wide, filled with hallways. You get the point. If the elevator breaks; its tolerable. Say you have...I don't know, a baby. "Oh sorry, the maternity ward is on the 36th floor. The stairs are too your left." Nonetheless, still really splendid architecture.
The second thing Roberts is famous for is his huge hands. And you know what they say about guys with big hands...they put up giant statues of them. HAYO!!!
Douglass and I went hiking on a sweet trail and got lost one day, and watched Butler beat Michigan State and watched some movies. After breaking my dipstick in my car, I left on Sunday and was on my way to Albuquerque, NM...and due to mild hangover/nightfall, I stopped in Amarillo, Texas. Not because I wanted to, but because a Texas Ranger pulled me over (Note: you are not allowed to speed in Texas at night. I was going about 5 over and they burned me. I sweet talked my way out of a ticket and was let off with a warning. I'm guessing it was either my well manicured beard or the fact that I was some kid scared shit-less, clad with an Indiana license plate at 11 p.m. in the middle of god-knows-where with all of his material possessions jellied in his vehicle. As I pulled into the Motel 6 (that's right), I was ready to saw some logs when a the foot of my foot was a shattered syringe. Needless to say, I slept like a baby that night (sarc.)! After six hours of Z's in the Methamphetamine capitol of North Central Texas, I forged on to Flagstaff with a powerful 9 hour drive (or roughly 11 Springsteen-revolution).
After a mind-numbing day of driving through the desert and witnessing the ground shift from handsome orange to fuschia, I was able to do something I've wanted to do since junior year of high school. Entering the heart of the Grand Canyon State an opportunity presented itself for me to do something I've wanted to since I discovered my main-man Don Henley. I was standing on a corner in Winslow, Arizona and nearly was knocked onto the ground by destructive prevailing winds. Refueled and ready to make the last 60 miles to Flagstaff, I hit the highway.
Five miles the sky turn orange and my visibility lessened. Traffic stopped three cars ahead as the lead story in AZ hit me square in the Civic. It was a sandstorm! Oops. It was a sandstorm! The sky instantly went red and fortune was on my side as I stopped. The guy behind me wised-up at the last second and stopped, too; narrowly avoiding a collision by swerving to the shoulder 360 degrees at about 40 m.p.h. I forged ahead and found later on the news that evening that traffic was backed up over six miles behind me. Police waved me on through but decided to stop everyone else around me. I made it to Flagstaff a few hours before the Butler game in enough time to grab a bite and beer. I chatted with a retired economics professor from Marquette who was backpacking with his son near Phoenix. It was at that moment I realized book-reading is more socially redeemable than watching ESPN and Lost. He touched on the differences between Micro- and Macro- and all I could muster up was some ramblings on the impressive E.R.A. of Tim Lincecum (it was opening day) and whether or not Tom Crean can really coach or if he was just a flash-in-the-pan for recruiting Dwayne Wade. You know, just two scholars in their own rights eating Roast Turkey Avocado Sandwiches and drinking India Pale Ale.
Watched the Butler game and then the road for the final leg. I'll leave you be for now, but if you read the Homblog at another time you might find some pretty wild stuff.
Will Homrig make it to California? Will he receive death threats? Will his roommates throw the quietest party in history in his honor? Will he shoot a commercial for Coors Light?
(Ans: Yes. Yes. Yes. No.)
No comments:
Post a Comment