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Deja Vu again - Greg - 07-28-2016
Maybe you've heard this? Let's leave at 7:15. Okay. It's 7:15. Let's leave. Can't. HK jr is in shower, etc. Leave 20 minutes late.
For Tuesday, though, our interview was a half hour later than Monday's interview, which bought some extra time. We also had the benefit of not departing with the crush of cars and buses from the next door school at our hotel. After breakfast, HK jr wasn't feeling well, so he was thinking of spending his day in the hotel. (We had breakfast at the Triple Decker. Just as good the second day) I figure I could take three bags to the parking garage, leaving HK to only have to bring one to the car.
I whipped around the block back to our hotel with nary a problem. HK jr had recovered and was waiting with his father at the curb.
On Tuesday, we were interviewing Richard Cohen, the author of 'By The Sword' in which he devotes a whole chapter to the Hungarians. I figured I was going to fill up on stories of Borsody, Santelli, and Gerenscer. It was going to be an easy drive, as well, straight up 83rd St.
I was just a millisecond too late in recognizing the trash truck blocking the street after I made the turn. I was already blocked in and couldn't retreat. Just the day before, I saw a similar trash truck, collecting rubbish with a long line of disgruntled drivers in idling cars behind the truck. I think I even wished, at that time, that this would never happen to me.
Well, there it was happening to me. I slowly crept forward as the trash truck methodically plied it's trade in front of us. HK and I played 'what will the trash truck do now' game. We hoped one of the moves was 'Pull to the side' but it never even came close to that. And the trash truck was in no hurry whatsoever. It took us 15 minutes to get to the end of the block. HK and I had our phones out to plot the route if the trash truck continued up 83rd. But mercifully, the truck turned right and we accelerated straight, only momentarily slowed by the ice cream truck stopping to make a delivery.
My prayers were answered by a parking spot right in front of Cohen's building. I parked the car and walked up to the doorman and announced that I needed to go upstairs to meet with Mr. Cohen. We were half a block from the park and the Metropolitan Museum of Art, of course they had a doormen.
The doormen said I was not lucky in finding a spot. Those spots were open because in about a half hour they were cleaning the streets and those cars had to move. Curses, foiled again. We dumped the bags on the curb and I went into the parking lot across the street. It was only going to be $50 for the day.
Mr. Cohen wasn't quite ready for our appearance and we hung out in the lobby for ten minutes. The doormen were nice enough to load all the gear on a cart and take it upstairs for us.
Mr. Cohen couldn't have been nicer. Not as nice as Peter Westbrook, but still pretty nice. He had just as many questions for us as we did for him. He wanted to know about the origin of the story and where we planned to take it once we are done. One of the big comparisons we get is with Carl Borack and his film about Peter Westbrook's foundation. Borack is based in Los Angeles and has a passion for film. He also has Richard Dreyfus, who narrates his film, as a high school friend.
I saw the trailer for this film about a month ago and was worried how good the trailer made the film look. I hope our film comes across as well.
But people talk to us about it. Cohen had seen the completed film and thinks it's a little too celebratory and repetitive. In between stories, Cohen talked to us about building a story. He formerly owned a publishing house and was an editor for many years, so he might know a thing about story structure.
I set up. HK chats. I sweat bullets. One of the things my ego hates during HK's chats, is thatmy contributions to the project don't come up. I hear a lot about HK's Fencing Archive. And I hear about the 4 years of research HK has done on the story. Yet, I am coming up with the question lists for the interviews, organizing all the travel arrangements, and contacting everyone for the interviews. I'm not quite seeing the equitable sharing of credit in this relationship. But he did come up with the money.
Cohen was a good interview and a bad interview. What he knew, he knew very well. What he didn't know, he was reticent to speak about. His big dodge was to say he didn't feel comfortable talking about a subject and that others would be able to speak more knowledgeably about it further down the road.
After the second or third time, he said this, I just told him to tell us what he knows. We, basically, don't know anything and any nugget he had could lead us to a better question down the road. He gave a long pause and answered the question.
He also gives us one of our controversies. One of the apocryphal stories we've been told is about the birth of the stop cut back in the 1920s. In Cohen's version of the story, which he sourced very well, the hero of the story was the father of Endre Kabos. Another equally powerful version of the story as told by Andy Shaw gives it to the father of Attila Petschauer. Both stories seemed authentic. So, which story is true?
We took Richard Cohen to lunch at a nearby bakery that was quite good. As I do every time we take someone to lunch, I have this terrible fear, the person we take to lunch is going to tell us the perfect story and it won't be recorded.
But not this time. We talked about story structure some more. It was a wide ranging conversation. At one point, HK jr thought it was perfectly acceptable to reach across the table and take a butter pat off my plate without asking. I asked him what barn he grew up in.
Mr. Cohen, much like Mr. Westbrook, was very engaged in HK jr. They both asked him questions and really seemed to want to know what he was about. They are much better men than I.
Two days of schlepping bags around New York, left me pooped. But I was still in New York. Sure, I'm doing a job but I needed to maximize my time there. So, after I charged up the camera batteries and off loaded the footage onto the hard drive, I got back on the subway to the World Trade Center and Ground Zero.
The subway ride there showed me the difference between an express train and a local. Going downtown, I didn't realize I had gotten on a local. We stopped I think at every house between my hotel and the Brooklyn Bridge. What Google maps said should have taken fifteen minutes on the proper train, actually took me forty minutes. But I enjoyed it. I was playing New Yorker on the subway.
I got off at the base of the Brooklyn Bridge and walked to the first tower. There were a ton of people, most of whom paid no attention to the fact that one lane was for bicyclists and one lane was for pedestrians on the ramp across the bridge. I would have stayed longer but there were too many people.
I walked from there to Wall street. It was under repair, maybe from the housing market crash, so it didn't look quite like it should. I visited the oculus which is going to be a giant train hub near World Trade Center One. I think they are having problems with the paint because there were a lot of paint patches on the front of it.
I marveled at the how small the footprint was for both World Trade Tower buildings. It always seems like they should be more substantial. I took pictures of the new World Trade Center building, but it's hard to get a picture of a very tall building when you are standing only about fifty feet from the base of it.
Watching the clock, I noticed I wasn't going to make it to dinner by 6. I called to HK thinking they would go ahead without me. But no, they were prepared to wait.
Having learned the trick of express trains and local trains, I took a faster train back uptown. It only had ten stops rather than the thousand it took to get me there. I even got to sit down for most of the journey. Yes, I spent a lot of time surreptitiously people watching my fellow riders.
I pushed it at a fast walk from the subway stop on 86th to the restaurant and was only a few minutes late. We dined at The Milton which serves Irish Cuisine. HK and I both had the braised short ribs in Guinness, I think they called it an irish sloppy joe, on the recommendation of our waitress, Ann from Galway. I did play smart ass and asked her whereabouts in Galway.
The food was really good and the downside of finding all these great places to eat is that we are never going back to them agin. Or the chances will be small.
On Wednesday, we head to Milford, CT to talk to Alex Orban, 3 time Olympian and 5 time National Champion.
RE: Deja Vu again - thatguy - 07-28-2016
Quote:On Wednesday, we head to Milford, CT to talk to Alex Orban, 3 time Olympian and 5 time National Champion.
Deja Vu again is right. Wednesday was yesterday. You must be time traveling.
--tg
PS: for some entertaining New England reading, pick up a copy of "Yankee Doodle Boy" or one of the other versions of the story. (The full version of the book "A narrative of some of the adventures, dangers, and sufferings of a Revolutionary soldier, interspersed with anecdotes of incidents that occurred within his own observation.") It's the first-hand experience of a revolutionary soldier named Joseph Plumb Martin who lived on a farm in Milford with his aunt and uncle and when the Empire came, he wanted to join the rebels with all his friends, but was turned down because he was too young. He hated working on the vapor farm and fixing droids and snuck off and tried again and ended up a foot soldier for the next 8 years, walking up and down the east coast in various kinds of shitty weather, with shitty provisions, being shot at by Redcoats, Tories, and Hessians. The full version of the book can get a little slow at times, but you really get a sense of the awful conditions that these young men had to deal with. The promise of regular pay and land for most never really came. He was a young adult when he was a soldier, but didn't end up writing the memoir until his 80's, so I'm sure there's some disconnect from his memory and reality, also, it was published by an editor and I suspect the stories were "punched up" a bit. I don't want to give away too much, but the goose story is pretty funny and battle on the island in the rain is a great story about using limited resources to full advantage.
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Joseph_Plumb_Martin
RE: The Last Captain - Greg - 07-28-2016
Nope. Just trying to catch up. Today is Thursday and also the day I wrote it. I did visit Alex on Wednesday.
More whining, because Greg is a whiner - Greg - 07-29-2016
In a change of pace, we were only 20 minutes late for our trip to Milford. Our plan was to leave early and eat breakfast in Milford before our interview with Alex Orban. So we were up early and left by 6ish. I'm going to miss New York since I don't think I visited enough places. But then I'm not on a vacation.
The trip went really smoothly. I very glad we weren't traveling South on the 95. We saw an accident in the opposite lane and then the never ending back up of cars behind it. The traffic jam had to be at least 10 miles long and growing.
We had breakfast at the Corner restaurant in Milford, which, according to the banner above the main window, was featured on a cooking show. It was a nice place with friendly staff. The menu was aimed directly at foodies, which is not me. 95 times out of 100, I'll order a bacon and cheese omelette for breakfast. The other five times, I add sausage to the mix. But this menu was all sorts of weird combinations of food with nary an omelet in sight. I finally opted for apple and cinnamon stuffed french toast, which was really good. HK had the specialty of the house which was this bacon wrapped egg thing with duck and some indian hot sauce. It was almost good enough to come back a second day.
Even with the delay and the leisurely breakfast, we still had time to kill before the interview. Our waitresses, and I'm guessing owner, told us the Dan Patrick show was filmed just up the street. As a matter of fact, they had breakfasts for the Dan Patrick show waiting for pick-up. So, we wandered into town looking for the Subway Sandwich shop above which the Dan Patrick show was filmed.
We saw it. It looked like blacked out windows. Woohoo. I will let you non-sports fans find out on your own, who Dan Patrick is.
Alex Orban was not in his pajamas nor did he forget that he had an interview with us that morning. He even greeted me by name as he ushered us into his home. He had a beautiful big house on Burnt Plains Rd. He also had a daycare center attached to the house. My first fear was that we would hear screaming kids the entire interview. But there wasn't a peep from that end of the house. Maybe they were on vacation.
The usual drill occurred. The car was unloaded. I sweated while setting up. HK talked in the other room. I shut a lot of windows and turned off a lot of fans in my continuing quest to not hear any outside noise.
Just as I finished setting up I noticed what could be today's problem. I had set us up in the great room. There were two skylights in the ceiling and one of them had the sun shining through it. At 9:30, the big square of bright light was off in the corner, but as the sun traversed the sky it was going to move into the shot. I figured it was best to start shooting now.
For all Mr. Orban's talk of being like a son to Piller and being Piller's last student, once again he didn't have a lot of detail about Piller's early life. We did get some chatter about what kind of man he was. And we did get a few stories. Probably the oddest result for us, was we made Mr. Orban cry. Twice. I also thought he was going to tell us the tragic story of what happened to Piller's daughter. Instead, he told us a story of how much Piller's daughter liked being a showgirl.
As predicted, the sun did start to invade the shot. So, I stopped the shoot and rearranged everything. It was good for about thirty minutes, then I had to move again. Eventually, we were all going to be jammed into the corner to avoid the glare from the sun.
Mr. Orban's wife hobbled in. She demanded to take pictures. We stood around while she tried to make her camera work. She also offered to open the windows back up and turn on some fans so it wouldn't be quite so hot in the great room. Thank you for being no help at all.
After the interview, HK showed Orban some footage on the WCFA website that I had assembled from footage I had found in Heziburo Okawa's dumpster. It was the 1958 PCC's and he had never seen it before. We tried to get his wife to watch but she lost interest in about a second. Mr. Orban's son, who could be a tennis superstar if he would just follow his father's advice, also begged off watching the video and would try and catch it later.
The one thing Alex Orban did have in house was an abundance of pure bred cats, most of whom were quite curious about all this camera gear cluttering up their living space.
We had lunch at the Athenian Diner in Milford on Orban's recommendation. We told Orban about the great breakfast place, but he said he never went to that side of town. That side of town was about a mile away from his house.
This night, we stayed at the Holiday Inn Express, which was nice. I spent the afternoon doing laundry in the hotel. For dinner, we went to a bad pizza place in downtown Milford. On the drive over, I didn't know where the hell in Milford we were. Then we turned a corner and I realized we were back in downtown Milford right by the Dan Patrick studio.
Thursday is going to be a travel day to Boston.
Travel Day - Greg - 07-29-2016
On Thursday, we traveled to Boston. I learned early on that I now have a case what can only be described as Boston Tourettes. Every rock, tree, building, and bridge sparks a story from the past or more usually my father's past. I can't stop them. They just bubble right out.
Look, there is a hotel that spans a freeway. On that off ramp, the Queen and I sat for a half hour because of terrible traffic congestion. Hmm, this building was under construction the last time I drove through here. On and on and on.
We are staying at the Double Tree by Hilton in downtown, right across from Tufts Medical center. Did I tell you my father went to Tufts? For lunch our really helpful desk clerk directed us to a great Dim Sum place for lunch. Last time I was here I went with the Queen to Chinatown for lunch as well.
We ate family style at the Winsor Dim Sum cafe with a group of students from Tufts. We had a phd candidate, a doctor student, a dentist student and a man they referred to as the plumber. I'm guessing he was an engineer. My father's dentist went to Tufts. As we sat down across from them at the round table in the back of the restaurant, they were all playing Pokemon Go, unrepentantly I might add.
Dining for the three of us came out to the exorbitant sum of almost 35 dollars. If had time, we would go back. Every day. For the rest of our lives.
I spent the afternoon in the hotel. I tried to set up meetings with of two branches of the family here in Massachusetts. I found out I forgot a third branch when I got a note on Facebook from the Queen's Uncle asking why, since I was in Boston, I hadn't called them as well? Oh, boy.
I called and apologized for not contacting them. Uncle Warren asked if I was going to see them. I don't have time and begged off, promising a future visit.
For dinner, we walked over to the North End to the Pizza Regina for a fine Boston Pizza. My father used to come to the Pizza Regina when he was in High School. Did you know the Boston Massacre occurred on this point. My Uncle has a memorial on the top floor of Faneuil Hall. If you look down that way, you can see a statue of Red Auerbach. I once had a bagel in that place.
The bagels come down a conveyor belt and fly through a whirling knife to be cut in half.
There was a only a bit of a wait at Pizza Regina. My father used to have to cross town by himself as a boy to get his foot taken care of after he drove a nail through it. Both HK and HK jr, thankfully, liked the pizza. Afterward, we headed over to Hanover Street for a cannoli at Modern Pastries on the recommendation of our Pizza Regina Waitress. My cousin used to live in the North End much to the dismay of her family. She was also embarrassed by Andy Shaw in that Pizza Regina booth with talk of her sexuality.
The cannolis were quite good. HK jr looked like I tried to poison him when I made taste a bite of mine. He had opted for a chocolate eclair from which he scraped off most of the chocolate.
I tried to get us to a sea view so they could see the USS Constitution in the harbor. My Uncle used to be on the boat when they would take it out into the harbor and turn it around on the dock for weathering.
On Friday, we interview George Domolky, our last interview for this leg of the trip. I hope he is full of stories of Piller. My current level of cynicism tells me this will not be the case.
RE: The Last Captain - El Dingo - 07-29-2016
Hey Greg, are you filming any of this for the 'Making of' DVD extra?
RE: The Last Captain - Greg - 07-29-2016
Tens of hours of cinematography. All of it in front of the camera. Although, the men we are interviewing have a lot of extra stories that don't quite fit into the narrative that we will be using for our DVD extras
quit yer whining - Drunk Monk - 07-29-2016
You know how I say 'shoot 10 to get 1' with still photos? I know, I know, I'm not a shutterbug like you Greg, but I might argue that I've been paid more for my photography over the course of my vocation than everyone else on this forum combined.
Well, with vid, it's much more. It's like 'film 10 hours to get 10 minutes'. As if I know anything about filming. There you surely have me beat because I'm never behind to videocam. 
RE: The Last Captain - Greg - 07-29-2016
Well grasshopper, the usual ratio for narrative film was always 3 to 1. For Docs, it was supposed to be 10 to 1. However, sporting events can be upwards of 60 to 1.
Grasshuffer - Drunk Monk - 07-29-2016
I was told there would be no math.
Beacon Street - Greg - 08-02-2016
Never eat in the hotel. It is much too expensive and it doesn't have a lot of flavor or character. (Unless it is free. Then stomach the drivel) We opted to go to the South Street diner for breakfast before out interview with Mr. Domolky. It was a bit of a walk to get there. So, we had to leave right at seven to be able to get there, eat, and get back. Stop me if you heard this. To sum up. We had to eat in the hotel.
Saying you are meeting someone on Beacon Street, in my estimation, was like saying you knew someone in Bel Air or atop Nob Hill. It just doesn't happen. But in this case it did. George Domolky owns the first floor of a three story apartment across the street from the Boston Gardens. It was quite the transition driving the mile from our hotel with it's transients and litter filled streets to the rarefied air of the Boston Garden.
It was the one day of rain, so I was pretty sure our interference for the morning was going to be thunder booming during all the recordings. But it wasn't the case. I had a bit of a problem getting to his house since there was a trick to getting there that wasn't on Google Maps and there were a lot of confusing one way streets. Turns out you needed to make the turn towards Storrow Dr and make a sharp right under the Arthur Fiedler overpass to get behind his apartment. All these words mean nothing to you.
Mr. Domolky was very gracious. Again, an 84 year old man apologized for not helping carry the heavy gear to the apartment. Meanwhile the 14 year old sought out the lightest thing he could carry.
The apartment was gorgeous, complete with a crystal chandelier over our filming area. Once we got all the gear in, I had to go take the car and park it under Boston Common since there was no parking near Domolky's house.
The interview went well. Mr. Domolky had some very good and clear opinions about Piller. He had some stories. He brought up the fact that his fencing sister was on a Hungarian stamp. She made it a point to send a letter to him with her stamp on it. We are interviewing Lidia when we get to Budapest. Domolky even had some good insights into Piller we hadn't heard before. But still nothing before the end of World War 2.
The only noise related issue was the people clogging in the apartment above us. Mr. Domolky told HK that they had just gotten into the apartment after the flood repair. A water main had broken or been left running in the apartment above them and flooded their apartment. As we wrapped up the interview, some contractors showed up to do some work. Mrs. Domolky couldn't get rid of us fast enough. Plus, they were heading to Cape Cod in the afternoon.
HK decided since there was a car and driver, namely me, that we all should go to see the USS Constitution. No problem. Except that HK jr would have preferred to be back in the hotel.
We got nice and lost on the way there. Since we drove by the Bunker Hill monument, we decided to stop in after lunch. As a quick note, maybe climbing the 300 odd steps to the top of the Bunker Hill monument after a full lunch at the Warren Tavern wasn't the best idea. But it was an easier climb than the last time I did it with the Queen.
After the climb HK jr made it known he would much rather head to the hotel than to see some dumb old ship. I told him the car was heading to the ship so he might as well get inside.
Sadly, the USS constitution was in dry dock for repairs so we couldn't go aboard. We did walk through the museum which was full of screaming children. I had seen it before so I spent some time on the phone while HK and HK jr looked at all the exhibits.
The ride to the hotel took a lot longer than expected because of afternoon traffic and, well Boston drivers. Amazingly, I did not kill any of them.
For dinner, we went to our favorite Dim Sum place, the Warner Cafe. We ordered more food than the last time and it still came out to be about ten bucks per person. I'm glad I don't live in this town because I would go there every day and weigh a thousand pounds.
Originally, I was just go to put HK and HK jr in a cab or on a bus to the airport for their departure, but I weakened and offered to drive them if they couldn't find another way of getting there. They couldn't find another way. But it wasn't too bad. There was an express carpool lane from basically our hotel through the Ted Williams Tunnel to the airport. If it took more than ten minutes to get there, it was"t by much.
I spent the rest of the day doing memory lane things. I popped into Harvard Yard to look at the school. I went by my grandfather's house to make sure it was still standing. I visited with my Aunt Eileen, where I was spending the night. I spent a lot of time talking with her. More time than I spend talking with anybody. I had lunch with my cousins from the McKenna side of the family. I had dinner with cousins from the Lynch side of the family. The dinner was at this monstrosity of a Chinese Restaurant, called Kowloon. It was two floors of Chinese kitsch. There must have been seating for a thousand at this place. Yes, I picked up the check to the confusion of my dinner mates.
Sunday, I was up at the crack for the drive to Findley Lake. Eight hours of excitement on the Mass Turnpike and the New York Thruway. On this journey, I've been marveling at how cheap gas is here on the East Coast. But they make up for that by making me pay to drive on the Freeways. I paid $12 bucks on the Mass Turnpike. I paid another $9 for the New York Thruway. Whatever I save in gas, I make up for in tolls.
Despite my no turning from the route policy, I opted to see Niagara Falls. It was only ten miles off my route and suddenly the car was making the left turn on the to the frontage road. It was a fine stop. Billions of people were there. The view, as they say, was pretty poor from the American side. I could have paid $28 bucks and taken the elevator to the base of the falls and gotten on the boat, but it was $28 to get on a boat. Plus the line was incredibly long. I should have brought the drone with me.
I drove an hour beyond my stop for the night at Findley Lakes. I was looking for this small route to the hotel. Well, I was looking for a bathroom, actually, and I pulled right by it. At the gas station where I stopped, Google Maps said it was only about fifteen miles to my destination. Great. After about thirty minutes of driving, I checked the map again and was informed, I was now 45 minutes from destination. Wait! What?
At the gas station, I had already passed my turn. It was fifteen miles behind me. So, I turned around and drove another forty five minutes to my lovely Holiday Inn Express out in the middle of nowhere. I passed several Holiday Inns on my way to the one I reserved for the night. Nothing like bonus driving after an eight hour day of driving.
Monday was more driving through Indiana, Ohio, and Illinois. There were more tolls and I'm having a problem getting cash since the Wells Fargo branches are few and far between or completely non-existent in this neck of the woods.
I'm learning all about service areas. If you are on a toll road, the game is not to take an actual exit and have to pay a toll. Then you get another ticket to get back on. So, on toll roads, I'm sure you all know this, they have service areas where there is food and gas and restrooms and it is all part of the toll road. And there is such great food at these service areas. Man, am I eating a lot of crap.
Monday's drive ended with me 7 miles from destination and according to Google Maps, my good friend, I only had another ninety minutes of driving. I learned later that 4 big rigs had crashed in front of me on the I-80 just outside of Joliet. I sat in the middle of corn fields for about thirty minutes.
And yes, since we were stopped and I am a fool, I launched the drone to take a picture of the line of semis in front of me. I had to hurry, since as soon as I did, the people around me got into there cars to take off. But they only took off to drive backwards up the on ramp. I followed them and made my escape to the side road. This road was packed but it did have the benefit of moving. It only took me another twenty minutes from there to get to my hotel, the lovely Fairfield Inn in Ottawa.
Tomorrow, Nebraska. Or today. The time change of gaining an hour by coming into central time has popped me awake early. The beautiful breakfast buffet won't be served until 6 and I'm eating before I get on the road.
Short Story - Greg - 08-03-2016
As I noted before, I went out with my Lynch cousins on Saturday night to the monstrosity of a Chinese restaurant that is Kowloon.
As is usual at these occasions, we swap stories of our fathers. My cousin David, who is closest to my age of Uncle's children, told a story that brought joy to my heart. I think it was supposed to be a horror story but I never saw it. My cousins children know how exciting these evenings can be for non Lynch's. David's son Kevin, although desperate for Chinese food after two weeks of working for Habitat for Humanity, decided to stay at home rather than be the only sub-thirty year old there.
To give some context, my Uncle Jim Lynch was in the military his whole life. He eventually attained the rank of Brigadier General in the Massachusetts National Guard. Most of the stories about him reveal how strict he was. Unless they are stories told by my father, then he is the fuck-up that burned down the family home.
David tells the stories of how arduous were the family vacations up to Canada. Uncle Jimmy made strict time table of when they were going to leave, how far they were going to travel each day, and when they were going to eat. They packed the car the night before and had drills about getting into the car. The family was made to pack an over night bag in addition to their main bag. If they needed something from the main bag on the first night's stop, they were SOL.
David talked about a stop at a picnic area that was referred to as Bugville or Bug Town. When David mentioned the name at dinner, the other siblings visibly cringed. It was called Bugville because the bugs were so thick they could barely eat their lunch between swatting at the flies. David was of the opinion that Uncle Jimmy chose this spot because no one wanted to sit there very long. This meant the time wasted on the stop was kept to a minimum.
I think I was supposed to cringe at the in-humaneness of my Uncle Jimmy. But all I could hear was plans and schedules and being in the car on time and only felt admiration for my Uncle. I don't know what these people were bitching about. I would have loved to have been on that trip.
Road Hypnosis - Greg - 08-04-2016
I'm at the point of the trip where I just want to be home. I'm tired of overeating but can't stop myself. I'm tired of the endless miles of cornfields. From my vantage, it seems the whole highway system in the midwest is under construction.
The drive from Ottawa to Kearney, NE was uneventful. Except for the fact there was a fault in the podcast download, so I ended up listening to XM radio for the entire journey. I now know their play list is about 2 hours long. And I can make your hands clap.
I was playing a game, though. I was going to listen to Alt Radio on XM36 until I heard Blink 182's new song 'Sober'. I had heard a snippet of it the day before and felt I needed to hear the whole song. Despite 8 hours of the station, I never heard it again.
Kearney was just a wide spot in the highway. I asked for restaurant recommendations, hoping I would get the great response like I did in Boston with directions to some great restaurants. Instead, the counter woman just told me what restaurants I could see from the parking lot. Maybe these towns don't have good restaurants? I ended up having BBQ at some place called Skeeters BBQ. My waitress almost got the no-tip option for incredibly distracted service. How can you forget I wanted French Fries in the two steps you walked from my table? I guess you could have written my order down rather than relying on your memory.
She saved it, though, by asking me if I wanted a To-Go cup of iced tea for my drive to the hotel. Damn, I'm a sucker for that.
The corn field driving of the plains was relieved by the climb into the Rockies through Colorado. There were some beautiful canyons to drive through and I took some pit stops along the Colorado River. I got some angry fist shaking in Denver as I showed the locals the proper way to merge when losing a lane. They were angry I drove to the actual merge point rather than cutting in as soon as possible.
I drove through the Eisenhower tunnel at the top of the mountains. I also drove through the tunnel I was supposed to be building for the movie 'Mr and Mrs Smith' At least it looked like the reference photos.
For the first time, my hotel room was not ready by the time I showed up to the hotel. Rifle, CO is crowded because the Rodeo is in town. They also have 3 Kum and Go gas stations. I had an hour to kill. I asked at the desk for a good hike in the neighborhood. The clerk sent me on a twelve mile drive to Rifle Falls. I guess they don't know the meaning of nearby.
The Falls were less than spectacular. This became even clearer when I climbed to the top of the three cascades and noticed that the middle cascade was coming out of a pipe. Plus, the whole area was full of yahoos which I always adore.
The clerk at the desk was like the clerk in Nebraska about giving restaurant recommendations. She even mentioned one restaurant that she had never gone to but was planning to go there that night.
I have two legs of the drive left. Today I drive to Vegas and it's quite a long drive. The final drive on Friday is a four hop and I will be home.
There is also a movie stop along the way. One of the first films I worked on called 'Sundown:Vampires in Retreat" has one of it's locations along the route. I worked there with Mr. Lyndell back in 1988. If I want to add 90 minutes to the journey, I can drive to Moab where we stayed for the filming. I'm still debating whether I want to make my journey longer than it has to be.
Hippocrite Greg! - Greg - 08-11-2016
After all my moaning about not pulling off the highway and stopping, I did it again on the drive from Rifle to Vegas. But I did have good reason, I wanted to go down nostalgia lane. Again. I love that place.
Plus, I decided it would be a good place for breakfast rather than waiting for the breakfast buffet at the La Quinta. I can rationalize with best of them. My mother has trained me well in the arts of hypocrisy.
Well, the stop in Thompson Springs, Utah sparked a lot of memories, mainly because the place hasn't changed an iota in the intervening 28 years. Thompson is basically a pit stop by the side of the railroad tracks. It has a closed cafe and a closed motel. These were the same ones we used for the movie. The population of Thompson when I filmed there was 7 people. The major activity was the waste trucks that would constantly fill up at the edge of town and drive off to points unknown.
While I remembered many things about Thompson, nothing came back to me as I drove through Moab except maybe the turn to the River Road. I couldn't find the house where I lived on a fold out couch for six weeks. I couldn't remember any of the restaurants. I didn't want to waste any more time trying to find the old airstrip where we built two mansions. So, it was a big win, driving thirty miles off the freeway chasing the ghosts of my youth.
One of the problems with driving cross country is not knowing where the rest stops are for bathroom breaks. When I drive the five hours from LA to Saratoga, I know every pit stop along the way. I can tell you to the minute how far it is to the next bathroom. Drive through the trackless wastes of Utah and Nevada is a different proposition. There aren't a lot of handy signs telling you how far it is to the next rest area. The gas stations are few and far between. Couple that with my pea size bladder and my diabetes fueled constant thirst and you have recipe for wet car seats. Let's just say I wasn't completely successful in my hunt for a bathroom by about a minute. If the off ramp wasn't so long and the gas station was a little closer to the freeway, things would have gone better.
I stopped for the night at the South Point Hotel which is this monster of a hotel complex 5 miles south of the strip. It's a western themed place complete with an indoor arena for rodeos. If I had come in a little earlier, I could have seen a roping and shooting demonstration. As it was, I went to see Ghostbusters instead. There was absolutely no allure to the gambling.
I had a crappy dinner in the El Dorado room which was just off the casino floor. The restaurant has a no smoking policy. But since the only thing separating it from the smoke filled casino floor was a planter box, I wondered how they explained to the smoke not to cross that green barrier? Let's just say planter boxes aren't a great deterrent to airborne carcinogens.
As I was driving in to Vegas, I was tempted to push on home to LA. But I didn't. I also wanted to sleep in the next morning so my arrival into Los Angeles wouldn't correspond with rush hour traffic. I woke up at 3am and figured if I pushed it I could get through LA before rush hour really got going.
So, I loaded the car and headed off. I stopped in Primm to buy the most expensive gas of the trip. I also got to stand in line behind some customers who I think were still up from the night before and were spending their winnings in the gas station. As a matter of fact, the casino floor at the South Point Hotel was still lively as I dragged my bags through.
I came home to the rapturous welcome of the canines. Maeve was so excited she smashed her head into my face, chipped my tooth and bloodied my lip. Good to be home.
As I relaxed and reveled in surroundings I hadn't seen in 21 days, I realized I was pulling out again in just five days. That didn't seem like enough time to get ready.
It wasn't.
Ow - Drunk Monk - 08-11-2016
When I first moved out, I spent a night reading the phone book because I didn't have a tv and read the few books I brought already. The phone book was filled with fun facts like if you chip a tooth, you should store it in milk until you get to a dentist because there's a slim chance it can be reattached. The fact was repeated several times in the phone book so it stuck. I got to use it a few years ago when someone chipped a tooth in Kung fu. Our school was next to an Indian temple so I knew they'd have milk. It worked.
I got nothing for Budapest more than this. I should be backpacking in Yosemite now, but I'm lying on the floor next to my poor pup.