The Story: Planes Trains & Automobiles -- III

"I guess this is probably a good time as any to tell you this. Our tickets are only good to St. Louis. St. Louis to Chi-town is booked tighter than Tom Thumb's ass."

(Del)

Hurricanes, Failing Trains & did I mention and Automobile?

Friday came fast - we had crossed AZ, NM, and were trudging through Texas. But to my dismay, I received an email on my smart phone indicating that my connecting train to Atlanta from New Orleans had been canceled...and no reason was given. Immediately I called the 800 number and talked to a representative to confirm the information I had received. She, indeed, told me the train had been canceled and it was due to a Hurricane warning, which of course was odd, because at this point, the Gulf had not been under threat - and Irene was headed for the Atlantic Coasts. I even asked her, "why not continue to with the schedule? Do you realize a lot of people will be left behind." 

I kid you not, her answer to me, the most indifferent tone I've heard yet, "yeah, a lot of people will be stranded, but you can take your ticket to the counter when you reach New Orleans and they'll refund it for you."

I'm certain disbelief crossed my face. Nevertheless, I hung up the phone, informed my car tenant and the couple of people around me, in hopes that the word would get around. (By the way: it didn't, nor did the Conductor ever make an announcement). 

Afterwards I went to the lounge car and met Nate. New Orleans was where he called home, he was beatnik, in his mid-twenties and had just finished riding his bike 4000 miles from New Orleans to San Francisco in two months. Seriously, that's way too true for me to make up. It certainly made for great conversation, as we spent most of the day bantering and swapping stories - like where he camped out and if there were snakes or why I thought Jack Kerouac was an fine author. It all made up for the time we spent at a stand still in Texas - building up the hours we'd arrive late to New Orleans. 

We chowed on questionable food from the Amtrak dining car, toasted to our adventure with a shot of rum from his secret stash and in the end raved about the live jazz scene I wouldn't get to see that night. 

Finally, at 9pm Friday night, Amtrak rolled in New Orleans Union Station. 

My dear friend LaDonna, who'd been waiting hours - was sitting on a bench studying and waiting for me. Nate and I said parted ways, promised to keep in touch and LaDonna and I took off into the night - headed back to Pensacola. She told me her husband wanted to get up the next day and join us on the journey to Atlanta...the last leg. 

So after we had our fill at a Applebees (really Salad is about the only I could stomach) - we headed for the Panhandle....to pass out.

Morning came, and the Automobile took me Atlanta.....

Taking our time Saturday morning, we ate breakfast, rushed in and out of the bathroom, and made a stop at and Office Max for school supplies. Hey, ya just can't be a 15 cent deal. 

The last leg, while it was the shortest, it was perhaps the most meaningful with good friends, heartfelt chats and sandwiches for lunch. I wasn't sure I ready to come back to a city I had left behind in haste, but ironically the two people who convinced me to move here in the first place nearly 6 years ago were the two people escorting me back and pushing me toward the next step in my journey...on the verge of a dream realized. 

Grateful for their friendship and weekend inconveniences, I did most of the driving and it gave me moments to reflect - driving always did that for me. Of course, when nostalgia set in, I subjected my friends to music from my San Diego Family...and hey - the hippies gained two new fans. 

It took a lot to get here and I probably had moments of questioning what I was doing. Ultimately though, I have never felt so much peace and patience through a complicated situation. Somehow, it just didn't bother me and I knew then, my Cali groove was finally showing through. It felt great. And in spite of the losses, there was always a conspiring gain that fit the puzzle and gave me story to tell - a week long adventure. Amazing.

All it was missing...was Steve Martin & John Candy - no?

One more thing: Peace and Love to all contributed to helping me along the way - you're beautiful!

Neal: "As much fun as I've had on this little journey, I'm sure one day I'll look back on it and laugh." // Del: "Are you sure?" // Neal: "Oh God. I'm laughing already."

The Story: Planes Trains & Automobiles -- II

"Six bucks and my right nut says we're not landing in Chicago"

(Del)

And then there was the Train...

Monday and Tuesday passed quickly. I got some extra sleep, took care of making sure I had my apartment set up, and sold my dead car for scrap money.

((Side Note)) While all this was going on, Libya was exploding. Rebels had reached Gadhafi's compound and I watched CNN reporter, Sara Sidner - dodge bullets over her head. In between phone calls, I watched in utter fascination and disbelief. The people of Libya were claiming their freedom. Reporters were making phone calls while on lock-down at a government run hotel and I knew going into work less than a week after this was going to be something else.

But back to the next leg of the trip.

Wednesday came around and I was supposed to hop on a train at 3pm. It would make a pit stop in Chicago and Washington DC before actually arriving in Atlanta on Friday-- late night.

At noon, I thought it wise to make sure I knew where the Amtrak station was and quickly did an internet search. I called my cousin and we confirmed -- there was no such station in Las Vegas. I was severely puzzled and concerned at this point - so I checked my ticket and called Amtrak.

Sure enough, I had a blond moment. Apparently, I didn't fully read the city stations carefully enough. No, it didn't say Las Vegas, NV. It said Las Vegas, NM. Really? Who the hell knew there was Las Vegas New Mexico? Well, of course, my dad told me, he did. He'd passed through it driving and it was a backwater town with tumbleweeds. [Insert Grim Face Here].

Anyway, I talked to a lady at Amtrak and she was able to re-route my train from Phoenix to New Orleans and then to Atlanta. But, I'd have to find a way down to Phoenix...that is Maricopa, another small town just outside Phoenix that I had once passed through while visiting from California. Deep Breath, what a mess. But it was going to work out, and in the end, cost me less.

So- I booked a Plane.

I called my Aunt Margie and explained the ridiculous situation I had put myself in and asked if she'd be gracious enough to pick me up from the airport and whisk me away to the train station in time to make a 1030pm departure. Frankly my awkward misfortunes and adventure played well in her favor as it would give us a chance to hang out, however briefly-- before heading to the other side of the country.

I wasn't excited about the trip to an airport. With TSA under fire for molesting people and the pain of having to carry what luggage I thought was so essential (including a travel backpack, a large suitcase on wheels with as many clothes, a pillow and a computer all stuffed in it, a guitar case, a camera bag and Partridge in a pair tree) --and airlines charging for checked baggage, my annoyance level goes on high alert. But for the first time in a long time, I tried to go with the groove of day - which hadn't been so bad, just busy. I briskly moved through the counter and even talked the woman into only charging me for two bags instead of three (no, seriously, they wanted to charge me for my sleeping bag, that, by the way, was attached to my backpack. joy.).

Security went smoothly and I can only guess that's because the Mafia is running the Las Vegas airport...and they recognized me. Finally, I was able to head to my gate and just sit down. Of course this meant that my scenic view consisted of slot machines - meant to tempt my fate and steal my cash. Thankfully, I don't carry any.

The plane ride was short sweet and to the point.

I hopped off and waited in the terminal for my guitar - which the pilot carefully and kindly retrieved for me. Headed for the baggage claim and called my Aunt. We fumbled with Maggie the GPS - and finally calculated semi-correct directions to the train station. After being told the train would be late, Aunt Margie and I went hunting for a place to eat. Surely - at 10pm, all the restuarants would still be serving food. Then again, our choices were slim: a bar with bad music, McDonalds and Sonic. This after discovering Subway closed, Panda Express didn't have half of what they're menu said and a pizza place that wouldn't fudge to a make us a couple of slices.

I mean really, no charity for the starving hippie and her Aunt? What do people do in this town? The answer was obviously: nothing. So we settled on bad food and tasty drinks at Sonic.

We parted ways and finally, it was time to take the train - which by the way? I still didn't board until nearly 1am Thursday morning. Thank heavens I had two seats to myself to fall asleep. My back would pay for that sleeping position later.

At least I would see the country side, sort of, on the south west, south side. And, my layover was an overnight in New Orleans...so I would just make the trip complete with a night on the town, live jazz music and a fine dinner on Burboun Street. Classy. I called my friend in Pensacola and asked her to join me. - Of course - she said yes.

Settling in, despite on the mishaps, things were looking great and I was going to enjoy the ride.

TO BE CON'T....

The Story: Planes Trains & Automobiles -- I

"When I'm dead and buried, all I'll leave behind are some shower curtain rings that didn't fall down. 

Some legacy, huh?"

(Del)

It started with a Car...

Less than an hour from Las Vegas, Nevada and my car had over-heated for the 3rd time. It was 6-AM and my friend Sara and I were on the ramp of ho-dunk town, California: "Baker," California to be exact. It was quiet and rather quaint - it had a gas station, a Big Boy restaurant and and an IHOP.

I rolled my eyes and thought, "well, car's done." I chuckled out loud and Sara swore in a mocking tone.

After two previous stops to fill up the anti-freeze, let it cool and take time for a nap, the car had buckled on its last legs. It was an awkward moment, like when two people choose to go their separate ways and no one has anything better to say. The ol' car just wanted to die, I guess. Still, there might be hope, right?

I called my insurance company for a tow. Yes, it was the second one in two days. I had grave suspicions that Firestone had not done a good job the day before. Ironically, I stood there on the exit ramp, trailer hitched to my car and waited for the Insurance lady to call the police, because heaven forbid we stop traffic for all of 6 cars in an empty town.

It took the police nearly an hour to arrive. And even then, he used the bumpers of his patrol car to guide into the gas station parking lot. It would be another hour before a tow got there.

The tow guy arrived (relief!) and jumped out of his truck to find out where he need to take the car - but unfortunately, his English was broken and my Spanish, not brushed up enough to make any communication go smoothly (lame!). Finally, I told him he'd have to wait as my insurance only covered the first 30 miles of a tow and I wasn't going to pay $7 a mile for 80 miles to Vegas. Thankfully, Sara was able to call her insurance and convince them to get us there the rest of the way for free (Hallelujah!).

We got the car to another Firestone - though I don't think they're a branch, just affiliated. It was more like a good ol' boy garage and I was happy to talk to men who were honest, more like my uncles and frankly, felt sorry for me. Ha.

Once they inspected the car and did a full analysis - all of two hours later (Thank God for Starbucks, never thought I'd say that) -- they informed me I needed a new motor, there was no oil in the car, the radiator wasn't flowing (i.e. San Diego Firestone didn't do the flush they said they did) and a host of other things on long list of repairs. Confirmed: Car Dead.

At one point my mother called, I answered the phone and I laughed. She scolded and said, "It's not funny!"
"Mom, it's totally funny."

There came a moment when I realized I just didn't care. I had the car for 7 precious years, it was 12 years old and it had been my sanctuary. But it was done, and it just did not bother me. I would figure it out. I always had. Besides worrying about it wasn't going to change the situation. It would only stress me out further and that was not something I needed after coming off nearly a year of un-stressing.

Needless to say, I made arrangements to stay at my Uncle's house - who, though not home, was able to put me in contact with my cousin and make the arrangements. My friend left for the airport. To top it off, my dad was able to graciously help me arrange to have my belongings in the trailer picked up and would later ship them.

Meantime: I made reservations for a Wednesday train from Las Vegas...

TO BE CON'T....

Nostalgia

I have never been to New York City - and now more than ever - I want to go. I dare say, a part of me has always wanted to see "America's City," but since 9/11 ten years ago, I have had a more urgent reason to see this place for which hatred dared to try and destroy.

I remember where I was that day - in a classroom in Kansas City, the middle of the US, watching a grown man cry, classmates express anger, sorrow and weeping. I remember sitting there bewildered and zealous. It was a like a whirlwind had stung the room and I kept wondering, "what's next?"

Hatred lost that day. 

Since then: The world has changed. I have changed. And so has everyone I know. As we've heard the stories, watched families grieve and as a country come together against extremists, there is one thing that remains vital: fear cannot stand for long. This year in particular, the Middle East, in my opinion, is reminding us of just that- dictators are fleeing and this generation is demanding change, peace, love, grace, equality, humanity.

We have a rare opportunity to come together again. This time, in far greater unity than we've ever known. As every news channel runs memorial specials and documentaries discussing the politics and reminding us of what happened ten years ago -- remember who you were then and know who you are now. The greatest hope for change isn't a Black President or a group of Tea Partiers making their way into Congress. Hope for change doesn't come in numbers or statistics. The greatest hope for change is humility. When we realize everything we can do better tomorrow for someone else and when we realize the privilege we have to live limitless and band together for the greater good: change-happens. The world gets a little brighter.

In the end: hatred loses, love wins, grace is found - and we're making the difference.