Vegas by night

The bright lights of the big city should be seen, and that means a night flight over Las Vegas. The MGM Grand, looking ... grand. That famous pyramid thing, A mini Eiffel Tower. Lights, Dice, Winners and Losers. And passers by, stranger in the night taking a connection to Denver.

The homeward journey is one of joy and sorrow. Less eventfull than outbound but still an unpredictable mixed bag of feelings. Vegas sure was pretty and in the minutes I was there I started to forget everything else.

I've got a theory that return flights are always easier than outward. The security of a home to go to - the home I left - the home that waits for me.
I've put in my effort, I made it there, the return will be easy compared. Its over a day to get home but I'm two flights in already.

In Vegas I left behind a few dollars for a keyring. In Raleigh I left behind my family, Paul and Kathy. Orlando still has its uptight boarding attendant and Charlotte still has Steve at the greyhound station.
At Denver International Airport, i've left behind a tear I couldn't catch. A symbol of the heart that has gone into this passage. Once more my journey swings from traveling away to traveling toward. Home awaits.

Family Ties

In many ways the last hundred and eighty miles of my journey to Raleigh were the least eventful, but perhaps the most memorable of the trip.
Nothing sinks in when you move from gate to gate. One aeroplane, one airplane. All that changes is the voice that says it.
However, this was different. The greyhound. Passing a BoJangles, Taco Bell, Wal*Mart and Wendys woke me from an hypnotic waking sleep and into a 'nearly home' buzz of anticipation.

This is how I remember America, roads and fields to the treeline horizon. I've only been outside for a total of two hours in four days until now but a window seat on a greyhound can feel a lot like being free compared to the confined walls and departure lounge or an over-wing isle seat in economy plus.

But its more than that, for perhaps the first time I really have been traveling *to* not traveling *from* - and there always feels like a difference. I'm not going from Denver or from Orlando, I'm now really going To Raleigh. Perhaps it doesn't make a difference, who knows. The real difference I suppose, is the feeling of travel. I can see the trees come and go, gas stations pass us by. It feels like we're moving now, i'm not abstracted from the process - I can see the ground move beneath us. Rain is falling toward us from above. I feel like I'm moving now, traveling. Not waiting. Waiting to board, waiting to take off, waiting to land. Now I'm on the road. Moving.

I've been looking forward to coming here, so much so that I've found a way to make it. I nearly gave up at Denver, heck I almost surrendered at Orlando but there is nothing like watching your suitcase take off that spurs you on to the next flight and through trains, planes and automobiles, Family is Family so here I am.

Greyhound

And thats how I ended up in a Charlotte greyhound station filled with its own walks of life. I really mean it. Nodding Steve, walking around. Occasionally inspecting a small portion of the floor and dragging his damp mop over it. And nodding again, only to wander off. I suspect he's been mopping the toilet floor too and wonder if he actually has a bucket for the mop.

But the greyhound station brings into light another side of life. Far removed from the buisness seats and free win of the airways. Gone are even the little packets of water and the glamour of late night cattle class flights. This is the bus station, and it brings out your fears, insecurities and prejudice. I've gone from being the lowest class citizen in a white buisness world to the rich boy traveller in an urban bus station.
Hispanics, niggers, A skanky cheerleader of augmented proportions whose homegirls bring all the boys to the yard. A Trailer Trash family. Action man and his army friends, constantly moving around, shifting their bags from one place to another.

Now nodding Steve has a broom. An elderly male bodybuilder, with thinning blond hair and juiced muscles showing through leathery skin. And lastly, a refugee from a Denver business trip, with matched black luggage sporting an Orlando travel tag sits weary, staring at the Namco cabnet where the occasional child plays Ms Pac Man.

These are people too poor or too desperate to fly. Children too young, women too fat, men too old. People who arn't willing to put thier gun in checked baggage. Mexicans without ID who would never make it past airport security. Just around the corner is another datum and scale to measure your life, what you have. What you don't.

Stop the pidgeon

Thankfully I was able to check my baggage at Denver and the throwers would ensure its there waiting for me at Charlotte, so my stop in Orlando was expected to be very brief indeed.

The attendant at the boarding gate had a different perspective on things, and refused to accept my DC/Raleigh ticket for an Orlando/Charlotte flight. After being given the runaround for an hour ping-ponging between desks I was finally able to watch flight 625 to Charlotte take off with my Denver Checked baggage. All I had to do was get on a plane going that way too.

Its times like this when you shudder at what felt like a harrowing experience - the Denver security line:
"Stand with your feet on the mark and your arms out"
(so I did)
"And the other mark, sir"
(so I did)
"One foot on each mark, sir."
(oh god)
In the end, they just seached me down and swabbed ALL of my luggage for chemical residue and sent me on my way. But to be honest, now I made it to Orlando and I've just watched my suitcase take off and fly over the horizon the security gate seems like a small deal.

Finally, many thanks go to a friendly lady from United who actually took the time to sort me out rather than bouncing me to another desk. Now I stand hundreds deep in another security queue.

Orlando.

The twinkling stars reveal themselves during a nightflight. Vast and distant as you feel yourself getting ever closer to thier burning magnificance.
You make up constellations as you stare at the shapes, thier patterns becoming familiar pictures against the blackness.

And slowly each one reveals itself by its shape and the guiding symmatry of a population centre under the flight path it becomes easy to find. Junctions are a bright spot of butter on a breadcrumb trail freeway.

Closer. Shopping centers distinguish themselves.

Closer. Cloverleaf junctions, white mice cars scamper on a yellow brick road.

Closer. Cars have two headlights now. Empty parking lots awash with a halogen sun.

Now you see a runway. Now you feel it. The safety belt sign finally gives up and we are free.

My way or the Fly way.

Learn the hard way if you want, but assume the hard way is a free hotel romm and a new itinerery IS the hard way and see how it goes.

My way was to get the first Eastbound night flight, reasoning that its an eight hour headstart on the fly-in-the-morning and stay an a cheap motel option the airport guy was trying to push.

And besides, if i'd wanted to fly tomorrow I could have bought a cheaper ticket AND got another paid-for night at the Marriott with another slap up breakfast.

When two-oh-two goes four-oh-four.

So its there, from a stroll around downtown Denver Colorado and a tasty Prime Rib steak and a bar celebrating St. Patricks Month that the Bossman and I part ways at Denver Int'l. Personal car service all the way to the terminal. With a smile.

And only seconds after we parted ways and he drove off, did I see the departures board - Flight 202 to DC - Cancelled. I checked the screen again, flight after flight "On Time", and flight 202 "Cancelled".
Well isn't that a symbolic turning point from the part of my trip that is paid and organised by uncle Disney to that part that is paid for and organised by me. Lets see what the check-in desk guy can do for me.

Well, what he can do is a flight the next day to Raleigh, and after some negotiation will pay my nights hotel room. Great, i've given up a suite at the Marriott for some airport b&b.
We try a few other options and he can put my on a flight heading East that connects to Charlotte - and gets there an hour before my plane would have landed at Raleigh. Its nice he's being flexible, and seems all too willing to help. I wonder if I've ever helped somebody do something they didn't want to do, or worse didn't KNOW they didn't want to do.

Its all too easy to help somebody in need, and its all to comfortable to feel good about doing it. But what I really needed what him to say "Don't fly to Charlotte, its 180 Miles off course. And don't connect via Orlando, either" But I told him I wanted to go to NC and he got me there, and was probably happy to help and felt good for meeting my needs.
There is a lesson to be learned about being helpful though.

So Where Is Denver?

After a little Satnav-less drive in a rented SUV around a suburb we got back on I-25 North, to Denver Colorado.
But there are only so many times you can say "I bet this is nice in the summer" while frozen extremities clang against your thighs before you make a mad dash for a bookshop to warm up.

So we made a mad dash for a bookshop to warm up. Because it was cold. And the icy wind did blow. However it must be said once more that downtown Denver would be nice in the summer, with its wide pedestrian walkways and assortment of shops, cafe/bars, shopping arcades and outdoor seating etc..

I was convinient that we rushed into a bookshop, because not only did I buy a book, but I'd actually forgotten until that point that I wanted to buy a book. Thats either good luck, fate, karma, or what happens when stupidity becomes a way of life due to a frozen brain. And I didn't want to buy a book just because the check out girl was worth checking out, or to burn as fuel in the cold-enough-to-freeze-a-monkey-to-death and windy-enough-to-blow-away-the-evidence City. No, I wanted to buy a book to read.

You get what you pay for...

... and I - at this point - have paid for nothing. But I still managed to turn the available ingredients into a sausage-and-bacon on white with ketchup, the cornerstone of any healthy breakfast.
Healthy that is, compared to the waffles with added carb topped with scarily bright yellow scrambled egg and maple syrup (etc) that make up an american start to the day.

But the rest of the summit and its tasty tortilla lunch went well, being cost effective in my books at the very least.

The summit, of course, it my reason for making this one-day round trip to Denver. Being Dish Networks 5th annual iTV summit no less. And enough to state my main reason to enter the country is buisiness, and explain slowly that 'interactive' and 'tractor' are not the same word - eventually giving up and using "Satillite Tee Vee" In hindsight I should have switched straight to "I work for the cable company"
Always say "pleasure" when she asks.

However, the pay-naught-get-it-all part to this trip is about to come to an end.

Campaign for real ale.

The hotels local beer washed down its damn fine fresh venison after passport ID validated my age above twenty-one. And friendly Roger the waiter ~of course~ made Roger wait.

The brew was alright, drinkable but a little heavy and gritty to my taste. One thing it wasn't was light American beer though, and it went well with the meal - even with the strawberry and baby spinich with roast peppers salad.
Strawberry salad. They might have been garnish, but the good old never-say-die british spirit (and american hooch) made sure I ate them all.

The seven-hour extended day pushed my limits to the end - finall collapsing on waking hour twenty-five to a reasonable, if patchy sleep.

Lose an hour, Gain an hour

Eight and a half hours can go by pretty quick when you have a comfortable seat, nice wine, good food and great films.
Then there is cattle class, Half Baked Air hostesses, half dressed salad and half fresh bread.
~sigh~ But thats only half of my story.

A refreshing nights sleep allowed me to painfully endure as many half cut movies as my half open eyes would let me, and I pushed through the day until its tasty dinner gently rocked me to sleep.

Another year, another post.

Here I am again, Raleigh NC.

Traveling could have been smoother, and the real difference I've noticed is that smooth, relaxing traveling gives you plenty of time to think, but short flights with connections, trains - planes and automobiles and a Network conference with a paradigm of dynamic synergy and digital convergance really stretches the brain matter out like butter over too much bread.

Anyway, the next few posts overdetail a short round trip between London England and Raleigh NC and what went through my mind when I wasn't thinking, as well as hopefully what I was thinking when there was something on my mind.

Ruby Slippers

And suddenly its the day of the return flight, and I'm buying hiking shoes in wal*mart because they cost twenty bucks. And DVDs for a dollar. Thinking about the small fraction of this great land I've managed to see, hear, and taste.

Blighty. London. Gatwick. The North terminal. A little Sofa by a shop selling travel luggage, wondering how many people get to the airport and then realise they havn't got a suitcase.

Breakfast and a Pepsi on the road and a jet lagged blur of diesal fumes and high density traffic has led me back home, and There is No Place Like Home.

If I'm lucky, this weblog will remind me of the times I've had and the traveling i've done - My photo record certianly won't. And while people and places might fade away into the distance, I have with me now a record of what it felt like to travel and a storm in an iced teacup of memories to read and, well remember.

Reading this, as I just have, I'm amazed at how much of myself I've put on display in such a public forum. May we all be this open and honest to everyone who crosses our path.

And I shall conclude my last post with a smile and a nod to those that have travelled with me, those who i've left behind and those who waited for me at home sweet home.
---
roger6345@hotmail.com

...continued...

...And I finished just in time too, as the distant rumble of thunder rattled by bones as much as the sound of semi-automatic gunfire had before cooking and I remembered just how open and outdoors this land is.

As I stood on tree roots outcropping over the sandy shores of Lake Jordan, full and satisfied from my meal and preparing to gather water to douse the last charcoal of the fire, the treeline on the far shore dissapeared in a grey haze. Staring in disbelief as day became night and the haze soaked up more of the approaching treeline.

The water begain to foam and boil as the sound of rain filled my senses, heavy rain like there should only be sea and sky in this world. As I ran for the car, the humid air became a downpour that cut visibility to below two hundred yards and spelled the abrupt end of my camping trip.

So much as the land looks big to me, I must look so small to the land. Unable to tower over even the saplings, I have let go of the city that makes man men and stood in the shadows of natures authority over all things. 'Tis an unweeded garden that grows to seed, and may this garden grow as its whim dictates - with observation, not intervention from us.

Lake Jordan

Back in Wake County, I decided to spend my last night in the US camping out under the stars by the lake. Right enough there were grills at the picnic site, so I took out my Ham on the Bone steak and fired her up. I'm not sure if I went for the 18oz or the 22, but it was a lot of steak.

The picnic sites, like everything else you see comes with consumer choice - with freedom. And keeping it free I drove past the $5 sign at the unattended booth and parked up by the shelter, which was an undercover patio with a good fireplace and a few doublesize grills. It also had running water.

Flint and Steel got me sparks to light the grill, but my efforts were dulled by the book of matches in my pocket which eventually gave me fire to cook with.
Bereft of cooking implements I had fashioned a skewer and fork from live wood - although the fork needed some repair as it couldn't handle the weight of the steak. By the time I was done it had turned into a second skewer.

Juicy ham, fresh pineapple, red onion and french bread all make the most relaxing and filling cookout in its pleasant, open and free surroundings...

Open air nowhere.

And the Chevy has taken me here, To Crotan National forest in the shade of a few trees huddled around some picnic tables and grills. The picnic spot overlooks marshland, which like everything else tries to stretch to the horizon but is cut short when the forest thickens up.

The cool afternoon breeze is in contest with the warm afternoon sun, and together they dilute the city, and even the highway, out of the car, the park and from me as I sit in the open air nowhere and contemplate the open-air somewheres I've been through.

Right here, right now, the only sign of civilisation is an empty parking lot with wide diagonal, American parking spaces. One of them in the shade on the far side, has a sleek black Chevy parked up.

My thoughts turn inwards, despite the open and outward surroundings and I wonder, does this open land really feel this good or will I eventually become desentitized to paradise? The answer can only be that you should make the most of what you have.

There is no traffic noise, there is no anything. Its a forest growing, dying, aging. Its not possible to be alone here, because the forsest and marshland is with you, and it will be with me forever.

Swing Low, Sweet Chariot.

And what a chariot. The car is the smaller model, the 2.2. It lacks the luxuries of its big brother - electric windows and locks - but neither is on the feature wishlist of a holiday car.

It pulls away well, and the drive has been comfortable and easy. Inside the car there is a lot of space, and driving an automatic isn't so bad after all. I'll admit its nothing special, and the handling isn't that great - but I've not had to really negotiate any corners so its not been a problem.

But its sleek, and black, and has no front license plate. The all-girl strip-joint carwash at the begining of this road trip just made it look like a car commercial.

Best laid Plans

I decided not to stay too long in Wilmington, So didn't get to see much of the town. The drive back up to Jacksonville was uneventful but the feeling of distance as the miles clock up remind me of the home I've left behind and miss so much.

Once through Jacksonville again - blink and you'll miss it - I took highway fifty-eight to Atlantic Beach, to see the NC Aquarium. The tranquility of the water and the grace of the sea life fits comfortably with the local pace of life I've been racing past. The water always stirs something in me, and the anticipation of the NC Aquarium gives me renewed purpose to my quest.

The Aquarium is of course, closed for renovation. Sweet Cactus Chicken I didn't even consider that as an option.

Freed if the pressure of a destination, I find myself able to enjoy the journey once more and relax again. I am no longer racing toward the finishing post with any artificial incentive or reward to shape my decisions and guide my actions, but I am free to open myself up to this vacation of the body and mind and drive wherever my sleek black Chevy takes me.

Sleepy nowheresville

Yes the American Highway is an institution. I'm saying this from my vantage point at a riverside cafe, sipping pink lemonade and waiting for my Catfish and Fried Okra to arrive.

Spotting junctions on highways is something of a talent, and not one with which I am familiar. In fact spotting towns can be something of a chore - the only indication maybe being a drop in speed limit and the occasional gas station and diner.

And thats how I found myself here. I'm not sure if I'm in a town, but there is a bridge over a river that stretches so far the trees lining the far bank look like broccoli. There are a few fishing boats, and some houses. There is this cafe and the shop across the road is called "The shop across the road" on a sign above the door.

There are fishermen with straw hats sitting at the bar, a lot of iced tea being served and I suddenly feel like a City Slicker with my NCS baseball cap. I still wonder how much of this is real, and if when I leave they will all turn back to filling their accounts and manning their call centers. But of course they wont, this is thier honest and simple life.

Metropolis

My stay in the veritable Metropolis that is Willmington was sadly brief, and for the most part nocturnal. I stayed up for a while and then turned in to my fourty-dollar motel for a restfull sleep after a few hundred miles drive.

I decided to go the extra mile and see wilmington when I left jacksonville city limits, still uncertain if it was a town or truck stop. Wilmington, like jacksonville, just drops the speed limit on the highway and borrows the cariageway to form its local main street from which the rest of the sleepy town branches off.

Wilmington lies on the coast and gets the full brunt of the atlantic rage each year as hurricane season tests the mettle, and metal, of the local architecture. Unlike sleepy nowheresville further inland there are no houses made of straw or sticks in Wilmington.

There are no signs of the storms in town and the gentle folk of wilmington just get on with there lives seemingly nochalant of their towns approaching annual fate. Hurricane season had started a few days earlier, and there was a storm brewing on the cost off of Florida.

Open Road

...And open the road was. Queue all of the usual cliches about long, broad, straight highways with no traffic. As a driver in the UK you get used to a lane of traffic going slower than you and a lane of traffic overtaking - a constant stream of cars nose to tail.
Highway Seventy was a bit more relaxed about it, the slow driver I was overtaking must have been doing fifty-four miles per hour, so I squeezd the gas up to fifty-six and sauntered past at less than walking pace.

For the first time I felt the attraction of driving, and found myself understanding long distance truckers were indeed national heros. When the road is straight and your speed is constant, you do have a kind of freedom. And I've learned a lot about freedom, and liberty.

You can be confined to the prison of a drivers seat for hours on end and still maintain your freedom. Its an attitude, a philosophy and a way of life. and it's one I want to understand.

A man may live within a walnut and call himself the king of infinate space.

Beyond the Horizon

The drive out of Raleigh was easy at first. Having traveled to smithfield a few times I felt familiar with that little stretch of highway seventy, past Super-K and The Package store, GI Joes, The crazy horse and finally to the big Wendys sign on the horizon, and Wal*Mart.
And then, suddenly, Smithfield. If I drive one more mile East, it'll be the closest from home I've been since Baggage Claim. Except it won't, It'll just be one mile closer to the Atlantic Ocean.

I've forsaken my desire to follow the setting sun into the West, and headed for the coast. Partly because I'll only have a few days on the road but oddly because the Mountains are beautiful in the Fall and its still only June. You just can't hurry nature.

The exact combination of Truck stops and Gas stations faded away like so many cornfields and tobacco plants. But I hit the highway and was king, or president, of the open road...

... Brings us Peace.

... The freedom to make this journey has come at such a small and manageable price, that I am overjoyed to have made it. I am missing my loved ones but seeing - and meeting - loved ones in a way that balances everything out in my mind, if not my heart.

I have and will raise an honest glass to everybody I am proud to call friend, may the charm of being abroad be beaten only by the satisfaction of returning home and having warmth to share with all. Cheers.

Today has been the last time I will see Mary and Jesse for a long time. In all likelyhood years. And for this to happen but a few days after meeting them for the first time is going to be a strain on the transatlantic tie I now embrace as family. I would say they have become like family to me excecpt they are actually part of the clan, in-laws of some kind.

And lastly, An honourable mention goes to harbour, the NC charity that means a great deal to people I have recently met and they embrace as family anybody who needs thier help. May their future and fortunes be bright. Its a sad thought to finish on, but an uplifting one in the effort and dedication they show. May our strengths be as bold as thier example.

Patience and Tolerance...

All in all, I guess I came to the States for a lot of reasons. I came out here to find my brother, and I came out here to find myself. I suppose I was more aware of one that the other, but maybe I'm not sure which. This trip has turned from a well executed strike into Mainland U.S. into a crazy adventure with a few shirts and the promise of a credit card in the post. I didn't fly seat-of-my-pants with A Fistfull of Dollars but I've also done it (to date) without the safety net that a gold card has provided.

Being calm and having peace of mind has become increasingly important to me over the past few years, there is something to be said for being calm. For those who I haven't preached this too: Through Patience and Tolerance we find Peace. Being calm, and having foresight over hindsight has shaped my world view, beyond that I thought it would.

I've traveled this path for a while now and embarked on the journey because I felt there was just a Better Way of doing things. When calm became a way of approaching things, rather than a way of dealing with them the difference washed over me. Its a personal choice, I play very delicate chimes and use a red Buddha to help me focus meditation.

And my philosophy has brought many highways into view, least of which being Interstate-40 which is facing me now. Figurative or Literal I've empowered myself to take action by keeping free and clear, and am now able to do so without compromising my position...