First trip
September of 2002 brought the end of Malcolm and I living again in the same state. I drove him out to New Jersey where he eventually headed up to his new home in mid-state New York. Here's a shot taken just before we got on the road.
September of 2002 brought the end of Malcolm and I living again in the same state. I drove him out to New Jersey where he eventually headed up to his new home in mid-state New York. Here's a shot taken just before we got on the road.
A shot of Malcolm's plane, just yards away from freedom. Notice the gaggle of "rides" in the bottom left-hand corner.
Every guy that I asked "What picture do you want me to take on the trip?" mentioned something about shots of where we would pee. Except for Ty and Jeff, you cherubs.
Pulled over to fill up, but the gas station was closed - leading to our near gas out nearly 40 miles later. Luckily this fine museum was there so we paid some tribute to our war heros. But not the kind of tribute that helps financially support things like museums.
This one's for Eve, who wanted an odd roadside attaction. I know, it's not as odd as it could be, but there was a fence so we couldn't climb on anything.
This rock cairn was the "gravesite" for Billy Clanton, Tom McLaury, and Frank McLaury. Malcolm said these were the guys shot down by Wyatt Earp and crew at the OK Corral. I guess I trust him.
Two cowboys drowned. That's it? I'd also like to point out that I don't think they used steel tubes and metal plates as headstones back in the day.
"Is that where Nathan Lane and Robin Williams performed?" asks the man with a masters degree. This was the place to be in ol' Tombstone. Everything from burlesque acts to touring musicals would grace the stage of the Bird House Theater. Apparently there are over 100 bullet holes in the place as well. (naming error intentionally left in to make Malcolm feel better about himself)
It's hard to tell from this picture, but Bisbee is cool. It's nestled into this valley and is full of artists and musicians and other liberals. I jest. It is a really quaint and delightful town. Everyone we talked to was very nice.
We asked our waiter to tell us about Bisbee, about what made it so special. He was a little flabbergasted and just said, "Well, I grew up here and then left. Then I came back because I didn't think there was anyplace better in the world."
I don't have one ready right now, but I'm pretty sure there is a much better name for your salon than "Pickles". At least they didn't ask their neighbor Felix to make their sign.
The site was actually quite nice and well maintained. Except for the rest room which we left without using. They had plaques for all the soliders that died there, an assortment of weapons from the era, including Davey Crockett's rifle and the coonskin cap John Wayne wore when playing Davey Crockett in a movie.
This one's for Howard Ayers, postmaster in Selma, CA. He's a good man who puts up with my incessant questions about the intricacies of postal operations.
I have no idea what building this is, but I thought it looked cool. One of the things I love about Texas is how proud they are to be Texans. And Americans. But usually Texans first.
This was the entrance to our hotel, just a block from Bourban St. It was very nice and the service was excellent. Except for the valet, but let's stick to happier thoughts.
A shot from ourside our hotel looking down to Bourbon Street. We didn't take the camera out with us the night before. It just didn't seem right and I'm glad we didn't. How else would we have held our cigars and our Hurricanes?
If Tombstone was history exploited and The Alamo was history preserved, New Orleans felt like walking through history. The buildings felt like they hadn't been touched for 100 years - except to add neon signs to, of course. The French Quarter just felt old and fun and exciting.
The lovely courtyard of our hotel. It really was a nice place to stay and the rooms were very quiet. Once inside, you couldn't really hear any of the debauchery on the streets.
This sign pretty much summed up New Orleans. Opens at noon and closes at some indeterminate time in the future
Saturday night we made our way down to the world famous Cafe Du Monde for beignets to top off the seafood gumbo, po-boys and hurricanes. They were delicious, even though Malcolm claims they are just elephant ears. We went back the next morning for frozen cafe au lait, but there was a line down the block. No thanks.
Do we need a store just for capes, cloaks and shawls? Apparently you do in New Orleans. Actually, that seems oddly appropriate for New Orleans. Helps keep the vampire tours in business I suppose.
Joe Crevino specifically requested a picture of Malcolm in the bathroom. Here ya go, Joe. On a side note, Malcolm maintains a personal "Crap List" and is trying to take at least one dump in all 50 states. Mississippi makes 39.
While we were at the visitor's center, an ariel battle broke out between a Navy F-4 and some rogue Cuban MIG's. I was able to take this quick picture just before our boy in blue splashed the last of the MIG's. And then we all had ice cream together.
Another travel tip - along with the connecition that got me the job - came from Brian Marshall, who was born and raised in Jacksonville (ed: turns out he wasn't). We hit The Jacksonville Landing for dinner and it was great. Right on the St. Johns River with fabulous views and fine dining, it was a great place to celebrate. Kinda like a Bayside-lite, for those of you from Miami. Malcolm refused to go to Hooters.
What better way to celebrate our arrival in Florida and total manhandling of I-4 than with deep friend gator parts. They looked like calamari - the good kind with the little tentacles - but tasted like, well, like something else. Not quite fishy, but not quite chicken either.
A shot over the St. Johns River from the Landing. It was a perfect night to eat outside, slightly balmy but with a cool breeze.
This is my daughter Ali on the left and Jessica, Jimmy's youngest girl, on the right. They had a fun time playing together over at the Rose's.