Son of a Preacher Man (Reno, NV)

“D. Her name begins with D. She’s white and she’s from England.”

“Noooo – Aretha Franklin. I know this intro; I know these chords.”

We managed to find another good radio station with familiar songs and another source of pointless conversation to keep us bemused for this particular, peculiar 900-mile journey.

“Listen–these horns aren’t nasty enough – way too refined. (Pause) Definitely the Duh lady from England. (What’s her name?!) Although no one knew she was white until her first live performance. They always said Hall and Oates are blue-eyed soul. They had nothing on this lady.” 

 This is even before the first words are sung. Another 11 hour day, and we are bored silly.

“Do you know why they paint the porch ceilings light blue?”

“Because it looks like the sky?” He asks skeptically.

“Precisely correct. It looks like the sky to spiders, and so they don’t spin their webs there.”

“You are so making that up,” He retorts.

“That’s what they told me when I lived in Pennsylvania Dutch country getting my Master’s at Lehigh. "I mean, I didn't learn the spider thing at university - that came from the Mennonite family next door," I clarify. "DUSTY SPRINGFIELD!” 

And sure enough, I use my new $7 app, put the phone against the speaker, and win another round of our music game.

"I loved that show - NAME THAT TUNE. Why don't they have a show like that now?" He asks.

"There are all these lyrics shows where you have to know the words, and I am terrible at the lyrics. Great with chords; shite with words. I had this one Van Morrison tune I sang in the Pennsylvania group. Three lousy verses - actually it's beautiful poetry AND you have to carry a tune! and I always broke out in a flop sweat every time we performed. I wanna be the Na Na Girl. Kathy Lee Gifford was the Na Na girl."

"What on earth are you blathering about?"

Days 15 – 17 – RENO, NEVADA

Trip: I must have slept a lot, because there are precious little notes from this time period. I do recall salt flats with stone memorials and messages for miles and miles on the side of the road. We are going too fast and they are too small to get a good image, but I notice it is mostly love notes and remembrances of lost ones.

When we arrive at CIRCUS CIRCUS, we enter in an entirely different arena than we are scheduled to be in. We walk for what seems like miles through lots of overweight people in polyester outfits and cowboys in wheelchairs (“The Wheelchair Rugby Nationals!” someone informs us at the front desk.) Lights are flashing and bells are ringing, and there are more jeers than cheers from a fascinated flummox of fairly older folks.

"Do you see all of this splendor?" my wise uncle from Idaho said when we visited Vegas. "Who do you think pays for all of this?" I can still see his sly smile today: "It isn't the winners, that's for sure." And then they move to the outskirts of town and live in the Long Holiday Motel, which reminds me of LEAVING LAS VEGAS.

We had our first Amazing Race moment when we went to the wrong door after more than 11 hours of driving. I am at the top of a flight of stairs with a bad foot and the following:

1.     My Computer

2.     Heavy nap sack

3.     Mini cooler

4.     Suitcase pocket book

5.     His computer

6.     Leather Coat

He has already descended and there is no way I can maneuver my way downwards. Before I realize it, He is long gone. Not even the crab walk is helping at this point, as bags keep slipping off my shoulders (don't spill that drink!) and I am balancing with the handrail - quite a sight, for sure. When I finally catch up to him, our first real argument ensues. It isn’t until much reflection that I understand that in his former life, He never walked with her (or she with Him).

“I guess you’ll have to retrain me,” He grins and says sheepishly.

My Love and I are both exhausted in many different realms: please recall the past 22 hours in the car and miles of casino walk with the bad foot, Amazing Race moment, etc. We finally get all our stuff moved into our lovely hotel room, even the ukulele, despite his protest.

"When are you even going to play that thing," He asks. "I never know. But when when the mood strikes, the uke needs to be there." And that is that.

Settling in after a long hot shower to clean off all the exhaustion and road grime and Oooh - these sheets are high thread cotton - great pillows! Oh yes - We are finally horizontal on a serious mattress. BONUS! Within steps there is a real bathroom with running water.

The people next door didn't share our view of the universe at this point. They have been yelling at one another since our beleagered arrival - you can even hear their words and epithets. It becomes so awkward listening to the demise of whatever they are dealing with, that we changed everything up.

I grab the headboard of the bed and start banging it against the wall, and it's difficult to contain our laughter. Our fake sex noises overcome their argumentation, and that calms that room right down. I think I might have even heard some giggles. Nighty-Night.

The next day, we lost $5 on the slots and were mesmerized by Baccarrat… and that’s all I have to say about that.

(the Erotic Exotic Halloween party on the second night will come at a later time) 

Arches and Marching Bands (Moab, UT)

Moab, Utah – Days 13 and 14

CANYONLANDS (dusty) Campground, lovely folks, 50 cent coffee; 100% rating!

The Moab Husky Marching Band woke us up before dawn when it was still dark. Hell’s Bells: the football field lights are still on to help them navigate their maneuvers. We couldn’t stop laughing in the early morning hour, as they played the same song over and over again. He is in a mummy sleeping bag, and I am wrapped up in whatever I can find to stay warm. As a former drum major of a competitive band, my ass was out of the tent and in the stands watching the dynamics of an incredibly small, yet tight unit. Later, we went to breakfast at the "historic Golden burro Cafe," where five presidents have dined since the (last) turn of the century.

We visited the National Arches Park twice, and each time was completely different. The first day was “severe clear,” with gnarly, jagged red rocks starkly contrasting against a Carolina blue sky. Despite my goofy foot, we manage a nice two-mile hike. On the second day in the park, there is a passing thunderstorm so this is going to be a drive-through. Despite losing our pass, we were able to tap dance our way with the older ranger lady with the long silver braids into entering again.  The sun is dancing through the clouds, casting a mosaic of shadows against the hills.

One evening, there is another frantic moment when I couldn’t get out of the tent. He is so calm and loving, and helps me with soothing words and kind gestures. It was completely anathema to my former life, when I was made to cry for my goofiness and inabilities and would pee myself because there was no partnership with little concern.

Occasionally I would have to set up shop in the middle of the campground to recharge my computer, making me vulnerable in the middle of Colorado mountains and strangers from another time zone. Somehow, I didn’t mind because it wasn’t so strange.

Today we are getting a pair of prescription sunglasses to replace the ones He lost at the Orvis Hot Springs. We drive 10 minutes outside of town and are immediately in the desert, down a couple of side dirt roads, a wooden sign with a pair of glasses burned into it. 

"Are you sure this is it?" I ask hesitantly.

There is a double wide, and further down the dirt driveway is a log mansion.  A man somewhere between 38 and 60 with a long gray ponytail comes out to greet us. Dad gum if he isn’t barefoot and in a tye-dye. Barefoot in November! leading Him into the trailer. He casts a skeptical smirk across his shoulder back at me, and I smile and shrug my shoulders: “UTAH!” I mouth.

I listen to the local Ute Rez radio station, and 10 minutes later He emerges with a pair of Ray Bans with blue-block lenses and a huge grin, thumbs up.

Breaking camp once again goes without incident. A wonderful day so far, even though the Moab Huskie marching band woke us up again with that damn tune. And of course, those are the ones you can never get out of your head for the rest of the day.

27 degrees and Serendipity (Ridgeway, CO)

“We never camped as a family growing up. Although I seem to remember my father pitching a tent in the front yard during a sleepover. Yes, yes – and he came up on us with a flashlight when we were telling ghost stories and scared the bejeezus outta us.”

I fondly remember the love and silliness that was Dad: my brother comes by it naturally. It’s difficult to believe this memory places my father at an earlier age than my brother is now with his two boys. His sudden passing has left a chasm in our family that has never been filled.

I recall the camping trips I took another lifetime ago on the Blue Ridge Parkway with four children, their father, and a Chihuahua – experiences encapsulated and carried off with the wind like dandy lion seeds. But unlike my father’s ethereal presence, my former family is out there somewhere, living their lives without me.  One could argue that a wrenching divorce is just as painful and sorrowful as death.

DAYS 10 & 11

Ridgeway, Colorado

“Do you mean everyone is nekkid?!” my mother asks in an incredulous tone. “I mean – don’t they have those little loin cloths like you see in the movies?”

“No, Mom,” I sigh. “That’s Hollywood trying to keep an ‘R’ rating.”

And I am reminded of all of the modesty and inhibitions that I am supposed to have, but somehow it skipped a generation.

When we arrived after three hours of travel, we set up camp for the first time without incident, working together in tandem as if we had been doing it for years. Appalachian picnic tent with our colors flying, and a nice raised platform for the main tent (although I didn’t think it was too nice that night when I didn’t put my glasses on and tumbled off of it).

Our first evening at Orvis Hot Springs was Saturday, and with the first night of the meteor shower it got a bit raucous with the locals as the evening progressed.

There are several pools, each with a different temperature. The stone paths are lit with ground lights and when you reach the large pool, the steam rises in the sub-freezing temperatures. With the uplighting, it is quite a mist-ical scene. You can only see silhouettes of glistening bodies, and no one pays attention when we disrobe.

The stone path is not only freezing, but it is slimy like a slug trail as well as uneven, making walking with the bad foot glaringly awkward. And then there is always the night blindness. But I have the uplighting and a hand from my love.

Unlike Cottonwood Hot Springs, the floor of this pool is gravel instead in mortar and stones, which makes for a wonderful foot massage. In the corner is the main water source flowing like a strong fountain, and to sit under it is glorious until it becomes painful. On the other side is another trickly fountain with cool water. There are shallow wading areas and small pools scattered about. And this is only one of five pools, the hottest at 110 degrees called the Lobster Pot.

There is a quarter moon, and I am now reminded and saddened about the light pollution dilemma. The last time I saw this many stars was when our church group traveled to Arizona to the Reservation (“Rez”) in the early 80’s, pitched camps, dug latrines, and taught bible school to the local children. Unfortunately, the concept of “Navajo time” has stuck with me over the years.

105 degrees – ouch! And we make our way over to the ledge so that we are not completely submerged. Everyone is speaking in hushed tones and there is a calm atmosphere. Until…

“Oh my Gawd, y’all! These stones are cold! Are y’all here? Oh there you are!”

And she arrives like a bat out of hell, disrobes in front of the one source lamp, cackling all the way. Needless to say, that’s when the party begins. All we could do was shake our heads as cheers arose from the steam, and the tone of the evening was forever changed.

And still the stars fell, and wishes were made.

I wake up in the middle of the night. Dear God, I am still in the same clothes I changed into after my shower. At least I have good socks on, PJ’s, t-shirt and new furry hoodie where I can pull the drawstring tight and have this little circle around my nose and mouth, which is how he finds me the next morning. Several times during the night we wake up and laugh about busting our camping cherry in this manner.

Around 4:30 in the morning, someone pulls in behind us with a really bad transmission – at least in reverse. They have a dog and proceed to get settled. The campsite sets on a dirt road that goes somewhere, and there are people all during this evening going to that place. That van is now setting up camp. Damn, it’s cold. And I have to pee. I manage to get the zipper open and the fly open, and PLOP. There I am on the ground, tumbling off the raised platform onto the gravel. My elbow hurts. More falling stars, more wishes.

The sun is up and my love is outside. I am wrapped up like a mummy and can see my breath, smiling because I did the camping thing in sub-freezing temps – but then again – I didn’t really have a choice, now did I? Within minutes, the early morning van guy is outside chatting with Him, and they immediately drum up a simpatico rapport as if they had known each other for years.

I make a move to exit the sleeping bag – but damn! It’s cold and I didn’t dress right so I greet him from the tent. He is a musician; his partner a yoga instructor, and we cannot imagine a more serendipitous meeting of kindred souls.

Lovey makes a breakfast to die for on the grill that even veg heads would die for. We plan to meet for a soak after they go out for breakfast, and then it hits me. The sunshine is out; in the morning, there is no uplighting and silhouettes. And we’re sober.

This is when the modesty and inhibition kicks in.

“Does that mean they’re going to see us nekkid?” to which he shakes his head and giggles.

Well – I had to write this morning anyway (Freud would have a field day), and by the time I got down there, they were walking back up. A good thing too, because they are part of the 8% ers who wear a suit. And then we have my love who is clearly very comfortable in his natural state, even during the day time.

I don't remember much about that day other than messing around at the campsite and taking soaks throughout the day, but the calm atmosphere and kindred souls were totally regenerative.

That evening, we fired up the grill with our new friends and broke bread together. Soon the instruments came out and we had ourselves in an old-fashioned Hootenanny, although my six chords and my love's play-by-ear were no match, and we were happy to listen to his own poetic, melodic music.

They came over the next morning with proper goodbyes and hopes and wishes to stay in touch. But as we all know, circumstantial meetings rarely turn into long-term friendships.

"There is always room for you to stay in Colorado Springs," he offers. And I can tell that it is truly genuine. 

After packing up (which is like putting a million puzzle pieces back together so everything fits just right), we took our last soak and leave for Moab.

Our first two days of tent-camping go off without a hitch, except He lost his prescription glasses around one of the pools. I simply knew they would be found ("Oh no, they grew legs"). Three days later and a half-state away, they were found.

So there. Either a wishing star was granted, or I asked the Universe in the right way.

Neo-Camping (Vail, CO)

"So this would be 'fancy pants camping,'" my friend who shall remain nameless said. "But keep up the writing," he encourages. "It's enjoyably linear, but a wandering linear."

"Hey- we are making our way across the country, and if someone wants to offer us a place to stay in Vail for the cleaning costs, then hey- We are all over it," I say a bit defensively.

OK - So I'm getting my ass chapped by a couple of folks about the tent camping thing that hasn't happened as of yet, but hold on people~ I am a couple of days behind with the posts and tonight we arrive at Orvis Hot Springs in Ridgeway, Colorado.

In the meantime, we are staying in a wonderful condo with splendorous views. It's nice to stay put for several days while we catch our breath before the next push will land us at the Hot Springs, and we finally make good on the camping proclamations.

DAY 8

An incredibly big day, as we set out for Wyoming to visit Brush Creek Ranch in Saratoga (about 3 1/2 hours from here.) Big not as in long and tiring, but important since his daughter worked there over the summer and asked that we both visit.

The pictures on their website do not do it justice. 6500 acres of gorgeous terrain, a beautiful staff, and tranquil atmosphere. I guess for what you are paying you should get all that! There are multiple activities, from hatchet throwing to horseback riding, archery, shooting ranges, and fly fishing. The facility was (literally) over the top with views from every room, incredible artwork, and tasteful furnishings. Even the privies on the back property are pretty.

But it wasn't until our two-hour ATV ride that the magnitude of the owners' vision truly came to light. They are down to four bison now from 17.

"I never really got hunting these guys. It's like shooting a Volkswagon," our guide says, as the beast merely stands up, snorts and gazes at us with a bemused look. We go off road and shoot one ourselves (with a camera). They are more like cattle than tigers.

We stop at a yurt in what seems like the middle of nowhere, where two workers are building a 360 degree deck. With help for the bad foot, I manage to climb a ladder and enter a remote party center, replete with skins and mounts hunted from the land.

NOTE: More pictures to come later when we figure out how to get them off of his camera. My master's in Educational Technology from 1998 is really coming in handy. It doesn't matter that it's from a prestigious university, it might as well be from 1888.

She and her boyfriend want to come back after they graduate which is totally understandable. The staff couldn't say enough nice things about both of them, and I could practically see Lovey bust a couple of buttons during the visit.

Which leads to a lot of introspection. I was that girl once upon a time and here I am at this point in my life. I always struggled for what I got and never caught the easy breaks. When I finally did in show business, that didn't work out either. The whole "Rolling stone gathers no moss," thing gets lonely, especially when you have lived in as many places as I have.

"I'm not going to join this pity party. She manifested that job," he says.

And then we get into a philosophical discussion when he finally says, "Maybe you aren't asking the universe in the right way."

Needless to say it went south from there.

DAY 9

Sunshine on my Shoulders - God's therapy for my aching muscles~

A Low and Slow day. I am catching up with you and laundry (he loves that I fold his clothes). He is giving love to Selena the Sienna who is pushing 180,000 miles. Oil change and fixing the back latch that broke in the ice storm. This is actually her second coast to coast trip out west, in addition to the one I made to Arkansas by myself with four children and a chihuahua (both are stories from a lifetime ago).

"We have been eating out too much. It is time for grocery shopping and peanut butter. And I'm telling you, this is a deal breaker."

(expectant pause)

"Crunchy."

"By all means! But here is another deal-breaker. Choosy mothers..."

"... CHOOSE JIF."

Oh hell yes, and we give each other a silly fraternity high five in the Safeco in Avon, Colorado. Sometimes it's the very small things that puts your perspective  back on track.

All is good with the world.

Recuperation and Regeneration (Buena Vista, CO)

DAY 5

I need to come up with a parallel set of lyrics for 'Tonight We are Young,' because at this age and after that travel, it would read 'Today We are Old.' 

Lovey went out for a long bicycle ride to remove his heebie-jeebies, while I caught up here with you. The second part of the day isn't pretty; I am sure the sheer exhaustion exasperated the drama. But I can say that it involved a very old, groovy saloon that had been around for 100 years - and had no menu.

"We serve steak, baked potatoes, and salad. Oh yeah - and bread." We're riding the rail at the bar and looked at each other with big grins, since I am notorious for studying menus for a lengthy amount of time and finally ordering whatever the waiter gets.

An anticipated phone call arrived at the wrong time with the wrong message, and things quickly went south.

As Forrest would say, "That's all I have to say about that."

(... for now)

DAY 6

I could immediately tell that this wasn't going to be a family vacation like I was used to when growing up: shopping, an occasional museum and noshing in the local restaurants. Just the fact that you were in a different locale made it all worthwhile.

However, he was on a mission today: Cottonwood Hot Springs, traveling up to the top of Cottonwood Pass, and another dip in the Hot Springs on the way back home (which is wherever you lay your head).

http://www.cottonwood-hot-springs.com/hotsprings/

The outside of the hot springs place was very unassuming; however, the colors were quite garish. When you entered, there was a quasi bodega for the long-term guests in the cabins on the property. On the way to the bathroom was a massage area with music and incense and one of those face-down zero gravity chairs. When I was reading the signage, an older man in vintage Indian garb with a long beard emerged and tauted his services.

“If you don’t feel better at the end there is no charge!” he smiles graciously, as if anyone is going to command a free massage in a beautiful place like this. 

There was a daily chart with the temperatures of the four different pools - 92 degrees to 105 (ouch!)

Except for the obnoxious fellow who loved to hear himself talk loudly (he finally left), it was an incredible experience. We even met a lovely couple from the area and imagined a house exchange together.

The lithium in the pools has left me exhilarated: or is it woozy? We leave and continue on the day’s journey.

"My three friends and I drove our bikes up to the top of this pass, and then we drew straws to see who was going to drive the truck down to meet us."

"Who drew the short straw?"

A sly grin crosses his face. "I can tell you it wasn't me. But one of the guys was hefty even back then and crashed on the way down - really hurt his back." 

And when you look around, there is nothing, and I mean NOTHING for miles.

"And I told him he was going to have get back on that bike or die out here. (Pause) OK - I didn't say that - but it was scary."

You Make Me Smile (You're better than the best)

The switchbacks are nothing different than western North Carolina, but we keep going farther into the clouds, and I am lightheaded now. My neck becomes one of those bobble heads, and I am feeling a bit peculiar.

I said hey - "What's going on?"

  

"You look green around the gills," and I haven't heard that since my mom said it right before my brother threw up on a Trailways bus in the late 1970's in Black Mountain, NC.

"I feel so goofy." I feel like I have several shots of Tequila or something else scary like Absinthe. "Wonky" is usually my word of choice, but I am way beyond that. 

"I feel so goofy," I keep repeating like a mantra, and we keep making those switchbacks and increasing in altitude.

When we finally get to the top, there is one other car at the crest with two people. Lovey gets out - and the wind is totally fierce. Between my foot, the goofiness and the wind - I choose to stay inside. When he comes back, he is gobsmacked by the intensity and ferocity of the weather.

We finally started to make the decline and of course my ears began to pop and everything got a bit better little by little. When we finally got to the bottom of the mountain, he stopped at an auto place to get the windshield wipers changed (a genteel, older lady came out and did it for us). Shortly thereafter, I lost it, and fortunately there was Big Gulp cup on the floor of the car available.

"It's the altitude - it affects some people like this. Are you sure you want to go back to the hot springs?" he asks hesitantly.

(I Hope You Had the Time of Your Life)

We are all the way out here in Colorado, and this is part of his history. I am not going to let a little altitude blow this. We soak again, and the queasiness returns. He has to help me to the changing room which smells like mold because it is so warm, so I just sit my goofy ass down.

"Put your head between your legs if you start to feel nauseated," he encourages. (But if I do that, I will keel right over on the concrete floor and bust something else.)

Afterwards, I lose it again in the parking lot... and it is like I have purged myself of all the negativity and toxins. For the first time in days, I have hope and actually feel much better~

And now we are here.

A bottle of Coke and a pack of Nabs and things are good in the gastro world.

sweet dreams and blues (Nashville-Vail in car)

"OK - I have decided that we are going to stop at every brown sign across America. See there? The National Quilt Museum." (which actually sounded pretty cool).

"The world's largest - no second largest - ball of string," I counter.

We spent four days in Nashville with family and friends: a wonderful introduction, full of hope and myriad possibilities. But it was time to leave, and we decided to bust a move all the way to Vail - 1200 miles and 22 hours of putting shackles down and miles under our belt. I guess I should be making flowery commentary about the beauty and splendor of the American landscape, but at some point during this leg of the trip, it becomes rocks and trees, with mountains and rivers losing their monikers in a blur.

1:45 AM is the first time we are stopped by construction - good sign!

"OK - we are at hour 16 - it is time to ROCK," I proclaim. I have hit a stride and have nearly driven 3/4 of a tank, approaching hour 4. "Put on Zep or something with some dirty rhythm section, because this whiny-ass coffee house shite has to go." I was the one who perhaps put it on the first place.

"Bruce Springsteen?"

"That's what I'm talking about," I do my best homegirl impression. I might have thrown up an old school Air Z-Snap, like my alternative high school students taught me in Arkansas in the early 1990's. Anything you can do to stay awake and keep the wondrous momentum going.

And what does he choose?" THE GHOST OF TOM JOAD. If you are a Boss fan, you are in on the joke.

22 hours can get quite boring so there silly games you devise and stories you remember to amuse yourself and pass the time and distance.

"Lynard Skynard is actually the name of their high school gym teacher and coach. They hated him and started one of the best southern rock bands ever. I always wonder who got the last laugh on that one."

"You're making that up. How do you have all of this arcane, useless knowledge?"

"And the guy with the fake stutter in one of his songs? 'You Ain't Seen Nothing Yet.' Dang - and he sings with Ronnie Spector... WHAT IS HIS NAME? Well, he was an NYPD officer. So was Steve Buscmei. The guy on that show you like, 'Boardwalk Empire.' Except he was with the NYC fire department. And what's with the fake stutter thing? Roger Daltry, Mick..."

And of course: NAME THAT TUNE - but it has to be tuned to an oldies station (haha). Now that an overwhelming majority of radio stations are owned by three companies, we seem to be relegated to the same rotation of tunes from the 60's, 70's and 80's. The rules are simple: name the song within the first couple of bars or even when you pop in the middle of the tune. Bonus points to name the lead singer and/or guitarist, album or year it was relelased.

"My family's swing orchestra played 'Bad, Bad, Leroy Brown,' in Asheville back in the 60's and 70's," I tell him when the tune comes on. "My cousins made up half the horn section. Guess my uncle had to adapt with the times, so he threw in a couple of contemporary hits with all of the 30's and 40's stuff. But I wish you could have seen the pianist. She was in her mid 80's, and she would really pound the ivories on that one. You haven't lived until you seen little old couples shuffling to a boogie beat with a full orchestra at the Moose Lodge."

... and so the stories spin~

We finally roll into Vail. I just need to retrieve my computer and knockoff designer pocketbook disguised as a suitcase, except it is like a suitcase now: having accumulated junk across America over the past 22 hours. As I write this I am so tired from the hot springs that I can't figure what our arrival time was - 4 AM?

"I think this thing gained a pound or two during this trip."

"I think I thought I saw that pocket book moving," he quips.

As we are both awaking from a deep slumber many hours later, the first thing I say is "Eddie Money."

ANCHOR DOWN (Nashville, TN)

The Vanderbilt Commodores –  Is this hoighty-toighty maritime or a Motown thang?

Day 2 Part 2

It’s amazing how the condo gentleman intuitively arrives at the car and helps us get all our booty out, and everyone knows each other by name.

A second serendipitous moment, when his cousin is waiting in the entrance for her friend to pick her for the tailgate we are to attend shortly after.

“You know – there are some people who are larger than name tags. They aren’t necessary for people like you,” I tell her when we are in the elevator, to which she demures and then smiles.

After unloading everything, both he and his mom tell me on separate occasions, “Just put the buggy back in the elevator, just press ‘1’ and get out before the door closes.”

“That’s the way we do it here,” she says, as I hobble down the hallway. When will my foot get better? talk about some horrible timing.

Now this wasn’t any tailgate. I thought we had it going on back in the mountains of NC, but this guy had beer backing: we are talking a full set-up with swank stools, a sweet buffet (thanks to his cousin) and TV (yo!) Lovely company and even a couple of Infiltrator Gators invited by an incredibly beautiful cancer survivor.

… who gave us great tickets to the game. However, sometimes the second row isn’t the best row; hence everyone using your seats as a walkway to their seats.

We moved and it was an awesome spectacle – which is what I see when I go to a football game. There is so much more than a ball moving up and down the field - check out the people!

"The movie business is basically 'carnies' with money and all their teeth."