got a new camera

Yeah yeah, I know...Virginia is for lovers.

DC, Philly, Jersey

Norfolk

The next morning, after a wonderful short evening in the cricket bungalow, I lolly gagged my way to the clump of cities that take up the entire southeastern portion of Virginia. I planned on booking a room as soon as possible thinking I'd hit the beach that day, but in stead wound up driving in circles looking for my motel that was close to one of those overpasses that you have to corkscrew under at an intense angle while making an illegal u-turn just to be on the right side of the road to enter the parking lot of Motel 6. I'll never be one to profess my love of a Motel 6, but this one made me miss my cricket room and had I been smart enough to leave the parking lot I might have changed my mind and moved on. But it was cheap and I had things I wanted to do so.....

I had no plan, which works out better for me most of the time. Planning ruins everything for the most part, so I'm trying to avoid anything but the most rudimentary of itineraries. Some CouchSurfing acquaintances advised me to check out Ghent. Ghent is where you hang out if you're a really cool college kid who likes to drink coffee, so of course I wanted to hang out there. Not really, but I like coffee so I went to have a look. I had a delicious espresso beverage and checked out the local free magazine that tells you what's going on in the area. This is where I read about the art festival on the Virginia Beach boardwalk, which I just had to see.

I wanted to see the beach anyway so this worked out perfectly. I drove around in circles again for maybe an hour (I'm pretty sure the GPS gods are using me for sport) and paid too much for parking, but I did finally make it to the boardwalk. What I could see of the beach was pretty, I guess. It was swarming with people that seemed all too happy to be rubbing sandy elbows together with millions of strangers. Umbrellas and blankets were stacked and staggered from the sands edge to the surf. There really was nowhere for anybody to be but in the water, which is where everyone was. Hundreds and hundred of people all trying to enjoy the same thing in the same claustrophobic space. I didn't really feel like swimming anymore.

Luckily I hap options. I walked for what seemed like miles up and down the unrelenting heat with hundreds of other art appreciators oohing and ahhing at amazing works of art I could never afford. I talked to artists and took postcards and information so I could investigate my favorites later in room 223. I saw lots of inspiring works that day. And I picked up some souvenirs on the very long walk back to my car.

Lighthouses

I drove on cool and content after the pleasure of a dip at Surf City. Knowing I had no real deadline and no nagging agenda, I just coasted. I meandered. I daydreamed. I sang along to silly songs in the car with the windows down. I drove one-handed, one arm hanging out the window getting browner than the other. I passed quaint sounding towns and streets with funny names and I wondered about the meaning behind them.....Slaughter Beach, Butt Station Road, Croaker, Henpeck Road, Chicahominy, Witchduck Street, Robin Hood Road. On and on until I hit the loose strand of the northern island towns of North Carolina. My grand lighthouse was on this sandy sliver of beaches and resorts. Somewhere. The handy little GPS refused to help me out, but the map put me squarely in the area. I decided to get a place for the night since it was late afternoon already. (You know.....cause of all the lolly gagging.)

I wish I had known that the entire population of upper North Carolina hated the canine species. I could have easily snipped this upper corner of my trip off without a thought. I could have avoided driving in circles for nearly two hours stopping and asking very politely if dogs were allowed at this or that establishment. If I had known before I arrived that the area was anti-pet, anti-best friend, anti-Poe I would have trimmed that stupid huge lighthouse from my plans. Screw Nags Head, Kill Devil Hills, all those silly snooty named tourist traps. You're no Surf City! SuperPuggle and I have better places to be. Like Elizabeth City, an hour and half inland, where two very nice Indian folks felt sorry for us at 8 o'clock on a rainy night. They didn't even look at us like we were as haggard and as grumpy as I know I looked. I bet they wondered why I had a swimsuit on and still had sand clinging to my shins even though we were 100 miles or more from any water besides the heavy rain outside.

This is the night, in my room with crickets in it, at the Travelers Inn, that I realize my camera is a sputtering seizure of gritty mess. That's okay, I didn't take pictures of those intensely blooming mimosas swarming atop those metal palaces surrounded by day lilies anyway. And as far as I know you can't capture any dizzy sweet smells on film just yet. All is well. The day is still saved.

Kill Devil Hills

Before camping I wanted to try to see Cape Hatteras Lighthouse, the tallest lighthouse in America. I drove north, leaving behind room 228 and all its' glory. I'd seen all Wilmington had to offer in my opinion and I'd never even had the chance to get in the water!

I had to right that wrong before I could even put my lighthouse venture into play. So...checkout time came at the Motel6 and the WonderPug and I set out north on Highway 17. I drove until I saw a sign that seemed to tell me all I needed to know.......Surf City 13 miles :) A smallish back country beach community awaited us at the end of a winding stretch of lush green road lined with smart little trailer homes tucked under the shade of intensely blooming mimosa. All the pinkness and the drunken sweet scent are a part of my Surf City experience along with the salted wind and a recently healed sunburn. I enjoy a good detour.

This is where Poe got sand in my camera and may have caused a small technological setback on my adventure, but it was fun to watch. My dog is such a baby. Every time I made it to about bellybutton deep in the water, he had long turned back to save himself from the assaulting waves and probably the humiliation of some other dog seeing what a ridiculous looking swimmer he is. He would sit at the edge of the tide and watch very patiently as long as I faced him. The moment I turned away or sank into the surf to wet my hair and he could not see me as well, he took off toward the first human he could find and sat right next to them. I could not rightly enjoy the water for fear he'd be quickly adopted by strangers. Several times I had to remove him apologetically from the middle a father and his two daughters a few feet down the beach. They might be future puggle owners thanks to my posterchild for cuteness and vulnerability.

Wilmington Two

Later on, not long after I had the privilege of sweating all over historical cinematic landmarks in the subtropic heat of Wilmington, I went for drinks with two very nice girls from CouchSurfer.com. It was nice to carry on a conversation with another human being for more than just a few seconds. My conversations on my voyage thus far had rarely strayed far from where I was traveling from/to and what kind of dog Poe was. I'm pretty sure half of the Eastern U.S. is seriously contemplating buying a Puggle now.

Anyway, I had a nice long walk on Wrightsville Beach with two lovely girls who let me nearly talk their ears right off. We also had some delicious Mexican appetizers and some very weak margaritas. I went back to room 228 feeling a little less alone in the world, knowing I had made two new friends that I plan to stay in touch with and hopefully visit again soon. Poe gave me dirty looks for being out til a tawdry 10 pm, but he'll forgive me soon since I plan to take him camping!

Battleships and sweat

Driving to Wilmington was no long haul, it only being a few hours away from my mansion in North Myrtle Beach, so I took my sweet time getting there and stopped any time I saw a sign pointing toward water. I hugged the coast and loopty looped my way through every beach town dotting the highway. Kure Beach and Carolina Beach were beautiful stops along the way. They are both tiny beach communities of a few hundred box shaped houses with elaborate porches in a multitude of candy colors. A whole candy store of cheerful four story beach rentals in every playful Easter egg shade of Sherwin Williams. If Easter eggs happened to be square.

I snuck into Wilmington through the back door of Wrightsville Beach, the main shared beachway used by most locals. My impression was such that instead of my usual one night stand with a city, I gave Wilmington a solid two days and nights. The first night at the luxurious local Motel6 I planned my attack on this small historical town. The next day would be filled with adventure and spectacle. I decided that instead of hitting the beach the next day I'd get a glimpse of the trendy downtown area.

Wilmington's versatile backdrop has long been used by the movie industry as an east coast Hollywood. With their own movie and television production studios and a constant barrage of visiting screen legends they've been touting themselves as "Wilmywood". The Wilmywood tour I found online guaranteed to titillate and would only take up a short hour and half of my time. I grabbed a cold coffee at the local coffeehouse, Port City Java, and waited patiently for my tour to wow me.

Let me preface this story a little by saying........it was hot that day. I'm a trooper though, so I bought a cold bottle of water and stood as still as possible, trying not to exert any extra energy that might make me sweat any more than I already was before we even got started. I did not realize this was a walking tour in the very downtown area I had already spent my sticky morning in. I'd already sweated near the battleship and dripped close to the entrance to the bar in Blue Velvet. I'd already lost half my body weight in water near the picnic table where something memorable (I don't recall what) happened during the third season of Dawson's Creek.
My tour guide seemed like a nice enough guy. I forgive his somewhat erroneous movie knowledge and his misuse of movie star names. I'm pretty sure Julia Roberts would argue the fact that it was indeed she who starred in Sleeping with the Enemy and not Julia Rogers. But she probably gets that all the time. I really did try my best to listen to this little guy go on and on about........something. But it was hot as blazes and he seemed to be the only person immune. Everyone else in the group was huddle under the one tiny tree we would pass, scurrying like vampires to the next morsel of shade. Or ducking into shops with air conditioning in the middle of his tirade about character actors or what it was like to meet the late Dennis Harper (Hopper). I slunk around the back of the small crowd and waited until we passed the street I knew my car was parked on and ditched like I was guilty of something.

Moving on.....

My week long sentence at North Myrtle Beach was commuted to a mere four days. About 3 days longer than necessary to see the sights. Were it not for my last evening there I might have considered it a waste. The night before I packed up I took the dog for a walk to enjoy the one amenity not falsely advertised. While gazing at the thrashing waves on my stroll along the deserted beach, a sudden electrical storm emerged behind me. There had been threats of a storm every day so far, but until now nothing had materialized. I sat in the cool sand watching the spectacle of an angry sea with one eye and pillars of bruised clouds tangling with nettles of lightning with the other. I was the windswept meat in a force of nature sandwich. I had free tickets to the coolest show on earth for about an hour. When I noticed my butt was numb and that the lightning had dimmed to a weak strobe I tracked down Poe and walked slowly back to my hovel. Within minutes of returning and opening the two tiny windows in my stale, airless room the bottom fell out of the sky. A rainstorm to rival all others began and I laid in my den of squalor listening to the thunder and raindrops and I thought about how the best things in life are free.

Some of the coolest things on my trip so far have been impossible to photograph. I'd never catch the bouquets of arching light I saw that night on my point and shoot camera. And the rollicking waves won't pause or pose for me. The stingray I didn't know I had been swimming with the day before didn't leave his calling card. I'll have to be satisfied with my memories alone. Sorry followers, you get cliff's notes.

I didn't do much in NMB besides admire the endless sprawl of bars, pancake houses and motels. I am curious about the abundance of pancake establishments in the tourist areas. Do people only want pancakes when they're on vacation?

One day I went on a helicopter ride, which was pretty cool. I got upgraded by chance to a longer and more inclusive tour by being a straggler and the odd number to fill the chopper (one benefit of being a loner I guess). We went on a 13 mile tour over Myrtle Beach and it was definitely memorable if not very very short. I couldn't imagine the poor suckers who showed up for the 2 mile tour since 13 miles at 120mph was barely long enough to sneeze. I got to use those pesky math skills I have tucked away too. 13 miles divided by 120mph is really short. It was thrilling and quick and I only felt like puking for about 3 seconds when we first lurched from the launch pad at top speed. I wondered what the effects of half digested bagel and coffee might have on the instrument panel and if the poor folks riding with me would forgive me if we went hurtling into the ocean on their fun sight-seeing adventure.

So long South Carolina, I spent some time in the sand and I tried to slow my brain down and feel like I was really there. Needless to say, I was ready to move on from the roach motel as soon as I felt I'd gotten my money's worth.

Wilmington, N.C. was my next stop. It's small, steeped in history and has much cooler waters somehow than the beaches one hour south of here. It's curious and I intend to investigate it further. Starting now.

Day 7, 8, 9 I guess

I've paid a ridiculously low price to stay at a ridiculously despicable establishment in North Myrtle Beach. North Myrtle Beach is the equivalent of Myrtle Beach's skanky little sister. There are less pirate themed family restaurants and tourist gift warehouses bragging the cheapest souvenirs, but more all night gentleman's' clubs with laughable names and head shops for all of my psychedelic needs. My room is large and sparse and nothing to write home about, but like I said it's cheap, and cheap's my price range. So cheap they're almost paying me to stay here. It has air conditioning (since I threw a fit for a new window unit), two medium sized windows adorned splendidly with plastic tablecloths and a dresser with graffiti on it. There is no TV (I didn't even ask where it went) and I wisely chose to use my own linens (though I may have to burn them when I leave). The roaches and odd smell were complimentary! So I have a glorified doghouse for Poe to languish in while I lounge at the beach (no less magnificent than the "real" Myrtle Beach) and do crossword puzzles and read mediocre forensic crime novels all day.

I figure my snooty sensibilities can hold out for another couple of days before I feel pressed to move on. I've paid for a week, but there's really no need to stay here for that long. I mean, it's swell and all but I fear I may grow to love the atmosphere too much and lower my standards to the point I no longer see the disparity between waxy picnic tablecloths and classy window treatments. That fine line between skanky and swanky may begin to blur.

Some photos for those who asked....

Day Whatever.

I know I lost an hour but I'm pretty sure I did not breach the space time continuum. I left on a Thursday and it is now Wednesday. How that could equal 7 days I'm not sure. I can't honestly say that I even care. That is what Folly Beach, S.C. can do to a person. I'm a beach bum burnout.

Getting slapped around in the spin cycle of the Atlantic for a couple of days seems to have rounded off my sharp edges. My weariness from travel was gargled away by heaving rolls of sea sprite. I am a zen polished stone, shiny and new. And reluctant to leave. Sadly though, my time here is drawing to a close. Today I have to say goodbye to "The Edge of America". I feel like I got a true glimpse of the place though, and that makes me happy.

Knowing I had to hit the trail in the morning, I spent my last evening much as the other couple of evenings I was there. I walked around and smiled at strangers and told people where I was from and what kind of dog I had with me. Tonight I went to the pier where dozens of fishermen lined the edges manning multiple poles and running to and fro like madmen checking all the lines. I got the chance to see them catch no less than fifteen baby sharks and one huge sea turtle. Luckily they have to let them all go or they would get ticketed. I desperately wanted to touch a baby shark, but I was self-conscious about being the only adult hovering around with the dozens of elementary aged kids hoping for the same thing.

I saw some odd looking jellyfish too and started wondering how I'd managed to miss the fact that I was swimming with potentially lethal marine life every day. It made me wonder if anyone would have noticed if I'd gotten tangled with a jelly. Would anyone notice if I laid down on my towel and never got back up? Would they think I was sleeping? Who would save my life? Would Poe pee on me if I asked him to?

The next morning came too early. I begrudgingly packed up and I walked down to say goodbye to my beach. Yes, I'd gotten comfortable enough to consider it mine. Then, when the time came, SuperPuggle and I trekked over to Angel Oak.

Angel Oak boasted to be the oldest tree on the East Coast, so naturally I wanted to see it. About twenty minutes from Folly Beach, right on the edge of Charleston there is an unassuming dirt road at the back of a small neighborhood that leads to a tiny box of a gift shop. And the biggest damn tree I've ever tried to set both eyes on. It was like a cumbersome sea creature wallowing itself out of the earth. Some of its arms were so heavy they could no longer support themselves and had to be held aloft with posts and iron bars. Other branches sagged dangerously low and flowed even with the ground like a massive arm leaning over to escort you or pick you up. I bought more postcards than I needed in the storage shed gift shop and smashed all the dollar bills I had on me into the donation box. I'd hate to come back and that monstrous thing not be there anymore. Admission was free but I would have paid to see such a wonderful thing.

Day 6

Ode to Folly Beach, my dearest destination I never knew I was looking for...your beaches are silken, your breezes are swift, your streets are slow and meandering. Your vibe is equal parts Dogtown and Zboy and the sleepy town of Amity we all know so well from the movie Jaws. Locals and yearly summer occupants can be spotted mixing cordially with the few tourists that find their way here for a week or so. Everyone is smiling and tan and they all look like they taught Swayze his moves for Point Break. Golden tressed surfer boys serve me my iced mocha at the coffeehouse. Even the girl at the Piggly Wiggly looks like she regularly wrangles a board in the surf. The gift shops on the short dense tourist strip are cheap and the shop owners are old and talkative and full of Folly pride. There is no Starbucks, no TJMaxx, no Hard Rock Cafe. I instantly like it here.

My accommodations I've arranged for the next few days are less than promised in quality, but more than I expected in quantity and proximity to the ocean. Everything in my little one bedroom bungalow is chipped and tattered in much the same way as the town itself. Like everyone went on break in the middle of their renovation projects and forgot to come back. Maybe they all went surfing? Anyway, this gives a quaintness that I'm sure most would call "charming", so all is forgiven. I don't have to drive for a while and I can leave WonderPoe "home" while I stalk the beaches.

Day 5

I'm back on track....almost. All I needed was a little nap and some salty sandy feet to put me right. I felt better the moment I left Hilton Head Island and their silly beach rules behind. I moronically attempted to hit another beach the next day and wasted another couple of hours playing the parking, getting change, paying, no dogs allowed game! I managed to sneak onto the beach and stay planted long enough to get a few pictures and let Poe hop around in the sea spray before a nice young girl told me to skeedaddle. That was my first time to touch the Atlantic Ocean! It was beautiful and worth the trouble!

The next leg of my trip was a short one. Folly Beach was a short hour and half drive and it promised a less commercial feel and a more dog friendly attitude. I was not let down. I have a one bedroom rental where I can feel at home if only for the next 3 days. This town feels more like your favorite pair of jeans. Worn out and comfy. The ones you reach for first.

Day 4....is that right?

I'm getting behind somehow. Maybe I just didn't feel the urge to tell the world that day 4 and 4 1/2 were kind of dudtastic. I have to be honest, by the fourth day of full tilt adventuring, the new had worn off. I had to get my head back on straight before I could check in again. I know everyone is anticipating my every move so I apologize, it's so hard being a rock star these days ;)

No really, day 4 was a true runner in my hose as they say and I wasn't at all inclined to share my uneventful day...til now i guess. Day 4 started with sneaking Poe out of the skeezy motel we camped in for the night. In all my sneaking I had left my laptop charger in the car and normally would have gone out to get it, but every time I attempted to leave Poe had a full-scale meltdown and scratched up the door and cried like his head was being smooshed to bits so I was totally disconnected from the world by 9pm that night. I had plans to have breakfast in a place that hopefully allow recharging and net surfing the next morning. I needed to formulate a plan of attack for my next few days. Columbia, S.C. is not user friendly, as the whole town was lacking in outlets and wifi! I pointed my Yaris toward Savannah, hopeful that they were civilized enough to suit my internet needs.

Savannah was hot and I dragged poor Poe all over looking at everything cool to see in the hip and trendy downtown, keeping my eyes peeled for an available outlet and an inviting "wifi" sign. No such luck. I gave up on it and had a cherry cream soda at Leopold's and had a long hot think. They were nice enought to give Poe a tiny scoop of ice cream with a little Milkbone on top too! How cute! We sweated into our treats and right then and there I decided to get to the closest available water source I could find. Hilton Head Beach was only a half hour away! Cool waters, here we come!

Hilton Head Island is what you could expect if every franchise, chain and superstore multiplied like a virus in culture medium and overtook every available bit of land. It was teaming with TJMaxx's and Panera's and expensive vacation rental complexes. I whizzed right by all the shopping opportunities in search of ocean breezes. Frowny and irritated after way too much time wrestling with the GPS, finding a parking spot and searching for green money for the meter we were finally hitting sand! Ten feet off the sidewalk I was promptly informed that no dogs were allowed on the beach til after 6pm! It being only 2ish, I caved and tracked down the cheapest room I could find to wait it out. Then it stormed bad enough I actually looked up the weather to make sure I wasn't the only imbicile in town that didn't know if there was a hurricane coming and I took a deep breath and ordered in some Italian and accidently bought an expensive crappy movie on the tv. Tomorrow will be better.

Day 3

After a successful night in the wilderness (by successful I mean I wasn't eaten or robbed) I set my sights on civilization and moved eastbound again. I had planned to go on a nature trail hike to a waterfall while still in the park, but since there were already bears spotted around that day I was not allowed to take Poe. They explained to me that my dog might be considered bait and would lead to troops of unsuspecting strangers to be mauled. Up until then I just thought they were being rude and incorrectly considered my dog to be somewhat less than the human that he is. Dismayed, but still upbeat, I rode my brakes miles and miles all the way down out of the misty mountains and stopped every chance allowed to take pictures and loll in the wonder. I resisted the urge to buy Moonshine jelly but I'm already regretting it since I'm pretty sure I won't find it anywhere else in the world! Not long after I left the national park we passed through a Cherokee Indian Reservation and along the road was a tiny sign for a yet lesser known Soco Falls. No less beautiful, I'm sure, than the Laurel Falls we were restricted from entering. It seemed kind of odd that such a beautiful thing could be just a tiny sidenote along a bare winding road. There was nothing around for miles besides a bingo hall and a gas station. I happened upon a young happy couple, kissing in the camera and sharing a moment. It made me wish I wasn't with just my dog. I went ahead and ruined their lovely moment so I could get a good picture, but my moment already seemed to have changed too.
Asheville had a hip and trendy little area that I wanted to stay and walk around in but I was filthy from camping and muddy from waterfall climbing and wasn't quite ready to stop for the day. We moved on to Columbia, S.C. and eventually stopped at a crummy motel where I decided to sneak my canine accomplice inside rather than pay for his company.

Roadtripping alone has it's occasional down side. Poe isn't much of a talker and he hogs the bed.

Day 2

For the record....I did do a little Truffle Shuffle once I got to the Great Smokey Mountain National Forest. Who knew that doing a jig in the forest (despite the origin of said jig) actually constitutes a raindance?! Had I known such, I would have abstained until my tent was ready for occupancy. Rather, I pitched a tent in record time only to throw myself into it half drenched to find that it was not waterproof in the least and I had no real reason to move so quickly. Luckily (thank you Rick) I had a tarp that was said to be "the perfect size to fit". It might have been wise to ask exactly what it was the perfect size for because it was not a perfect fit for anything I had, let alone the tent I had in my possession. I lay in my moist tent pondering the reasoning behind having such an invention that provides absolutely no protection from the elements. I lay there, moistly and steamily, eating my dinner from a Dorito's bag. My crunching matched the fierceness of the thunder above my head as I read a snatch of To Kill a Mockingbird and waited for the downpour to let up. I only made it half a chapter before I was let out of my newly inflated and waterlogged casa.

There's no way to describe how amazing the Smokies are so I'll just say they're just tremendously impressive beyond any measure of any scale I've used to describe anything to date. I was shocked that humans were actually allowed to walk around in and breathe all over such a beautiful place. To put their obscene plastic Reeboks on the living earth and let their loud obtuse children crush the blades of heavenly grass and fern with bicycle tires. It seemed wrong that people could drag their artificial living spaces on wheels all the way up here and leave them sitting out in the open to block my view of a pretty rock or a broken limb. It was so beautiful I was selfish and greedy with the awe of it. I took a walk and soaked in as much wonder and mist as I could in the short few hours I would be there.

The old couple in the camp next to mine informed me of a natural phenomenon taking place in the very campsite I was staying in that night. Only by slim chance had I gotten a reservation at any campsite, let alone this very one. Luck, fate, mojo was on my side for unbeknownst to me, that campsite of all the campsites of America is best known for its firefly gathering. Every year in the first weeks of June a particular lightning bug population crowds into the forest around this site and go buckwild. Similar instances of lighted bug orgies of this magnitude are only known in maybe one other place in the world. I'd never even heard of such a thing and wondered if it was anything to get excited about. Only one way to find out! That night when it was still light enough to see my hand two inches from my face I walked up a trail into the deep dark (bear and coyote infested) woods. I was told not to use my flashlight because it confused the bugs.

I didn't notice anything remarkable.............until I did. Suddenly, in midstep, like I'd just stepped into another world. Maybe a world turned upside down, where the stars were at my feet and nothing but blackness above my head. Before I could even put my foot down thousands of fireflies twinkled like Christmas lights in every direction for as far as I could see. They all twinkle as hard as can be four or five times and then all go out at once. It feels like your mind is playing tricks on you. They all stop glowing at once, every single one, for one two three four five long seconds and then their symphony of illumination begins all over again. I don't know how long I stood there watching the repeated glitter and dazzle. Long enough for it to make me dizzy. Long enough for me to wonder how much yearly plane tickets to Tennessee might cost. Long enough to want to cry. Long enough to forget how long I had been standing there.

It was a long walk back to the tent in the middle of the night. I had a feeling those damn bugs had just gotten started. It was cool.

Day 1 1/2

Is it a sign that there was a back to back Goonies marathon on AMC my first night on the road? Am I reading too much into this? Am I too willing to let the programming of latenight television fortell the mood of my journey? When there's no harm in it, does it really matter? In the bleary moments not long before sleep, my eyes were uncrossed just enough to enjoy the glorious ending and the repeated beginning of that eighties cult classic. And I saw a glimpse of positivity and cheerfulness in myself and my current path. Nothing could go wrong, life is pretty good, and look at that...the cosmos have aligned so that this movie of all movies is on! I decided to allow my misplaced emphasis to stand and let myself rally in the feeling that this movie was playing on a continual loop just for me. This tiny inanity seemed all too appropriate and fitting for my youthful temperment after beginning my long-awaited, much-anticipated excursion to find a more youthful spirited self I put on the shelf sometime way back when. When? Anyway, I'm glad my sign-searching only goes so far. That I coincidentally was not at a skuzzy motel watcing AMC the next night when there was a Silence of the Lambs triple viewing. I'm blaming my continued good mood on this instance of happenstance or whatever name should be assigned. I take good vibes where i can get them. I think tomorrow I'll have a Baby Ruth and do the Truffle Shuffle just to stay in the spirit.

First Day!!

I was thirty years old the first time I went on a solo adventure. I say solo, but I was fortunate enough to have in my company one fine puggle named Poe. This is how my adventure story began......My trusty dog and I set out at the crack of noon on the first leg of what will hopefully be a long and splendidly eventful journey to the Eastern Coast of the United States! My first ever visit to the beaches of the Atlantic Ocean and the reportedly magnificent shores of the Carolinas.

Today...after much stalling, reorganizing, last-minute gps cord shopping, and clock watching...we finally set out. Poe is not typically a pleasant traveler; being prone to bouts of immense drooling followed promptly and persistantly by profuse vomitting. These symptoms seem only to subside with prolonged snuggling of his 35 plus pounds of loveable girth. This being the only fault I have yet found in my most loyal of friends, I sacrificed a comfortable ride and cradled his fat butt most of the way from Arkansas to the middle of Tennessee. We stopped for the evening to partake of the comfort of the least greasy hotel that a tightwad can afford and decided to ride out the storm that started following me somewhere back around Memphis. Thats all for tonight :) Tomorrow I reach the Great Smoky Mountains where I will attempt to erect a tent all by myself. Wish me luck!