Woody & My IBF

My last night on the road, I think. I'm 20 minutes north of the North Carolina border and I've slept about three minutes all night. But not for the obvious reason. There was noise all night. I take sleeping pills and it just didn't help. Turns out it wasn't the elevator or even the ice machine next door. It was the dozens of not so tiny feet running up and down the hall until at least 2:40 a.m. when I turned the clock face down. There is a basketball tournament this weekend, and this Holiday Inn Express is housing the players. Without adult supervision. In order to accommodate all the teams (I have no idea how many), they have assigned the kids rooms in all five of the hotels on this exit. The coaches and chaperones are equally randomly scattered. I wondered why I was able to get a room. I needed only one bed. They put four to a room. Thought I could make up the sleep by staying in bed until checkout time. The feet kept on going. Went down for Smart Coffee and told the girls in the elevator that they should be ashamed of themselves. Poured juice and noticed Saturday morning cartoons instead of CNN or the Weather Channel. Went to communal printer with intent of pulling a piece of paper to write complaint on. Top page:

Woody pissy again and took his time to start. Decide not to go to ATM because bank is uphill. Head to Asheville where I can look at Biltmore, huge house of robber baron Vanderbilts. Surprised by really nice drive through mountains. Forget that nice drive through mountains means no gas stops. Pray that there will be spot flat enough for someone to put a gas station. See turn off for Pigeon Forge which is where Dollywood is. Dollywood is up on my list with Graceland. It is Dolly Parton to Graceland's Elvis. Can't remember if it is open in March. Definitely not January or February, but March? Besides, I have a reservation at Inn at Biltmore and it will be very nice. I am looking forward to having lunch in the library. Wear khaki pants and cashmere sweater instead of jeans and t-shirt. Drawing the line at makeup. Those khaki pants, by the way, are the low cut kind that keep you from looking like a mom. You have to wear special brazilian lace underpants with them so that your thong doesn't show. Not that I have worn a thong since my mid-life crisis thing with underage private jet pilot. Anyhow, said panties hurt like hell, I don't care what you say about getting used to it. This is the sacrifice I must make for staying at a real Inn instead of the Holiday Inn Express.


Stop for gas before absolutely empty. Meet cool bikers. This is Bill and Phil. They have been riding since they were sixteen and are wearing rain gear for the rain. Uh oh. I didn't count on rain. This is Don Ryan. Hi Don. Bill and Phil say no, Don Ryan. That's to keep from confusing him with Don Jr. Why can't they just name him something sensible like rich people do, say Trey or Biff or Buck. Don Ryan is smoking where I just spilled gas all over the pavement. He wants to see the engine. Cool. Bill and Phil and Don Ryan are going to Bike Week in Florida. They came from Lexington. Hit road in hopefully not too rainy weather. Got to Biltmore.

Once again, we address the issue of valet parking Woody. I am going to an Inn which we all know is code for expensive. When you go to the Biltmore main gate, you have to give your reservation number, the secret password, your shoe size and alma mater to get in to the Inn. If you don't have your reservation number Right Away, you hold up every single car going not only to the Inn, but into the Biltmore for any reason which is basically the only reason you go to Biltmore, to see Biltmore. I do not have my reservation number. They email it to you. They are supposed to have my name on a little sheet as I am an inferior guest as I booked today. Otherwise is it in the nice alphabetized card file. Now, I have taken the extra expensive package as it is the weekend and what the heck, it's one of my last nights on the road. I expect some extra expensive service. I told the flustered gate guy that I can get the reservation number on my iPad but I will need to download 1758 messages (true) to do so. He told me to do that. There is a line of cars all the way out to the road behind me. This is a problem as it is 2.4 miles to the road. AT&T being what it is, this took quite a long time. Five minutes maybe. Five minutes may not seem like much but there are a lot of pissed off people behind the stupid lady in the old car. Finally get the number at the same time the other gate guy comes out and finds my name on the special list. Go to Inn, another 2.6 miles.

Pull up to Inn. Very rich looking guy in black Mercedes behind me is crazy nuts about Woody. That is the nicest car I have ever seen. Gets his baggage out for bell guy. That is the nicest car I have ever seen. Turns to go into Inn. Looks over shoulder as he hurries because his wife is very impatient and is pushing him in. Valet with name consisting totally of consonants says I can't park under the canopy to check in. Guy in black Mercedes could pull under canopy to check in. Okay, where can I park to check in? Around the other side of the oval. Park on other side of oval. They want my keys. Here we go. I will not give you my keys. It is our policy. I will not let you drive Woody (besides, you have no idea where the starter is, can't drive three on the tree, and don't realize you can't stop because there are no power brakes not to mention no power steering and 2 tons of steel). I will need  your keys. Where is the parking lot? Down there. I park. Now what the fuck do I do with my luggage as we are a quarter of a mile away. Go back to valet. Hand him keys. Tell him to go get it. Which key is it? You figure it out (there is only one key on it). I guess this guy is one of those Swiss guys the hotel chain sends over to learn to manage before they go back to Europe to wait on actual civilized guests. The name throws me, though. Ask to see manager in private. Go to manager's office which is a cubicle with pictures of his friends tacked to the walls and papers all over the place in no apparent order. I want my manager with the black suit and lots of gold braid to have a proper office, with a walnut desk, oriental carpet and fresh flowers. I have uncovered the man behind the curtain and this guy isn't even the Wizard of Oz. Explained that I will not be checking in as the service is unacceptable, especially because I purchased the extra expensive package (includes the $125 breakfast and $18 tickets for both today and tomorrow except check in is at 4 o'clock and the Biltmore doors close at 3:30). The manager belligerently explains that this is policy, like having a protocol for 70 year old cars really exists. He cannot get my car back from the parking lot because his valet did not park it there. Can he make arrangements for me at a nearby accommodations? Are you fucking kidding me? Maybe I wasn't wearing enough jewerly. Note to self: when checking in to inns, wear not only the diamond bracelet and Cartier watch but also south sea pearls and huge diamond earrings that I have in my purse. And maybe a few more expensive bracelets. Oh, and drive a black Mercedes that you can get at any Mercedes dealer for, say, $75,000. No more good cars for you.

Go to Bistro at vineyard. Have you noticed that there is a vineyard on every square block of the entire country? Where do the grapes come from? Certainly not there. In my neighborhood two doctors decided to play vineyard and produce Red Truck and White Barn. They come in gallon paint cans. Really. That's why I live in the country. Anyhow, had steak and an expensive glass of Biltmore cab. I prefer Pinot but some nice waiter at the semi-fancy (Hermes scarf with your jeans) restaurant in my part of the world to me that I would be sorry if I drank the Pinot with my flat iron. Waiter looks like Herman Munster but short. Has that flat head and sunken eyes. Herman pours olive oil on my dish and then pours vinegar in with it. Hello. Hasn't anybody told the Bistro that they are  part of a vineyard and vinegar is not exactly a good complement for wine? Guess not. Steak good. Spinach so salty it is inedible. I like spinach so this is a disappointment. I was waiting for waiter to ask how my lunch was. Never did. I hate this kind of french fry, you know the huge ones with no crispy. My son says they are like someone already chewed them and then they refried 'em. Asked if they have anything extra-caffeinated. I don't want to have another night on the road like yesterday's. I was hoping for some espresso, perhaps a double shot. They have coffee. Okay.  Have coffee and forgettable cranberry tart. At least they have gelato that is not the same flavor as they put on the tart (see ThirtyA on 30A).

Felt better after wine. Think of pouring bottle into Woody's tank. Heck, with 10% ethanol in the gas anyhow, he might as well enjoy it. Decide to go to the house. Big sign in parking lot "Must Have Tickets To Enter House." I don't have tickets because I went to the Inn from the gate that sells tickets in the belief that I will get my tickets for today and tomorrow at Inn. Needed to find out if I need to go the 5 miles back to gate and piss off another 50 cars to buy ticket. Decided to drive to the house and find out. So I drove to the house. I mean really to the house. As in up the driveway to the front door of this 2.4 million square foot house (true). No one told me I couldn't park there, and I bet there is a major policy for this. Bought a ticket and nicely parked in appropriate parking lot.

You can take an audio tour at Biltmore. I hate audio tours. Opt for numbered brochure. This place is very very big. They have been renovating since 1970. They have finished three bedrooms. This is a family business. The Vanderbilts still own the thing. They never go there, well almost never, and observe the no food or drink rules like everyone else. The DuPonts in my neighborhood have a huge to-do each year for the approximately 2,750 blood relatives to E.I. duPont. Why don't the Vanderbilts do that? After all,  it is 2.4 million square feet and I'm sure there is room for everyone. Well, they did that once for the 100th anniversary of the house and when one Vanderbilt retired and another one took over. They had dancing for 100 in the Tapestry Hall. Oh. Here's the deal. Since the 1930's, the Vanderbilts could not afford the house. They opened the doors to paying customers in 1930. Why didn't they just send enough money off-shore to run the place like any reasonable hedge fund manager would? Just think of the tax savings. They were the robber barons after all. There is even a very pretty book describing the "unique business model" of Biltmore. Anyhow, I know they are hiding something because they had a big place in New York with their V's and acorn insignia all over it so that people would know it was theirs. The Vanderbilts are in the Blue Book. They are part of Society. Hello. The Vanderbilts can't afford their own house. Tres tacky. And definitely the reason Amtrak sucks.

Most of Biltmore is exactly like you expect it to be. Dinner for 45. Big man cave with billiards, bowling and gym. Also special smoking rooms (hmmm...) and gun selection room for guests. Big pool. There are dressing rooms for the ladies and buzzers for food or someone to help you dress. They say there are dressing rooms for the men, but as in the Racquet Club and other gentleman's hideouts from wives, I think the men swam nekkid. There are two showers right in the middle of the gym. Just metal supports and skimpy curtains. Hmmm..... There are a lot of hmmm's at Biltmore. Mr. Vanderbilt was a very snappy dresser.

In the Tapestry Hall they have one with the famous triangle of Venus, Vulcan and Mars. Sounds like me, my imaginary boyfriend and my almost-real imaginary boyfriend. Covered Lila Rae's eyes. Also Domine amidst other things in frieze. Uh huh. We know you have a home equity loan.

As always, I like the downstairs better than the upstairs. I surreptitiously listened to the guy giving the "Butler's Tour" for which you pay extra. His uncle Floyd used to work there. There are two potting rooms with plastic watering cans and wheelie trash cans. They should just shut the door on those. In the rotisserie kitchen, they have a plastic turkey with a cleaver on the butcher block. It is one helluva cleaver, shaped a bit like an axe head. After scissors and farm machinery, I like cleavers. Conspicuous lack of gift shops. Business Model a bit off there. You could probably renovate another 3 rooms in a speedy 10 years if you sold gifts. Should've gone to Dollywood.

Have to drive 10 miles to get out of Biltmore. Realize it is really very beautiful. Wait a minute. It looks just like my neighborhood but we don't put out signs that say Horse Crossing. Duh. Also, we do not have zillions of tourists visiting. Note to self: there is no place like home.

Feeling very jaunty after my Cab and coffee, I hit the road. Except I couldn't find the highway. Asheville has one of those screwy ring roads but instead of naming it something useful like 295 or 295 or 495, it is called a different thing at each quadrant. Even my emergency GPS got lost. Pulled into a Country Day School (we have one too, it is where you put your rich kids when they are used to getting whatever they want and can't deal with the restrictions of, you know, ordinary schools). Checked map. Decide to take whichever highway I can find. They all eventually reach Pennsylvania, a couple of thousand miles or so, give or take. Can't get out of Country Day School. Driveway straight up at light. Finally waved off soccer dads and took flying start diagonally from parking lot. Think about taking Blue Ridge Parkway. Getting dark. Ridge not a good thing. Get on I-whatever and drive until I can find somewhere I can locate on map. Got into the groove. It is a really good day when I can find a vehicle that drives like I do, the same speed in the same kind of conditions. Got really lucky behind and orange Sneider truck. Enjoying the signs.
Also Accident Investigation Patrol Area. Why dont' they just bust drug cartels or fry that serial rapist instead of investigating accidents? Yellow sign with that tippy truck thing on it. Pay attention to curves. Certified Entrepreneurial Community (no community to be found for miles). Yellow sign with two trucks falling off curve upside down. Really pay attention to curves. Arrow on exit to Bryson. Water tank above it Welcome to Shelbyville. French Broad. Okay, this must go with Fancy Gap. Earlier in the day, Forbidden Caverns. You do the math. Shortly after, exit to absolutely nothing but Day's Inn. I think I know where the French broads with the fancy gaps go. Rhodhiss. I know this is not funny to you, but after 34 days on the road it is to me. Yesterday saw Cherokee Pharmacy with Jittery Joe's with a cup of hurtling coffee.

Have to get gas. Lose spot after orange Sneider truck. Bummer. This is Jeff and Jimmy. They have just gotten back from fishing. They catch crappies. Jeff used to work for Dana and sometimes had to go to Pennsylvania. He always brought his rods. They catch crahppies up there. Jim has a 1937 Lincoln. He has been looking for that one for 28 years. He used to do all the service on a 1937 Lincoln when he was a boy. He knew everything about it, inside and out, especially since he started working on it when it was brand new. He waited for the owner to eventually sell it. He loved that car. His friend bought it, he said, misting up. He is the third owner of his matching Lincoln, technically because one of the guys didn't title the car. Jeff and Jimmy asked me which way I am going. I have no idea. Go on 77. You can go 40 East too. Jimmy says I will go straight into the ocean if I go all the way on 40. Needed to change out of nice khakis because I am beginning to freeze. I have figured out the heater, though, so I can freeze or scald my right ankle. Changed in gas station bathroom which was remarkably clean. Passed Krispy Kreme case. I don't even have enough money for a Krispy Kreme. Remembered I stopped here to use ATM as advertised in red lights on the front. ATM broken. No donut.

Yawned once. Having learned lesson, look for very next Holiday Inn Express. It is at Independence, next to Galax. Doubly good because galax leaves are very helpful in flower arranging. This Holiday Inn Express has a 2009 Quality Excellence Award from Intercontinental which is even better than the ones that just come from Holiday Inn corporate.  Because I am a Preferred Member, I got a bottle of water and a bag of Chex Mix. Good thing as I have no money for dinner. Must go to ATM tomorrow morning. Update: found $2 in other purse. Krispy Kreme in morning!

When a marathon runner reaches a point at which he can no longer run any more, but short of the finish line, it is called the wall. After 31 days on the road, I have reached my wall. Like a winning runner, I want to finish. Like a winning runner, I will push through it. Now let's see where the winning runner analogy runs out.

Wake up Lila Rae. She is a good girl. Put a purple bow in her hair and give her goldfish to keep her busy. I love watching her little fingers. I wonder what last name Lila Rae has. Boyfriend?

USA Today at door. First newspaper in a month. Lead headline: "Turning Waste into Drinking Water". Check out this morning is noon. Until now, checkout has been 11. But I am now in the eastern time zone so the checkout time is the same only I have less time in my day to do stuff. I usually wake up so that I can take a quick shower and get my free breakfast at the Holiday Inn Express before they take it away. They often take it away early so that the lady can go home already so I have to count that in. This morning I missed breakfast. I called for a late check out. Lucky for me checkout is at 12. I can't in good conscience sleep past noon. Piled into Woody. Woody wouldn't. Unwrapped Toostie pop, one of the 47 I must have to enjoy a healthful diet. Tried starting again. Woody wouldn't. Stuck Tootsie pop in mouth. Tried Woody again. Woody wouldn't. Sucked on Tootsie pop. Woody wouldn't. I always just hope Woody will do his thing when he is good and ready. Noticed that Woody is on incline rear down. Sucked on Tootsie pop while taking parking brake off and rolling down parking lot. Sometimes that helps. The reason for this is that Woody gets more fuel to the carburetor. Sucked on Tootsie pop. Woody wouldn't. Pulled choke out. Sucked. Worried about flooding. Sucked. Got out and smelled engine compartment. Sucked. Got back in. Sucked. Tried again. Bit through hard part and chewed on Tootsie part. Tried again. Woody would. Just hitting the snooze button I guess.


A little low on gas but hit highway so Woody would get a nice regular flow of fuel. Saw giant billboard with silver flag things like the ones you use to scare the pigeons away from your porch for fireworks. Remember that in Tennessee where they make fireworks in New Pittsburg (no h) and where they have Isabels BBQ that I have yet to taste but have been dreaming about for about 25 days. Small sign below fireworks sign: www.bibleparadise.com. Saw Outlet Store. For houses. Saw sign for Mayfield Dairy Tour. Exit 50. The exits here are numbered according to the distance from someplace so you can tell how many miles to the next advertised exit. I think I can make Exit 50 without running out of gas. Exit 49 has lots of stuff on it, but I figured I'd wait until Exit 50 because I'd only have to start Woody again once. Lots of signs for stuff on Exit 60. Exit 60? What happened to exit 50? I can only make Exit 50. Looking for shoulder and trying to remember what I did with (empty) gas can. Sign for BBQ on Exit 52. Sign for fuel on Exit 52. There is an Exit 52! Mayfield Dairy lied. Pulled off at Exit 52. Gas station on right is one of those scary little ones with bars on the windows but I did not care even a little bit. The second-generation Indian (only slightly accented English with very pretty sparkly black sweater) told me my shirt looked pretty on me. I look like I am blushing. I told her it is too small (you can see my bra lines not only on the back, but the front too). I think to myself that my face is always red. I like that she thinks I'm blushing. This is Aaron and LaBron. Aaron paid his $1 for a little bit of gas but it is not coming out. He is mad at Indian girl. They need the gas because LaBron's fuel pump is broke. I feel your pain, LaBron.

Saw awesome car dealer across road. Muscle cars! Antiques! Street rods! I have a street rod (not Woody you silly guy). There are no cars there. None. Nada. Zip. Zero. Bummer. Next to the gas station is a minor auto junkyard. There is nothing else as far as you can see. I want BBQ. I want to take the Mayfield Dairy tour. Take it on faith and head down road. Civilization. BBQ sign said make right 0.4 miles. Turn right.


Lookee here! Classic cars. This is Danny Pryor. He owns Show Car Classics. The lord has been with him and he has sold 27 cars this year already. Later I met Michael who said times are tough and he can't sell the two cars he wants to. This is Michael. His website is www.woodsinvestments

Back at Danny's I ask how to get to BBQ. I need to count my red lights, now. It is two down. I ask how it is. They have good slaw but the slaw Danny and Michael made that one time was really good slaw. The hot dog place across the street has slaw that tastes just like that if I want a hot dog. No, I want BBQ. Go to BBQ. It is Buddy's. Buddy's is a chain, with red plastic trays and the illuminated menu behind the order taker. I have to wait so that the computer can catch up and she can take my order into a microphone for the kitchen. I have to choke my meal down because I don't eat in chains. I hope they don't see how much I throw away. The two guys hanging around in the parking lot who admired Woody are still in the parking lot talking. Back to where the exit road intersects with Danny's. There is Brownie's Restaurant on the right hand side. It is just my style, general restaurant since 1952. Probably the hot dog place. Damn. Note to self: If native says you don't want a whatever do you, you have whatever. And then there is the 50's diner with checkered flags and may be just a gimmick but looks fun. I would have had a milkshake.

Traveled down road 5 miles to Mayfield Dairy. They said it was 4 miles. Mayfield Dairy lies a lot. But when I got there, all is forgiven. They have a large cow named Maggie. They also have a bronze cow that gets hot. I just miss last tour which is fine with me because it was a large teenage church group with a lot of energy and the Mayfield Dairy has ice cream. Mayfield ice cream was named the best by Time. In the movie, the sign says Time, 1981. This is before Ben & Jerrys and Hagen Das. This is fine by me because I like ice cream ice cream not the shit that is 90% fat and 10% artificial colors and flavors.

This is Bridget. She reminds me of my Aunt Mary Alice who always has a twinkle in her eye. Santa has a twinkle. Old men have twinkles. I am here to tell you that girls can have twinkles too. Bridget helped me understand all the ice creams. Cream snow was started when rare snow is collected and lots and lots of vanilla and sugar are poured on it. It is not ice cream, it is a frozen dessert says Bridget. There is a lady in North Carolina who trademarked the name. She gets 10 cents on every carton. I try it. It is sort of crystally like when your freezer door stays open by mistake and the ice cream melts but your mother finds it and quick closes the door so all that food doesn't go to waste and then yells at you to always close the freezer door you rotten kid. I happen to like icy ice cream as long as it doesn't taste funky. I decide I like cream snow, but I have my heart set on orange pineapple, not available in stores. I tell Bridget I would like it in a cup. The little bitty one? Yes the little bitty one. I'll have another one later. Bridget smiles. Sounds like her. There is also Super Cow ice cream which kids love. It is vanilla with colors. Super moosetracks is moosetracks in chocolate ice cream. I love the orange pineapple. They had this flavor when I was a kid and my dad liked it. At that time I did not.

Mayfield Dairy has the nicest gift shop I've seen on my trip. It is spotless and cheery and has great t-shirts. I bought plastic cups that change color when you put the milk in them for my niece and nephew and a hat for me. It is very wholesome and I want to be wholesome sometimes. Well, not often but my almost-real imaginary boyfriend is not around.

This is Heather. She gives me my private tour after Lori turns on the 10-minute film on the history of Mayfield for me. Heather has a pointy chin like Reese Witherspoon and she goes through the canned spiel for me. Mayfield makes yellow milk jugs because the ultraviolet light doesn't go in and lower the quality of the milk. She shows me this with a laser pointer. See, goes through. See, doesn't. They private label milk too but it doesn't get the yellow jugs. They make the jugs right there. They make a whole lot of yellow jugs. Mayfield uses the milk of 20,000 cows milked twice a day. They also have a special machine that no one else has that takes out the bitter weeds and onions the cows ate. Private label milk does not go through this machine. I suspect this is why we are not allowed to take pictures. They have this thing that checks that the right label is on each jug with the right expiration date. There are two labels, one on the shoulder, so there are two very very fast cameras. They make a gajillion chugs which look like little plastic milk bottles with colorful labels. They also make even more little cartons that go to schools, hospitals and nursing homes. Heather doesn't know what happens to the extra milk when school is out during the summer. People get their hours. Her husband is one of them. The conveyor belts are lubricated with soap and water. No oil or grease. This makes it better. Mayfield's biggest seller is 2%, followed by whole and skim, in that order. Everyone wears hair nets, including me. The guys with beards wear a special beard hair net that hooks over their ears like a surgeon's mask. I have seen exactly no one in Athens with a beard. I think the guys at Mayfield grow them just to wear those special beard things. Heather shows me a 60 second video on making ice cream. I can't see them actually do it. Their most popular flavor is vanilla, followed by moosetracks and then hand-made vanilla. Moosetracks? Who woulda thunk it. As far as I know, they don't have moose in Athens, TN. I go back to Bridget. Have teeny tiny cup of moosetracks. Getting sick from ice cream.


Walk out to beautiful family posing for pictures. The two girls lick their cones on cue and one of them looks like Lila Rae. They are taking pictures for the county brochure. They will be the cover. I see the first crocuses and wonder if mine are coming up back home.

Attempt to finish ice cream while flipping through maps. Picked up brochures about local attractions. Biltmore! I am somewhere near Biltmore! Biltmore is one hell of a house. I think it's the largest in the US. It is also old, so it isn't too tacky. Four hours from Knoxville. I think I am in Knoxville. Call Inn at Biltmore. Another great thing to do in the off-season. Get room for $165. It is normally $325. I like this idea because it will be my last hotel before the last couple of Holiday Inn Expresses. Biltmore is in Ashville NC so it is a state closer to home. I will not feel guilty for having to stop in Tennessee for the second night in a row. It was okay to go to Mayfield Dairy.

Hit road. Four o'clock. I cannot stay awake. For the first time, I cannot stay awake. Thought I'd pull off at a rest stop and take a power nap over the steering wheel. In city of Knoxville. No rest stop. Nodding off at wheel. I have hit the wall. I have to stop at nearest Holiday Inn Express. Can't find the elevator. Elevator in front of me. Went to sleep at 6:00 p.m. Woke at 9:30 hoping that I have at least enough cash in my purse to order pizza. Too late for local pizza joint. Get lemonade Girl Scout cookies and flat Cheerwine from Woody. Ask about pizza at desk. Chain can deliver to room. First pizza of trip. Tipped the guy $4 and blessed him. I need a shower. Too late. Hope that I can justify staying at Biltmore tomorrow night. The king rooms have extra large bathrooms and picture windows. Sounds like Monmouth which I really really loved, especially Roosevelt. Counting days until I have to be home. Falling asleep again.

Today's day is dedicated to my BFF Susie. There are two things she wanted me to go on my trip and today I will do both. Hampton Inn breakfast stays open until 10. That lets me sleep until 9:30. I've figured out that I can take a quick shower and leave all my stuff in the room while I eat breakfast. Helps me get that crucial extra half hour of sleep. I never noticed before, but the hotel do not disturb signs have been replaced with something like getting well deserved/needed sleep so keep it down and don't even think of rapping with your key and shouting Housekeeping! Hampton Inn orange juice tastes like cardboard. They do have "robust" coffee which tastes great except it is about one part coffee to 3 parts water. Had melty danish. We used to have good danish, the kind you got at the bakery after school for your father tomorrow except your mother got a prune one too and ate it in the car on the way home. It was ok because you got a half a pound of cookies that included the pink and green ones, some with half a candied cherry on top (and not maraschino cherries, but maybe the green ones which tasted gross just because they were green). Now danish comes on a plastic tray from the grocery store. The cellophane makes it certain to be kinda gooey instead of flaky. Even croissants aren't flaky anymore. I hold Burger King and the Croissandwich responsible for that.

I am going to Irondale. It is only 45 minutes away because I had to drive so dastardly long last night. There is only one thing in Irondale that I care about. It is the Irondale Cafe. You may know it as The Whistle Stop Cafe, as in Fried Green Tomatoes At The Whistle Stop Cafe written by Fannie Flagg. It was a movie too. They have fried green tomatoes there. Susie loves fried green tomatoes. So do I.


The road into Irondale is very, very small. The police are on your left and the train is straight ahead. If you turn left, the world's smallest historical museum is on your right. You have to turn left most of the time because it goes around the train and you can't get to the Irondale Cafe from this side.

 I stopped on the backside of the train platform. As usual, Woody attracted a bit of attention.

This is Steve. He works for AT&T. I told him I need more bars. He has lived here all his life and loves it. Well, not in Irondale, in  a town a little ways away. Steve has three kids, 38, 34 and 27, and four grandkids. I was about to congratulate him for getting them all out of the house when he said the 27 year old one and her baby are living with him. This seems like a big trend at least in the part of the country I've visited. This is Mike. He works for AT&T too. He is always working. Mike is much better looking than the always working picture here. When I left Steve and I hugged it out.

Outside the Cafe, a group of soldiers, including a girl, are taking pictures. I thank them for their service, as always. They appreciate the support. I still start to cry every time I say this. They are so young. The next store over is A-1 K-9 Pet Grooming. Beats Cutie Petuties that I saw later. This is a five store front town. Literally.

It is a very good thing I got to the Irondale Cafe early. There were only five people in line ahead of me. It's a sort of cafeteria thing where you take your tray and tell them what you want from the pans (not like taking plates already made up like in museum cafeterias).

The desserts are first. I ask which pie is best. I like lemon dessert so the lemonade pie looks mighty inviting. Of course the lady said they are all good. She either has to say that or they are. I think they are. She shifted her weight and looked square at me. We only make the coconut cake sometimes. We have the pie all the time. Coconut cake it is. And fried chicken. And fried okra (I tried growing it one year and the pods got to be 18"long before I noticed them). And fried green tomatoes. The tomatoes weren't even green. They were very light pink. I guess if they're not red they qualify as green.

The chicken was amazing. The dark meat was white (in a good way), but you almost order it for the crispy part and the actual chicken be damned. The okra was amazing. The fried green tomatoes, well, were okay. Everything was wonderfully salty and greasy. They have paper towels on the table because one napkin would never be enough.

The knives and forks come in little paper packets. The guy at the cashier's desk tossed me another packet for my cake. The cake looked like birthday cakes that you get at the supermarkets, but instead of polyester it has real whipped cream. Too bad I couldn't finish it. The Coke is in 8 oz. glass bottles. There is a sign saying you need to put your Coke on its side on your tray. When you get to the end of the line, they put a real bottle opener on your tray. You sit down at tables with black and white vinyl tablecloths. There are several more rooms, I understand, but I am wearing blinders and pretend that this is the only room and I am in the Whistle Stop Cafe.

Today I saw Wetumka on a sign. Apparently Wetumka is a place in Alabama. I know this because I looked it up. This is what Wetumka is famous for: Impact craters. I would be remiss if I did not provide you with the details, including an opportunity for you to see the crater, too.

 With the recommendation of Franko and Eye-leen, I took Woody to Scotty's to have his rear lights reattached. This is a one minute job. Ok, maybe three. I could do it myself, but I don't want to get my hair dirty rolling underneath Woody. This is not the case in bed. There was a bad-toothed (I meet an awful lot of these, don't I? Forget national health care, do national dental care) power-weilding gatekeeper with a big dirty blotter with appointments on it. I told her the issue and explained that Woody is a 1942 vehicle and I am on the road. Today? she almost shrieked. Uh, yes. I drive everyday and I don't want to get rammed from behind. We are big with the (unintentional but fun) sexual innuendos today, aren't we? Anyhow, the bitch made me go away. I knew that the mechanics wouldn't like that, so I drove around the back of the garage before going to Beach Tech. As I was leaving, I saw a dirty mechanic arguing with bitch gatekeeper. Ha. Woody has never been blown off before. Got to Beach Tech at lunch, but they were sure they could help. It turns out that the lights work after all, and the guy who yelled at me must have been drinking. Or something. The is a B named guy. I am heartbroken that I can't remember. It is not Brian. It is not Billy. Maybe Bobby? He has a 14 year old son named Bradley who lived in Illinois with his mother until this year. B-Man has lived here all his life. He takes Bradley fishing and they do lots of things together. Bradley was the one who wanted to move from Illinois. Me too. Pat is Coast Tech's owner's son. He works there and likes Woody. They always get two old cars at once. They are replacing the bearings in a Fairlane. It has California plates and is a perfect shade of claret. I asked if I   could open the door, but by that time B-Man and Pat were back at work. They take their work seriously, unlike those losers at Scotty's where they can't even squeeze in a 3-minute job because they are already pissing off their other clients by taking too long, even on an oil change (I read this in an online review). Note to self: Tell Franko that his recommendation sucked. I am finding all sorts of great stuff here, all without recommendations. 30A is recommendation-challenged.

Coming back from Beach Tech, I saw the sign for Woodie's and I really wanted to go to Woodie's. I thought I would stop at this very commercial "outsider" artist. He is ridiculously prolific. I told him that. Yes, he needs stuff to sell because he sells so much stuff. This is Don. I can't remember his last name which is inexcusable because it is everywhere around his shop. He's one of those artists who sells prints of his work. I hate that. He has a nice truck, though. I has a wrap and if he bought a new one the first thing he'd do is put a wrap on it. Ann is going to show at the gallery. She uses gourds and papier mache to make those funny little sculptures that are reminiscent of those grumpy old ladies, but are not grumpy old ladies. Don is lucky to have her because she is the best sculptor in the south.

You know, there is an awful lot of the best stuff on 30A. Don tells me Shorty's has the best burgers. I saw a sign in Seaside that advertised the best burgers. And, of course, there is Tommy's burger which really is the best. This is a lady whose daughter sells all those t-shirts to Watersound

This is Tommy's burger. It is every bit as good as he said it would be. It was really crispy. I don't know how they do it. I try to make steaks like this at home and they get the nice grill marks but never get crispy. Tommy also seasons it perfectly which I told him. He said he was going to tell me not to put salt and pepper on it because it is just right. I am not a cretin. I do not insult the chef. I always taste stuff before I decide that I can do the seasoning better than he. Afterward, I went to bad restaurant recommender real estate guy next door to the cafe. I had planned to give him exactly one hour to tell me why his planned community is better than all the other planned communities on 30A. I went in and dinged that little bell like your first grade teacher had on her desk. I dinged it twice. There was no one there. This is a real estate office. How are you going to sell real estate if there are no agents? He is worse than Jacky. They had a little clip board where you are supposed to leave your email. I wrote in big letters that I had come to buy a house and there was nobody home. That'll show him. I should have run off with his miniature community model and rung the bell as I made a dash for it. Now that would show him. Oh gosh. I guess it wouldn't because he doesn't want to sell houses anyhow. Cranky.

I have been playing whack-a-mole with my doctor, trying to get a prescription filled while driving. I never know where I'm going so I have to time it just right. Get her on the phone and give her a pharmacy number at the precise moment I am at said pharmacy. Got it right and headed that way. I knew that I would be going through all the planned communities on 30A so it should be an adventure. There is Sea something after Seaside. It isn't there, I think. There is a large building with lots of tables, like 40 of them, and new furniture and modern lighting, but no one there. It has a big sign, though. Then a bunch of non-planned places. Then these really weird white ziggurats that marked each end of Alys Beach. This is Alys as in Alice, not Alys as in Ali Baba's. There are some ginormous houses on the gulf and I guess the ziggurats mean you have hedge fund money and have managed to stay out of jail by turning on someone else. No short sales there. There is a neat row of uplighted palm trees on each side of 30A at Alys Beach. Doesn't Alys remind you of Styxx or some other metal band? There is something before Rosemary Beach but I don't remember what. I thought I'd check out Rosemary Beach as this is one I'd actually heard of.

This is Jan. She really wants to sell houses. If I buy an expensive house, I want it to be from Jan. She got this nifty golf cart from Rolls, oops, Royce in a perfectly pressed blue shirt with a pink polo player on it. Jan took me everywhere in Rosemary Beach in the golf cart. We looked at houses as in actually using a key and going it. Uh, Jacky and recommendation-challenged real estate guy, pay attention here. She showed me all the shops including the plastic surgeon's. Rosemary Beach has it going on. This is Genevieve. I hoped I spelled that right. It's a hard one. Genevieve works in the rental department. I think it's call property management. She told us how much we can get for our new house in rentals if we don't actually want to go there during the good weather when school is out. Of course, the weather is really great in September and October. She also has the info on summer camp for the kids. Jan told me they have a special school over one of the stores (I think) that the good parents in the area created instead of home schooling their kids. Rosemary Beach does a lot of Foundation stuff. Rosemary Beachers are very involved in the community. There are a lot more full time residents here than at Seaside. There are also about twice as many houses. Rosemary Beach was done by the same guys as did Seaside but they fixed stuff they did wrong there. I don't like the color schemes, and you have to pass it with the town architect. Dues are a lot lower because they have their act together. They are putting new belgian block roads in, with a nice fan shaped pattern, without having a special assessment. They have $3 million in the bank in case they have to fix the dunes after a hurricane or other projects that will need to be done. Rosemary Beach is a very organized and efficient place. Genevieve confirmed Jan's statement that this is a very family oriented place. I would see next week. As we got back to the office, I saw an Aveda salon! I need my icky hair color fixed. Jan got me an appointment at 2:45 tomorrow. As I said, Jan has it going on. Jan wants to sell houses.

Got prescription and went home (I have begun to think of my little condo as home). Wanted to get into Seaside so that I can swap car photo-ops with Mike with the other old car. I missed him. Kelly was the designated driver because Mike was tying it on. Bummed. I would like a designated driver too. Walked around back of Seaside. Found the Vera Bradley Inn which has seven rooms and a security problem. I walked in and tried out the breakfast chairs. The Inn is not cheap which is while they call it an inn. The only inn I have ever been in that wasn't expensive is the Shack Up Inn in Clarksdale, Mississippi, which I love. Yowsa! A motel! Called Seaside Motor Court! I can't believe I didn't stay there. This is Woody's natural habitat. Turns out they should call the motor court an inn.

Finally took a quick tour of the stores. Passed Murphy who was on the cell phone and is going for a drink at Kate and Ally's. No, it's someone else and Ally's. It is on the water and I should go there but I'm just not into it. Checked out artist colony. No artists.Went into Sundog Books. I love books. I love bookstores. I love Sundog. This is Lanie (or Lany or Laney, or Lainy or so on, it's from Delaney as most of Alabama was settled by the Irish). She is from Birmingham. Lanie (I like this one best and I don't care how she spells it) took her hair out of her ponytail and shook her hair out for this picture. She looks beautiful, don't you think? Lanie was an art history major just like me. She told me about Escape to Create which is when creative people get to live in rich people's houses for free and made great stuff. She saw a young chinese violinist who was really good. She's always liked classical music but never so much as she does now that she's seen it up close and personal. I bought four funny books about Southern culture. I told Lanie that these are books you're embarrassed to buy but really like. She said I made good choices. Lanie sort of skulked around the store and I looked at my watch. Sorry to keep you waiting to close. No, we're open until 6. I just want to show you this disturbing print that one of the Escape to Create artists just gave her. It is of a bandaged man holding a mummified dog in a kind of s-shape. It is beautiful and terrible. Sundog had an actual dog in the store until two weeks ago when it succumbed to old age. The local school children made a drawing of her with angel wings and it's hanging near the cash register. There are also pictures of small children that are variously related to people who work there. Sundog mostly sells cards (which is good money), children's books and beach books like thrillers. Lanie wishes she could order more art books.

This is Linda. She is the owner of Sundog Books. She has very cool hot pink glasses. Linda was reading Michelangelo and the Pope's Ceiling. It is non-fiction so it is like school, and doesn't have beautiful writing. She thought I might like The Lotus Eaters, and after we talked about Vietnam Linda thinks it may not be the best book for me. Of course, I will read it. She also recommended another. I know the author but can't recall her name. I know I will recognize it on the shelf. I really like Linda and Lanie.





I am hungry. Murphy is closed. I don't feel like being with people. I went to Modica Market where I tried to pick out some coffee some guy came over and we shuffled through the bags and he concluded that he doesn't have any that I like. I picked one out myself and looked for milk. I have been seeing Zappos chips around a lot. Tommy has them. As far as I'm concerned, Zappos is where you buy shoes not what you put in your mouth. Zappos makes Voodoo Gumbo limited-edition chips. After the baby back ribs flavor I sampled on Dauphine Island, I am not about to be adventurous with my potato chip choice. Bought fancy chocolate hazelnut ice cream. Bought cake. Bought muffins for tomorrow as I am finally going to enjoy my balcony with coffee I make myself.

Charlie Modica requires a modicum of niceness. He is having happy hours. Two guys are against the deli counter. One of them joked that they looked like guys on the wall at the post office. Hmmm... Look at what he did when I took his picture. Charlie is from Bessemer Alabama. You can tell. He told me something rude, I don't remember what and I felt like a kid in the principal's office. Then he smiles like this. Bipolar?

Took my purchases back to Woody. Seaside looked beautiful with all the twinkly little white lights in the trees. It was six o'clock and not a soul on the street. All the fun stuff happened yesterday. It is the morning after. I wept.






Things about Seaside:

• Sand
• Pastel colored higgledy piggeldy houses with cute names and their owner's names on signs just like in RV parks
• Owners mostly from Georgia and Tallahassee
• 3 full-time residents
• Bare Foot BBQ
• Steph
• Gulf houses right on 30A
• Really expensive for what you get
• Sundog Books
• Seaside Motor Court
• High taxes, dues and insurance (Jacky)
• On street parking
• Two pools
• Wooden houses with major maintenance
• Bring your towel to the beach
• Lots of bathrooms at beach access
• Wacky
• Fun
• Like Key West