I Won Thirty Bucks.
Posted: Thu May 24, 2007 10:10 am
I won thirty bucks.
Four hours in a car used to be a breeze for me, hell I once drove from Memphis to Monterey, CA in two days, 38 hours actually. Memphis to Albuquerque, sleep 6 hours, Albuquerque to Monterey. I just spent four hours, give or take, driving from Milan to St. Louis, and my ass hurts; (I swear I am going to learn how to use ;'s correctly) nothing but bone back there now. I swore I wouldn't weigh less when I left home than I did when I got there, but even after all the Chow Wagon, meat loaf, grilled burgers, sausage balls, and sugar free popsicles. I managed to come back three pounds lighter.
I had some of the best Southern food in my life on that trip; in eastern California no less. It was late, but before midnight, and I had just spent the last two hours driving a '96 Thunderbird through what looked to me like the most dangerous mountains outside of the Himalayas. It was pouring rain, I couldn't see anything, I navigated by the taillights in front of me. You know those signs that say, "Falling rocks", well they were more than just a warning this trip. I couldn't take my hands off of the steering wheel to even light a smoke, but my buddy lit them for me, that’s a true friend right there. We finally made it out of those mountains and that rain, and pulled into some small town, which for the life of me I can not remember the name of.
We saw a sign for a cafe, and we pulled over. We walked in and the place was empty, but we had been driving for twelve hours, and it did not dawn on us that they were closed or closing. The waitress came over asked how we were doing, and then as soon as we answered asked us where we were from. We ordered the same thing, sausage and biscuits covered in gravy, and fried Irish (arsh is how you say it Southern) potatoes. They brought it out to us, and it looked like what supper must look like in heaven. Smelled pretty fine too. The sausage was huge, the biscuits were bigger, and the gravy had real bacon in it, and it flowed like honey from Pooh's secret stash. The potatoes were fried just right, brown and crunchy but still a few soft ones here and there, they were covered in gravy as well. We, Sandy (aka Senior Hughes) and I just looked at each other and the thought in both of our heads was whether or not it could taste near as good as it looked. It tasted better. The waitress stayed and chatted us up, she was in her thirties which seemed old to me then, I was only 19, and Sandy couldn't have been more than 24 or 25. She was blonde, and it looked to be real, she had green eyes, and wasn't tan at all, but her complexion was smooth. She was in good shape, looked like a runner, too bad she had that Mel's Diner waitress uniform on; I bet she was a knockout without it.
She was so damned pleasant, her name was Angie and she was Southern (Its a state of mind, not geography), hospitable, quick with a wink, and when we figured out they were closed and made our apologies as we asked for boxes so we could let them get out; she told us to hush and enjoy our meals, she had locked the door, and we were welcome to stay as long as we wanted. She told us just to keep talking; she didn't get to hear accents like ours very often. We told stories, told about our trip; I was driving Sandy to an Army base in Monterey, and was going to fly back. She sat and listened and smoked with us, she wasn't a smoker though because she bummed off of me, and filled our glasses as soon as they looked empty.
The cook, Jorge, came out when he was done cleaning the kitchen and stayed with us awhile as well. He was a middle aged man from Guadalajara, handsome man, proud eyes, and a strong chin, high cheekbones. He showed us pictures of his two gorgeous little girls, ages four and six. He told us how his wife had died from cancer recently, and how lonely the girls were without her. He told us how lonely he was without her. I noticed when he started talking about his babies, his dead wife, and the lonely times; that Angie reached over and grabbed his hand, held it real tight like. She smiled at him in a soft way. She didn't have a ring on, but Jorge still had his, the emptiness was still fresh. We left a couple hours after we got there, and we left with our bellies full, but our wallets were not any lighter. They traded us the supper for our stories. The waitress even bought me a pack of Camels from the vending machine. Back then a pack, even out of a machine in a cafe, only cost a buck and a quarter. I wonder about that cafe, Angie, Jorge, and those two girls from time to time. Probably more than I wonder about Sandy. Angie seemed like she would make a good Mom, and Jorge seemed like he wanted nothing more than to be a good husband again. I hope that reaching out for his hand eventually led to more for them both.
They had a jukebox and as we were saying our goodbyes I heard Going to California for the first time. It was almost two in the morning when we left, a quarter till, and we would end up at the base around six or seven in the morning. Sandy asked if I wanted him to drive, but I shook my head, he scared me when he drove.
We got to the base, and I settled in at his room, slept on his roommate's bunk for that morning, I had a spot waiting on me at the base hostel after noon, but I was wore out, I slept like I was dead.
We toured around Monterey the next day, I got to see the wharf where Steinbeck wrote most of his stories, and I got to see the Pacific Ocean. I saw Pebble Beach golf course. We drove around in Big Sur, and we dropped by Carmel. Carmel, what a beautiful city, Clint Eastwood was mayor of Carmel in the late 80's. Clint was sitting at the bar of the little restaurant we stopped in to eat lunch at. I bought Clint a shot of whiskey, Maker's Mark. He looked at me and I thought I was going to turn to stone, damn what a pair of eyes he had on him, dangerous orbs. I felt like he saw to my very soul. He looked at the shot, made a face, and swallowed it down like it was Vitamin D milk. Then he ordered me one, same thing. I gave him my best evil eye, cocked my eyebrow a bit, and swallowed it down like turpentine. We played that game for about an hour. He kicked my ass. He was grinning when I finally held up my hands and said no more. I was looking for the bathroom. We never shared a word, other than what was communicated in our stares, but he bought our lunch and paid for all of the Maker's Mark.
Big Sur is just as beautiful as the other two cities. They have a camp ground there with cozy little cottages. I have always wanted to go back and stay for a weekend or a whole week, but it has been ten years and some months since I left and I haven't been back. Boise is a little closer to California than Tennessee is; maybe I can make it next year sometime, or the year after. I figure I have another 40 or 50 years left before I run out of stories, and just like a good IRA the more stories I tell, the better the rollover will be for more to tell later on. I have absolutely no freakin clue if an IRA was the proper thing to compare that to, me and an IRA that is funny. Regardless, I figure I've got as many years left as I have stories to tell. So as long as I don't go blind and mute I will be okay. Even if I do, maybe I will have someone to tell my stories for me by then.
It took me almost as long to fly back to Nashville as it did to drive to California. Got to love Southwest Airlines. Layover in Phoenix, where I had a beer at a bar, that a few years later I would find myself back in with a another friend of mine. The only reason I could afford that beer was me spending the last two bucks I had on a lottery ticket in San Francisco, I spent two bucks, bought two tickets, and I won ten dollars on one, and twenty on the other. The pack of cigarettes I bought at the airport cost me four bucks, you figure I would have been smarter and bought them at the gas station where I bought the lottery tickets. The tuna fish sandwich, which let me make clear, was served on plain white bread, and had no pickle involved in the scheme, cost me almost eight dollars, and the beer cost five fifty. At least I got the bartender to agree to wake me up when my four hour layover was over. We stopped in Houston next, where weirdly enough I would find myself standing four years later with my folks as they returned from their trip to Alaska, me and Brisa, that devilish woman from Peru, whose father called me simply the "cracker", and my folks. That was the last woman of mine my parents met. We only had a thirty minute layover there, and then we were on our way back to Nashville.
Dad picked me up there, and we drove home. I was glad to be there. The boys had a good New Years while I was gone, I was in Albuquerque for that, and only had a phone call to let me know the fun I was missing. I think I ended up with the better end of the deal. I got to meet Angie, Jorge, and Clint. I got to imagine Steinbeck sitting with his legs dangling off of the pier. I got to hear sea lions calling to each other at night, and the ocean break upon the rocky shore. I got to eat some damn fine Southern food, and I got to hear a song that has played in my head for ten long years. I got to drive the wrong way down a one way street; three times, in San Fran. I won thirty bucks.
The best Southern food I have ever had was cooked by a man from Guadalajara named Jorge, served to me by a woman from Utah named Angie, and devoured in a cafe located in California.
KB
Going to California ~Led Zeppelin
"Spent my days with a woman unkind,
Smoked my stuff and drank all my wine.
Made up my mind to make a new start,
Going to California with an aching in my heart.
Someone told me there’s a girl out there
With love in her eyes and flowers in her hair.
Took my chances on a big jet plane,
Never let them tell you that they're all the same.
The sea was red and the sky was gray,
Wondered how tomorrow could ever follow today.
The mountains and the canyons started to tremble and shake
As the children of the sun began to awake.
Seems that the wrath of the gods
Got a punch on the nose and it started to flow;
I think I might be sinking.
Throw me a line if I reach it in time
Ill meet you up there where the path
Runs straight and high.
To find a queen without a king;
They say she plays guitar and cries and sings.
La la la la
Ride a white mare in the footsteps of dawn
Tryin to find a woman whos never, never, never been born.
Standing on a hill in my mountain of dreams,
Telling myself its not as hard, hard, hard as it seems."
Four hours in a car used to be a breeze for me, hell I once drove from Memphis to Monterey, CA in two days, 38 hours actually. Memphis to Albuquerque, sleep 6 hours, Albuquerque to Monterey. I just spent four hours, give or take, driving from Milan to St. Louis, and my ass hurts; (I swear I am going to learn how to use ;'s correctly) nothing but bone back there now. I swore I wouldn't weigh less when I left home than I did when I got there, but even after all the Chow Wagon, meat loaf, grilled burgers, sausage balls, and sugar free popsicles. I managed to come back three pounds lighter.
I had some of the best Southern food in my life on that trip; in eastern California no less. It was late, but before midnight, and I had just spent the last two hours driving a '96 Thunderbird through what looked to me like the most dangerous mountains outside of the Himalayas. It was pouring rain, I couldn't see anything, I navigated by the taillights in front of me. You know those signs that say, "Falling rocks", well they were more than just a warning this trip. I couldn't take my hands off of the steering wheel to even light a smoke, but my buddy lit them for me, that’s a true friend right there. We finally made it out of those mountains and that rain, and pulled into some small town, which for the life of me I can not remember the name of.
We saw a sign for a cafe, and we pulled over. We walked in and the place was empty, but we had been driving for twelve hours, and it did not dawn on us that they were closed or closing. The waitress came over asked how we were doing, and then as soon as we answered asked us where we were from. We ordered the same thing, sausage and biscuits covered in gravy, and fried Irish (arsh is how you say it Southern) potatoes. They brought it out to us, and it looked like what supper must look like in heaven. Smelled pretty fine too. The sausage was huge, the biscuits were bigger, and the gravy had real bacon in it, and it flowed like honey from Pooh's secret stash. The potatoes were fried just right, brown and crunchy but still a few soft ones here and there, they were covered in gravy as well. We, Sandy (aka Senior Hughes) and I just looked at each other and the thought in both of our heads was whether or not it could taste near as good as it looked. It tasted better. The waitress stayed and chatted us up, she was in her thirties which seemed old to me then, I was only 19, and Sandy couldn't have been more than 24 or 25. She was blonde, and it looked to be real, she had green eyes, and wasn't tan at all, but her complexion was smooth. She was in good shape, looked like a runner, too bad she had that Mel's Diner waitress uniform on; I bet she was a knockout without it.
She was so damned pleasant, her name was Angie and she was Southern (Its a state of mind, not geography), hospitable, quick with a wink, and when we figured out they were closed and made our apologies as we asked for boxes so we could let them get out; she told us to hush and enjoy our meals, she had locked the door, and we were welcome to stay as long as we wanted. She told us just to keep talking; she didn't get to hear accents like ours very often. We told stories, told about our trip; I was driving Sandy to an Army base in Monterey, and was going to fly back. She sat and listened and smoked with us, she wasn't a smoker though because she bummed off of me, and filled our glasses as soon as they looked empty.
The cook, Jorge, came out when he was done cleaning the kitchen and stayed with us awhile as well. He was a middle aged man from Guadalajara, handsome man, proud eyes, and a strong chin, high cheekbones. He showed us pictures of his two gorgeous little girls, ages four and six. He told us how his wife had died from cancer recently, and how lonely the girls were without her. He told us how lonely he was without her. I noticed when he started talking about his babies, his dead wife, and the lonely times; that Angie reached over and grabbed his hand, held it real tight like. She smiled at him in a soft way. She didn't have a ring on, but Jorge still had his, the emptiness was still fresh. We left a couple hours after we got there, and we left with our bellies full, but our wallets were not any lighter. They traded us the supper for our stories. The waitress even bought me a pack of Camels from the vending machine. Back then a pack, even out of a machine in a cafe, only cost a buck and a quarter. I wonder about that cafe, Angie, Jorge, and those two girls from time to time. Probably more than I wonder about Sandy. Angie seemed like she would make a good Mom, and Jorge seemed like he wanted nothing more than to be a good husband again. I hope that reaching out for his hand eventually led to more for them both.
They had a jukebox and as we were saying our goodbyes I heard Going to California for the first time. It was almost two in the morning when we left, a quarter till, and we would end up at the base around six or seven in the morning. Sandy asked if I wanted him to drive, but I shook my head, he scared me when he drove.
We got to the base, and I settled in at his room, slept on his roommate's bunk for that morning, I had a spot waiting on me at the base hostel after noon, but I was wore out, I slept like I was dead.
We toured around Monterey the next day, I got to see the wharf where Steinbeck wrote most of his stories, and I got to see the Pacific Ocean. I saw Pebble Beach golf course. We drove around in Big Sur, and we dropped by Carmel. Carmel, what a beautiful city, Clint Eastwood was mayor of Carmel in the late 80's. Clint was sitting at the bar of the little restaurant we stopped in to eat lunch at. I bought Clint a shot of whiskey, Maker's Mark. He looked at me and I thought I was going to turn to stone, damn what a pair of eyes he had on him, dangerous orbs. I felt like he saw to my very soul. He looked at the shot, made a face, and swallowed it down like it was Vitamin D milk. Then he ordered me one, same thing. I gave him my best evil eye, cocked my eyebrow a bit, and swallowed it down like turpentine. We played that game for about an hour. He kicked my ass. He was grinning when I finally held up my hands and said no more. I was looking for the bathroom. We never shared a word, other than what was communicated in our stares, but he bought our lunch and paid for all of the Maker's Mark.
Big Sur is just as beautiful as the other two cities. They have a camp ground there with cozy little cottages. I have always wanted to go back and stay for a weekend or a whole week, but it has been ten years and some months since I left and I haven't been back. Boise is a little closer to California than Tennessee is; maybe I can make it next year sometime, or the year after. I figure I have another 40 or 50 years left before I run out of stories, and just like a good IRA the more stories I tell, the better the rollover will be for more to tell later on. I have absolutely no freakin clue if an IRA was the proper thing to compare that to, me and an IRA that is funny. Regardless, I figure I've got as many years left as I have stories to tell. So as long as I don't go blind and mute I will be okay. Even if I do, maybe I will have someone to tell my stories for me by then.
It took me almost as long to fly back to Nashville as it did to drive to California. Got to love Southwest Airlines. Layover in Phoenix, where I had a beer at a bar, that a few years later I would find myself back in with a another friend of mine. The only reason I could afford that beer was me spending the last two bucks I had on a lottery ticket in San Francisco, I spent two bucks, bought two tickets, and I won ten dollars on one, and twenty on the other. The pack of cigarettes I bought at the airport cost me four bucks, you figure I would have been smarter and bought them at the gas station where I bought the lottery tickets. The tuna fish sandwich, which let me make clear, was served on plain white bread, and had no pickle involved in the scheme, cost me almost eight dollars, and the beer cost five fifty. At least I got the bartender to agree to wake me up when my four hour layover was over. We stopped in Houston next, where weirdly enough I would find myself standing four years later with my folks as they returned from their trip to Alaska, me and Brisa, that devilish woman from Peru, whose father called me simply the "cracker", and my folks. That was the last woman of mine my parents met. We only had a thirty minute layover there, and then we were on our way back to Nashville.
Dad picked me up there, and we drove home. I was glad to be there. The boys had a good New Years while I was gone, I was in Albuquerque for that, and only had a phone call to let me know the fun I was missing. I think I ended up with the better end of the deal. I got to meet Angie, Jorge, and Clint. I got to imagine Steinbeck sitting with his legs dangling off of the pier. I got to hear sea lions calling to each other at night, and the ocean break upon the rocky shore. I got to eat some damn fine Southern food, and I got to hear a song that has played in my head for ten long years. I got to drive the wrong way down a one way street; three times, in San Fran. I won thirty bucks.
The best Southern food I have ever had was cooked by a man from Guadalajara named Jorge, served to me by a woman from Utah named Angie, and devoured in a cafe located in California.
KB
Going to California ~Led Zeppelin
"Spent my days with a woman unkind,
Smoked my stuff and drank all my wine.
Made up my mind to make a new start,
Going to California with an aching in my heart.
Someone told me there’s a girl out there
With love in her eyes and flowers in her hair.
Took my chances on a big jet plane,
Never let them tell you that they're all the same.
The sea was red and the sky was gray,
Wondered how tomorrow could ever follow today.
The mountains and the canyons started to tremble and shake
As the children of the sun began to awake.
Seems that the wrath of the gods
Got a punch on the nose and it started to flow;
I think I might be sinking.
Throw me a line if I reach it in time
Ill meet you up there where the path
Runs straight and high.
To find a queen without a king;
They say she plays guitar and cries and sings.
La la la la
Ride a white mare in the footsteps of dawn
Tryin to find a woman whos never, never, never been born.
Standing on a hill in my mountain of dreams,
Telling myself its not as hard, hard, hard as it seems."