April 18, Baltimore, “Rule of Three” part 2.
So the third thing to drop, after the bird poop and a batting practice ball, were my glasses. The cool cat that I was I hanged them on my t-shirt, which then caused them to fall when I leaned over. A piece of the lens popped out, and now I will have to go the rest of my trip without them. At least the string of bad luck is over.
First stop today was the Basilica of the Assumption of the Blessed Virgin Mary, the first Catholic cathedral in America. It was designed by the same architect, Benjamin Latrobe, who designed the Captiol in DC. It was interesting that both buildings were built in the neo-classical style. John Carroll, the first American bishop, chose it over the typical European gothic design because he wanted to convey a feeling of simplicity, openness, and republicism instead of the threatening and awe-inspiring gothic design.
I visited USS Constellation, the last all-sail warship built by the US Navy. It was pretty fun except the three decks below were so cramped that I spent 45 minutes hunched over. I would hate to be stuck on that ship for months on end.
The rest of Inner Harbor was what you would expect for a tourism hotspot. Lots of restaurants, shops, ferry and cruises, aquarium and museums. I did saw an acrobat class going on, which was pretty cool.
The American Visionary Art Museum has built quite a reputation online. One of the museum’s focus is on artists afflicted by psychiatric illness such as schizophrenia or depression, or mental retardation. It is a powerful experience to witness these artists channeling their concentration to produce great pieces in spite (or perhaps because) of their crippled minds.
April 17, Orioles game and the "Rule of Three," part 1 and 2
While walking toward the ballpark, I felt a drop of water fell on my head. Thus begin my travail with the “Rule of Three.” Suspicious, because I was not near any highrise with window-AC, I rubbed it with my finger. The drop was clear. Still suspicious, I smelt it. The pungency almost knocked me out. It appeared that the birds of Baltimore had struck first. I had to find an excuse to walk into a pub and wash it out. Strike one.
The game at Camden Yards was tons of fun. I walked out to the ticket window and got a bleacher seat for $15. Later, I was surprised by the low turn-out at the stadium. Once again, I went to the right field bleacher to catch some home run balls during batting practice. I have figured out that the best place to catch balls is not against the railing at the wall. I usually stand about 5 rows back, in the isle. This way, I could move up and down the isle and move laterally in rows. I could catch balls on the fly or ran over to catch balls after a bounce. Amazingly, I suddenly saw a ball rising up and quickly coming my way. “It’s got a chance,” I thought as I shifted a couple of steps to my right. It was getting closer, and my mind was still trying to come to term with the fact I might have a chance to touch the ball. By now it was obvious if I did not reach out my hand, my chest would suffer a painful bruise. Still incredulous, I saw in slow motion the ball ricocheting of my right hand, and tumbling two feet in the air. By the time I recovered, I had to fend off people on both sides of me and scrambling to find the ball. After the dust has settled, I came away wistfully with only the sting of my right palm to keep as a momento. Strike two.
The game itself was the best of the trip so far. Three home runs within the span of one inning. The Orioles were down by 3 runs in the eighth. They scored one in the 8th. Along came the White Sox closer, Bobby Jenks. All 6 foot 3 inch, and 275 pounds, accentuated by a blond goatee, he throws, or rather, slings grenades that explode in the catcher’s mitt. Somehow, the Orioles scored 2 runs off of him in the ninth, annoying the White Sox fan next to me, while delighting everyone else including his girlfriend. They went on to win in the 10th. I stood for the last three innings and loved every minute of it. Good night to all.
April 17, Baltimore
After Washington DC, the trains to the cities on the eastern seaboard have become regional services that ran multiple times a day, so there is much more of a commuter feel to them. They are also very crowded, at least in the morning. Baltimore’s Penn station continue the trend of restored train depots. It has these beautiful stained glass ceilings.
Baltimore’s downtown consists a narrow strip of few city blocks extending from Mount Vernon (a memorial for George Washington) to the inner harbor. The Inner Harbor has been extensively renovation from commercial piers to a shopping/dining/tourist trap. To the best of the harbor is the Baltimore Convention Center and Oriole Park at Camden Yard. I spent my first day near Mount Vernon, visiting some of the public buildings and museums there, before catching the Orioles’ game versus the Chicago White Sox.
My first stop was the Lexington Market. It was on the top of my list since it was the oldest of the public markets in Baltimore. I was initially curious why a different market was suggested in the NY Times’ “36 hours” guide to Baltimore. While Charles Street, which connected Mount Vernon to the Inner Harbor, was unremarkable as far as being yuppy-ish and commercial, Howard Street, only two blocks to the west, appeared deserted during the mid-day. Once I reached the Lexington Market the reason became obvious. There were crowds both inside and outside the market. They were mostly African-Americans, with some Hispanics and Asians. I suppose this could make some people nervous even during the middle of the day. The market itself was pretty run-down, only a few butcher shops and fresh seafood stalls. Most of the stalls were selling food. Curiously, a lot of the business was owned or run by what appear to be Koreans—even behind the Back-country Soul Food place. I had some $10 crab cake, though they blatantly reheated it in a microwave, it was still the best crab cake I ever had.
The neighborhood around Mt. Vernon was fantastic. I visited a Gothic-styled Methodist Church was a striking exterior made up of six different colored stones.
There was the Peabody Institute. It had a breathtaking library that I imagine harkens back to those at institutions of higher learning in England, or Hogwarts.
Then there was the Walters Art Museum. The museum itself has an impressive collection of artifacts and antiques from ancient Egypt to 20th century. I spent a lot of time in their collection of western European weapons, as they say, “boys will be boys.” There was also an exhibit on maps. Unlike the rest of the museum, there was an admission charge, and I ran out of time to see the majority of the maps. But I was thoroughly impressed by a map from the 17th century, which depicted Asia with striking accurate details.
April 16, Panda and Orangutans
It was the National Zoo today. DC must be a great place for kids to grow up. So many public (free!) museums, parks and zoo and so few weekends and holidays! I only pity the fathers who have to carry the pink, Dora the Explorer backpacks that their lovely daughters are too tired to carry after 30 minutes. Of course, other than the precious children, the stars of the zoo were the Giant Pandas. Children's love of the cuddly pandas is universal across language and cultural barriers. Pandas have been the good-will ambassadors of People's Republic of China for the last three decades, as a symbol of friendship and peace. It is probably the most associated symbol of China these days that does not involve Tiananmen Square, tanks, or crying lamas. The Giant Pandas are an enigma though—carnivores with teeth and claws yet consume an entirely vegetarian diet and barely surviving while surrounded by external dangers. Is this what China should be in the eyes of its international critics? Let us adore you and sing your beauty as long as you stay within the “cage” that we have built for you. Quietly use your sharp claws and teeth to crush the bamboo that we gave you, but be careful not to discover what the true power of such tools. By the way, I also saw orangutans, among the strongest of the apes species. They were flying high on ropes 50 feet above the ground, hopping from one tower to another while pissing and flinging poo at people below. Who wants to be like that?
April 15, Washington DC.
I went to the International Spy Museum today. It has been touted as the most expensive museum in the District, of course unlike most of the national museums, it is privately owned. Nevertheless, it was tons of fun. I found myself sinking four good hours in that place. Despite the museum's policy of allowing a fixed number of people in every hour, the place still felt somewhat crowded on a Tuesday. But it must be an even more exciting place for kids with the numerous hands-on opportunities. We are all fascinated by real life spies. We are envious of their exciting lives of action, deception, danger, and money. We read spy stories eagerly perhaps a part of us secretly wish they can retire successfully after mission accomplished. Yet the real life spy stories in the museum often follow the trajectory of "Cover," "Caught," and "Consequences." I suppose that truly successful ones never get caught or never kiss-and-tell.
I finished the day by visiting the National Cathedral. It was a beautiful building, inside and out. The sight of it reminded me of the cathedrals I had visited while in Italy. It undoubtedly would have evoked feelings of devotion and spiritual yearning in most people who were in its presence. I wish I could have followed one of those guided tours, but it was late in the day. One surprise was the tomb of Woodrow Wilson in the cathedral. Alas, long gone were the days of the scholar-in-chief.
April 13, Washington DC
This leg of my trip, via the Crescent route, from New Orleans to Washington, DC, was the last of mine overnight train rides. It was more interesting than my previous trips because of a fellow passenger. A Vietnam vet/professional bungee jumper/expat, who is doing a similar rail trip, we talked for much of the first half of the trip. Or rather, he talked and I listened. One can imagine the topics given my previous qualifiers.
The scenery on the Crescent gave one some flavor of the Southeastern U.S. albeit at 50 mph. It was similar to that of the Sunset Limited route between Houston and New Orleans, but it was more rural rather than wild with a lot of small towns and buildings. Also, I really loved the forest, which I believe may be some type of cypress.
The train ran on time, which was nice for once. We had a group of young people, mostly men, dressed alike with shirts, suspenders, and hats. I wondered if they were Amish since they were headed to Pennsylvania. They did share a curious accent and the same haircut. However some of them did smoke, so I wonder if they are on
rumspringa.
The train was pretty empty when we started in New Orleans, but it started to pick up passengers in Alabama. I had both seats on one side to myself until around 3AM, somewhere around Greensboro, when another passenger took the seat next to my assigned seat. So this was the most uncomfortable night I had to spend on the train, and I was glad that it would be my last.
Arriving in Washington DC, I was excited to get a glimpse of the beautiful Union Station. I have read about the restored train stations on the east coast, and this one did not disappoint. Most Amtrak stations of large metropolitans are located conveniently in downtown, and their restoration surely would only add to any downtown revival effort. This was something that Houston could learn from. Then again, the state car of Texas appears to be the Hummer, but I digress. Having been to DC several times in the past, I nevertheless look forward to this visit. But boy, was it cold (compared to New Orleans) today.
April 12, New Orleans
It was HOT. In hindsight, a pair of short would have been handy in Houston and New Orleans. Even in the evening, the air in the Big Easy was warm and humid. I also regret carrying my backpack. The St. Vincent’s Guesthouse in the Garden district was nice, and I met a few fellow passengers on the train there who were doing similar rail treks on passes. After settling down, I decided to walk to the French Quarter. The locals here had a way of naming directions according to the positions relative to the flow of the Mississippi River, which I was not too keen on trying to decipher in one night.
The walk was easy and I saw buildings some appear to have been renovated recently and some in distress often juxtaposed next to one another. Unfortunately, it was getting dark. I entered the French Quarter via Royal, and began my search of the boiled crawfish. The good news was that the crawfish is in season, evident by the farms of flooded cages during my train ride. However, several restaurants had run out by the time I arrived while others only serve them at brunch. I suppose that the best ones are probably at hole-in-the-wall joints infrequently frequented by tourists like myself. After an hour, I finally found it in the Desire Oyster Bar. The crawfish was over-priced ($8 per pound!) and somewhat smallish. But the crawfish boil seasoning carried a memorable punch. It was definitely a unique experience and delicacy.
French Quarter was what I expected. A lot of people and a lot of drinking on the street. I guess if anything, there was a lot less boobie-flashing than I imagined, but that was fine by me. Crowded live music joints next to crappy daiquiri bars next to stripe clubs next to drinks-to-go stands. Off the main Bourbon Street were more galleries and shops selling anything from antiques to art to voodoo crafts. Had they been open, I could have easily lost an entire day in them. I finished the night walking past the Saint Louis Cathedral, Jackson Square, Café du Mont and the river front. By then the heat had gotten the best of me, and I couldn’t wait to get back to St. Vincent’s for a nice long shower.
April 11, Going to New Orleans
“…becomes humid during summer and like Florida it has the occasional hurricane.”
- USA by Rail, 6th ed., 2005
Perhaps THE understatement of the book, in light of Katrina. I am looking forward to the city though my stop will be brief.
Sunset Limited is a great route as it covers a vast area of the southern half of the U.S. Post-2005, the line east of New Orleans has been suspended due to the devastation to the Gulf Coast so one could not ride from New Orleans all the way to Orlando as of now. Nevertheless, from Los Angeles traveling eastward, I got to see the landscape outside my window transform from the Wild West to Bayou Country. The desert sunset and sunrise in Arizona. The rare green vegetation, such as that in front of the Tucson station, was always a refreshing change after a long day of delays in the desert. Then there was the seemingly endless of prairie in Texas accentuated by the patches of wild flowers here and there. After Houston, we entered the Bayou country, and the scenery became more varied. The nature beauty of rice paddies, crawfish farms, cypress forest, and swamp land has to compete with the eccentricities of back country homes, general stores, churches, lumber yards and auto shops. The land shifts from one color to the next. It was the cracking yellow of the arid desert. It was the beckoning orange of a Texas sunrise. It was the crispy green of a new spring. It was rusty red of the backyard tool shed. All of them were pitted against the back drop of the bluest sky I can remember. It was all so damn distractingly mesmerizing. Doing my best, but my photographs are hopeless trying to catch one tenth of the live show. Like the Amtrak’s brochure, “it is the best scenery you ever slept through.”
April 11, “Baghdad on the Bayou”
Everything in Texas is big. It took us 12 hours and nearly 900 miles to go from El Paso to Houston. When it comes to size, Texas is definitely numero uno. From the steaks at the Taste of Texas to the constellation of hospitals at the Texas Medical Center, small is not an option. Not to mention the rockets and space shuttles at NASA’s Johnson Space Center. About the only thing that is built in disproportion to the state and the city of Houston, which is the fourth largest metropolitan area in the U.S., is the Houston Amtrak station. It is a small one story shack nestled, or rather tossed aside, under a highway overpass.
What I love about Houston? The FOOD. From the oyster po’boy to stinky tofu, I never ate so good in the U.S. when traveling alone. Thanks to my long-time friend, Patrick, I got to visit some of the venerable culinary institutions of Houston. The Goode Company has mastered the many of the Texas delicacy, from BBQ to seafood, from steaks to Cajun cooking. I will not forget the oyster po’boy I had right after I got off the train. My only regret is that I ate a hamburger on the train, which deprived me both the money and the extra room in my belly for a second po’boy. We later went to the Goode BBQ, and it was a carnivore-heaven. 3-meat combo dinner was only $11, and it came with jalapeño sweetbread and two “veges.” This presented two serious problems. I had to choose from a list of over ten meats—brisket, ribs, chicken, duck, two kinds of sausages, pulled pork, ham, and others. I HAD to settle for ONLY the brisket, sweet water duck, and jalapeño sausage. I also got to try a piece of the ribs. Like a father with kids, it would be insensitive for me to pick one to be my favorite. The second problem was that I don't really care for any veges. But a more careful examination of the menu revealed that the closest any of the items comes to resemble an actual vegetable is cole slaw. So I opted for baked beans and jambolaya. Next time, I will opt for the a la carte menu, “meat only” baby!
NASA’s Johnson Space Center, or rather the JSC, was pretty cool. I did took a wrong turn and had an hour of detour driving by the numerous chemical and oil companies along the gulf coast. Apparently the JSC has become much more restricted to the public since 2001, and the guided tour only showed us the original mission control center, now defunct, that was used for all the Apollo missions. Amazing how ancient the technology were, yet they put men on the moon with essentially 800 kb of computing power and some analog, rotary phones.
We also visited the training simulation facility. I found it interesting that it has the emblems of space programs from nations around the world, and the only one missing, perhaps obviously, is the Chinese. The stalemate would only continue, given the recent political climate and the potential retreat of the Chinese from friendly engagement with other world powers. The rest of the space center open to the visitors play more like a children’s hands-on museum and science center. But you did get to touch a piece of moon rock. I easily spent more than four hours in it, which put me way behind schedule for Galveston…
…and that was a good thing. Once referred to as the “arm pit of Texas,” the Galveston I saw was pretty desolate. Perhaps it was the overcast day, or the salty humid sea wind that clinged to every square inch of my exposed body, or the empty streets in front of the “renovated” downtown district, I felt depressed. Once the biggest port in Texas and boasted an opulent city, the island today, at least on April 9, 2008, felt empty.
Yesterday, I finally got to visit the famed Texas Medical Center that I have heard so much about. Even after walking through the area, I am still confused about the affiliation of the various hospitals and the two medical schools, UT-Southwest and Baylor. My friend Patrick wondered out how the hospitals survive the competition from such close proximity. But they appear to be doing quite well, if the hospitals’ lobbies and soaring towers are any indication. My three days in Houston happen to be overcastted, but I still felt humid and icky when walking outside. Boy, was I hungry after walking around the medical center for four hours.
And we had just the right place to have lunch. There is a nice Taiwanese restaurant in the de facto Chinatown to the west of downtown. We ordered stinky tofu hot pot, snails stir fried with basil and deep fried intestine, some of my favorite. Hands down, the stinky tofu there was the most pungent I have encountered on this side of Pacific. Yum-yum. A brief stroll in the strip mall revealed a variety of establishments essential for survival by oversea Chinese: restaurants ranging from southeastern Asian cuisine to Beijing-style lamb hot pot; shops from video rental to Chinese bakery; Chinese grocers to stores where one can buy utterly useless but ultra-cute accessories.
Our last meal was steaks at the Taste of Texas. The restaurant was decked out appropriately with the paraphernalia of the state. Still recovering from our gorging at the Taiwanese restaurant, I was initially relieved to read that the steak was ordered by the ounce. That was until I saw in the smaller print, “16 oz. minimum.” Oh well, I went with my trusted old friend, the Rib-eye. And the steak was huge and was fabulous, probably one of the best I have ever had. It was no 72 oz freak, but I can still feel the sucker this morning.
Leaving for New Orleans today. The train is ONLY one hour and 40 minutes late today. I am sad to say good bye to Houston. With great friends, great food, and great achievements, Houston is a city I will be coming back again. I guess I will have to beat down my sorrow with a few pounds of boiled crawfish in NOLA.
April 9, Houston.
Finally Houston. We were only seven hours late. Once we arrived in Texas, the train trip became a blur and so has the scenery outside the window. We arrived in San Antonio the morning after the NCAA Men's Basketball Final Four. The alamodome is right next to the train station.
Houston's train station is a piece of crap according to people online, and now I can confirm that. We drove through downtown, which seemed nice but a bit deserted. I saw the infamously expensive, unuseful, dangerous metrorail. And yes, it is all that.
We saw the Astros play the Cardinals. I absolutely love the Enron, I mean, Minute Maid Park. It is not much to look at from the outside,
but the stadium is gorgeous inside with a lot of details and nice gimmicks.
One drawback of having a new, expensive stadium is the price of everything inside. Unlike the previous two baseball stadiums, McAfee in Oakland and Angels Stadium in Anaheim, they do not allow food or drinks from outside. While the selections are plentiful, food and drinks are the most expensive of the three stadiums. Oh well.
April 7, Tucson and the Holy Grail.
We are finally in Tucson, about seven and half hour behind schedule. I have been on a quest for the elusive electrical outlet since the start of the trip. My diligent online research has revealed that outlets are few and far between on these long distance coach cars. They apparently only exist at seats 19 and 55. I asked for one of them while boarding and got brushed off, was told by the ticket agent “I think I gave them away already.” Of course that was not entirely true. But I was initially buoyanted by the discovery that my assigned seat 33, next to the 250 lb guy in shorts and cut-off T-shirt, was an outlet not previously known to the entire Amtrak nation. I eagerly busted out my brand new power surge protector, carefully chosen from the South Coast Bestbuy for its right angle plug. Alas, the outlet was mostly hidden behind the seat, and the space was not enough to fit in my right angle plug. I then wondered over to seat 19, which was unoccupied. There the outlet is less hidden, but nonetheless is partially obstructed by the seat to prevent access. Twice crushed, I proceed to spend the rest of the day in the sightseering car where there are three outlets.
After our arrival to Tucson, seat 55 became unoccupied. I asked the conductor about switching to that seat and was again brushed off. The seat is labeled “reserved” but seats are only assigned when the passengers board. So I patiently waited until everyone boarded the train, then calmly took the unoccupied/unassigned/perpetually “reserved” seat 55. I watched as the conductor personally escorted a new passenger to her assigned seat and then offer her the option to switch to any seat she wants. She must be a VIP. Commoners like me just go on ignoring his repeated overhead announcement about the need to stay in the assigned seats. Ahab has his white whale, Arthur his Grail, and I the electrical outlet at seat 55. As Achilles of Pitt famously put it, “Glory. Take it! It’s yours!”
. . .
People are indeed attracted to power. In less than 30 minutes, my surge protector has been put to good use now. It is charging a laptop, two DVD players and a cell phone.
April 7, Still in New Mexico
The trip continues, and I am guessing we are about 10 hours behind schedule. I am actually quite calm given the circumstance. I have forwarded the Astro’s tickets to my friend in Houston, through an intermediary. I will still have 2 days in Houston at the least (fingers crossed). I am just amazed at the wide open space in the West. I can do a lot worse with the view. Next stop will be El Paso, TX. From there, it is another 800 miles to Houston, still in Texas! I am tempted to rent a car and drive, but that would be totally insane!
Now that I have some, well a lot of, free time, I get to look at the Amtrak’s National route map. Did you know there is a Las Vegas, NM? What about Kissimmee in Florida? At the Texas/Arkansas border, not too far from Louisiana, there is a city called Texarkana. Of course, I still like to tell people about a little city in Michigan called Climax. This is unfortunate since it is located at the half way point between Chicago and Detroit and it is the absolute low point of anyone making the trip between the two cities.
April 6, Somewhere between Los Angeles and Palm Spring
Who says the train is always on time? My image of the rail system as the well-oiled machine has been shattered. Between 5pm and 10 pm, the train has stopped three times—twice yielding for freight trains and once for break problems. The best I can say is that there is plenty of room to move around. However, it does appear the two and half hour leg to Palm Spring has turned into a seven and half hours. This has put my plan for an Astro’s game on the night of April 8, my day of arrival in Houston, into serious jeopardy. ETA +7.5h.
This is our train stopping for 2 hours.
April 6, Newport Beach/Anaheim/Santa Ana
It was good to catch up with my friend P. He is getting married soon after all these years of “resistance.” My time in town is short, really about 36 hours, got in about midnight on Friday night and leaving at noon today. Yesterday I rode the buses to Angels Stadium in Anaheim, which took about 2 hours. For a long time, I had an aversion to public transit, partly because my disappointing experience with it in San Diego where buses sometimes run every HOUR. Also with public transit, you are at the mercy of others when it comes to the schedule and I am a stickler for promptness. However, with my recent experience traveling in China, I have a new appreciation for this mode of transportation.
The 2 hour long bus ride was uneventful. At around the time we rode past the South Coast Plaza Mall I noticed that there was not a single White person on the bus. Most passengers were Latinos. I later found out that the South Coast Plaza happens to be one of the ritziest shopping centers in southern California. As I strolled through the mall this morning pass the Tiffany’s and Armani's, I can’t help but think back to my fellow passengers on bus 57 the day before.
The Angels played the Texas Rangers last night. Our seats were by the first base side, but on the very last row (Section 528, Row 8).
Another pitcher’s duel, and the Angels won 2-1. Unlike the Oakland A’s, the game was nearly a sell-out, and most fans wore the home team’s color, red and white. Someone once asked me why I refer the teams I cheer for “my Niners,” or “our A’s.” This is a good question. As far as I know, only the Green Bay Packers is the only major professional sport team in America that is a public holding company. So I don’t own the A’s. The major league baseball players on average are finally making $3 million a year after years of subsistent living. When I am buying that $7 sausage, I think how lucky I am to have the afternoon off to watch My Team in action. I can only hope that some player on the team is thinking how lucky he is to be playing a child’s game while carrying the hope of a city on his shoulders.
Off to Union Station in Los Angeles. The next leg will be a 37 hour ride on the Sunset Limited line to Houston, which will include two nights. I haven’t decided whether to shell out the money for a roomette, which has a bed. The plan is to rough it out in the coach seat for one night, and maybe ask about an upgrade during the second night once the train leaves San Antonio.
Big screen TV.
I missed my 32 inch Sony Wega. There, I said it. I love watching television. Buying that TV for $900 (including the stand) five years ago was the best luxury purchase I've ever made. For the last month, I've been stuck at my family home and making due with a 22 inch and only 60 channels of cable TV. Don't get me wrong, I still watch tons of TV, even if it includes classics such as "whose wedding is it" and "house cleaning."
But I just traded in that 22 inch for a 60 inch. Yesterday I sat in front of that screen, transfixed for 6 hours nonstop. I didn't even pay attention to the dialogs (tell you why in a bit) but the images themselves were worth the price of admission. Well, it was not an actual TV screen. It was the window in the viewing car of the
Amtrak Coast Starlight train. But in the matter of hours, I saw junk car yards, residential neighborhoods, trailer parks, oil fields, and of course, the California coast line. It was like the
"Sopranos" meet
"Everybody loves Raymond" meet
"My name is Earl" meet
"There will be blood" meet
"Baywatch." It was awesome.
Check out more pictures.
Balling across America
Tomorrow the rail trip, after much planning and phone tagging with Amtrak, will officially kick off. Here's a map of the itinerary.
View Larger MapHigh Sierra Travel Pack
Laptop
Camera
Cell phone
Passport
USA by Rail
Hoodie x1
Jeans x1
Cargo pants x1
T-shirts x6
All the underwear and sock I own
Total weight: 187 lb (me) and 28 lb (pack)
Coming soon to a town and a baseball stadium near you!
Glad I'm not the only one.
The new Absolut Vodka ads have been bugging me for awhile. I can't quite put my finger on it until this morning. To confirm my suspicion, I did a quick search online. Boy, am I glad that I'm
not the only one. Consider the demographic Absolut is targeting with the fruity flavors, I have to think this is intentional. And don't even get me started on this one.
