I would love to say that this road trip all began in the Polo Lounge at the Beverly Hills Hotel with a mysterious telex. However, this trip has been in the works for a few years. No mysteries. Since the three of us met via band in middle and high school, it seemed only natural to do a musically based road trip.
Our goal was to start in Cleveland and end up in Memphis. We are currently taking a break from music and focusing on bourbon. My boys JB and McQueen have arranged for us to hit the Maker’s Mark distillery tomorrow morning. I’ve been to wineries and if Red Hook or Granville Island count, a brewery or two. I’m giddy to see how the magic christmasness of bourbon happens up close and personal. Plus, I love the vibe of the Maker’s Mark brand.
We stopped last night in Columbus, to see an alma mater (JB) and bar crawl. Surprisingly, only one major discussion broke out, with McQueen taking on a role, usually taken by my older brother, of devil’s advocate using a kind of badgering technique that inflames the discussion until one of us is crying. It’s been 18 years since we’ve been close to the conversational red zone, but last night was more like the orange zone. We averted disaster with a group hug and some of the best hot wings (BW3 on North High Street) I’ve ever had.
As we drove from Columbus to Bardstown, Kentucky, blood sugar dipped and there was much bitching about driving and overreactions to driving and playing the stereo too loud and nobody able to focus because it was 3pm and we hadn’t had lunch. It doesn’t help that I like to drive a little fast and after living in California, I prefer people around me to do the same. Folks in Ohio aren’t bad drivers, just not fast. They like to take their time changing lanes. Nothing wrong with that, but on an interstate, I like to make time (see Richard E. Grant in Withnail and I).
One of the topics in the car was how I needed to be more involved with the conversation. However, when the conversation sounds like the first 12 minutes of commentary on the unrated DVD of Anchorman, it’s not like we’re working on quantum physics.
The other thing that needs to be said is that I’m travelling with Luddites. I have the ability to attach a GPS unit to my laptop and display our exact location as well as get instantaneous directions to a local address from wherever we happen to be. As we are men, and two-thirds of us fear the evil box with the wire coming out of it, the GPS is only deferred to once the shit has hit the fan. Logic would indicate that we could actually fire up the GPS and type in the address prior to the shit hitting the fan. However, it has saved the day, every day and when it has, thousands of school children sing a glorious stanza to my name and my prowess for pointing and clicking.
More to come…