Where’s Walter?

SXSWalter

Wed, 10 Mar 2010 01:19:12 -0700

Today we arrive in Austin, TX for one of the single most anticipated events of this entire trip. South By Southwest (SXSW). SXSW is a music, film, and interactive festival held every March in Austin. Geeks, musicians, and film nerds flock from afar to learn, converse, and drink their faces off for ten days in balmy Texas.

This is the first year I am attending without an actual conference pass and the first time Rachel is attending at all. Despite missing out on the interactive panels, we should have a great time crashing parties, meeting up with friends old and new, and reuniting with a plane load of Cowtownians flying down to attend.

The real beauty of SXSW isn’t what happens inside the disorienting walls of the Convention Center, it’s everything that surrounds this magical week. Here are some of the things I plan to accomplish this year.

Give away all 20 of our fancy new t-shirts printed specially for this event. We’re not giving these away without a little work. I’ll post the details on how you can get one on the home page of The Stray Muse on Thursday. For the rest of you, we have the store!
Get into at least one Badge-only parties this week.
I don’t care which one, but I’m going to try and get our sneaky asses into a couple. Worst case scenario, we fail and start our own party a block away at any of the other 50 gazillion pubs in the area. This is to prove (mostly to myself), that SXSW is possible without a badge.
Prove to Rachel that geeks are actually pretty fun to hang around with.
Don’t let me down people. Even if its all a big lie, let’s talk about something other than our iPhones for five minutes.
Get up early. At least one day.
I’ve made one commitment this SXSW, and that’s the photo walk put on by Grant, Scott, and Luke. Some of my favorite internet people are organizing and attending this thing, so I better not let them down (plus it should be a blast).
Refrain from drunk tweeting.
At least make an effort to make any drunk tweets not sound like drunk tweets.
See at least three shows.
As usual, there is an incredible lineup of bands this year. We have the luxury of staying a couple extra days into the music portion of the festival. So let’s rock it.
Get a sunburn.
Okay, this has been a goal I’ve had since the beginning of this damn trip. I’ve sort of achieved it once, but I’m still pale as a ghost. This MUST change.
Meet more people.
Okay, this is really a stupid goal. This is kind of the point of the conference… at least it is for me. In fact, if it weren’t for the first two SXSW’s, we probably wouldn’t have anyone to visit on this trip, and wouldn’t have anyone to talk to on these interwebs from day to day.

Nothing like setting lofty goals right?

Joking aside, this geek summer camp has always been a source for good friends, great conversation, and awesome ideas. I look forward to it more than Glorbis.

Oh Hello Again, NOLA

Sun, 07 Mar 2010 18:00:19 -0700

Day 138

We did a full 360 around the middle finger of America (that’s Florida for you non-visual types). We wound up all the way back in New Orleans! This still might be our most favourite place of all.

With melodic jazz harmonies melting across our faces, we’re working our tails off in this cozy coffee shop. No rest for the wicked, they say. Have you ever understood that phrase? I certainly don’t. It makes no sense whatsoever. If you actually dissect that idiom, every single person in existence, except those lackadaisical lads and lasses we envy, are all evil. And I guarantee Travis and yours truly are not of the nefarious variety. Neither are you, I’m sure.

At any rate, we’re anchoring ourselves to the familiarity of these cobble streets and whimsical buildings for a couple days before we have to drive the remaining eight hours to Austin, TX in time for the greatest geek festival in existence, South By Southwest. Travis talked me into it this year (I suppose I didn’t have a lot of options, what with him taking Walter and all). I could have waited patiently on the sidewalk for him to come back two weeks later. But who am I kidding? I am so excited to be out of Florida and so thrilled to be one with the geeks! All of my (our) new found peeps will be there. From Edmonton, to Calgary, to Seattle, to San Francisco, to Los Angeles, to Boston, to Jacksonville, to New York, and plenty more, we’ll be surrounded by familiar, friendly faces.

Have we mentioned that we’ve been people-starved for the last four months? Oh my god, it’s lonely on the road. If we had a harmonica, we’d have created Harmonic Hero by now due to our heightened attention-seeking behaviour and a budding proclivity toward the blues.

We can’t wait to see you all.

And we can’t wait to see the rest of y’all when we get back home in four months. XOXO

Day 135 In this episode of cooking with Walter, Travis and...

Thu, 04 Mar 2010 19:00:20 -0700

Day 135

In this episode of cooking with Walter, Travis and Rachel rustle up some fantastic grub using the likes of canned ham, onions, and macaroni. It doesn’t have a name; it’s called Spamaroni.

Next week, look forward to more hilarity when Travis decides to ride naked backwards on a donkey!!

Spamtastic! on Vimeo (via Vimeo)

Hey folks! Rachel and I just launched a nice little t-shirt...

Mon, 01 Mar 2010 22:07:00 -0700

Hey folks!

Rachel and I just launched a nice little t-shirt store on The Stray Muse!

We hope you like the merch and buy tons for you and your kids, nieces, nephews, aunts, uncles, grandparents, first second and third cousins, and next door neighbours!

We appreciate the support and will send good karma your way if you purchase one!

If you send us a photo of you wearing a shirt with some contact info, we’ll send you something extra special (even better than karma).

Now go buy something!

The Stray Muse store

Trav the Champ! on Vimeo (via Vimeo) Day 130 Travis braves...

Sun, 28 Feb 2010 23:20:08 -0700

Trav the Champ! on Vimeo (via Vimeo)

Day 130

Travis braves the chilly waters of Fort Myers, Florida to crush it at a wakeboard cable park.

Debunked. Part Deux

Fri, 26 Feb 2010 20:13:30 -0700

Day 127

Of course we won’t leave you hanging. We know you came back to find out how many people get naked in Key West. Patience! We’ll get there.

Onward, to the myth debunking department.

Myth 5: Key West is its own country

Many a battle has been fought in the name of independence, but none so heart-warming and odd as the story of the Conch Republic, otherwise known as Key West. That’s right. Key West is not merely a state, but recognized by locals as its own country. Take it back to 1982; tourism is flourishing in this phallus shaped state. People are traveling miles just to visit, and the drug trade & illegal immigration at an all time high. In steps the sneaky government with tight border patrol road blocks on the only linking road from Key West through to the mainland (yeah, that made us shudder, too). At first, tourists started flying to Miami just to avoid the hassle of waiting in single lane lines for hours.

Soon though, tourism began to decline. No one was happy about this type of government interference. This got the mayor all riled up. No one was going to step foot in his waters. The best and most natural solution was this: since the US was basically treating Key West as hostile enemy territory and searching its residents, the mayor figured they might as well act like a hostile enemy. On April 23, 1982 with gumption and a stale loaf of bread, the ~~mayor~~ prime minister and his disgruntled army declared war on the United States. Key West surrendered one minute later, applying for $1 billion in foreign aid. The US declined aid, but removed the roadblocks and inspection station shortly thereafter. Who needs foreign aid? With travel no longer thwarted, the Conch Republic could focus on earning a billion dollars in annual piña coladas sales. Now that’s a war worth fighting for. Read the full story if you’re interested.

This myth is not a myth at all.

Myth 6:  You can coast around Old Town on a scooter, fully loaded (on beer), and not get in trouble

Okay, have to say it. We’re total losers. We can’t even prove this one because we were the couple with the cannonball heads (that’s helmets for all you non visual types) and long pants on to protect against road rash, riding our scooter. So everyone else is out there consuming frightening amounts of Bud Light with nothing between the road and their noggins but glassy eyes and a mini skirt. They’re whooping it up and having a ball (and incidentally misinterpreting red lights as green) and we don’t even get to enjoy the feeling of the wind in our hair. We are rockstars; bigwigs; rebels; we’re Larry Flint.

Nope, we’re Canadians who are far too concerned with safety and the wily moped. I suppose this is good. People will think us responsible adults, so we will stand by it and nod our bowling ball heads. Besides, have you ever tried to hold a beer and drive at the same time? You have? Well, it’s tricky, isn’t it?

We could happily say that ‘you can drive recklessly in Key West while bubbling in your own liquor-ick stew’, but we really don’t have enough evidence to support our claim.

Myth 7:  Lots of people get naked in Key West

That’s right, you know this is the one you’ve been waiting for. Everyone always wants to hear about the naked people.

So there’s this place called Garden of Eden. It’s a clothing optional bar in rebellious Key West that caters to libidinous men and women of diverse shapes and sizes. If you’re 21, you’re as good as a permanent showpiece! We do a lot of research for this blog, and since we set about to disprove this ‘naked myth’ we had to do our part by exploring this so-called nudie bar.

We elbowed our way up two flights of stairs, through two burly bouncers, to behold a mystic roof. I believe these stairs are intended to prevent anyone of ill health (and likely mature age) from planting their flag at the top and getting in. Once inside, silvery plants tickled our faces in support of the garden theme.

It was extremely crowded, even at eleven pm, so we squirmed through the circle of flesh to find a peephole into the centre of the dance floor. The 90s song, Twilight Zone, played rhythmically with the crowd’s ego. Centre stage, gyrated an aged maiden covered only by a slovenly painted ‘tank top tuxedo’. She was grinding down hard with some lucky dude. Men stared with trained eyes on the prize. It was actually a bit disconcerting.

There were men, leering, like when betting on a cock fight. There were men, attempting nonchalance in a sausage factory while the sausage grinder sized them up. The whole experience only lasted long enough for us to realize there was some expectation that a new girl would take centre. I noticed the bouncer looking at me with a wink and a smile. Not wanting to ruin my reputation or sully this blog, we quickly departed.

Anyway, I can’t paint a t shirt worth a damn and neither can Travis. We’d gathered enough evidence.

So, the myth. Well, even though the nakedness we saw was constrained to a naked bar (and a bikini wedgie on the beach, which totally doesn’t count), I think given the yearly homemade bikini contest and numerous other events (see body painting contest & night parades) that we were wont to witness, we could ascertain the following:

People DO get naked in Key West. And they love doing it.

Debunked

Tue, 23 Feb 2010 21:59:00 -0700

Day 124

We have seen and conch-ered Key West. We’re another year older, although sans cake, presents, or family & friends, it really doesn’t feel that way. In preparation of getting older, we let the malaise of Key West run our bodies amok with food, drink, and late nights.

Key West is a maze of tourists, rough coral sand, Bourbon Street style pubs and nudie bars. It’s basically another Vegas on the sea (minus the slot machines—although there was a ‘masseuse’ working on a man’s torso in the pub who might have passed for one). By day two, we were still thrilled with this little seaside jamboree (day six was another story). We ate at the Hurricane Hole, scooted Isabella down streets perfectly made for scooters (30 mph limits), and gawked at the strange sites and sounds of this historic town.

But you don’t want to hear the details of our food and drink and gluttony. What you want to hear is the truth about the place. You know, so you can decide whether or not to waste your holiday days here.

The Myths.

Myth 1: People are super laid back in Key West

Alright. Who made this stupid one up? Every where we went everyone kept telling us how laid back people were in Key West. But to be honest, the most laid back people were, in fact, the canines of Key West and the Man O’ Wars dying on the beach. Though it is true that there were very few unnecessary honks and less angry, disgruntled yells, that impatient mother we know as Time still lead the majority of Key West locals & tourists by the hands. Hurry, hurry, hurry! Maybe it’s just that people in Key West are simply LESS intense and hurried as people of greater Florida, and that’s why Floridians will tell you, “Dude, Key West is soooo laid back. You won’t even believe it!”

I don’t.

Myth 2: People are happier in Key West

Busted. We have decided that it really makes no difference where you are, people seem to be generally miserable or maybe just detached. Neutral facial expressions —9 times out of 10— were scowls. The locals (especially the servers) remained aloof and unphased by any attempt at conversation. There was one exception to this phenomenon in Key Largo where we had excellent service and chatted at length with two different servers.

Otherwise, the experience has been ‘let’s just eat, or shop, or grab a drink at the bar, and get the hell outta here because people are avoiding us’. Or maybe it’s just that we just smell funny. At the Hard Rock, our absolutely negligent server actually circled the spot on the bill where it said ‘it is customary to tip your server 18% to 20%’. This, after avoiding us for an hour. She even drew an arrow to it. We reacted by providing her with information about how tipping actually works.

The other strange thing is that we cannot seem to make eye contact with anyone here. The harder we try, the more awkward people react, and the further the lengths they’ll take to avoid your eyes. It’s like trying to catch a fish with a butter knife (doesn’t work unless the fish is hypnotized, I’ll have you know). Does anyone know anything about this strange phenomenon?

Myth 3: Key West makes the best key lime pie

We tried four pieces of key lime pie while touring the keys. We had meringue topped, whipped cream laced, pomegranate sauced, and key lime wedged pie at four different locations. Verdict? The Cactus Club Cafe with its Red Iron Chef back home in Calgary beats them all hands down! Although each had its own merits, they either tasted too eggy, too sweet, too dense, or too boring. Here’s the break down.

Sundowners: meringue, tart, gelatinous. Too heavy on the sugar and way too much meringue

Hobo’s Cafe: crunchy pie crust, tangy, but plain (no limes, whip cream, or sauce), gelatinous

Hurricane Hole Restaurant: plated well (blackberries, blueberries, whipped cream), tart sauce, dense, a bit too sweet, lacking the tartness in the pie

Willie T’s: my personal almost favourite, tart, crunchy graham cracker crust, rosebuds of whip cream, but not enough zest. And not a Cactus Club key lime pie.

So in a place where the key limes fall off the tree at your feet, and each restaurant boasts that their pie was the BEST pie in the keys, we discovered Liars.

Myth 4: People are working hard to keep the wild chickens around

This is absolutely true! Key West is inundated with wild chickens and roosters who need help! This is the first time we have ever heard of such a thing. When we think of chickens, we think of sloppy white birds, KFC, and smelly coops. But there they are, scratching in the Kmart parking lot dirt with chicks and cocks in tow. Quite a site, actually. The roosters are much smaller than our Canadian version, but like Canada cocks, they shout their Kikeriki at all hours of the day or night or pretty much whenever they hear another rooster crowing. Not sure how that ‘crow at the rosy fingers of dawn’ thing got started. Farmer Joe should get an alarm clock if he wants a wake up call at dawn.

Anyway, these noble creatures are at the centre of some alarming controversy. Seems that the bird poop and alarming squawks are pissing some people off. Rooster Rights terrorists are going to great lengths to preserve the population that has been in existence here for about 175 years. Even as far as destroying traps and threatening the fabled Chicken Catcher. God help us all.

Now, I could go on and pull out your eyeballs with the rest of the myths. But they will take another page at least. We don’t want to bore you or leave your eyeballs a mess, so you’ll just have to wait till tomorrow. Or the next day.

Mythbusting in Key West

Thu, 18 Feb 2010 19:34:04 -0700

Day 119

We’ve only been here in darling Key West for just over a day. People say a lot of things about Key West. It’s our job to prove whether they’re true or not.

Because we have a full week here, we’ll have to revisit some of our findings. One can’t judge a place after being there for just a day or two (see Miami, Daytona, Tallahassee, Houston, Phoenix…).

Myth 1
People are super laid back in Key West

Myth 2
People are happier in Key West

Myth 3
Key West makes the best key lime pie

Myth 4
People are working hard to keep the wild chickens around

Myth 5
Key West is its own country

Myth 6
You can coast around Old Town on a scooter, fully loaded (on beer), and not get in trouble

Myth 7
Lots of people get naked in Key West

Now some of these we will explore first hand, and others we will only flirt with. We will have quite a tale to tell, though, judging by the fact that our birthdays are coming up (this Sunday) and that we have been working our asses off for the last month and could really use some Jimmy Buffet margarita time.

We’re doing it all for you, folks. We’re doing this for you.

Day 117 Sewage Disaster #2 (via Vimeo)

Tue, 16 Feb 2010 21:44:45 -0700

Day 117

Sewage Disaster #2 (via Vimeo)

My Key Lime Poem

Mon, 15 Feb 2010 20:30:00 -0700

Day 116

It occurred to me that I have not yet written you a poem. Surely you would like the sweet incantation of the written word to play daintily in your ear holes.

Ahem…

Key Lime

The key to a key lime surprise is
Not surprisingly: keys, jingling in the pockets of men
Surly bellies and wide moustaches ordering
Around cellulite wives in Pennekamp Park

The key to the surprise is lime coloured

Speedos.

Not for the old wrinklers, elastic lime tightens around the
Chicken legs of boys not yet sprouting chest hair.
Discouraging.

Slightly nauseous.

Jelly in the water, key lime
Flagella riding out the tides away from the
Flailing kid slapping water with his shovel.

Surprise sinks. A ship
-wrecked.
Parading coral blooms brightly
Competing with flowered bikinis.

A Key Lime surprise is in the mouth, tart
Glow in-the-dark green.
Crunchy graham crust, pucker up lips

Sunburn surprise, lime aloe to
Cover the sting of a day of duplicitous sun
Melting off my shoulders and into the
Ocean.

Down the drain till sunrise.

What, you expected an ~~a b a b~~ ~~rhyme scheme~~ (I stand corrected) internal rhyme scheme or something? I tell ya, William Shakespeare might like a good ~~rhyme scheme~~ iambic pentameter, but William Carlos Williams would consider it highly constrictive or even asphyxiating. I like the latter William better.

Stay tuned for Masterpiece Theatre at ten.

PS—I didn’t take a picture of the speedos, because it would have appeared that I was interested in the lads wearing them. Which is false and illegal. But mostly false. And illegal.

PPS- I wonder what Travis would look like in a speedo?

Miami Vices

Sat, 13 Feb 2010 19:44:00 -0700

Day 114

Granted we only spent two days in the heart of Miami, but it was enough to marinate us in its natural vices. “It’s hot,” the stylist who cut my hair responded when asked why settle in Miami, but it’s not a place to call home or to peg down the RV. That’s the bottom line (and right now, not even that ‘hot’ statement is accurate).

Rather than give you the play by play, we can break Miami down into its core components. Miami is weird.

The Beach
We didn’t see any tight bodied men or women roller blading down the beach in thongs as advertised, but it was a chilly day. Instead there were juiced up dudes with tribal tattoos doing push ups off of monkey bars (yeah, I don’t get it either). Lots of women glitzed up and lots with small dogs in their arms (not in purses, mind you). Lots of hustlers trying to sell you things. Our favourite was the ‘star’ in the Wu-Tang Clan who had ‘been sponsored by RZA back in Brooklyn’ to hawk his hand made CDRs to dumb Miami tourists. Trav launched into a debate with him over showcasing work for free which ticked the guy off so much, he walked away while calling Travis some colorful expletives. Good thing RZA Junior was lying, or someone in the Wu-Tang clan will be looking us up and making us sorry we didn’t pay that $10 for their ‘mixtape’.

What we see on the streets are a thousands of zombies. Some are very pretty zombies and many are nothing to look at at all; all pushing past you, none making eye contact or any connection whatsoever. Our new friend Kelly mentioned that people in Florida are angry. She was right. Everywhere people are scowling (this being their neutral expression). And well, frankly, we just can’t understand what there is to be so angry about. Floridians are in the warmest climate available in the whole of America. They have stunning beaches, warm water, and fresh oranges falling off the trees. It is a land of opportunity and silicone. Yet everyone is in a mad rush to get over this bridge or out of that parking lot or past that weird guy flexing his hairy chest. There’s something in here about eating sour things to appreciate the sweet, but I don’t have to say it.

Later on, we perused installments at the World Erotic Art Museum. As much genitalia as we saw, we were mildly disappointed since this World Class museum lacked any representation of erotic art’s past or its future. Don’t get me wrong. It was good fun looking at all the creative interpretations of penises and vajayjays, especially exploring such mystified and taboo a topic. However, what we were expecting was over the top furniture (they have a chair and a bed frame, but that is all), more sculpture, and less “I painted this interpretive penis on plywood with blue house paint in 2003.” Sexy museums can’t win them all, now can they?

The Traffic
Sitting in a parking lot and counting for five minutes rendered more than 24 car honks. People honk here like Calgarians wear bad shirts with blue flames or angel wings all over them. I don’t know if it’s that Miamiers (Miamese, Miamians?) lack patience or they simply get bored and want to press something, but the echo when sitting in traffic actually sounds like it does on all those movies where there is an endless banter of traffic horns. We are completely out of our element here.

In Calgary, even if a vehicle cuts right in front of you, you have a delayed honk response. It’s almost an afterthought and the sound rings out like an awkward BAAWWK long after the asshole has left you choking on his dust. Not the case here. Expect an array of disgruntled quacks and squeaks to punctuate your driving experience as thumbs are kept in perfect quick honk alignment. Even if the guy in front of you can’t move because the guy in front of him hasn’t inched forward, the person behind you will honk. Just a quick one. Like a disgruntled goose. It’s quite hilarious, while at the same time completely off putting.

The Spectacle
This happened on the beach, but needed its own section. We went for lunch in Miami right out on Ocean Drive. For those of you who have never been, expect this: cafes and run down restaurants with beautiful hostesses enticing your service with their pamphlets for $6.99 meals or 2 for 1 drinks.

What you see on the menu: crisp caesar salad with juicy shrimp and homemade dressing; mouth watering mojito.

What you get: little plate of wilted lettuce, one shrimp cut in half and dropped on either side of the plate, two croutons; $20 single shot mojito.

It was an absolute sham. I feel badly for all the tourists that get sucked in each hour. Every restaurant, save one or two, hustled you in for a mediocre yet expensive meal all smiles on the way in, ignoring you on the way out. They would look for the hot women, who could then bring in the hot guys to fill up their restaurants. Once you sat down, if you did decide to go for that ‘deal’, you were completely forgotten. The Sea Cafe added a mandatory 17% gratuity to the bill. A small pizza, side salad, a beer and margarita came to $54 and they expected additional tip. Read the reviews for the oceanside restaurants. They’re all the same. The rule is, keep walking until you don’t have someone bleating at you about their specials. The quiet place is the winner.

We will definitely come back to Miami. But we’ll stay away from mad cow drivers & deceptive, beaten down restaurants. Most importantly, we’ll double check the forecast before embarking.

Peas in a Pod

Wed, 10 Feb 2010 20:21:43 -0700

Day 111

We are sitting inside within a hostel environment in Hollywood, Florida. To prevent a boondocking overload, we booked three nights at the Hollywood Beach Hotel and Hostel thinking we would just waltz out onto the beach and take in some well deserved sun. Just as we let down our guard, a grimacing cold air mass descended upon us, and as in the days of the plague, we all ran helter skelter to avoid the shrill winds and unforgiving sand blasts; toads raining from the sky.

Okay, perhaps I exaggerate. But not much! Not complaining. I repeat, not whining that we have stinkier weather than you. Except it’s Florida and it’s cold. Like under 20 degrees Celsius cold. Nothing to shake a stick at, but dammit we’re sick of dodging bad weather. Aren’t you? It’s simply uncharacteristic of Florida.

Anyway, the point of this story… We are sitting in this cozy little room, weathering the weather —and I’m vaguely aware that Walter is awkwardly parked at a diagonal in a single strip parking lot just outside the window. So that’s him taking up three spots of the ten or so horizontals. He’s uncomfortable, and now we are paying for it. Let me back up; I phoned in advance to make sure management would be comfortable with it.

I wrote on the reservation.

“Comments: We have a very humble 31 foot motor home that needs a loving place to sleep for three nights. We spoke with someone there who said it shouldn’t be a problem to stay in your parking lot. Please call us or email us right away if this is a problem. Thanks!!”

No one phoned or emailed, so we assumed we were copacetic. Even check-in was a snap. “You just have the one vehicle?” they asked. They told us to take whatever spot was available. So we took three. We had to; Walter has a huge ass. All was calm for three or four hours, then a knock at the door brought trouble.

Girl: “I didn’t know you had a huge trailer. That is way too big for our parking lot.”

Me: “Hmm, I checked and Bruno said it was ok.”

Girl: “Yeah, but he didn’t know.”

Me: “Well, I made sure to ask before I booked. We definitely wouldn’t have booked here if we hadn’t been told it was alright.”

Girl: “Yes, well, you are taking up too many parking spots. So… I’m going to charge you for parking. Also you could get a ticket for not being parked correctly, and we can’t do anything about that. RV’s cannot park on the street here.”

(Walter’s moony face is hanging out over the sidewalk)

Me: “So you’re going to charge us even though you told us it was okay to park here?”

Girl: “Our other customers can’t park because of you. It’ll be $5 per spot per day.”

Me: “So that’s $5 X 3 x 3. That’s $45 for parking?”

Girl: “Yes”

Me: “Can you give us a break for one of the days? Ya know, since we don’t really have a choice?”

Girl: “Ok. I won’t charge you for tonight. But I am charging you for two days. We didn’t know it was that big.”

Yeah, even though I told them it was REALLY big.

Blarrrg. I caved and we’re paying $30 to park Walter sideways so he won’t get torn apart sitting in Walmart’s jenky parking lot. Not a bad price for peace of mind, right?

(Other than that, we love this place. It’s so cute and funky and I would tell anyone to rent it at $79/weeknight. Just don’t park your big ass motor home here, or regret the day you did)

Tonight we order pizza and watch a movie called Cold Souls (apropo, oui?). It’s kinda like being in Calgary again, but lacking our awesome friends.

Cross your fingers for a blessed long range weather forecast.

Rachel finds a coconut (via Vimeo)

Mon, 08 Feb 2010 00:43:08 -0700

Rachel finds a coconut (via Vimeo)

Road Rage in Fort Lauderdale

Sun, 07 Feb 2010 21:41:03 -0700

Day 108

Just so you don’t think it’s all wine and roses on the road, consider this: we manage to spend entire days driving from parking lot to parking lot all over metropolitan cities such as Fort Lauderdale, only to be turned away by insidious “No RV parking” signs. Walter is big, uncoordinated, and as good looking as he is, he sucks at elocution.

Today was one of those days. As we thoughtfully attempted to book RV parks in Miami (note to self: book eleven months in advance), we realized that we would be ‘homeless’ for the rest of the week. That is, held captive in the clutches of a corporate giant (aka Walmart) for days. Now, even for the really RV-savvy, three or more days of boon docking means you will have no water, a full sewage tank (or at least a stinking one), and the twitches from your lack of sleep in crime ridden Walmarts or abandoned malls. Two days is doable, but five to seven? Hah. Only if you don’t value your sanity or personal hygiene.

This is the fun packed day we had:

Booked our stays in Key West and Austin, TX and spent all morning on the phone and Google maps.

Bolted from the abandoned West Palm Beach mall parking lot after two cars started repeatedly circling around us. Didn’t stick around to find out their intentions. Left at noon and drove for an hour to Fort Lauderdale.

Landed in a Target shopping centre so we could shower and eat a quick ham sandwich, but this Target was in a shopping centre, so we knew we couldn’t catch any Zeds there. Left at 3: 30pm.

Tried to stop for gas at a Chevron, but the pump was broken. We nearly clipped the bikes off the back pulling through the narrow lane; the inclines are always steep too, so we we risk losing Bella, our scooter, every time we hit a slant. It is now 4:00pm.

We got back on the freeway and rolled into the Hard Rock Cafe Casino (since casinos are mostly RV friendly), hoping for an adoring welcome. NO RV PARKING signs glinted angrily back at us, further reinforced by the police towers hovering in the lot for the Superbowl. 4: 20pm.

Back on the freeway to a narrow Exxon. This time gas pumping was succesfull. 4:50pm.

Programmed another Walmart into the GPS, but Travis turned Walter around because I was pouting. He asked me where I wanted to go. “To the beach!” I said. So we headed east. It is now 5pm. The sun would set in an hour.

Several wrong turns later, we are moving along a narrow beach front road, looking for sand and the last chip of sun. Wrong turn leads to dead ends. Parking lots close in half an hour, but want to charge us $7 anyway. 5:20pm.

Can’t park or turn around, keep heading south. No cafes, no more parking lots. Just a narrow strip of black top and one direction. 5:30pm.

Programmed another Walmart into GPS. Saw it as we haul ourselves over a drawbridge, and lo and behold it loomed in the impending dark. 5:37pm.

Hunkered down in a corner with rickety shopping carts and other RVs and semi-trucks. Hoping that Carl, the security guard in the old Buick will just move along and realize we are the least of his security concerns. We just want to reflect upon the day, and drink some fine Samuel Adams cream stout. 10:11pm.

So all of you critics that think we just sip margaritas on jeweled beaches all day while sending emails and playing tic tac toe— you are gravely mistaken.

We only do that on Tuesdays.

Those Cool Kids We Call Friends

Sun, 07 Feb 2010 21:02:23 -0700

Day 105

Photo By Kelly Sue, Flickr

Met a girl today. She just might have a better story than we do! For serious. This girl goes by the name of Kelly. She’s a friend of the nGenWorks crew and we met up by chance with the intention of swapping travel stories. Well, now I don’t even think I want to talk about this girl, because frankly, her travel stories outshine ours, and all four of you people reading this blog will just give up and stop reading so you can hear about real adventure.

Kelly decided to roam the country in her tent and trusty Saturn for a while after a sudden job change three years ago.

Kelly has witnessed torrential downpours in Alabama from the canvas of her tent.
Kelly has nearly tased a crazy lady for falsely accusing her of being a near hit and run driver.
Kelly has traversed the wild lands of Mt. Zion to the prairies of South Dakota with the mere comforts of biodegradable soap and a bowie knife.
Kelly has witnessed iguanas falling dead out of Florida trees due to climate change.

But Kelly didn’t have running water, a working toilet, or electricity, save for that little heater she could crank when the temperature dipped to just above freezing. How’s that for impressive?

So now that you know what real adventure is, we will have to overshadow her by telling you about how awesome it was washing dishes in our sink today. It was so awesome and now the dishes are so clean and phosphate free.

Just kidding, Kelly. You get full credit for today. You were such fun to talk to and now instead of consulting Trip Adviser or Lonely Planet for travel tips, we are going to call you. Repeatedly and with fervour. Until you wish you had just ignored the fact that we were fellow travelers in your hood that could bore you to tears with tales of asphalt and rain. Oh dear, Kelly. We might just make you want to get back on that road again, far, far away from us.

-wink-

Keep in touch!

Taking a Turn?

Fri, 05 Feb 2010 18:48:00 -0700

Day 106

I’m not sure, but I’m hoping we’re taking a turn. A good one. Mostly weather related. But in general, more sun equals more happiness. After all, this is the sunshine state.

Today you could run outside nude and drink in the rain like it was bathtub water. Not that we did, mind you. But there is a nudist colony about 40 miles from here: Sunsport Gardens Nudist Club, so if we change our minds they’ll welcome us with open arms. Come on now, that’s not the sort of adventure we’re engaged in!

We are loving the humidity in West Palm Beach, Florida. It’s amazing. Probably a lot like what it was to be a baby darting around in the womb, all warm and comfy. Sorry about all these images, folks. I may have consumed a little too much boxed wine tonight. But there’s beauty in that, right? The images, I mean. There’s so much freedom in this movement that it’s almost alarming. Shakes you up a bit. Makes you wonder what you’d be doing if you didn’t buy an RV and take it all the way to south Florida just because you felt like it.

The plan is to lay low here in Florida for about two to three weeks. Our birthday (yeah, that’s right, we share the same birthday: February 21st) is coming up, as is the good old corporate holiday of Valentine. We can zoom along down to Fort Lauderdale, Miami, and the Florida Keys and spend some quality time down there burning our sunburns.

If there are any takers, there’s plenty of room in the RV. Do not let the fact that Walter has a mild arterial coating disturb you. We’ll clean him good before your arrival.

The Peanut Gallery

Mon, 01 Feb 2010 20:19:00 -0700

Day 102

We have run into some pretty notable people while on our journey. The funny thing is, no matter where we set down our weather beaten RV, the people are exactly the same. Even funnier, as friendly as most people are, they keep to themselves. Sometimes we can’t even peg the individual, we just have to peg the vehicle and its oddball quirks.

We feel it not only important, but absolutely necessary to share these RV park people types with you. You never know. If the mood strikes and you decide to have an adventure of your own, you’ll want to spot them before they can spot you. Your life might depend on it.

Antique Road Show
This type is known for the brass lamp that sits upon a delicate lace doily in their front cabs. They wouldn’t think of trading that lamp in for lots of money because it’s brand new and it sparkles in the afternoon sun. You knew of course, that the steering wheel transforms into a side table to support this lamp and the driver’s seat into a lounge chair so one may read the paper. The owners paid extra for these features to come standard with their Wilderness Champion class A motor home. This type may or may not also be a Knick Knack Nannie. Watch for porcelain statues of cats or clowns lined across the inside of the windshield.

Subtype of Antique Road Show: Prophylactic Plastics
You will notice that this type drapes their entire RV with protective covers. There are custom covers for windshields, plastic covers for tires, side mirrors, and hitches. It is an obsessive pastime undertaken by a type who might also share the Knick Knack Nanny and Nosy Nancy behaviours.

Knick Knack Nanny
This is the senior citizen who makes her home in the RV resorts of the southern and western states. Committed to sprucing up the world around them, Knick Knack Nannies thoughtfully place garden gnomes, patio lanterns, plants, shrubs, windmills, concrete statues, and banners about Jesus all around their rigs. You cannot mistake these types, as they’ll be out working in their ‘garden’, which is really just a crappy plot of grass and dirt that is exchanged for another every few weeks, and all of the painstaking remodeling is done once more. At Christmas time you will see these types with a brightly lit, decorated tree and glowing balls sitting upon the AstroTurf. Inflatable snowman wave menacingly from the lawn and gift bags sit like soldiers over the side mirrors. Shudder.

Subtype of Knick Knack Nanny: Crazy Cat Lady
Often seen with thirteen skittish cats pressed against the windows of the RV, crazy cat lady never exposes herself to daylight and feeds her critters 70 kg of cat litter under the cloak of night. She violates all major RV park regulations, but remains unapologetic.

Paranoid Pug Walker
This distracted dog walker will stare you down out of the corner of her eye while stooping to pick up poop. She won’t talk or smile, but when your back is turned, she wishes she’d invited you in for a spot of tea because she’s just that lonely. This type should never be confused with Mrs. Potato Head as she is far slimmer and wears her hair in a longer bob.

Nosy Nancy
Like the Paranoid Pug Walker, Nosy Nancy will usually be out with her pet, but instead of avoiding you, she come straight at you. She’ll engage you in thirty to forty five minutes of menial conversation about the weather while you try to empty your black water and get the hell out before check out time expires and you owe $50 for late departure. She is likely employed by the RV park for just this purpose.

King of the Swill
He’ll just stare you down from afar. He will usually be wearing a faded baseball cap sweaty with grime hat and have giant Miller High Life crushed in his knarled fingers. He is the king of the park. You do not want to engage in conversation with King of the Swill. It’s too risky. He will simply grunt and nod, spitting out your past, present, and future with zero regard for your feelings. May also be fit the bill of Wolfman or Mr. Potato Head.

Wolfman
The hairy dude that lathers himself with baby oil and sits in his lawn chair no matter what the day brings. It could be pouring rain or hot as a rat’s ass, and he’ll be out there, shining like a non-stick pan. This type may be confused with a King of the Swill, but often more friendly (to a fault). Do not let your wives walk too close to these types or unwanted conversation and disconcerting sidelong glances will ensue.

Mr and Mrs Potato Head
It’s a tragedy. After many years of marriage, couples will undoubtedly start looking like one another. Everywhere we go we see women sprouting chin hair, cropped hair, and rounded guts, while the men begin to grow subtle breasts, let their bangs take on a rounded flip and they appear six months pregnant because their livers are locked in a bath of hard liquor and Cheetos. As well, you will notice they both wear sack cloth jeans that sag in the ass. Each day they swap shapeless t-shirts adorned with eagles and NASCAR ‘98, according to the laundry schedule. These types are a product of the RV lifestyle as exercise or creativity is seldom a priority on the road. Careful; Mrs Potato Head may also be a Nosy Nancy.

Merv the Perv or Lester the Molester
Merv and Lester both have moustaches. It’s a prerequisite. They also have stained t-shirts covered in mustard and wheel grease. Instead of a 50 foot big rig, they live in their vans, or in those trucks with campers grafted onto their backs. Rust is a necessity as it often distorts the vehicle model and license plate, making it more difficult to track their crimes. These types will skulk around the RV site, ordering pizza in on Monday nights and rubbing their facial hair while small children play on the swing set. If you think you spot a Merv or Lester you can confirm the siting by visiting www.meganslaw.com. Whatever you do, do not snap pictures of or approach these types. They are extremely gun shy and will bolt for Mexico if perturbed. It is best to call local authorities or simply move along to a four star campsite where the afternoon activities include bridge and horseshoes. Merv and Lester hate bridge.

Frankly, we think that if you have a mind to be a rapist, murderer, or wish to brag vandalism while you stay in the States, the RV park is the perfect environment for you. Just think: you are never in the same place longer than you want to be and can vanish within minutes (just pack in that black water hose). No one knows your name or your story. You can even hide behind your shitzu or poodle and look completely benevolent. You drive a big rig, so everything you need is on your back and ready to run. Furthermore, you could probably store a meth lab easily in the kitchen of your 40 foot rig. If you killed the purple smoke, no one would be the wiser. You could even cover your license plate with a motorcycle or small scooter to avoid detection. Why not?

We hope you feel more comfortable with the Peanut Gallery. You’ll be seeing a lot more of them when we get back (it’s contagious).

Days of Thunder

Sat, 30 Jan 2010 15:14:00 -0700

Day 100

So you want to hear about Daytona? You don’t? Well, too bad.

We lived through that nightmare, now so will you. The thing is, we (I) should have known better. I had this irrational belief that the entire state of Florida was just like California, so the southern accents and baptist churches really threw me off. Too much Entertainment Tonight, I guess. Daytona is like the love child of San Antonio and Los Angeles. And it’s a total shit.

Famed for its beaches and glistening sand, we pulled in thinking it would be our first of many beach-going adventures. That’s right folks, three months of outrunning winter, and not a beach trip nor ray of sun to brag about. Now here’s what we didn’t consider: NASCAR rules the world here. You know those tyrannical parents who put tiaras on their two-year-olds and send them to beauty pageants with too much lipstick and spray tan? Daytona is a NASCAR beauty pageant. Kids have little racing hats, men show off their Harleys and crotch rockets with no helmets down International Freeway, and uncle Billybob has already got his nephew into a stock car by age four. The girls of Daytona are the girls you see in the NASCAR calendars: beautiful, bitchy, and smeared in make up. Apparently Girls Gone Wild skipped town, so any breasts leaning on the beach bartops have been replaced with the guts of old bearded men and golfers.

Daytona has some marvels, alright. Yes, we went to the beach, and yes the sand was soft and white. The sand is incidentally the birthplace of auto racing, and years ago cars would burst down the beach with blatant disregard for the crabs or snails, churning up smoke and seaweed as they hit the finish line. This history part was kinda neat.

Still, the marvel is that the beach remains a street of sorts. Cars drive by scoping out ‘the sexy ladies’ (believe me Daytona in January = zero of these unless you like mature women with high self esteem). This made me extremely uncomfortable. But it probably made Travis even more unsettled. A car full of girls drove by us, assumed a sexy girl on the beach was bathing topless and shouted, “Wooooo, party Daytona!!”, but when Trav turned his chin to them they screeched in disgust. “Ewww gross, it’s a dude!!! ” He had his shirt off and was in a pair of rolled up jeans. I guess Daytona has lesbians, too. That’s cool. But rude ones are not.

Later, another car full of girls shrieked and laughed at a robust woman getting off her night shift, “Hey fatty! Oinkkkkk”. What’s with the idiot blonds in thick eyeliner yelling obscenities and belligerant statements to strangers? This used to go on in high school at home. But we’re not in high school anymore, Toto. The parents of these girls should be ashamed. Too bad they’re likely at the track, and so can’t be bothered.

Add the above to the seat peeing, and we’re done here. Absolutely done.

Daytona is a loser.

Daytona. Seat Pissers.

Thu, 28 Jan 2010 19:21:24 -0700

Day 98

We have a strong suspicion that someone peed all over our scooter seat. It was wet, everything else was dry.

This was our first night out in Daytona.

Seat pissers.

Halfway There.

Mon, 25 Jan 2010 22:51:00 -0700

(that was for you, Karissa. Ah yeah.)

Day 95

That’s right. This crazy, life splaying, intoxicating, perilous journey is more than halfway over. At least the south of the border portion.

To put it in perspective, here are some numbers:

We’ve put on 7 800.3 miles during this trip.

That’s 12 553.3 km. ~~Which is practically the same distance of the equator of the earth (12 756km). We’ve just traveled the belt of the earth!~~ (Actually about 1/3 of the equator but hey, who’s counting?) No wait, 12 553km is the DIAMETER of the earth, so straight through, like if we dug a tunnel to China.

We’ve filled our tank almost twice a week, so that’s almost 20 gas station stops for pop and dried out licorice.

A tank of gas costs about $120, so we’ve spent over $2400 on gas that goes to the man. The only thing that makes us feel better is that we’re not eating diesel. Oh, Walter you gas guzzling queen.

We’ve explored Kamloops, Vancouver, Seattle, Leavenworth, Portland, Tillamook, Newport, Coos Bay, Crescent City, Ukiah, San Francisco, Santa Cruz, Monteray, Pismo Beach, Los Angeles,

(catch my breath)

San Diego, Salton City, Joshua Tree, Phoenix, Lake Havasu, Vegas, Kingman, Tucson, El Paso, San Antonio, Houston, New Orleans, Pensacola, Panama City, Tallahassee, Jacksonville, and now St. Augustine. We’re halfway there.

Crossed through nine states.

We’ve driven Walter without a drop of water at least four times. This means no water to flush the toilet or wash or hands. None to rinse the grey water off either. Good thing Bath and Body Works makes hand sanitizer.

Boondocked about 30 days, 20 of those in Walmart parking lots. We HATE Walmart —but Security patrols like Batman, and that’s cool.

Each of us has eaten approximately 60 hot dogs charred in the frying pan. That’s the equivalent of 180 feet of hot dog. Or enough to completely fill our intestines 8.18 times. Open wide and say parasites.

We’ve had four major scraps on the trip (minor disagreements if you will). Two of them were over trying to find a balance between work and play. One was about sex, and the other was about someone being told to ‘suck in’ during a photograph. Don’t worry she’s over it.

We’ve lost and found: Travis’ black gloves (2x), his glasses, our scooter keys, Walter keys, sunglasses, & two lens caps all within 300 square feet of Walter. How is this possible?
Fished 33 quarters out for laundry eleven times, and rolled our clothes twelve times. Once they were all unrolled in a quest for black gloves, which resulted in massive clothes re-rolling (saves space)

We’ve used our internet nonstop for approximately 720 hours, or 43 200 minutes, which is probably the same amount as most of you do anyhow.

Subjected to Kings of Queens, Friends, and other pathetic reruns 12 times on Peasantvision

It has rained approximately 68 out of the 90 days we have been on the road. We are bloating with moisture and unrecognizable from the rivers that surround us.

We have completed eight motorhome repairs. Of these, only four were successful. I blame Walter. We chose a stubborn beast.

Embarrassment? We’ve felt sheepish at least 63 times since we left. Most of it can be digested on video.

We still have all our teeth (that 28 + 32 = 60). So scurvy hasn’t made an appearance. Yet.

This has been one helluva journey. Looking forward to the second half. We’ll let you know how it goes.