It was the first real road trip, because an occasional backroads excursion to Muleshoe or to Lubbock where just not life changing.
As farmers, of modest means at that, we just didn’t take vacations. Then my dad shocked everyone and announced we were headed to Florida for Spring Break in the Chevy, with my mom and sister in the back seat and me — a young teenager in the co-pilot position, navigating from an atlas and getting “Smokey” reports on a CB radio. (Old school …)
I barely remember Walt Disney World. My sister and I were at that age when things back home were more interesting … or maybe we were in the “cool years” — too old to go crazy for the amusement park … but young enough to be there with our parents.
Among the more vivid memories are the hotels and motels swimming pools along the way. Each night after 10-12 hours of “breaker breaker” on the radio and turnpikes and orange groves and swamps and bridges, we would take a dip … no matter the water temperature. As farm kids in the Panhandle of Texas, I often say we were “swimming-pool deprived.” On the road to Florida, we hit the water every night, swimming into the lights embedded in the concrete walls of the pool … yes, kind of like bugs to a light, for a lack of a better metaphor.
But the big hit … the most clear memory for me was the beach. We did a brief stop along the shore in Galveston and it was pretty impressive at the time … until we hit Daytona Beach. Florida with its emerald, clear water — water the color of a mood ring set on “chilled out” mode was the backdrop for my wildest dreams coming to fruition. I so fancied myself a beach dude at heart … and all the key elements were at play. People were floating frisbees everywhere. Skateboards. “Good-time” vans. Bicycles. Food carts. Trick kites. … And very developed-looking girls of my age group, looking way too old for me, strolling the beach in schools of six to eight abreast. (Pun intended.)
I have not thought of this mythical land of bikinis and sunburns for years, until The Dirty Gig flew me out to Miami for a disaster recovery job at a college in Dade County. A few days into the project — having learned I would have weekends off — I hopped back on a plane for Texas and snatched up my Triumph Thunderbird. I am always restless for a ride when assigned to a project away from home, and it just so happened that Bike Week at Daytona was just around the corner. I had to scratch that itch. (Most rate Bike Week up there with Sturgis … some prefer it.)
“I can do this,” I said, trying to convince myself.
The PingWi-Fi budget was tight, since this little trip home was funded by my pocket. So .. I went total econo. I flight-shopped online for the cheapest way to fly home Friday night, knowing I would hop on the motorcycle for the ride to Florida the next morning. Well … I missed out on the good flights. I booked a cheap flight from Miami to Atlanta, where I would make a connection to Dallas. The trouble was … there was an eight-hour layover in the ATL, and the flight to DFW was early the next morning. Remember I was trying to go for cheap. This little trip home would mean a new first for the blog — sleeping in one of the world’s busiest airports.
Most of my friends have heard me make fun of people in the coffee shop or wherever who have mastered the “fine art of public sleeping.” Now I am among that flock … I digress …
Pretty sure I tossed and turned on the floor, for a couple of hours, sweeping or “swiffering” the nasty carpet with my hair … using my hoodie for a pathetic little pillow … hiding my eyes from the sinister lights by cowering under a waiting-area chair. My compliments to the airport designer who positioned a revolving door nearby, which announced the importance of caution while entering the doorway … all night … to an empty airport … every 20 seconds. Somehow I got three or four hours of sleep. Popped up. Grabbed a pastry and a bottle of water from a vending machine (ha … five minutes before the stupid coffee shop finally opened its doors) … gargled some toothpaste from the travel sample size tube in my pocket (that somehow survived me kneading the tooth paste inside the tube with my thigh all night.
The three-ish-hour flight to Dallas allowed me to sleep a little more.
Yes … this was a crazy plan. But I told myself, “It’s an adventure. This is why I do the blog, for adventures.” Ha … it reminded me of the early days on a tight budget for Sundance Film Festival when I stayed one of the nights in a Salt Lake City brothel … no wait, make that hostel (I always get those two words mixed up) … which is another long story. I digress.
We landed in Dallas early Saturday morning. Rushed home. Showered. Packed the bike. Went and got the old changed, and headed East on I-20. Ten or 11 hours later, I made my first night destination, a Holiday Inn Express ini Pensacola, Fla., with excellent Wi-Fi, by the way. (For those of you following along on Facebook … that was the night on the bike that I was in leathers, several layers of shirts, waterproof gloves, thermal underwear and still froze off my arse as the temperature and/or windchill factor hit the low 40s … IN FLORIDA! Glad I packed … clothes … not referring to the pistol (I am hush-hush about that) … although, yes, Florida does reciprocate with Texas and its concealed weapon types.
I also informed Facebook followers (during the ride) that I took the longest, hottest, most fantastic shower of my life that night. Up the next morning (Sunday) and was on the 1690 c.c.s of power (ha … the Triumph) by 8 a.m. … It was much warmer from that point on … so the ride became perfect. I made great time on the interstates both days (I-20 and I-10 for the most part), despite every lunatic on four wheels trying unsuccessfully to cut me off, run over me, or whatever games they were playing. From DFW to Shreveport to Gulfport to Pensacola was largely nondescript landscapes … or even more dismal, a night ride. Oh … I must mention that my trusty iPhone I use for GPS and music went dead about four hours earlier than expected. So … when I hit a stretch of smaller road from Jackson, Miss., to Mobile, Ala., in the dark, my navigating was touch and go a time or two, especially when I pulled off for gas in Hattiesburg, Miss. When I was fueling The Bird, another motorcycle pulled up — a local guy on a sports bike … fairly young. Not too prideful to confirm I had the right backroad in mind, in order to rejoin the small highway (49) … the nicest thing happened. This young dude with a “devil’s haircut” and a long, long goatee offered to just lead me back to the highway. It seems he was headed that way to a party at a friend’s house. (“Oh great,” I thought along the way, as the backroad got more and more remote, “Their going to kill me and dismantled my bike and sell it for parts on the black market … and probably make lampshades from my skin.” But … “It’s an adventure,” I also told myself, again. Everything turned out great. The other biker led me a few miles, we rejoined the main highway where he waved goodbye, and off I went into the cold, dark night.
So any who … the next day I hit Lake City Florida, and the Eastern trek took a decidedly southern turn on I-75, which goes down the middle of the peninsula to Tampa. I followed it for a while, then decided to cut over to I-95 — the coastal freeway. I turned off at Ocala, Fla., headed for Daytona Beach (although Bike Week was still a week away). Good decision. The ride from Ocala to Dayton was like a twisting ride through a nature reserve … oh the #F&F (flora/fauna). So many unknown plants and smells … “Was that a most-fragrant hit of wild eucalyptus?” … I digress.
Oh .. but get this. I pulled over for an hour in Ocala. The next day, my childhood friend’s wife informed me on Facebook that they too were in Florida … for whatever reason, in Ocala, at the same time. (Later she told me we were also in Miami simultaneously.) Oh how I wish I had just run into them on the street. My old friends “Kev” and Connie from Indiana were in Ocala via Indiana for some reason. Oh how I love a coincidence (now to be known on this blog as the “Ocala Coincidence” … a nice poetic ring, don’t you think?). You may recall we two teenage best friends reunited in NYC a couple of years back at a nice restaurant in NYC’s East Village … another long story.
Concept Bike
So, one week early, The T-Bird and I tried out Daytona Beach. There were bikes everywhere, but not the madness of a bike festival, not yet. I fell in love with the place again. It’s not an ultra-exclusive, swank resort community by any stretch, but there are lots of new and nice hotels going in. It’s just such a beach town … and happens to have a cool, long drag through the town, perfect for an afternoon ride. But, there were hours to ride before I slept. I took a look at the marshland from a bridge or two south of Daytona, near the coastline … then turned back to Interstate 95 and hauled arse the rest of the way to Miami, completing the second of two consecutive 10-11-hour days of riding. Loved it. Only one problem … that crazy iPhone GPS went dead again, just as I hit Miami … you know the point when I needed it most. It took me about an hour to find my hotel, without a map, a GPS … or an English-speaking good direction giver. I was so tired.
But … up at 5 a.m. … and off to work I went … “an adventure.” Five days later, I was headed back up the peninsula to Daytona again … for the full-blown Bike Week.
After the initial Republican Debate euphoria and the chance meet up with #MajorGarrett (in the previous blog), The Dirty Gig in South Carolina slowed to a snail’s pace … kinda like a long, slow, southern drawl. Day in, day out, we suited up in Tyvek suits and cleaned grease and soot off industrial machines. The most excitement was accidentally hitting my hard hat on the low hanging pipes for the umpteenth time … “low-hanging fruit” designed for 5’10” workers, apparently. Funny thing about hard hats … you can hit your head and it doesn’t hurt but paradoxically, you never hit your head if you take the helmet off. The things protect the noggin, but impair your vision drastically. I say it is a wash. I have an idea for a translucent safety helmet. Anyone want to go in on this? I digress …
If the manufacturing plant in Greenwood, S.C., had Wi-Fi, it was probably toast, like some of the machines in the place. I didn’t get on a hotspot, at work, unless it was to wipe grime off of it.
Ha. My hotels in Greenwood had great Wi-Fi … two hotels in a week, due to a scheduling snafu. First a Fairfield, which was fine for my one night of wrecking their bedding. Then actually, the snafu continued at hotel number two — a Holiday Inn … Where, due to scheduling conflicts — or perhaps ineptitude — the hotel asked me to change rooms three times in five days. On the eve of the first scheduled change, one night desk guy went above and beyond the call and got the problem worked out. So, I didn’t have to move around in the same hotel. Ah, life’s simple pleasures. Here’s what I didn’t like about the Holiday Inn. The place was fairly new/nice … and several of the other, not-so-customer-service-oriented front desk staff stood in front of the automatic doors each night and each morning (three of them) and chain smoked so that the entire hotel breakfast area and hallways filled with a cancer cloud.
Did I say anything to them? Technically, no … (I know … surprising, if you know me, since I am allergic to the poison in cigs …) But I sent a message. I conducted a little experiment to test the power of social media. I tweeted the particulars with the hashtags of #HolidayInn and their parent company #IHG … along with the all-encompassing #travel hashtag. You know what? Maybe someone at corporate saw the tweet … I don’t know. The next day the air was clear. I will never know. But after I checked out and as I drove away from The Holiday Inn … the trio were lighting it up. I digress …
My meals in Greenwood were mainly fast food and a few turkey sandwiches in the hotel room. But one night, I skipped my Starbucks/Wi-Fi routine … or actually just delayed it … and went out with my coworkers to what appeared to be the hottest joint in town — The Dixie Drive Inn … a traditional diner.
Ha. Dixie’s burgers and fries were about as good as anywhere else. The atmosphere was ok. Good southern pride: they had their own t-shirts for sale but for once I resisted. Any who … the dinner at this diner was memorable for the conversation with the guys from the job, if nothing else.
Speaking of the guys, I may have mentioned my friend Hakim before in this blog. We have worked together on a number of different projects, and he too is from the Dallas/Fort Worth area. I think I have blogged in the past that occasionally I hear Hakim calling in and making great sports comments/analysis on Dallas sports radio. When it comes to The Dallas Cowboys, Hakim is about as loyal and knowledgeable … no make that insightful as anyone. Funny guy too …
But at this Dixie joint, I learned Hakim is also a connoisseur of fine ‘70s sitcom TV. Who knows how we got on the topic, but he was expressing his love for All In The Family and several other shows. Then he brought up one of his favorites. “You know the one with the single mother and two daughters … and the fix-it guy named Schneider.” (Who could forget Schneider? … he was like the middle-aged version of Chachi — skinny but proud of the little muscles he had, forever in sleeveless or tight shirts and thinking he was THE lady’s man) … I digress.
Dang it! I couldn’t think of the name of the show … and to think, I pride myself on knowing useless stuff. I told Hakim I remembered the show, and the name ws right there on the tip of my tongue. At first I said, “Who’s The Boss.’” “But no, that was Tony Danza, Alysa Milano, etc.” I had to guess this! Of course it became an obsession and I started working through mental prompts. “It had Bonnie Franklin, playing ‘Ms. Romano.’ It had Mackenzie Phillips, offspring of the Mamas & The Papas … Oh and Eddie Van Halen’s ex-wife, Valerie B.” Hakim nodded, but neither one of us could recall.
I continued to think and Hakim’s phone rang. Soon he was in a deep conversation when the trivial answer came to me. Ha … I thought I better write it down before I forgot it again. So I scribbled “One Day At A Time” on a napkin. Hakim continued in a serious conversation on the phone. We all had finished our meals and Hakim was still on the phone as we walked to separate cars, so I tapped him on the shoulder and handed him the napkin.
Hakim looked at me and smiled a little … maybe beamed a little and said “thanks.” And that was that. Kind of anti-climactic for some real ’70s TV trivia sorcery, I thought. But I forgot about it and went to my car. As I was about to pull away, Hakim knocked on the window and asked to ride with me, instead of the other guys.
He seemed a little melancholy … and wanted to talk.
He got in and started telling me about his phone conversation. I won’t get into details, but one of his friends was having some really difficult life situations and bad luck compiling them. Hakim had been trying to console his friend on the phone. I expressed my empathy for the situation and we kept talking. When the conversation changed to lighter topics, I said “‘One Day At A Time,’ man.” ( … still amazed it took me so long to remember the name of that TV show.)
Hakim looked at me, appreciative and said … “Yes. Exactly. One day at a time. Kent, that was so helpful. Thanks for giving me that message. Sometimes words are just right for the situation. One day at a time … that is exactly what my friend needed to hear and that is what I told him. Thanks man.”
What!?!
Oh … 🙂
I think Hakim and I both realized at the same time what had happened. I never heard what Hakim was saying to his friend, and obviously couldn’t hear his friend’s side of the story. But I guess Hakim thought I had overheard, and he thought I had this precious gem of wisdom, perfect for the situation. (Ha … he overestimates my depth …)
We both laughed when we realized I was trying to help him out in reminiscing about old TV.
“This is it. This is life. The one you get, so go ahead and have a ball …,” the old theme song was stuck in my head all day.
Decades ago, I was offered a position at a daily newspaper in a mid-sized Texas city. I was very appreciative. Print journalism jobs were not that easy to find. However, the paper — although a Pulitzer Prize winner “in my own backyard” — was not my first choice. I, of course, wanted to write for Rolling Stone Magazine or Esquire or something like that. They didn’t return my calls. I thought I would even “settle” for SPIN, Guccionne Jr.’s music “rag.” One of the SPIN editors read some of my stuff and offered to let me freelance … which pretty much means nothing to a starving college grad.
It seems the college journalism awards I had won and the three years at the college paper didn’t mean much and didn’t open doors like I expected.
But you know what opened doors? How do you think I finally got an interview and was hired by a daily newspaper? It was probably not the way most writers got their start. I interviewed with the newspaper’s editor, a Missouri grad named Garet Von Netzer. (Missouri was considered to be the best J school in the country, btw. My college was not … ) So many of the young reporters who got their first break at the paper were Mizzou grads. There were several from Southern Illinois too (yes Salukis) … a few from Baylor … and me from Texas Tech. I never heard what Von Netzer thought of Texas Tech journalism. We didn’t discuss it. During the one job interview, the editor and I sat in his office and talked Texas Panhandle sports … specifically, Vega Longhorn basketball.
As luck would have it, back when Von Netzer was the sports editor at The Amarillo Globe News, he covered some of my basketball team’s games. To this day, I still have some of the basketball clips, written by GVN, with lines my mom highlighted, reporting my total points in the games. Von Netzer said he remembered my jumpshot, and he remembered he had called me Vega’s “outside gunner” in one of the articles.
No it wasn’t my way with words that got me the job … It seems The Amarillo Globe News had a basketball team, and they offered a reporter position to a new shooting guard that day.
The paper was lots of fun. Starting out though, I was on the night shift as a general assignments reporter. But wait. The newspaper’s basketball games were at night too … so in my first reporter job, at night, I was unavailable for the team. But soon, a regular daytime beat was offered to me … and the word on the street was, the editor/coach was ready for me to join the team.
Well … in addition to being a former player and a green journalist, I was a newlywed and soon had one of the best surprises of my life … I found out I was going to be a dad. That ended my newspaper career. Journalism grads don’t make a lot of money. So, with a growing family, I shut down what I always wanted to do and took a job in public relations for more salary. I never played a game for the Globe News team … Globe Trotters … or whatever they were called.
I wonder if I could have been a contributor to the basketball team. I don’t know, but despite my basketball moves getting me the job, I actually held my own at the paper with my writing. I heard from time to time that several of the newspaper’s team didn’t know if I could make the cut — as a writer or a player. Several of the guys were pretty cocky — both on the court and on the page.
Of the guys on the team and in the newsroom, none were more confident, more ambitious … perhaps more vocal than the young regional reporter/editor. I heard he was a big deal on the court too, but I will never know.
The guy did an excellent impression of Amarillo sports page legend Putt Powell, I might add. We were all so young …
I can remember times when all of the reporters would come in to work and head straight to the group mail boxes. Everyone used to rush in to see if they had a note in their box from the editor. He used to clip our articles that he liked, and stick a note with them, and stuff it in the box. We called it a
“GaretGram,” and we all considered it to be a big deal. It was really competitive to see who could get the most GaretGrams. When a reporter got one, everyone else knew it, because you could see the editor’s note protruding from the mail slot.
I got several of the notes in my short career at the paper. One friend told me that it would upset the really ambitious guy whenever I got a GaretGram … or when anyone else got a note, other than him. He was so, so competitive. I don’t think anyone “loved him” … but everyone respected him … and we all knew he would go somewhere, someday … or die trying.
Fast forward 30 years … I landed in Greenville, S.C. this morning, for the next installment of the PingWi-Fi blog. I landed in the city because of a “Dirty Gig” assignment. (That’s the disaster recovery work I do to keep the travel blog … and my journalism dream alive.)
I was one of the first people off the small commuter plane, so there weren’t many people headed to the baggage claim area ahead of me. Actually, there was pretty much an empty corridor in front of me … except one lone traveler, standing about 20 yards in front of me. No one else was in the area. It was him and me … face to face. He looked a little bewildered at first when I got a big smile on my face. He did that look that just expresses, “What?” He didn’t recognize me at first, but I knew him immediately.
Guess who it was?
It was him. The former regional reporter for The Amarillo Globe News … the guy who will never know I could have helped him out on the basketball team … the guy who used to sit at a reporter’s desk in The Texas Panhandle, just a few chairs away.
I introduced myself and we caught up real quick. I couldn’t resist and asked some woman to take our photos.
Ha … I explained to her that we worked together thirty years ago … and this was a total random meeting “… And that although ‘I am extremely successful,’… ‘this guy’ really hadn’t done much with himself.” He laughed and thought it was funny. I knew what a joke it was and really thought it was funny.
So what a coincidence! I get off the plane ready to go clean up a mess in a factory … so that I can write some blogs later …
… And Major Garrett was in South Carolina to cover the primaries, the candidates and their campaigns for CBS Network News. I hadn’t seen him in all these years … Major, the cocky point guard of The Amarillo Globe News basketball team — you may know — now is the Chief White House Correspondent for the network. He’s worked with FOX Network too. Anyone who is anyone in politics — in The United States or abroad — has been interviewed by this old colleague. It was great to see him. He asked about the blog … and hopefully soon we will both be following each other on Twitter … after all, isn’t that what old teammates do?
OH … Major also reminded me to look for him in some of the remaining presidential debates. I am not sure. He may be moderating … but for sure, he is alway in The White House press corps at all major (pun) presidential press conferences … Ha … of course, I told him I would send him a PingWi-Fi t-shirt to wear on his next flight with the press corps on Air Force One.
Lastly …. Major may have not gotten his first break because of his basketball game … I think his interview from a few years ago on this blog — PingWi-Fi — truly showed the world that Major got game.
In my culture, Chattanooga is a word that translates as nostalgic. One of my bigger public affairs clients a few years back was based in this Tennessee hamlet and my first Wi-Fi Guy blog took me through “Nooga for a few hours. Most nolstalgic, my second visit to the home of Krystal hamburger joints, was so fly by night – a quick in and out (to make a hamburger pun.) — the way I used to blog. “The Dirty Gig”* brought me to Tennessee, but I only had one free half-day and a couple of hours one evening to explore. This is the way I used to do Wi-Fi tours … as fast as I can go, seeing as many Wi-Fi hotspots as possible.
So, my one free Saturday morning I was up before dawn, walking from Downtown across the Market Street Bridge over the Migh-T-Tennessee River — over to a hip little retail area along Frazier, near the bank of the river. Previously, in a drive by, I had spotted a very cool little coffee shop … but in the evenings, I could never catch the thing open.
Saturday morning after a few river/bridge photographs — with temps in the low 40s, at 7.a.m. — the coffee was hot and the Wi-Fi was heating up at Revelator coffee shop. Also, like the old days, I met a very cool store manager, Adam, a Syracuse, N.Y.-transplant who managed the ’Nooga shop.
I think we shared a love of bicycles, coffee, Wi-Fi and travel blogging … potential friends for sure. OF course, I had to ask him about the name. No Christian connotations, he assured me (although I think he and I differed on whether or not those connotations were a good thing.) Also, like many before me, I had to ask him if he knew the song “John The Revelator.” He did, but he DID NOT know the version by my Facebook friend, Lubbock’s Jay Boy Adams. I assured Adam that Jay Boy Adams’ version is the best.
“Joe The Revelator” in Chattanooga is very cool but friendly … a modern, minimalist design — lots of bare white walls and concrete counters and such, with a simple coffee menu and a great brew from its own beans roasted at the Birmingham, Ala., location.
Revelator would get a perfect score, if it only stayed open a little later in the evenings, for us working stiffs. You’d think it’s New Orleans roots would influence it to go all night … alas … 6 pings on the scale of seven. Maybe, just maybe, a bit too much Dave Matthews on the sound system too:)
The first time I was snooping around the closed Revelator one evening, I hit up its neighbor — Clumpies Ice Cream. I can’t say I was impressed by the name, but their treats had been highly recommended by a guy on the job. I concur. But before I rave about the Mayan Spice Chocolate creme, let me say a little about my new small-world friend at Clumpies. Another virtual BFF. Micah is the kind of person you want working at a store … So outgoing and confident, she said “hi,” launched into the company’s spiel — all conversational and sunshiny, and started a convoy of sampler spoons headed my way. One hit of her recommended favorite — The Mayan chocolate — and the other samples were just me being greedy. The decision was made. The Mayan and a little coconut cream (with real coconut flakes) to buffer the Mayan’s peppery burn. Yum!
Oh … this Micah! … she lived in Fort Worth for many years, a few block from my old place, and attended the same church as my friends. She is a self-described preacher’s kid and a great ambassador for the Faith and the cream. Best of all … she “would love a PingWi-Fi t-shirt” … and one is indeed on its way to her … even though she wouldn’t arm wrestle me for a Clumpies t-shirt. I guess I am a better sport than her …
Clumpies – nice tunes on what Micah assured me was their very own Spotify channel — Foo Fighters, Weezer, perhaps some Faith No More … antique ceiling tiles, patched in places … and what has become the norm for cool places — a sliding barn door motif to hide and/or display all the cool t-shirt reserves. Hmm … the place kind of smells like cookie dough … a good thing … (but it’s actually the ironing of waffle cones).
Overall … Great place … who don’t love a nice sliding barn door and some peppery cream with an afterburn? It was looking like a perfect score, but their station played Tom Petty’s “Free Fallin.” If you want a perfect score, and you’ve just gotta play Petty, it better be the first LP – 6 pings.
Other than those Wi-Fi quickies, I spent most of my ‘Nooga time at The University of Tennessee – Chattanooga, or UTC …. The Mighty Mocs. What a great campus … seemingly almost all new, but buildings with some classic styling to them. The students … perhaps the most polite I have ever encountered … saying thanks and opening doors for “adults” and stuff like that. They were even conversational with strangers, unlike most in today’s fearful and/or attitudinal society.
But like I was saying, it was “The Dirty Gig” that brought me to Chattanooga this time. A leak in a sprinkler system had flooded onto some book in the library.
Another gig with books threatened by their mortal enemy – water … one of those deals. For five days straight — 10 hours a day, I moisture tested as many library books as possible, with a funny little electronic probe.
As always on one of the more mundane Dirty Gigs, there has to be some effort put into mental entertainment to pass the hours.
Some readers recall at the Missouri book job — in the infinite abyss — we maintained our sanity by writing Japanese haiku poetry about the fork lift … I digress:
Our team relied on the books. At first, I was telling everyone that out of 200,000 books, hard to believe I had not read a single one of them. But sooner or later, I knew I would hit a pocket of Ping Culture in the books. Day five … I hit the mother load. First, I stopped to listen to a co-worker’s story, looked over, and there on the shelf right beside my head was Ayn Rand’s Fountainhead (side by side with Atlas Shrugged). This is a cool coincidence because of all the books on the planet and in this library, that is the one I am reading on my iPad currently, as of about two weeks ago. Ayn Rand — interesting stuff, and said to have been a major influencer of rock group Rush’s lyrics by Neal Peart … I digress …
Ha .. showing the age of the collection, I also saw Mein Kampf and Uncle Tom’s Cabin although not in the same section, with different authors. And for the record, neither of those are on my iPad.
Ha … I nearly spit my frappuccino out when I looked over and saw another book, titled Turning Girls To Women by some author, whose name printed on the cover is Kent. Oh the ramifications!
I didn’t check the Wi-Fi at the UTC library, I was too busy probing the books. And if I had any spare time, I would have been checking out their 3-D printer up on the third floor, anyway. But no, Kent was all work and no Wi-Fi, in that regard.
However … however, lunch was a different tune. UTC has a great student union with a food court up on the second floor. Light years above and beyond the student cafeteria of my ancient food fight days … There was Dallas Texan Jeff Sinelli’s Which Wich sandwhich shop … the Christian-oriented Chick-Fil-A … The Atlanta-based Moe’s … and mo. And yes, UTC’s food court has guest Wi-Fi.
Faith-based fast food for every palate, and Wi-Fi … The Wi-Fi splash page apologized that the system is in its beta testing iteration … so it was not expected to blow me away. But pretty good, once I was on-line. The college Wi-Fi network kind of “sniffed me out” first. I had to submit some information about me and my device, then they sent me a text message with a temporary password. Probably a good, secure plan, to monitor campus visitors. I think it took about 15 minutes before I was up and running on their Wi-Fi … 5 pings.
UTC also has a very nice Starbooks … er …. Starbucks on campus, adjoining the library where I saw the book by the author Kent. Everything was perfect, although they didn’t have the scanner to charge my account directly through my iPhone app. No biggie. Most interesting, this Starbucks makes the male baristas wear hair nets over their beards. Interesting. A contact at the health department in Fort Worth told me all bearded baristas — of either gender for that matter — are supposed to do so. Most don’t. I can only speculate on how my education might have benefitted from a Starbucks on my campus:) … I digress.
’Nooga time not spent at the library was usually at The Holiday Inn Downtown. That was not a bad thing, for anyone who had a negative opinion of the HH. This location in Chattanooga was brand new and definitely had the feel of some of the most cool boutique hotels … cool colors, modern lobby, over-eager valet parking … and free and easy Wi-Fi. I liked it.
Yes, this hotel is new and any facility takes “a minute” to work out the kinks … But, who cares how the hotel looks if they don’t change the sheets, as requested. I don’t buy that crap about re-using towels and sheets to save the planet. It’s a ploy to cut expenses, and you can quote me on that:) Also, a hint to the housekeeper. IF you notice that the decaf Keurig coffee containers are unused, and stacking up, it does not mean I am building a pyramid with them. It means I am using only the real coffee Keurig tubs … so you might want to replenish the real coffee variety. Pretty simple math, really. Also, the reason I trade out certain pillows on the bed … is because … get this, it’s how I want them. And, if you check and find that the tissue dispenser is empty, it is probably advisable to replace with a fresh box of your generic-brand, rough-ass Kleenex. Always helpful, I put out the international signal for needing more Kleenex … I stacked the empty tissue box next to the pyramid of decaf Keurig containers – 4 pings.
OH … almost forgot to mention the bleak beginning of the Chattanooga experience … My bad (on all accounts). The truth is, that I was in such a hurry to get away from the creepy dude in the seat next to me on my Delta flight to Tennessee, that I hopped off the plane, drove to the Holiday Inn, and then remembered my iPad was stowed in the seat back in front of my airline seat.
Crud!
I called Delta immediately and hit the wall with an uncaring, automated voice mail system. It’s only advice — despite every attempt to get around the automated system — was to go on-line at the Delta Web site and fill out a missing possession form. I did. But was I going to sit back and relax? No way. Next I called the Chattanooga airport, talked to security and the lost and found people, who in like five seconds connected me direct to the Delta ticket agent. YES, the Delta flight crew had found the iPad when they “turned” the plane and the agent was actually holding myPad in herHand. She made me describe the Swiss Army case before she would give up any info., but after that, she too had become an instant BFF. OH there is something to be said for traveling to a small city, with a mid-size or smaller airport. I drove from the hotel to the airport in 15 minutes, parked in one minute, and had the device back in my possession in another two minutes. Try that at a major airport. Ha … and get this … despite my courtesy e-mails to Delta, they are still sending me updates on their “progress” in locating the once-lost-now-found device. Hell … I may finish reading Rand’s entire catalogue before they catch on.
So, although Chattanooga time started a little shaky with the lost handheld, it ended on a pretty sweet note — because the local Target store had one of my new favorites — red velvet Oreos! Although one of my Fort Worth FB friends was quick to point out she finds RVOs at her local supermarket, I haven’t seen the since a gig in Oklahoma last year. After the Oklahoma sighting, in jest, I have said that maybe you can only find these red, round delicacies in states where they have limited teeth … but just kidding about that. (I actually love Oklahoma and the locals …)
No sooner had I snatched up some RVOs and some other groceries (that actually have nutritional values and smaller half-lives), that the job projections changed and we were nearing the end. “That’s a given” as we often say on The Dirty Gig. IF you buy groceries … chances are you will then be sent home unexpectedly. Well … this time, I made a stand. I ate as many turkey/tortilla wraps as humanly possible in my last 12 hours in Tennessee … and I made a commitment … to increase the weight of my carry-on luggage … no matter what it took, I was taking the RVOs back to Texas with me.
Although I left a few bucks and I picked out and left all of the dark chocolate Hershey’s miniatures for the unskilled housekeeper … she wasn’t getting any of my red velvety sweetness. They packed rather nicely … and I had forgotten that I was now an Oreo smuggler … until I got to the airport security checkpoint.
I kid you not. I had become “That Guy” at the airport. I was the guy who was holding up the line at the security checkpoint. It wasn’t my Apple iPad that caused the alert. It wasn’t my work Dell computer. It wasn’t the two iPhones I carry. It wasn’t the Apple Macbook Pro, nor the Nikon D7000 camera or the two Nikkor lenses. There even was no problem with the electronic, book probe moisture meter device. Are you ahead of me? Have you guessed it?
Oh my sweet lord. There was a crazy sounding laughter, kind of a nervous country-sounding giggle coming from the security team. “What in the world?,” I heard one security guard say. Narrowly, I escaped a strip search and there were no full-cavity searches. But, the team was quite fascinated with the stacked and packaged little round. wafer-like discs in my bag … the hold up was Nabisco’s fault … red velvet weapons of mass destruction for my toothy smile. I digress …
Upon take off, I said goodbye to another cool little city. Bummer … didn’t get to explore atop Signal Hill and didn’t get to see Peyton Manning’s Chattanooga mansion where he may or may not have ingested performance enhancing substances before this weekend’s Super Bowl … And I didn’t get to see Art Garfunkel in concert. The Tivoli Theatre was considering PingWi-Fi’s media credential request for “Garfarkel” at the time my plans changed. I cancelled the request. Oh well … they said if I did attend, I could not bring my camera in, at the performer’s request. What … Did Art think he might be having a bad hair day. Just kidding … love his music, for realz.
I said goodbye, boarded the next plane, a regional commuter headed to Atlanta for a connection and then on to Dallas. YES … both of the longer flights to and from Chattanooga had Gogo Wi-Fi …. and yes I so partook. But this one flight from Chattanooga to Atlanta had something which is so rare these days … a nice, charming, height/weight proportional, and presentable flight attendant. (Yes … I’ll say it … in spite of what the ACLU or politically correct might think of me …) But wouldn’t you know it!?! A friendly flight attendant and guess how long that lasted. The flight from Chattanooga to Atlanta was the shortest of my life … about 25 minutes gate to gate. Go figure.
Know what I sayin?
*Note: “The Dirty Gig” refers to the alternative career — disaster recovery — that keeps the PingWi-Fi travel blog on the road …
Soon it will be time to get back out on the road for more of “The Dirty Gig,” (the disaster recovery work that helps to fund this blog) so I have been checking and updating paperwork-type things. It was brought to my attention that I needed to update a Department of Transportation health certification so that I can operate small, commercial vehicles.
… Pretty much a formality, as long as you are still warm and have somewhat of a heartbeat, I think.
So, anywho, the medical professionals told me I passed with flying colors. My blood pressure was normal, although just a few weeks ago I was told it was a tad high. Hmmm … wonder if a recent visit to the kava bar had any soothing affect on the old blood pressure. No gaskets blown … score this a success.
Are other company’s drivers subjected to this, I wondered? And do they find it as amusing as I do?
The laugh-a-minute ordeal started from the point I was handed a little plastic cup and asked to do my thing. Another W in the win column as I met my quota.
Then the nurse handed me a sheet of paper, and asked me to fill it out, as I stood there in the exam room. Ha … I kid you not, the third or fourth question on the piece of paper asked: “Can you read?”
I looked at it and thought surely I was missing something, so I asked the nurse for an explanation. Ever helpful, she read it to me aloud, “Can you read?” I answered a question with a question, despite all previous training advising against this technique. “Which word on the page says, ‘yes?,’” I asked. The nurse pointed to the three letters on the page (I kid you not) … and I said “Well then, I guess I should circle that one.”
Ha … I am sure she was not as amused as me … but it’s what I do.
The nurse led me to several different examination rooms and the next one apparently was the ear/nose/throat section. I was equally entertained by the hearing test. I was instructed to close my eyes (no lip-reading allowed) and cover one ear. (She didn’t suggest how I should cover the ear … I digress …) Next, the nurse instructed me to listen and repeat. At this point, the nurse whispered “A-B-C-1-2-3.” I shouted, “Michael Jackson” forgetting we were playing ear wax and not trivia. Nevertheless, she was convinced that ear worked and asked me to cover the other one, with “no peeking.” This time — to get back at me for being a smart ass — I think she just moved her lips and didn’t actually say anything. But then again, how would I know if she moved her lips, since my eyes were closed?
Ha … I said, “Could you repeat that?” She did, and apparently just a slight bit more loudly, because I clearly heard her say, “Q-R-S” … Having no witty comeback, I just repeated the letters and she gave me good marks in the ear category … despite a lifetime of auditory canal abuse at the hands of Rush, Led Zeppelin, Triumph, Alice Cooper, The Clash, Judas Priest, Moxy, UFO, Meat Puppets, Uriah Heep, Edward Sharpe, Black Sabbath, The Replacements, Foghat, The Doobie Brothers, and so on and so forth … oh … and farm tractors.
I was led to another room …
The nurse’s only follow up to our previous conversations was telling me to “drop trow” and also she instructed me to put on some nice, blue, Tyvex-like, papery shorts. (This can’t be good …)
Then the doctor came in. Did I mention this was one of those industrial-oriented occupational health clinic types places? I think such clinics will pretty much always send you back to work — if injured on the job — as long as the limb is still dangling by a little sinew. I mean … in my experience, they seem to be a little more low key than other doctors’ offices.
How to say this? The industry-oriented medical office I just described was the last place I would have expected to see a young, attractive female doctor. I mean … I thought all pretty doctors just automatically left medical school and immediately set up a thriving practice in Beverly Hills or whatever. Young, hot doctors aren’t usually examining Workman’s Comp cases are they?
Well … I bring this up for a reason. Her attractive appearance added to my discomfort. Because life is just full of surprises. After the pretty doctor introduced herself, she put on the dreaded latex gloves. OH NO! Not that! I mean, this whole appointment is just to test to see if I am physically fit to drive a box truck … Why would you …?
I looked at the doctor, and I said, “Good lord … surely not,” and she smiled back, “I’m afraid so!”
After she told me to cough a couple of times, she missed her chance to complete the old Groucho Marx/doctor routine. No, she did not follow up with “How long have you had this cough?” She was all business … as she was touching me … there. Cold hands too.
I wish I had been carrying one of those Pantone color wheel charts. I am not sure if my face was more of a 185C shade of red or perhaps a 172 red … either shade would just about sum up my level of embarrassment.
Ha … the doctor looked at me and said, “Don’t worry about it … You’d be surprised how many of these exams I do each day.” Ha … I didn’t know how to respond, so I threw out a conversational, “Well alright, good for you.”
No hernias were found on this day, I am happy to report. And I was invited to “pull up trow” and return to the waiting area. Finished. I did … but before I left, I gave the receptionist a message for the doctor.
The reception was obviously either not a fan of the classic Seinfeld episode or maybe just uninitiated, and just stared at me blankly when I asked her to tell the doctor “I was in the pool.”
It’s gonna be a long, winding blog … pace yourself, but stay with me. Several friends post results on line when they complete a 4-mile run or whatever. And recently, I retweeted an Internet item about a guy in The UK who had planned various runs, in which the map of his route formed the shape of Star Wars characters.
And speaking of SkyWalker … I have also been hearing a lot about smartphone apps that measure how many steps you take while you quail hunt, or Christmas shop, or walk your dog, or binge shop at the mall … or whatever.
Do you have this?
Not me … so, no idea what the best one is. I guess I will have to test walk some of them. In my preliminary research, I stumbled upon this article that lists a few of the frontrunners from a few months back:
It sounds pretty cool. But, like most things, I have to think about it a bit before I just rush in, guns blazing, so to speak.
Here’s my step-by-step “analysis” …
Can you set a limit to the number of steps for the day or activity, so that you get an alert on your smart phone when you are dangerously approaching, say like 20,000th steps or whatever you think your limit should be? “Sorry babe. I have no choice … You go on ahead up the trail. I just got an alert and I have to sit right here, right now.”
You can bet someone is working on a plan to monetize this new craze. Street walking? Can street walkers use the app, divide by the number of steps and figure their cost per thousand to maximize output?
If you turn around, does the app take steps off the meter, like Ferris Bueller jacking up the car on blocks and running it in reverse to take miles off the odometer?
If you have an injury and a resulting limp, do you lose style points or get partial credit for steps?
Will the app allow you to calculate the steps to the next Wi-Fi hotspot?
Moving sidewalks or escalators must really throw a wrench in the walks … er … works
Is the walk counter okay with you exercising your right to open carry. Or does the app curl up in the fetal position because you choose to protect yourself?
Does the app discriminate against either gender? Does it take note if you “walk like a man” or if your “boots are made for walking?”
Are NBA stars exempt from an app that measures “walking.” Or do they get to take three steps before the app counts it as walking?
Is there a Christian-based version of the app to measure your “walk” with The Lord?
If you walk like an Egyptian, do hieroglyphics appear on the screen of your smart phone?
Does anyone use the app in LA?
Does “pace yourself” mean to take a selfie in this app?
Do any characters on The Walking Dead use the app?
What background music should play, as the app is calculating or rebooting? “Walk Away”? “Walk This Way”? “Walk On The Wild Side”? “Do The Walk Of Life”? “Walkin The Floor Over You”? “I Walk The Line”? “I’m Walking”? “Sleep Walking”? … I digress.
And what about sleep walking … Does that preserve battery life of your smart phone, when you use this app, but you’re asleep?
If you are monitoring your steps for health reasons … Is something easy — like a “cakewalk” — a good thing or a bad thing?
Can an aborigine use this (and GPS) on their coming of age, “walkabout” in the outback? Or is that asking too much of connectivity?
Are there imitation apps out there … that are not quite as accurate, but cheaper … a step down in quality if you will?
Does the app appeal to all demographics … you know, people from all walks of life.
What does the app do? Does it have special, funny emoji that display on your smartphone if you have to do the “walk of shame” or heaven forbid “the perp walk” in handcuffs?
Do you have to walk before you can run this app?
And lastly, if you walk with a skip in your step, does the app judge you?
I quit drinking a long time ago for various reasons … none of which are very dramatic or interesting. But last year, as a joke, I claimed to have made a New Year’s resolution to “start drinking again.” How’s that for counter-culture, messed up? Well … as New Year’s resolutions tend to go, I have not stuck with it and remain alcohol free. I guess I have four and a half hours to be a man of my word and resume drinking after all these years. For the blogging world, it would probably be a good thing if I were to knock back a few … rather than get off on tangents or rants in this blog. But, it’s what I do. Maybe I should drink to clear my head … but instead I think I’ll just jot down a few notes … about what else … football!
For all of the football philosophers out there, the Lockheed Martin Armed Forces Bowl proved this. IF two teams are pretty much equal in defensive skills and physicality, the team that airs it out vs. the run-oriented team will dominate. It’s all about scoring efficiently. Many repeat the cliche, “Defense wins championships.” But, well, my friends … in most of the games I have seen, the team that scores the most points wins.
The Golden Bears of Cal scored the most points in Amon G. Carter Stadium in its final game of the year. Cal beat down the Air Forces Falcons 55-36, but it didn’t seem to be a game of physical dominance … it was sheer airpower and execution. The Bear Raid went 7 for 8 in the red zone.
Yes … in the early days we suffered a lot of slings and arrows in the sports media world when when dared to try out this “newfangled ‘tweeter'” in our social media and sports coverage. Hmmm … Pretty sure it has taken over the sports world. And is that a blessing that Johnny Football is restricted to communicating in 140 characters … I digress … ) Maybe we were on to something – LOL. So, in keeping with our long tradition … here are our pre-tweets from the press box of the Lockheed Martin Armed Forces Bowl at Amon G. Carter Stadium, TCU, Fort Worth, Texas. … Looking for ward to seeing Coach Sonny Dykes’ return to Texas soil with his California Golden Bears and Troy Calhoun’s Air Force Falcons squad, who (ironically) tend to eat up that turf.
That’s what I asked my teammate Les, just before we lined up. He set me straight and pointed where to line up, and the quarterback threw me a pass, that I caught. (Ha … I didn’t make very many yards after that catch, but then I never did. I was just happy that I ran the right way on that one.) It was perhaps a less-heady time. In those days, we thought it kind of funny when someone “got their bell rung.” We played on, crazy as that seems with today’s discourse on head injuries in sports. (Which, btw, I take seriously, but also think there is a movement to sissify football so more people can play, and the sissification movement is using head injuries to further their cause … I digress …)
But we were high schoolers … playing for love of the game, not millions of dollars … What did we know?
