Entry Four: Atlanta

The City: Freakshow Central… What a place. This place is surreal. I’m not sure what makes New York City tick. This is another one of those places that I cannot possibly describe accurately. We took a train in to Grand Central Station from Greenwich, Conn. From there on out, we were walking rather blindly. I’ve only been there twice before, but I think I had the best sense of bearing. What I lacked was a sense of size. I’m from Atlanta, so Big City does mean something to me, but this is a different score all together. The first thing we did was lucky, we wanted to see Central Park, and we guessed a direction. We were right. We came to the park right by FAO Schwarz, which was lucky. Probably the most fun store anywhere. All of us twenty and we had a blast playing with toys. After that we full-filled Ryan’s dream for the day and sat down for some authentic New York style pizza. Post pizza we walked to the park. One of NYC’s many wackos began walking with us and we got a taste of THAT. He began by describing to us the best way to scare the hell out of someone. “You take a gun and take the clip and bullets out, then you put it in there face, it’s all psychological!!” Riiiiight… So then he went through about three more conversations within one block. None of it made any kind of sense to us, but then, we weren’t on any kinds of drugs, and this guy was. We got to the park and Crazy Man went his own way. So we strolled around there for an hour or so before catching a taxi to Ground Zero. I think those two things (the taxi and Ground Zero) pretty much defined the city for me. The cab ride was rather crazy. I’m sure that there were lanes in that road, I looked. But apparently this guy didn’t see them. He weaved this way and that, finding any space small enough for his cab to fit in. If someone cut him off, he honked. If he cut someone off, he honked. Green lights didn’t exist. Yellow meant hit the gas and red meant that only the first four cars in line can go. If I were driving opposite him I would have given up then and there, it wasn’t driving, it was aiming.

Now Ground Zero, that portrayed a completely different aspect of New York. I had the advantage of having seen the World Trade Towers while they were still up. Other than that it was a hole in the ground. But after you stopped looking at the hole you looked at all the other buildings around, and they looked gigantic. Then sometime later you saw a post card of what the city had looked like when the Twin Towers were up. They loomed over these other “tall buildings” by at least double. Truly gigantic structures. And now just a hole in the ground. Sad. The other poignant part of Ground Zero was the walls. Every fence or wall for blocks around was a poster board for the mourning. Signs from every state and most countries expressing sorrow. Hats and shirts from each and every university I had heard of. Pictures of the lost or dead. Piles and pile of wax on the ground from what were candles and vigils. Quite moving.

From there we walked down to the tip of the island and saw Lady Liberty, went back up through Chinatown and Little Italy, but nothing else seemed to say New York City, unless it was standing in the center of Times Square at night and just looking up and around.

Beaches: What is Spring Break without a trip to the ocean? Especially when the house you’re staying at is two blocks from the water. But have you ever been to a nice sandy beach when it was snowing? Wednesday we decided that we weren’t doing anything. Everyone was a little tired, so we took the day off, slept late, and just lazed around. So early afternoon Ryan’s mom asked us if we’d like to see the town’s two beaches. This was cold. The first beach was nothing spectacular, by the time we got there it was actually more of a mixed rain and snow. The beach was small, unexciting, and quite cold. On the way to the second beach we passed a pier. The seas were choppy from the wind and rain, and Ryan wanted to get out and take a few pictures. I got out as well. I decided that the best defense against the cold was to make up my mind that it really wasn’t that cold. Stand with my head thrown back and just enjoy the rain slapping me in the face. I walked along the pier as Ryan took his pictures and revealed each time a wave crashed in and sent a spray of salt water into my face. I got back into the car wet and thrilled. The second beach wasn’t much more impressive than the first, except there was a section of rock that was higher than the rest, and jutted out into Long Island Sound for about fifty feet. Tide was coming in and the waves already crashing over the entire thing, so I didn’t walk out all the way, but it was still cool to go only twenty feet out and perceive the water on all sides.

Wrestling: We ate with Ms. White again that night, and talked for a long time. After dinner I told Ryan and Justin that we were doing the dishes and that they should get into the kitchen and help me. Ms. White didn’t like that. She thought that the hostess should clean up, but Ryan thought my idea was a good one, and essentially tackled his mother when she tried to stop me. THIS was hilarious. The two of them rolled around the floor in the kitchen and into the dining room both fighting hard to pin the other. The best part of this story is that Ryan’s mom won. She pinned him and kept him down long enough for me to take several pictures. We’re blowing one of those up to poster size and selling them to all of the October Question’s fans.

4th Highway (95): Again, the driving parts of this log are not the most interesting. I drove for the first four hours, far enough to get to and through New York and all the way down New Jersey. I wanted that shift for a couple of reasons, A: I was free to sleep the rest of the night. B: That had the most traffic, both because it was, in fact, NYC and because it was the early drive. I let Justin take the wheel after we crossed into Delaware and he drove for the second four hours. I’m told that he and Ryan talked the entire time. The only time I was mildly coherent was whenever we hit a toll-booth and I had to help Justin stop and start the car. I took the wheel again just before we hit North Carolina and took it to Uncle Tom’s house in Raleigh.

Duke: Maybe out of boredom, maybe because Justin kept bugging us to, probably both. We went to Duke that afternoon for a couple hours. Just a basic trip, nothing exciting. Took the basic tourist photographs and commented on the awesome architecture. Went and saw the Basketball Stadium and went home. Fun, but not exciting.

5th Highway (40, 85): The last leg. Ryan was tired of listening to my music, so he drove most of this one. Fine with me. I sat in the back and read. Basically a there-and-back-again trip. We got back to Justin’s house and used up the film taking stupid pictures. We had before and now after.

Entry Three: Atlanta

Niagara Falls: If you’ve never been there, then nothing that I say can convey to you the raw power. Think of Lake Erie, a body of water so large that you can’t see across it. Now think of that much water steadily moving. Easily fifty meters across and easily ten feet deep the river. But unless you look down, all you see is a layer of swiftly flowing water. We aren’t used to seeing water that deep move quickly. Imagine the deep end of a swimming pool pushing forward at twenty miles per hour. Now take all of that, and put it at the top of a 175-foot cliff. There are places where you can go underground and look out from behind the falls. All you see is a sheet of white with the faintest perception of movement, and all you hear is the roar of water. It leaves you horrified and terrified and awe struck at its beautiful power and powerful beauty.

Canada: What a country. The Canadian side of the falls is by far the more elegant. The Horseshoe Falls, they are called, for obvious reasons. But getting to them is a pain, especially after 9/11, I suppose. There are two guards on the bridge from America to Canada. And neither guard believed that we were genuine at all. “How long are you staying?” “I dunno, half an hour.” “Uh-huh, and you drove all the way from Georgia just to stay half an hour.” I’m not sure if that’s just suspicion or ignorance. I had to explain to the American agent that, no; we were actually doing other things while in the northeast than just seeing Canada for thirty minutes. Then the Canadian lady was convinced we had weapons. “What kind of fire-arms are you bringing into Canada?” Not “do you have guns,” or “are you bringing any guns into Canada.” We said we didn’t have any and she gave us this look. “I thought everyone in Georgia had fire-arms.” That’s either bad humor or, again, ignorance. Thank God coming back in to the US was easier than leaving her.

Snow Driving: Perilously fair, if I had to describe it. We woke up on Monday morning to drive to Connecticut only to find the ground dusted with an inch of snow and more falling. The farther east we got, the more enchanting it became. Huge flakes drifting down onto sheets of rock that lined the Thruway. Hills of Evergreens, each layered with white. I think the best moment was the Massachusetts State Sign. A deep blue beacon that seemed to fit the icy terrain; a small fir tree on either side and some wood bark in a semi-circle in front, brown laced with white. A winter-wonderland, albeit a dangerous one.

The Crash: 4:01pm. You’re driving down the iced roads, trying to stay in the tracks of the car ahead of you. You need to stop, so you merge over and begin to exit onto the ramp for the rest area. You only have image memories from here on out...… a sign… “Cars left. Trucks right”…. turn the wheel left… the tires turn… the car continues right… ice… a clear moment of panic… instinct: recover… the car beginning to spin… training kicks in… “Turn into the spin”… a ditch to the right… you’re going right towards it… breaking hard… closer… oh shit… going left… a median… car still spinning… going reverse… a voice other than yours… oh shit… how many turns have you gone… jumping the curb… now backwards again… the sign you saw… five feet… snow and dirt flying… three feet… “Our Father”… one foot… stopped… You open eyes you didn’t close. Ryan is jumping out of the car. You think you hear Justin, “Holy Fucking God!” You open your door and glance at the clock. “Is it still 4:01?” Falling out of the car onto rubbery legs. Ryan is running around yelling, now kneeling, now running again. You look at the back bumper. Scarcely a foot from the sign. Justin talking: “Thank God we missed that light pole.” Light pole? You look. Next to the ditch is a large metal street light you hadn’t even seen. Ryan leaping up hugging you. Weak knees. Someone: “Take a picture, quick.” A camera snaps. Faltering out into the exit ramp. Somewhere between a prayer and a tear.

I guess from there we packed up and moved on. We filled the car with gas and sat in McDonalds for a long time, each coping differently. Ryan writing everything down madly. Justin pacing, talking to us. Me searching for an angle on the situation. Desperate for a handle. Scared of the road: Phobic of my hands on the steering wheel. The snow fell… Perilously fair.

Reiki: We pulled into Connecticut that evening, worn and frazzled. Luckily Ryan’s mother was something of a superb hostess. Spagetti & Meatballs for dinner were a quick precursor to the real relaxation. Reiki is a sort of spiritual meditation / massage. You lie on a flat table with soothing music playing, and the guide essentially prays over you. But with her hands. The idea is a massage of the spiritual energy of the body, releasing all of the blocks and letting it flow freely. Now I’m not a huge believer, but for some reason or another, it honestly worked. I lay there on my back and was only vaguely aware of her hands passing over me. Now placing one on my chest, now one on my knee. They feel as though they’re still there, but as I slit my eyes, I can see both of her hands on my feet. It was strange and strangely worked. All three of us slept like rocks.

Entry Two: Madison

3rd Highway (81): Pennsylvania. Boring state. At least to drive through. A small town here, some mountains there. Nothing either pretty nor ugly. I drove, they slept. I think the only thing that happend was that it got colder. The radio played. I drove, they slept. Pennsylvania. Boring state.

New York State Line: Justin was waking up about the time we were going to leave PA. We decided that of all the states, we needed to photo New York's sign the most. So we wake Ryan up and jump out of the car on the shoulder of I-81. But a couple of things have changed since we last took these kinds of pictures. For one thing, it was cold. Ryan was still in shorts and birkenstocks from Atlanta. I at least had jeans, if still sandles. But it was cold. Secondly, it was light. It isn't weird to take pictures in front of state lines at 3 AM, because no one is watching to care one way or another. But at 3 PM, you all of a sudden notice that there are other cars on the road. But being tenatious, we decided to take these pictures anyways and to hell with all who may watch. Well, we did. But Ryan took the next step. He decided that he had just awoken from a nap and needed to go. See above on things being weird during daylight. Justin and I told him to wait and that it was lunch time anyways, but no. So there Ryan is, about to urinate on the NY State sign, and for effect, one of us is supposed to photograph it. I shook my head and turned to Justin. "He's going to get himself arrested." Only then did Justin turn around and see the police officer who really was pulling up. We called to Ryan, but by that point it was to late. Ryan turned around, turned many shades of white, and ran for our car. You can only imagine the kind of voice that came from behind telling him to "hold it right there." Needless to say the ticket was written and verbal warning severe.......
And the laughs afterward unstopable.

Backroads: For the first time since we started driving, I can see the sun. The air around me is fresh and whipping past the open windows of the car. R.E.M. is blessing our ears and the sting of the cold is perhaps all that is keeping me awake, that and my total elation. For lunch we stopped at an Arbys at Whitney Point in New York. Now normally when we drive into Canastota, I have Mom there to guide me. We get off I-81 somewhere around Tully, and she either drives or navagates the back roads of her youth until we reach Route-5. But this time Mom isn't here. We could take the interstate up to Syracuse and then hit the Thruway over, but that just isn't tradition. Besides, the Upstate Country is far to stunning to pass up. So I've handed Justin the map and told him our destination. I think we're on State Road 12 now, maybe 12B. But these are the senses that tell me that the trip is almost over. The smell of fresh air, what anyone else would call thick with the scent of manure, I call fresh. The sight of a thousand rolling hills, and when you crest one you can see the fields of corn and wheat sectioned out for acres. The sound of the quiet country roads as an overtone to the sixty mile per hour winds in the windows. Almost there.

Windmills: Saturday night we went up to the Ox-bow. It's a section of the hills near Canastota. There are Windmills there now, which was the purpose for our journey. Up there it is windier than in Chicago, "The Windy City." It was to cold and to windy to come up with much of an impression, but we were there for sunset. I have no real clue how big those things are. At least a hundred feet. It's strange. From a distance, it looks as though they're hardly spinning. While in reality, the tips are traveling at close to 150 miles per hour. Crazy. The sunset was what made it gorgeous, though. The seeming calm of the windmills in front of the reds and oranges of a country sunset on a hill. I hope those pictures come out.

Stars: Yet another Canastota tradition for me, and one my aunts think me crazy for carrying out. We took a walk after dinner up onto the hill. Probobly half a mile up and half a mile back. But it was cold and it was windy and that made it colder. But it was worth it. You don't see stars like this often. We were rewarded by it being a cloundless night and a new moon. And most every star in the winter sky was dancing above us. You could make out the milky way galaxy, it was so clear. Just to sit there and think about how far back into the past you are seeing by glimpsing those tiny dots. Some, perhaps most of them aren't there anymore, they've collapsed or exploded. But 100 million years ago they were there, and we saw that instant on Saturday evening.

Windmills Revisited: Sunday morning we were going out to Niagra Falls. But just after leaving the driveway, Ryan suggested that we go back to the Windmills and see them in the light. So we did. They were bigger and more impressive than we had imagined. We were able to count 20 of them in the light. The one closest to the car we went right up to. It was huge. Looking straight up, it was dizzying to see. The three pronged propeller would whistle around, literelly making that sound as it cut through the air. Then we followed the shadow out to the center of the propellers. This was the best impression that we got of how fast these things were moving. Standing in the center and following one prong, it took about four seconds to turn around 360. I'm not a math major, but those propellers were at the very least 50 feet, perhaps 75. You work it out.

Entry One: Canastota

Atlanta: Not much happened here, just a beginning. For the first couple of hours everyone was quiet, as if not really sure how we were supposed to react and feel on a road trip. We kind of each did our own thing. I drove, Justin sat and listened to the music, and Ryan wrote. Nothing really interesting from when we left Justin's at nine thirty until we hit the McDonalds a couple hours later.

McDonalds: About eleven thirty we stopped for food and caffinee. I think the trip really began here. We all knew how to go to fast food together, so we began to interact more. The McDonalds was almost closed, in fact they wouldn't even let us inside. We had to go thorugh the drive-through and basically order what they still had...... 6 cheesburgers, 3 fries and cokes. For lack of a better place to eat, we hit up the pool at the Holiday Inn Express next door. It was funny, got some good pictures of Ryan looking like a gypsy over a globe light.

1st Highway (85, 77): This one is just here to be methodical about this journal. I drove until we passed Charlotte, taught Justin how to drive a stick, and let him take over. Ryan slept through all of this. He says he was awake for most of it.... liar.

NC / VA Border: I was asleep by this point, for about an hour I'm told. But we had decided that at the important states, we were going to stop and take pictures. We figured that both Virgina and North Carolina were important, so we'd kill two birds with one stone. After releaving ourselves, we took turns standing in front of the Virginia state sign and taking pictures. I-77 was dead. A rural freeway at two thirty in the morning. We simply walked across both sides to take pictures of the "Welcome to North Carolina" sign. Ryan, for effect, even lay down in the north bound lanes and insisted on getting a picture. We took our snapshots, jay-walked back across, and kept going.

2nd Highway (77, 81): Again, not much to say. I slept through most of this one until around five thirty when Ryan took the wheel and I had to keep him company. I crashed again around seven, but that hour and a half was fun. The saying that, "The darkest hour is just before the dawn," is true. The sky was absolutley pitch black until about six, when it began to pale..... sunrise over the Shenendoah Valley at six thirty. Spectacular. That is where the line in the song came from, "For Purple Mountain Majesties."

Breakfast: Eight AM and we've all had less than three hours of sleep: yeah, we're a little punch drunk off of it. Stopped at Hardees for breakfast and to possibilly clean up. So since we're out of it, EVERYTHING became funny. The coffee was horriffic, and that was funny. I put sugar in it, and that was funny. Nothing should have been, but everything was. Then the adventure became trying to change cloths and wash up in a fast food bathroom. I somehow think I didn't get much cleaner...

Stamps: After breakfast, Ryan wanted to send out a post-card. We walked across the street and bought the corniest one we could find, but the problem was one of a lack of stamps. The convienence store didn't have any and neither did the town grocery. No one did. So we got back on I-81. But we HAD to send this post-card immedietly (don't ask why, i'm not sure). So the next sizeble town we came to was Hagerstown, MD and we got off to find these ellusive stamps. We stopped at the first place we came to, and the Texaco attendent gave Ryan very specific directions to the nearest post office. "Eleven lights down. Turn left. One light down. Turn left. It's on your left, you can't miss it." Yes, we could. We went down, turned twice, and came all the way back, seeing nothing. After trying this a couple of times we found a CVS and resolved to hit them up for stamps. Ryan and I go in and while I look for something with caffinee, Ryan talks to the employees. He tells me that he'll meet me in the car, and I figured he had found his stamps. Wrong. I get back to the car and find only Justin asleep in the back. Turns out Ryan had only gotten directions to the post office (again) and had walked off to find it. He got there only to find himself penniless. So we had to drive there and wait for him to buy stamps. The entire affair took the better part of an hour, and Ryan lost his speaking privledges.

The Trip

I sort of got this idea from Ryan; a trip journal. My take on everything that's happened with a touch of hindsight for flavor. And I guess that the hindsight is what will make mine unique from his (style and point of view aside) Ryan has written everything down inside of an hour of it's occurance, so what you see is what he feels. Mine is more of a wine. Aged. Whether that is better or worse, we shall see.

"Fools," said I, "You do not know
Silence like a cancer grows.
Hear my words that I might teach you;
Take my arms that I might reach you."
But my words like silent raindrops fell,
And echoed in the wells of silence.

There is something distant about revelation; something abnormal. A revelation is something that hits suddenly and gives insight. Into the self, into the world, into the nature of infinity, something. It is nothing that you learn or are taught. It is nothing that you research or study. And you only know. You aren't quite as sure how you know or even what you know - you just know. It is the hardest thing to explain to people. And I say: "Look! I have hands!" But the people all around me say: "What are hands?" Try to describe a colour you've never seen. Or even better, try describing sight to a creature without eyes, not someone blind, but someone utterly devoid of the concept. You can't do it.

Even worse, the people whom you are trying to enlighten, more often than not, think that they are just fine without your revelation. Tell your best friend about this brand new color that you've come up with, and even if they believe you, they will think that they have all colors that they need already. Any epiphany is the same. No matter what the medium or importance, it is exactly what it is because of it's singularity. It can be at the tip of your brain or something that you've never even considered. But once it hits you, nothing seems open for argument anymore.

Without question or answer.... you can still know.

I wish I was a neutron bomb, for once I could go off
I wish I was a sacrifice but somehow still lived on
I wish I was a sentimental ornamnet you hung on
The christmas tree, I wish I was the star that went on top,
I wish I was the evidence
I wish I was the grounds for fifty million hands up raised and opened toward the sky

I wish I was a sailor with someone who waited for me
I wish I was as fortunate, as fortunate as me
I wish I was a messenger, and all the news is good
I wish I was the full moon shining off a camaro's hood

I wish I was an alien, at home behind the sun,
I wish I was the souvenir you kept your house key on
I wish I was the pedal break that you depended on
I wish I was the verb to trust, and never let you down

I wish I was the radio song, the one that you turned up,
I wish, I wish, I wish, I wish,
I guess it never stops.
-Pearl Jam, Wishlist


Lots of vivid imagry in this one. Wishes for desired emotions, needs. The need to once and a while explode, the need to burn in glory but the need to live. The need to be needed. The need to be beautiful.

I like the title, especially. Wishlist. The thing that every child makes at the first cold snap in expectation of Christmas. The roll that most students have to write at some point in time of life goals. They get harder and harder to write. When I was young, I would walk through Toys R Us in sheer awe. Making mental notes with verbal commentary. "I want this one and this one and that one!" I guess they don't get harder to write, we just begin to understand that we can't get that one and that one and this one. I could write a fast list of fifty things that I want to do, feel, be, or experience before I die. But there is a part of me, even if I stop my brain from stopping me, that will still voice the impossibility of it all. We edit our own wishlists to compensate for the lack of magic found in Santa Claus.

I guess that looks pretty cynical, or at least pessimistic. But the thing is, that even though we throw in logic where it doesn't belong, we still wish. The important part isn't that I realize that I will never make it to the moon, but that I can still wish that I could.

I wish I may, wish I might, have the wish I wish tonight....