Pert "Mr. Charcoal" Whitehead
World Championships of BBQ Road Trip
Memphis, TN


The air was thick with charcoal and applewood smoke, and the damp skies could hardly hold back the crowds for the World Championships of BBQ in Memphis, TN. As a part of "Memphis in May," the contest brings competitors from all over the country and world in a competition for ribs, shoulder and whole pig, in addition to smaller competitions for sauce, t-shirts, and other items.

The journey by car was a bit of a whim, but on May 13th, John Grandefeld and I piled into my car for the 1100 mile journey through New Jersey, Pennsylvania, Maryland, West Virginia, Kentucky and Tennessee. Traveling through the night, we hit speeds of 120 mph and gas prices in excess of $2.20, more desperate to get to the hotel bed than to set land speed records. A short dinner stop in Morgantown, WV allowed us to watch the Lakers beat the Spurs with a 0.4 second desperation shot while seated to two very attractive women. My scream of horror as the shot went in, practically knocked one of the girls off her bar stool. And my lack of feeding the meter, earned me a $5 parking ticket from the Morgantown Parking Authority.

After a brief nap on Friday morning in Memphis, we headed to Tom Lee Park on the banks of the Mississippi for the festival, where we met Hal Neuberger, the owner of a parking lot (read: muddy field). Hal was one of those guys who was unafraid to express his opinion. Most of his sentences began with "Here's what you do..." much to our amusement.

As we walked around the hundreds of competitors booths, we were approached by a gentleman who was trying to round up competitors for the Wings eating contest. John is always up for a challenge, so I egged him on to enter, and at 4pm, he sat with 7 other competitors in front of an aluminum tin filled with cold chicken wings and eight minutes to eat as much as he could.

John started off strong, but his strategy of imbibing large quantities of water began to backfire as his pace slowed considerably, and he started get the look of nausea on his face. One of the competition staff rolled a 55-gallon drum alongside him fearing the worst, but he persevered, and finished an entire tin. He even held down all the food for several minutes before going to a port-a-potty to "pull the trigger."

Figuring that a Yankee had no chance against southerners, we went on our merry way, consuming pulled pork sandwiches and corn on the cob for the rest of the afternoon. For dinner, it was off to Rendevous for some of the best dry ribs in Memphis on Hal Neuberger's suggestion.

Later that evening while wandering around a Memphis Gentlemen's Club, we were approached by a guy who recognized us from earlier in the day. He ecstatically explained that John had won 3rd Place in the Wing's Eating Contest, but hadn't been around to collect the trophy. Nevertheless, we were both amused that his efforts hadn't been for naught.

We wandered around the fairgrounds for several hours the next day, and rounded the corner to find one of the booths pulling out a whole roasted pig. The chef peeled back the thin skin and began serving on-lookers, handing John a huge piece of bacon. It was, "the best bacon I've ever had," he claimed. Not wanting to stick around for the awards, we went back to retrieve the car, and struck up another conversation with Hal Neuberger.

As it turns out, Hal has a son, Marty, who works in New York with my friend, Chad Cooper. Hal also likes to dispense advice, and had no shortage of places to send us to for more great Memphis BBQ. As he leaned over the car, he stuck his head so far in the window, that he was virutally sitting with us. He gave us a list of BBQ joints to visit, whereupon John said, "Well, I guess we can split a sandwich at each place, Allen."

"No. You're not gonna do that," Hal replied stonefaced.

We looked at each other and decided that now was not the time to discuss BBQ eating habits, so we drove off with list in hand to consume more BBQ. After a few sandwiches, John decided that we should find "Mr. Charcoal," so with only an address to guide us, we ended up at a warehouse in a less-than-desirable section of town. John made an introduction, and soon, we were getting a tour of his warehouse, filled with every type of charcoal imaginable.

Pert "Like the Shampoo" Whitehead started his charcoal business in the 70s, and now supplies most of the BBQ shops in town. With his vice president fast asleep in a chair, Pert spent several minutes just chatting with us, as Victor, the little boy from next door played with my camera to his delight. As we were about to pay for the charcoal, Pert said, "Well, if you came all the way down from New York, you just take those bags for free." He was just about the nicest guy you could've met.

We headed downtown to look for some shirts to go out with that night, but as we passed by the AAA Ballpark, a scalper approached us with $5 tickets. Figuring that we weren't in Memphis very often, we headed into the park and downed a beer as we caught a couple innings with the Memphis Red Birds. I even tried my arm out at the pitching machine only to find that I had zero control of a baseball that topped out at 54 mph.

By the time dinner rolled around, BBQ was the last thing on our mind, so we headed to PF Chang's to toast a most enjoyable road trip.

Aili MacDonald with Crab
Waimanalo Beach
Waimanalo, O'ahu, Hawai'i

Besides the typical 80 degree weather, Christmas in Hawai'i isn't so dissimilar from the mainland. We have a traditional Christmas lunch with the relatives after opening gifts in the morning. As is custom, I am always the latest to rise, and my family patiently waits for me to roll into the living room before opening gifts. The highlight of this year's presents was a new pair of cargo pants from my sister to replace my "uniform" which had accompanied across 35 states this year.

After a leisurely lunch, it's off to the beach. You have snow, we have sand. You have cold, we have warmth. You have ice, we have surf. See, not so different at all.

My Sister
The Contemporary Museum of Hawai'i
Honolulu, Hawai'i

Back home in Hawai'i for the holidays with the family, and my sister insisted that we go up to the Contemporary Museum to look at some prints for our mom, but more importantly to try to take a picture for her belated holiday cards. This particular installation is composed of a ton of branches from some native plants (i.e. guava), and although I don't if she'll select this particular photo, it's my favorite.

The Last Supper
Pizza Hut
Washington, PA

I left New York on August 4. I've traveled nearly 18,000 miles. I've seen 35 states. I've gotten one speeding ticket.

My windshield needs to be replaced. I need new glasses. I have to go get my teeth cleaned at the dentist.

I've eaten more fast food and beef jerky than I care to admit.

My lower back is a mess.

I've listened to the John Mayer CD more times than most teen-aged girls, and many more times than a heterosexual male should.

I basically wore the same clothes the whole time (t-shirt and cargo pants).

I took my photo at Pizza Hut with the camera that's attached to my laptop.

Now it's time to rest until the weather warms up again.

And then the last 13 states will be mine...

Hope Train Station
Birthplace of Bill Clinton
Hope, AR

A modest house sits next to the train tracks in Hope, Arkansas where Billy Blythe grew up. Billy's father, William Blythe II was killed when he was thrown from a car into a ditch while Billy's mom was seven months pregnant. Billy's mother subsequently married Roger Clinton, and young Billy Blythe eventually took his step-father's name and became William Jefferson Clinton III.

Without a husband, Virginia Blythe and Bill were forced to live with Virginia's parents, Eldrige and Edith. Virginia went off to nursing school in Shreveport, LA, so Bill was raised in the early years by his grandparents. Clinton's grandfather ran a small store in the racially segregated town, and was one of the first to offer credit to the black population. Seeing his grandfather interacting with the blacks during a time when segragation and racism were alive and well in the South allegedly gave Clinton an true affinity for the black community.

The home is now joined by a visitor's center that is filled with memorabilia from the Clinton years, and the town is also adorned with likenesses of Clinton, although "likeness" is a generous term given the disimilarity to the former President. And despite all the indiscretions of the former President, the people of Hope seem to be proud of their little piece of history.

My Broken Windshield
Caruthersville, MO

The average piece of windshield is composed of two pieces of glasses that sandwich a piece of polyvinyl butyral, giving the glass over 1000psi of tensile strength. So really, breaking a windshield takes a tremendous amount of force. But a semi kicking up a small rock flying at a vehicle traveling 80mph (er, 65 mph) could very well do the trick, and in the past week, I've somehow managed to crack my windshield twice.

The first was a small crack in the lower left that managed to grow about 1/2" per day until I got to the auto-glass shop in Oklahoma City. The technician told me tht the crack was much too large to repair and the windshield would have to be replaced. But, he noted, the strength of the windshield was not compromised because the laminate was still in position.

Then today, a rock flew at my car creating a loud pop sound, and suddenly a nickel-sized crack appeared in the middle right. Ah, the perils of traveling on the highway. Fortunately, I have a comprehensive, zero-deductible policy for such an occasion.

Incidentally, I-55N from Little Rock to the MO border is the fastest stretch of highway I've traveled on, with vehicles easily averaging 90mph with no cops in sight.

Donkeys for Sale
Rosedale St.
Hostton, LA

There isn't much going on in upstate Lousiana besides gambling. Shreveport, like many states, circumvents the law restricting land-based casinos by permanently attaching a ferry boat to the Harrah's hotel downtown. This makes for a three-story, extremely long and narrow casino. But even on a Monday night, patrons could be seen in a filled casino losing money at every turn (I couldn't possibly be talking about myself, now could I?).

You can tell the authenticity of a southern BBQ joint by the number of trucks in the parking lot. The number of camoflage hats is also a dead giveaway. I was probably a bit out of place at Padnuh's BBQ with my bright orange Patagonia raincoat, but no one minded, as everyone was engrossed in their BBQ. I did a repeat of Houston by ordering brisquet and sausage, and sadly, the Shreveport-version wasn't as good, but it was still smokey as hell. I will pretend for a moment that the pain in my heart hasn't been caused by the massive quantities of red meat I've consumed on this trip.

I headed off towards Arkansas, and had the opportunity to drive the two-lane "highway" through upstate Louisiana in search of a postcard for my sister. And it soon became apparent that there isn't much noteworthy in these parts, just a lot of empty towns with derelict one-story structures, and lots of people selling junk on the roadside. But should you ever need to buy a donkey or some worms, you'd best do yourself a favor and head down Rosedale St. in Hostton. I can only surmise that the worms were for sale based on inference. But then again...

Road Kill
Radio Station Rd & LA84
Mansfield, LA

Like the ubiquity of the Golden Arches around the roadsides of the US, you can't escape the foul sight of road kill. Dogs, cats, deer, elk, rabbits, wolves, they are all represented as flattened, two-dimensional representations of their former selves. And I can't help but wonder about the circumstances of the hit and runs that I've encountered. I can understand hitting a stray cat on the side of the road, but when you see a dog splayed out on the freeway, I speculate about the idiot who allowed their dog to jump out of their car, or maybe the back of their truck. Dogs might be man's best friend, but we certainly aren't their best friends.

Running into roadside stands selling fruit, vegetables or flowers is fairly common from Maine to California. So I wasn't so surprised to see the familiar white tent that so many vendors use while driving through Cleveland, TX. But I was puzzled as I rounded the corner and saw "WORDS" in bright red. A few seconds later, the signed revealed itself, and I was still utterly confused because it read "SWORDS." Why anyone would need to pick up a sword on the side of the road is beyond me. I should have stopped to ask.

Gulf of Mexico
Galveston, TX

The beauty of traveling to new places is crushing old preconceptions. I had a notion that Texas was a very homogeneous place with little culture and a lot of bullshit Texas-size pride. And sure, Texans have a lot of pride in their state and their history, but Houston is an interesting place. Very large asian and middle eastern populations co-exist with the caucasian and hispanic populations, so much so that I saw signs in multiple languages beyond just English and Spanish. Then there is the culture. Houston boasts a very vibrant museum scene, and Menil Collection is one of the larger museums, and one that I had never even heard of before.

Heiress to the Schlumberger oil fortune, Dominique and her husband John, collected one of the largest private art collections in the world (valued at between $75 and $150 million), and in 1987, the Menil Collection opened with over 15,000 pieces of primarily 20th century works in a building designed by Renzo Piano. Beyond the main exhibition building, there is also a non-denominational chapel designed by Mark Rothko with architect Philip Johnson, and a Byzantine Chapel with frescos on permanent loan from Cyprus, from where they originated in the 13th century. The collection and the setting are staggering, and definitely worth the visit.

It so happens that when I was in Dallas, I emailed my friend, Dr. Amit Sarma, who I thought had a fellowship in Austin. But in fact, he was a fellow in oncology in Houston, and he informed me that my other friends, Jeremy and Gretchen Zucker were visiting him that weekend. So I bypassed Austin and made my way to Houston, and was treated to some homecooking, and Amit's crazy home theater system. We also went to Goode Co. BBQ the following day for lunch. The Texas BBQ is so different from the stuff I had in the Carolinas...all ketchup-based, and the real flavor comes from the smoking. Delicious.

Since I had already dipped my toes in the Pacific and Atlantic Oceans on this trip, I figured the Gulf of Mexico was the last large body of water to hit. So I took the 70 mile trip southeast to Galveston, walked out onto a stone jetty, and dipped my hand in the water. It was cold and salty for those that were wondering. But it felt good to have done it anyway.

Sunset
Alfred P. Murrah Building Memorial
Oklahoma City, OK

Until September 11, 2001, the Oklahoma City bombing had been the worst terrorist act in our nation's history. Today on the same plot of land, stands a dramatic, but serene memorial to the men, women and children that lost their lives on April 19, 1995 at 9:01 am. When I was a child, I couldn't understand how something like a piece of music or a sunset could make a person cry. I couldn't understand how people could be "overcome with emotion." But life experiences change all of that. Experiences contextualize the events that happen to us every day. And as I approached the memorial, I started to feel my chest tighten and my eyes watering. I had witnessed the worst terrorist act in US history, and this one was no less tragic.

I remember driving across country from New Haven to LA in May of 1995 when I passed through Oklahoma City via I-40. I argued with myself over whether to stop to see the site, still uncleared...I looked at my watch, and I passed through without stopping. I regret that decision even today.

A shallow pool filled with water sits between two towering walls, and on a still day like today, acts as a mirror for those who come by to visit.



168 empty chairs sit adjacent to a reflecting pool, representing the lives lost. Smaller chairs for the children.



As I walked away with a heavy heart, I noticed a crowd gathering at the museum next door. I wandered over to find that I was only minutes away from witnessing a rare copy of the Declaration of Indepence being delivered as part of the traveling US Post Office exhibit. As a local high school band played the Stars and Stripes, two postal employees carried the hard-shell case housing the document to a celebratory crowd. Such a strange day it has been from witnessing Dodge City to the Oklahoma City Bombing site to watching the Declaration pass in front of my eyes.





A strange, and wonderful day to realize our storied history.