Tree
Thompson Springs, UT

When I arrived in Denver last night, it was 73 degrees. When I woke up this morning, it was 27 degrees, and all my windows were completely iced over. Unprepared, I had to borrow an ice scraper before heading out. As I drove away from Denver, things got worse -- the temperature dropped to 22 degrees and the rain was freezing on my windshield, and visibility was down to about 100 feet. I thought this might be the day I died on an icy road.

Strangely enough, by the time I reached Eagle County (Kobe, Kobe, Kobe), it was already 65 degrees and all the ice had melted from my car. Several hundred miles later as I entered Utah, it was 73 degrees. But after the sun set, the temperature dropped precipitously, first to the mid-50s, and then all of a sudden 29 degrees.

Soon, I had hit two snow storms and a hail storm. I thought this might be the day I died on an icy road. But wait! Who would take care of my three plants? Clearly, I couldn't perish on this day. Eye of the Tiger, Allen, Eye of the Tiger.

760 miles later, I reached Las Vegas where it was a balmy 65 degrees. The last hour from Mesquite, NV to Vegas was a killer. I really have no desire to ever drive again. This woman I was talking to in Denver last night told me her brother decided to walk from Denver to Boulder one day. I'd need to get some good shoes to make it back to New York.

Utah is a completely surreal place. The landscape is so funky that it really feels like you're on Mars. I drove by way too fast, and I need to make it back at some point to see Moab and Zion National Park.

I forgot to mention that I've reached the halfway point of my journey. It's taken 12,500 miles and three months. And all I've realized is that I haven't done justice to the 25 states I've visited. America is....Big.

Home, Home On the Range
Wireframe Buffalo
Kearny, NE

Why is it that gas stations seem to always have the largest flags? I mean this flag was huge. I could see it from a couple miles away. I'm thinking our whole dependency on oil makes the gas companies rich, so the gas stations fly the American flag to remind us to fill up our SUVs on a daily basis. Well, I suppose it beats flying a big flag of Saddam Hussein. Damn that Saddam and his Bathist loyalists.

Last night as the temperature hit 32 degrees in Iowa, I thought to myself how much the start of the latest jaunt sucked. But this morning when I woke up, it was already 65 degrees, and as I was cruising through the glorious state of Nebraska, it hit 84 degrees. So I rolled the windows down at 80 mph (speed limit is 75), enjoyed the warm air momentarily, and then rolled the windows right back up because it really isn't so pleasant to drive at 80 mph with the windows down.

About a year and a half ago, my former boss coerced me and a friend to drive with him out to his new home in Jackson Hole, WY from New Jersey in the middle of a snowstorm. Besides all the jack-knifed trailers we saw, the only other thing I really remember was this huge building that spanned I-80 somewhere in Nebraska. So when I found it again on this trip, I decided to stop and see what all the hubbub was about. Over lunch at the local Pizza Hut in Kearny, NE, I struck up a conversation with the waitress who told me about the "Archway Monument."

"Yeah, I used to work at the Wendy's out by the monument," she explained, "but they didn't advertise so well, so people didn't know there we were there...So I switched jobs to here." If you imagined her with an accent, you imagined wrong. People in the midwest don't have accents. It's not like the South or New Yawk. Someone once told me that newscasters come out to the midwest to work to eliminate any trace of an accent, and who am I to doubt that?

The monument is more properly named "The Great Platte River Road Archway Monument." A privately-owned non-profit decided that the middle of Nebraska would be a great place for an Epcot-like monument complete with the audio guided tour headphones. The whole operation is pretty damn slick, but let's be honest. What the hell is it doing in the middle of Nebraska? Sure, it's all about the Great Platte River Road that runs through Nebraska, but who is really driving through Nebraska thinking that they should visit the Archway Monument? That's the beauty of Americana, I suppose. Who would have thought that anyone would go out of their way to see the largest ball of twine? And yet, last year, I drove 2 hours to Cawker City, KS to see it.

The wireframe buffalo was just on the side of the road on the way to the Archway Monument. No signs. No explanation. So I took a picture.

Finally, I pulled over in Brule, NE for gas, one of the last towns in NE before I-80 runs into Colorado. As I pulled off the highway, I scanned the horizon for the big Exxon or BP sign jutting out of the earth. But there was none to be found. Instead, there was Happy Jack's C-Store, an independently operated, family owned gas station and mini-mart. No electronic pumps with the credit card swipe. This was an old school gas station with analog meters and the little lever on the side of the pump to reset the gauges to zero.

The lady with too much mascara at the counter told me they were one of the very few, and had been family-owned and operated for the last 30 years. "Stick it to the man!" I thought to myself. What's more American than that?

The Autumn Leaves (Les Feuilles Mortes)
Notre Dame
South Bend, IN

I finished a whole bag of beef jerky today, and now my jaw hurts. It wasn't the soft & moist, girly beef jerky, it was dry and tough -- salty to boot. How can such thin strips of beef be so tough, yet so flavorful? So dry and salty that you would contemplate drinking seawater. Beef Jerky is clearly an American thing. I must search out a beef jerky factory.

I'm driving fast. I'm not screwing around. I need to get to Las Vegas for Halloween, so I'm not taking my normal, leisurely pace. As such, there isn't much time to dillydally, but I still managed to stop by Notre Dame since I stopped overnight in South Bend (I'm not a football player, but I did stay at a Holiday Inn Express). It was cold and windy, but I managed to stumble into the LaFortune Student Center in my student disguise, where I snarfed down a Subway sandwich and then bought some ugly postcards.

I sped over the border into Illinois, thinking to myself that I had to stop somewhere along the way to get a postcard for my sister (I'm sending her one from each state), but all of a sudden, I crossed the Mississippi River ("What's it doing up here?" I thought to myself), and was in Davenport, IA. So I pulled off and drove back into IL to get her a very ugly postcard.


Back into IA. I'm driving along and all of a sudden, the most spectacular sunset ever. EVER. Ok, maybe the best of the past week. And I'm in Brooklyn, IA of all places...So I pulled off and took a picture. Pictures never do sunsets justice. And more importantly, I've realized over the past 3 months that life is about shared experiences. Telling you about this sunset has little meaning and value, but if you had been there with me, you too would have reveled in its beauty. But I digress.

Dinner in Des Moines. People sure are nice in the midwest. Well, the girl at Notre Dame who sold me the postcard wasn't so nice. But the girls who told me where the bookstore was, were. I somehow found my way to Court Ave in downtown Des Moines and first tried to go to some spaghetti restaurant, but the hostess told me the wait time for one person was an hour. Very strange, very strange. I went across the street to the Court Ave Brewing Company, and was told 40 minutes, so I tried my luck at the bar. The friendly lady next to me told met that "Thoroughly Modern Millie" was opening at the Civic Center that night, which explained the rush. The CABCO, as they call themselves, allows patrons to "buy a mug" for the year, which means you can have your own personal mug hanging from the ceiling, which is used whenever you come in. You effectively lease the spot above the bar. Makes people feel like they are a part of something, I suppose...The food was good and cheap (by New York City standards). Satiated, I hopped back in the car, and found what I think is the state capitol, and took a picture.

I decided that Lincoln, NE would be the destination for the night, and started driving. The temperature dropped to a precipitously low 32 degrees. How was Iowa colder than New York City. When I finally made it to Lincoln, I found the room I was staying in had a sliding door that didn't actually shut all the way. Not so good when it's cold outside. I switched rooms, and felt much better.

Moby & Gwen
The Rock and Roll Hall of Fame
Cleveland, OH

When people ask me what I'm going to do on this trip, for some reason I always say, "I'm going to the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame!" as if it's the epitome of Americana. In truth, it's not. Sure rock-n-roll is cool and American, but the Hall of Fame is a recent addition to the Cleveland landscape, with a Louvre-type pyramid building designed by the same architect, IM Pei.

Taking pictures inside a museum usually sucks. But in this case, I didn't even have the option to take sucky pictures, as the museum staff notified me that no cameras are allowed because it was a condition from some of the artists who donated/loaned their paraphenalia to the museum. So all you get is the neon signs from Moby's "The Southside" video which I sneaked on the elevator on my way out.

The Hall of Fame is pretty cool with its deluge of instruments, costumes, and interactive features. Highlights included some very rare live cuts from Jimi Hendrix playing stuff like "Blue Suede Shoes" and "Johnny Be Good." Also, a U2 retrospective, which was entertaining if only because they had original rejection notices from record companies in the 1970s who appreciated the band sending in their material, but they weren't interested. I'm sure *that guy* got fired.

Orange Team: Chip Somodevilla (Team Leader/Detroit Free Press), Tracy Boulian, Scott Squire, Ryan Reed, Christopher Capoziello, Genevieve Russell, Karin Higgins, Stefanie Atkinson, Jim Korpi, Max Morse, Allen Murabayashi
Eddie Adams Workshop - Barnstorm XVI
Jeffersonville, NY

Once a year as the foliage turns to bright reds and golds, 100 students descend upon the farmhouse of Eddie Adams, the Pulitzer Prize winner who took the photograph of of Gen. Nguyen Ngoc Loan executing a Viet Cong prisoner by shooting him in the head. For the past 16 years, Adams has put together a scholarship-based workshop for students and professionals with less than 3 years of experience to interact with the best of the best. All the faculty and staff volunteer their time so that the future of photojournalism can be witness to and inspired by the top photographers in the world.

Two days of intense shooting was surrounded by lectures and panels with everyone from Joe Rosenthal, the 92-year old who shot the Marines raising the flag on Iwo Jima and Nick Ut who photographed a naked girl (Kim Phuc) running down the street after the Vietnam Napalm attack, to Benjamin Lowy, a recent Barnstorm attendee who shot extensively for Time Magazine in the Iraq War. With little sleep, but inspiration to last a lifetime, the Orange team descended upon Sullivan County to shoot a project entitled "Our House."

It's impossible to describe the feelings that went through my head during the short four days. As an aspiring photojournalist, it was humbling to be in the presence of such greatest, but to also realize that I had made it there, and that had counted for something. I cried as the now 40-year old Kim Phuc was introduced by Nick Ut, and she recounted the day when she was burned by napalm, and how Ut put down his camera to assist her after taking the Pulitzer Prize winning photograph. Still a teenager at the time, Ut was prescient enough to know that his subject was more important than the photo. He also realized the power of the photograph and revealing the truths that are often hidden from the public. Kim Phuc ended by telling us not to view the little girl as crying out of fear and pain, but as a cry for peace.

The members of my team are phenomenal photographers. And I have no doubt that they will one day win many awards, as some of them already have. More significantly, I have no doubt that one day, some of us will create the photographs that have the power to change history.

The Parthenon
Centennial Park
Nashville, TN


Just down the road from Tower Records and Borders Bookstore, is the only full-size replica of the Parthenon in the world, located in the heart of Nashville. The Parthenon was originally built for the 1897 World's Fair, and included other monuments like the Pyramid of Cheops, but the Parthenon was the only full-scale structure. Originally constructed of plaster and meant as a temporary display, the citizens of Nashville decided that they wanted to keep it, and between 1920 and 1931, they rebuilt the Parthenon with pebbled concrete, which gives it that brownish hue today.

When my friend Liz told me about the Parthenon a few weeks ago, I thought that it would be a bit of a joke. She thought it was a quarter-size replica, and I was thinking "Stonehenge" from Spinal Tap. But in fact, the Nashville Parthenon takes their work quite seriously, having obtained much detailed information from the British Museum to build exacting replicas of the carved figures (including a massive Athena statue covered in gold leaf), columns, and other features that adorn the huge structure. And considering the state of disrepair of the real Parthenon, it's pretty neat to see a completed structure, even if it's not made from marble.


With Elvis #1 Hits blazing on the car stereo, I drove 3 hours west of Nashville to spend an hour at Graceland. I had a conception that Memphis itself would be a small little town, and Graceland would be some nice little house where Elvis lived. But Memphis, like Nashville and Knoxville, is a huge, sprawling city. And instead of being set back on a nice country road, Graceland sits on a multi-lane street lined with every fastfood joint in existence. I helped myself to the Tender Roast combo at the KFC next to the Heartbreak Hotel before spending $25 to tour Graceland.

Despite being robbed on admission, the tour was fun and well-done, and Elvis was, well, the King. And "You Ain't Nothin' But a Hounddog" is one rockin' tune. America is Elvis.

p.s. Because Tennesse has no income tax (and a huge budget crisis), the sales tax is 9.8%. Don't plan on doing any shopping in this state...

Pat Rothfuchs
Doggywood at Dollywood
Pigeon Forge, TN


Back in November of 2002, the Health Department in Pigeon Forge, TN stopped allowing dogs into Dollywood, the ultra-popular Dolly Parton amusement park. In response, Dollywood opened Doggywood right outside the ticket counter with twelve kennels and four "cottages" for people who just can't part with their pets. During peak times, Doggywood is forced to turn owners away.

Pat Rothfuchs husband passed away six months after being diagnosed with cancer. The Michigan native decided to pick up and move with a girlfriend to Tennessee even though she had no friends or family in the region, after having "discovered" the area ten years ago. She was looking for a peaceful spot, and found it nestled in the Smokies. Rothfuchs figured if she couldn't find work in TN, she'd moved back to Michigan, but she ended up finding Doggywood.

"It means 'red fox,'" she explained as she spelled her last name for me. Rothfuchs told her kids that they had to live life and pursue their dreams after the death of her husband because "you never know what's going to happen." She looked at me knowingly when I told her about how solitary the road can be at times, but responded with "Seeing the country is a great thing." She smiled, and we said our goodbyes. An otherwise ordinary theme park became something special today.

Under Bay Street
Savannah, GA

Very steep steps lead from Bay Street down to River Street on the Savannah waterfront. The multi-story buildings that line River Street obfuscate their backsides in a labyrinth-like maze complete with cobble stone roads (ballast from the old ships), and pitch black iron work.


I took a tour of Savannah today courtesy of Gray Line, one of the many tour operators in the city. And once again, I ended up being the only person on the tour bus with Barbara, the tour guide. Should I be concerned that this is the third time I've had a one to one ratio with the tour operator? Barbara ended the tour by telling me that I reminded her of "Vern" from Trading Spaces because of my smile. Not being that familiar with the show, I surmised that he was probably the Asian designer...I was right...

As I dropped some postcards into the mail and was about to depart town, I called Josh. He insisted that I find Johnny Mercer's grave. Johnny Mercer being one of the great singer/songwriters of the mid-20th century with hits like "Come Rain or Come Shine." Mercer won four Grammy's during his illustrious career and was a co-founder of Capitol Records.

I found the cemetery and asked the guard how to find the Mercer grave. He rather vague directions left me walking around aimlessly until he pulled his car up during one of his security runs. "Did you find it?" he asked.

"Not yet," I replied.

"Well, I'm on my way there. Do you want a ride?"


Jonas has only been working at the Bonaventure Cemetery for two weeks, but the Mercer grave is one of his checkpoints. Born and raised in Savannah, his wife is actually from New Jersey, as he pointed out when I told him I was from New York. It's amazing how friendly people can be sometimes.

Mercer's family grave is nestled deep within the Bonaventure Cemetery on the outskirts of town. The cemetery is beautiful with dirt roads lined with oak trees draped with spanish moss. Surprisingly there is a huge Jewish presence in the cemetery, but as I learned today on the tour, James Oglethorpe (the founder of Savannah), was very progressive and he invited Jews and Catholics to join his fellow Protestants in growing Savannah.

Destiny Gloyd
Oktoberfest on River Street
Savannah, GA


Everyone told me Savannah was a nice town, and none of them lied. It's got the sprawl in the outlying areas like any town, but the downtown area is beautiful. The brief history of Savannah starts in 1733 when a military man by the name of James
Oglethorpe and 113 Brits left the Thames and arrived 50-some odd days later in North Carolina. They were hungry and thirsty as many of their rations had gone bad during the voyage. But no worries, Oglethorpe had his boat guided down to the Savannah River, and his crew set up shop along the banks of the river. Savannah reminds me of Charleston, SC which is very close in proximity, but there is still something unique and compelling about this place.


I don't really know what the Germans had to do with Savannah, but like many other places, Oktoberfest has become another excuse to have a party. Vendors, musicians and plain 'ole townsfolk line River Street for three days this weekend, and it's just a good 'ole Southern party. The band, dressed in their liederhosen, played the oom-pah-pah music while everyone of all ages danced in the street and enjoyed life.

The historic downtown region is just a nice place. Not too crowded, it has an easy to follow grid layout filled with tons of history. It's a nice place to wander, and get lost. Have a seat on a park bench and enjoy the good weather.

State Capitol
Columbia, SC

You'll have to bear with me on this one...


What is more tasty than good BBQ? And what food is more representative of the south than good BBQ? As I entered North Carolina, it was clear that I had entered BBQ territory. For the uninitiated, there are three primary types of BBQ that vary by region. 1) tomato-based: most like the kind of stuff you buy in the store (think KC Masterpiece), and the most popular, 2) vinegar-based sauce popular in regions like Kentucky and Arkansas, and 3) mustard-based sauce, which defines South Carolina BBQ. There's a BBQ joint in New York called Virgil's which lists Maurice's BBQ as one of their favorites in the US. Maurice's recipe adds apple sauce, which gives it a slightly sweet, and very memorable taste. I highly recommend the Big Joe sandwich.

In 2000, a controversy loomed over Columbia, SC when they continued to be the only state that flew the symbol of Civil War-era segregation, the Confederate Flag, over its statehouse. Numerous groups boycotted the area, and it was finally decided that the flag would be moved adjacent to a monument of Gen. Wade Hampton which stood in front of the main building.

Maurice Bessinger allegedly flew the largest US flag in the state above his BBQ restaurant...that is, until the flag controversy. Upon the 2000 decision to remove the Confederate flag, which he called a symbol of his heritage, Mr. Bessinger decided to fly the confederate flag at his restaurants, and raised a ruckus when he said that the US flag needed to come down and states should reclaim their sovereignty. His decision to fly the Confederate flag caused Wal-Mart, Food Lion and others to drop his products, and he lost 98% of his bottled sauce business.

Mr. Bessinger also challenged civil rights desegregation laws in the mid-60s, and ran for governor in the mid-70s dressed in a white suit atop a white horse.


100 miles before you enter South Carolina along I-95, you'll start to see dozens of signs for "South of the Border," a very strange border "town" that uses a racist caricature of its mascot "Pedro." Mexicanized words like "beeg" (big) and "moch" (much) adorn the signs for miles. The whole concept is so ridiculous, it almost ceases to be offensive. The graffiti in the bathroom summed it up best, "Fucked Up Place."

As I was walking around South of the Border, I passed a young girl and her mother. The girl literally sneered at me as I passed by. It hasn't been the first time on the trip that I have perceived passive racism or at least xenophobia. Hatred, intolerance, and ignorance seem to be as much of our fabric as Americans as any other facet of our history.


The flipside to all of that hatred is that some of the friendliest people I've ever met have been in South Carolina. When I visited in college, I was minding my business walking down the street, when an old woman called to me from the other sidewalk. "Why don't you walk me to the store," she said. With nothing to do, I crossed the street and joined her for a block or two. She didn't seem to mind that I wasn't white. She just wanted some company.

The water back in Wilmington at Wrightsville Beach was chilly this morning, but it didn't stop the surfers from doing there thing. Clad in their neoprene wetsuits, they spend most of the time bobbing in the water, waiting for the perfect wave. They seem to enjoy the solitude of the waves.

Daniel Westreich
Doctoral Candidate in Epidemiology of infectious Disease
Chapel Hill, NC

I woke up somewhat inspired to find those tobacco farms, and had read that Danville had a tobacco warehouse district that allegedly held auctions from August through November. I had seen old photos of men walking around stacks of beautifully bound tobacco leaves, and was excited to insert myself into the action.


As I entered the district, I noticed that there wasn't much going on, so I pulled into the Danville Science center and starting chatting with two of the employees there. Apparently, the warehouse district hadn't been used for tobacco in many, many years, and I was told that the whole auction process has pretty much disappeared in favor of direct contracts with farmers from the tobacco companies. Gone too are the drying barns and beautiful tobacco flowers. Leaves are now shredded and bailed, and the flowers are cut off while the plants are still growing to conserve bio-energy for the plant. The once flourishing industry is collapsing domestically under the weight of litigation and corruption. The storied warehouses are now storage space under the Davis family which started in the merchandising business in 1935. As the tobacco industry succumbed to financial pressures, Mr. Davis bought up the warehouses and created more storage.


"So what else is there in Danville?" I asked. As it turns out Danville is famous for three things: 1) tobacco, 2) the Old Wreck of 97, and 3) Sutherlin Mansion. In 1903, an old postal train came roarin' around the bend as it entered Danville from Lynchburg. The train derailed, killed 11 people, and presumably lost lots of mail. But a song called "the Old Wreck of 97" put Danville on the map, and the weekend before I was there, 2500 model train enthusiasts from around the country descended upon Danville to celebrate the 100 year anniversary. They presented the Science Center with their scale replica made from eye-witness accounts and historical photographs. These are weird people.

Finally, for one week, April 3-10, 1865, Danville served as the last capital of the Confederacy following the fall of Richmond to the Union Army. President Jefferson Davis and company where invited to the mansion of Major William T Sutherlin where they hung out and drew up the final Confederate Proclamation. When they heard that Gen. Lee had surrendered though, they all bolted for Greensboro, NC, and that was the end of the Confederacy. Although as I get deeper south, I won't say that publicly...

So off I went to North Carolina. The night before, an old college buddy, Dan Westreich, emailed me after having read this column, and invited me to hang with him. Little did he know I was an hour away. We decided to meet up at 6pm at "Mama Dips" on Rosemary Street, which allegedly had the best soul food in town. With a little over half an hour to spare, I decided to walk to the local record shop and pick up the new Sting CD. This would prove to be a fatal mistake.

I strolled back to my car, popped the trunk to load the CD into the changer, had a conversation with the guy parked next to me about my camera, shut the trunk and prepared to drive off for some home cookin. That's when I realized that what I really did was, popped the trunk, put my keys in the trunk, loaded the CD changer, had a conversation and shut the trunk.

Keys in the trunk, keys in the trunk.

I called up Jeffrey to get the AAA phone number, and while he was looking it up, figured I should call the dealership since I have one of those alarm systems built-in to the locking mechanism. They informed be that they did NOT recommend the use of AAA since they would probably damage the door, but that he could check to see if a local dealership could tow my car in, and assist me with the door. Please hold.

[insert muzak]

"Ok, there is a dealership in Chapel Hill. However, no one in either North or South Carolina has the laser tool to form a new key, and it's too late to order one. My best guess is that we could get you a key by Monday."

It was Wednesday. The air was turning chilly and my t-shirt wasn't offering much protection. I had a camera strapped on my back, and a cell phone with a sliver of electricity left.

"Uh, that's ok, I'll try AAA."

I called Jeffrey back and he gave me the number. I explained to them the situation and they said, "no problem, we'll dispatch a guy now." Half an hour later, I got a follow up call from the dispatch, and 10 minutes after that I got a call from the lockout technician.

"What year is your car?" he asked.

"2002," I sheepishly replied.

"Ok, well, since 2000, if you jimmy the lock on your car, it activates the alarm system which disables the trunk release in the car and locks the engine. So we can get into the passenger compartment, but can't get your keys. We'll have to tow the car to the dealership and have them use their tools to get into the car."

As an atypical blizzard started to form outside, I cursed Sting and his high-pitched voice.....just kidding.

With few options, I made the call I didn't really want to make...to the ex-girlfriend (see previous entry).

Fortunately, we are on good terms despite the grief that I caused her. She went to my apartment, retrieved my spare key, hopped on over to FedEx and shipped it Priority Overnight. She took one Lemon-Lime gatorade from my fridge as payment.

Back to Dan. Dan worked at Microsoft out of college on business applications. After his project was shut down and was moved onto another project, he realized that he didn't care so much about the color of the buttons in the various applications. So under the inspiration of some of his friends, he worked at an HIV research clinic for a year, until he matriculated to UNC in a doctoral program in epidemiology. "HIV is so cool," he opined and then explained to me how the virus lacks an error correction mechanism, which makes it highly mutable and difficult to combat. It was good to see someone so passionate about their work.

The next morning at 8:45am, a FedEx man knocked on the door and handed me a package containing the spare key. I wanted to hug him, but that probably wouldn't have been appropriate. I marched with a day-old t-shirt into the crisp 56 degree morning, caught a bus into town, and marveled as the trunk popped open before my eyes.

Thank God for FedEx. Thanks Amanda.