One sixth of the earth

Just thought that this parting shot of Prius back at the stable in Baltimore should be seen. That's right- in one week we drove the equivalent of 1/6 of the circumference of the earth. I am guessing the other 5/6 do not have as good a BBQ. Thanks to all who left comments along the way- I would say something cheesy like "it was all for you" but it really was all for us, so what can you do. But we did love seeing the comments and knowing that y'all (see, I learned something!) were rooting us on. Stay tuned in the future for the next big adventure.

So Long, Q

Though we are heading east out of Nashville toward the sunrise, our tour has entered its twilight. We make our way from the heart of country music to horse country [complete with various state-sponsored billboards directing folks to various bourbon distilleries along the way] and much of our trek has put us back in similar types of terrain. We know we are, once again, approaching the more traditional realm of the south given the number of strange vehicles and their equally mind boggling cargo.

Josh has sort of adopted a side quest [this is very common in role playing video games and, thus, is not tremendously surprising] to find pimped-out cars and pinball machines.

[Josh here] And now I am typing. Why am I typing? We had a little adventure. Yesterday it was the nail in the tire. Today? One minute we are driving along fine through the mountains of West Virginia, Chris typing away, the next minute Prius decides it is tired and stops going. From two bars on the gas meter to pretty much empty. The electric motor got us to a gas station (of sorts) two miles away. The gas nozzle was a little old- gas got all over Koski. I told him to just breath deeply and he would feel better, but even though I am a doctor, he insisted we find a bathroom to wash it off. This “gas station” only had outhouses. Really.

And I haven’t found any more pinball machines yet. Well, we DID pass a video game and pinball machine exchange shop in Lexington, but since I was told I could not tie one to the roof, we did not stop. Some people just don’t think creatively.

Lexington was our last BBQ stop. And it was a fitting end. We went to Billy’s BBQ near the University of Kentucky. It had been chosen for two assets: BBQ mutton and the fact that it is decorated with actual wild boar heads. Tasty, eh? We thought so. We sat outside and ordered the mutton and the spare ribs. Also cheese grits, onion rings, and black eyed peas. The mutton was nice and smoky, and left no doubt of what animal it originated from. The ribs were very tender and served with a tomato based sauce that was reminiscent of KC. In fact, we both felt that they were probably better than either rib we ate in Memphis. The cheese grits were…cheesy. They made me think of Colleen and her love of canned cheese. The black eyed peas were very good, and the onion rings were fresh cut and tasty. Cornbread and Texas toast rounded out the meal. We have had cornbread in a few places and this was probably the best. Not at all dry, and very corny. And the boars heads were a perfect accompaniment to the end of our journey.

Well, not quite the end. Since we still have 400 miles to drive. We will likely post an afterward when we get to Staunton.

[Chris] We wind our way through the gorges, valleys, and mountains of West Virginia. We hit multiple construction areas that reduce traffic to a standstill behind an armada of semis. If you have not driven on the West Virginia Turnpike (I-77 and I-64), you are really missing one of the more dramatic roads this country has to offer. The Prius now strains to make its way efficiently over the summits and out of the valleys…we sense that, perhaps, something somewhere does not want us to reach Staunton. The BBQ Gods look down upon us – Gates, Dreamland, and Supersmokers – and try to prevent us from the end of our journey. They bring thunder, lightening, and a deluge reminiscent of, well, you know…We, begrudgingly, must push on back to our families who we miss dearly.

I write this as we descend from WV into Bath County, Virginia; an electronic hazard sign warns us to watch for Fair Traffic. Josh and I are trying to stay awake using extreme methods – listening to Ween and drinking truckstop flavored cappuccino [“with coffee”]. My tongue feels like a sweater as we race home before my son goes to sleep. Strangely, the thought of BBQ does not make my stomach turn or take away my appetite [though I don’t really have one at this point]. No, if asked, I could still tear into Dreamland’s heavenly ribs & sweet tea, chomp Big Jakes outstanding baked beans, enjoy Bill Spoon’s chopped pork and stupendous cole slaw; finishing the meal with Dreamland’s banana pudding. Yeah, I could still do that.

The trip has ruined me for conventional BBQ. No longer will I suffer through tough ribs with no smoke; no longer will I accept BBQ sauces that have the taste and consistency of ketchup; I will not stand for anyone’s attempt to cover poor cooking with an overpowering sauce. As Dale says, nothing should get in the way of the flavor of the meat.

Though I would eat anything from our own shrines of BBQ, I do not have access to anything close to them in my community; thus, I will probably not eat meat for a while. It is likely that my body would reject any imposter having acclimated to such perfection.

I Brake For Mushrooms

Today is the lightest day of the trip, readying us for taking our chariot across the rolling hills of the Kentucky and then onto the gorges of West Virginia. Tomorrow will be akin to Hannibal moving his army [complete with Elephants, which we are the size of now] across the northern Italian Alps in a failed attempt to take the Romans by surprise. Pretty sure that he surprised the hell out of the barbarians living in the foothills of the Alps – this is probably the same reaction that the equally exotic Prius will draw on the West Virginia Turnpike.

Today we will only drive 200 miles between Memphis and Nashville – Nashville is sort of anti-climactic for both Josh and I we are anti-country, with the exception of the Statler Brothers [who hail from where I currently live] and Johnny Cash. Also, Nashville is not really known for BBQ, but it is in the South so we sort of need to find the diamond in the rough or cross it off a future list.

This morning we woke up when we felt like it, we tended to our copious emails, and I even went to the Double Tree’s fitness center – this, of course, was a mistake because there was a scale in there, which I hope is broken. If not, I have gained five pounds.

The man working the desk at the ridiculously priced tennis courts [who also admonished us about the crime epidemic in Memphis] told us about a nice, non-touristy BBQ place in Memphis called, appropriately, the BBQ shop. It claims to be home of the dancing pig, but I’m not impressed – you want to impress me you need to make those pigs fly.

The location of the restaurant is pretty far removed from the tourist areas of Memphis on a somewhat busy artery to the city. We parked on the street and the building is what we would hope for – old, industrial, and real. The restaurant has two sections, a more typical sit down area and then a banquet hall attached to it. We were seated in the banquet hall area [which was empty except for a dude with a bluetooth headset talking to himself like a schizophrenic] because the restaurant portion was full. Any good BBQ shop [with the exception of Gates and Dreamland, which have no need to be told they are good] has various awards and newspaper articles on the wall letting you know that you have picked the right place; the BBQ shop is no exception. They have been, as we were further informed, consistently been picked as the top in Memphis and have also been featured on Bobby Flay’s show.

The man who took our order looked very much like a guy in a magazine review on the wall, who, as we later found out, was actually the owner. It was very refreshing to see the owner of a very busy, successful, and large BBQ restaurant inauspiciously working the tables. He is about our age and perhaps the coolest BBQ owner in the world because he said “It doesn’t get any better than that” pointing to Josh’s Mario Kart shirt that says “I brake for mushrooms”.

Now let’s talk about the food. We split a full rack of baby back ribs – half dry and half wet. This is served with cole slaw, beans, and texas toast. We both ordered tea, mine, of course, was sweet. The cole slaw is very good – perhaps the second best we’ve had [behind Bill Spoon’s perfection] – not really any cream, good combination of vinegar and sugar, and a surprising number of ingredients: sweet pickles, cabbage [though this is less than at most places], slight carrot, and green peppers. The baked beans were definitely BBQ baked beans with a healthy amount of sauce; they tasted like they were probably homemade – but they sort of blend in with others. They could not hold a candle to Big Jake’s baked bean opus. The Texas toast was plentiful, thick, buttery, and generally nice. Josh and I took quite a long time to figure out what we thought of the ribs. Like other ribs we have eaten that solely rely or heavily depend upon a dry rub, the ends are a bit dry and tough. The rub is unique for this trip in that there is no hint of sugar – good salt, paprika flavor. I think I like the wet ribs better because they were juicier and they, once again, had no hint of sweetness. The ribs aren’t particularly smoky, but this is par for the course in the part of the country. Josh and I are having a little trouble at this point really ranking ribs, so we are moving more to a tiered system. We can say that these are, sadly, not top tier ribs, but they are certainly not anywhere near the bottom. I, Chris, think they are as good as the ribs and Blues City BBQ, but Josh puts them lower. If there is anything to break the tie, it is that these ribs are slightly crispier at the ends [which puts them slightly behind]. Overall, a good feel to the place and somewhere I would definitely recommend people go if they don’t want to feel like a tourist eating BBQ in Memphis.

We have seen the cheapest hotel single advertised on the freeway -$22.95 for a single; hooker is extra [just outside of Memphis on I-40].

Just saw a sign that says: “Enjoy Tennessee wine” sort of like “Enjoy North Dakota BBQ”

These towns are separate. Of course.






We are beginning to compile a list of future potential trips as we enter the twilight of our voyage. All of them involve food, of course.

[Josh here] We are beginning to slip into madness I believe. I am sitting here in a hotel in Nashville, and I think we are going over the edge in the Prius. Why do I say this? Wait until the end of the post.

Ah, the road was fun today. It was a short but eventful drive. The Prius speaks to us. You doubt? Oh but it does, precious. We were just east of Jackson, TN when the car told us that there was a problem with the tires. And when the Prius speaks to us, we must obey. So we pulled off at the first exit and tried to look at the car as if we knew anything about it. Fortunately, even we can figure out that when there is a metal spike sticking out of a tire and a whistling noise coming from it there is a problem. What does Avis say?

“Go to a Goodyear or Firestone shop- we have a contract with them.”

“Great” I say. “Where is the closest one?”

“Ummm…they are usually in the bigger towns, you should be able to find one.” Click.

Well, the truck stop we were at did not really qualify as a bigger town, but it DID have a tire guy. I don’t know quite how to describe his workspace, and I am not sure if he didn’t fix the tire with bubble gum, but he only charged $7, so I think he was great. And then the Prius told us that it was satisfied and that we could continue.

We stopped at a truck stop to empty. As I walked past the isle of pork rinds a voice whispered to me from a hallway- “psst…you want a little multiball?” Into the hallway I wandered to the beautiful site of a vintage Williams pinball machine- No Good Golfers. We played for about 20 minutes. It was glorious. But then the Prius demanded a return to the road. With a whistful glance back at the seductive ramps and plastic gopher, we trudged back to the silver metal extension of ourselves.

The road to our hotel held new enticements. The pinball machine haunted my memory for the next hour and so when we passed a Family Fun Center with cosmic bowling and an ARCADE I was pleased. We also passed a Hooters. Chris was pleased. Our hotel has a huge LG HD TV with plug ins for the PS2. We were both pleased.

We went to Whitt’s BBQ. It was take out only, which was a bit of a surprise. We got the family pack for the whole family, but Prius is on a diet, so we ate it all ourselves. The pulled pork was actually quite good. Very smoky, and pretty moist. We had it on the hamburger buns that were thrown into the sack. The coleslaw was not very good. And to even discover this Chris had to slip into the hotel restaurant and steal two forks since they had neglected to give us any. Dinner was follwed by a rousing game of Battlefront II. Then on to more decadent activities.

Or not. The Family Fun Center was not. Not a pinball machine in sight. There was an iceskating rink though. As much as I left Vermont to come to Tennessee to ice skate, we had to move on. At least Hooters is a guaranteed good time, right?

Nope, we are old. Instead of going to Hooters, we went and played more tennis. Well, sort of played tennis. We were both so sore from the previous marathon match that we just hit a few shots and then went to a grocery store to buy supplies for tomorrow’s exodus. One supply was a razor. You might have noticed that we were both sporting a bit more facial hair than normal over the course of the trip. Well, that was getting old. But have a look at the pictures taken tonight and you will see why I say we are slipping. I am going to go back to drinking my Mojito now and then join Koski in our valiant attempt to liberate Tatooine from the clutches of the evil Galactic Empire.

You know, it's Dead Elvis Week...

Chris just announced “I think I see the arch!” We are driving outside of St. Louis, so this would have signified identification of a major landmark in the area. But alas, it was in fact a McDonald’s sign in the distance. Well, if this were Futurama it would be the St. Louis arch sponsored by McDonalds. Ride the walrus.

After a very pleasant evening and morning with the Millers in Lone Jack, we hit the road at 7AM this morning. That is because we have a 550+ mile day today. We are still on schedule though, as we have already had lunch and are back on on the road by noon. What a road this is across Missouri. I have never seen such a concentration of truck stop strip clubs. Not even in Las Vegas. Fortunately, aside from being old married fathers, we are constantly in a state of meat-induced lethargy on this trip so none of them were particularly appealing.

Lunch was at Super Smokers BBQ in Eureka, MO (just outside St. Louis). Super Smokers has the distinction of having won 1st place in the Whole Hog division of the Memphis in May World BBQ competition. For those of you who are not BBQ aficionados (although if you are reading this you likely are), this is sort of like the World Series of BBQ. They have also won 1st place in ribs at the Murphysboro BBQ competition which is run by Mike Mills, who I consider my BBQ guru. So I was pretty excited about this place. They are a departure from many of the classic BBQ places we have been in that they have six different sauces at the table. Kansas City, St. Louis, Tennessee, Hot Texas, Sweet Carolina, and Championship. I personally like this, although a purist would argue that you should just do one thing well. The ribs were, in my mind, absolutely deserving of the trophies that filled the room. Chris has already announced that he plans to write a counterpoint position, but they may in fact be my favorite. They use baby back, which is also in distinction to many other places. I think that it is fair to judge them with this in mind however as each place should put forward their best product. I also had jalepeno cornbread, which was OK, but could have used more jalepeno, and slaw which was purely vinegar based with no mayonanaise to be found. The pulled pork went well with the sauces, but was not overwhelming. Chris also had the pulled chicken (a first) which was moist but not as good as White Lightning. The potato salad was fresh but not too special, and the last side was a tomato/cucumber/onion salad which was refreshing and sweet. And there was a convertible Jaguar parked in the lot next to the restaurant, so all in all, I was happy.

The long day continues down the belly of Missouri on I-55, far from the field of dreams…well, given the amount of porn shops around here, I guess it sort of is a field of dreams [just a certain type].

Josh and I drink a lot of liquids when we drive to keep us moving. The Prius is actually more efficient than we are. It only needs to stop about once every 500 miles, we probably stop about every 75 miles because of boredom, thirst, or to pee. We see the choice piece of Americana that is the interstate gas station, which here includes a number of different bumper stickers with the confederate flag. They even find some way of working it into a bumper sticker for bass fishing…I don’t know how being a rebel makes you a better bass fisherman. BTW: this isn’t the bible belt, as some of you may be misinformed, it is the “bass belt”. While we have seen a number of different megachurches of various sizes, nothing can rival the size and ubiquity of the Bass Pro Shops [some of which are complete with an indoor stream].

We crossed into Memphis at about 5 PM and headed to our three-star priceline hotel in the eastern part of the city. We found the most expensive tennis court I have ever been on and played for about 1.75 hours. At the end, the nice gentleman running the place informed us that Memphis had the worst crime in the county and then proceeded to tell us all his personal stories of being robbed as well as those of his neighbors – including one where his neighbor shot dead an intruder. Many of you who know me know that I’m suspicious whenever anyone says they have the best/worst anything in the country, but this made Josh and I in our uber-intimidating Prius wielding tennis rackets a bit worried.

We showered for the good of the whole town and headed to the Blues City BBQ [recommended to us by Mike, a fellow BBQ addict from Mississippi] restaurant near the world-famous Beale Street in downtown Memphis. After “tipping” a local homeless gentleman for helping us park [long story short – he saw us parking and didn’t leave us alone until we gave him some money], we headed to a very vibrant downtown. Memphis is probably an awesome place if you are single and don’t want to be temporarily, but we were here for business. Many of the restaurants in downtown Memphis have a dude out front who tries to convince you to come into their place [similar to any other tourist area in the world], another guy brings you to your table. A woman is the “hostess” for the entire restaurant – in our case, a very petite, mid-thirties eastern European – some guys work the meat area, and other guys bring your food to your table. We ordered a full slab of ribs, which comes with fries, cole slaw, beans, and texas toast. We also ordered a bowl of seafood gumbo [which is sort of BBQ]. The cole slaw was “fine” – a little mayo, sugar, no vinegar, and cucumber with some of the skin still on it. The beans were nothing special, the toast was also not much special, and the fries were slightly above average. The gumbo was truly excellent – this is a combination of us not eating anything other than BBQ for a long time, a nice spice, and some great seafood flavor [don’t forget the okra, either!]. The sweet tea is lacking, but I haven’t really had good sweet tea since Dreamland in Alabama.

Let’s talk about the ribs. They are baby backs, with a dry rub, and a sweet glaze. We know we are in Memphis because there is no sauce served on the side or at the table. The ribs were tender, not particularly smoky, but retained a very distinctive pork flavor. When you get a mouthful of the sweet glaze, the ribs are wonderful, but they lack any real smoky flavor after the glaze is off. They are a great eat, but, particularly given that we have eaten Super Smokers’ ribs today, they are probably in fourth place behind, in no particular order: Gates, Dreamland, and Super Smoker’s [maybe even fifth for me, behind Big Al’s beef ribs]. Now, this does not mean that they weren’t any good [far from it], just that in the world of BBQ they could improve somewhat. We are going to stay in Memphis for lunch tomorrow to try and get an alternative slab of ribs and then head to Nashville.

Atoka more like matoka

I am typing from the in Oklahoma. O----Klahoma- where the Prius rolls gently down the plain. For now- there are some big black clouds up ahead and I am somewhat concerned that our next stop on the tour may not in fact be Tulsa but Oz. But I am sure that the Munchkins would make a fine BBQed winged monkey.

I am taking a large risk this morning of drinking another large bottle of low-calorie sports drink to try to replenish my precious bodily fluids after yesterday (see prior post). This one does not have sucralose in it, but I am still keeping track of the distances to each rest stop (see prior post). We just passed through the town of Atoka, OK. It was here that we saw the great hope of the democratic party in the region. After seeing this degree of organization, the outcome of the November elections is no longer in doubt at least in OK. We just missed our exit onto the Indian Nation Turnpike, so as I write Chris is turning around in a John Deere parking lot: Sale on Weedeaters! Nice. More in a bit.

Alright, it has been a bit, and now I have more to report. Highlights of the drive:

1. A house that was literally leaning over about 10 degrees. On the front was a sign that said “Beware of Dog.” I am guessing if there had been a doghouse it would have had a sign stating “Beware of House.”
2. Multiple signs along the road warning “Do not drive into Smoke.” Clearly they were not thinking of BBQ pilgrims.
3. Montezuma Creek. I suggested that we stop here to refill our water bottles.
4. Perhaps the highlight: the Tropical Wave Salon. The salon was located along the highway in (I am not making this up) one of those portable sheds you can buy at home supply companies.
5. The Muddy Boggy River. We considered taking a spin but didn’t want to drop the tranny out of our ride.
6. Poor timing on our part- in a few weeks there is a one night only show at the Chocktaw Casino of Chris’ favorite band: AIR SUPPLY!
7. If only we had planned our evenings better we could have stayed in Okmulgee at the Super 9 motel. That is not a typo. The Super 9 was neither super nor a 9.
8. Real Estate alert! A home for sale in central OK. Custom built one level with a kwanset hut welded to the side of the building for extra space. Olive green curtains (or towels) provide lovely window treatments.

[Chris here] OH MAMA you have not lived until you have seen Tulsa, OK. We pulled into the north part of town looking for a place called Elmer’s, but, despite being quite hungry (enough to eat a munchkin), we were saddened to learn that Elmer does not serve food on Sundays. For those of you not paying attention, we really aren’t using a “navigation device” like a GPS, but some printed maps from maps.google and an atlas I purchased for my first interstate move (MT to SEA). So…this was a bit of a hiccup. Thankfully, Larry had printed several possible BBQ places in Tulsa – though we really had no idea how to find them. Josh spotted a coffee shop (Saigon Café) on the way to Elmer’s so we searched it out to see if it had wifi…success! It did!

But it was closed, too. However, we pulled into the parking lot, Josh opened up the laptop and determined that Saigon Café does not turn off their wifi [I know why this is – anyone with a router is deathly afraid that if they turn it off it will never work again]. So, our new distination was a restaurant recommended to us by Larry – the Knotty Pine. This is somewhat nostalgic for us given that there is a Knotty Pine restaurant in Columbia Falls, MT and a finer place you will not find within three blocks. We were somewhat saddened by the fact that the Knotty Pine looked as though it was actually in downtown, in comparison to where we sat – two grown men in a Prius in the parking lot of a coffee shop surfing the web.


Our fears were unfounded. The Knotty Pine restaurant is in perhaps the worst neighborhood of the trip – bombed out industrial warehouses, rusting apartments, and a mid-80s Subaru hatchback adorned with shards of broken mirrors topped with an old pushmower (itself with some sort of indiscernible bling). I felt for a moment that we were driving to Thunderdome. The Knotty Pine is also the first official dive restaurant – a side note: there are many of you who claim that you like dive restaurants, but you typically live in parts of the country that do not have anything that truly qualifies. E.g. there are no real dives in Seattle and if you needed any reminder of that, I would put up the Knotty Pine against anything you could whip out [and it most assuredly does not score the highest on the “dive meter” in Tulsa]. It is Sunday in Tulsa and, like in Utah, any restaurant that can convince employees to work on the weekends typically does great business – particularly a dive. The parking lot was full, but you can see the smokers outside - a combination of metal, cinderblock, and…well…knotty pine. There were also other human smokers outside, like a pregnant woman and her fellow debutants, but, I digress. The layout is “family style” which means a bunch of movable tables and no booths. An old quickstop provides scenery from the tables, which are crowded with advertisements from local businesses [such as one from a funeral home with an image of two people kissing on the beach during sunset…funerals are SO romantic].

The place was full when we entered and packed when we left. Josh kept frantically trying to display his wedding ring; he got so desperate to prove that we were not a gay couple [eating sausage…;) ] that he tried to get me to make out with one of the female patrons.

The patrons.

We very much wished we could have documented them more properly, but we felt that we already stood out too much. We were the only out of state plates in the restaurant parking lot, after all. Most of the patrons had clearly just come from church, though attire was quite varied. Next to us was an enormous table with around twenty adults and, in a piece of Americana I have not experienced since my early years, a kids table with four youngins. Let me give you a sample cast list of the restaurant:

An enormous white man [400 lbs., easy], white shirt [half untucked], suspenders, full beard, bluetooth earpiece [did not take out for lunch]
Large white woman [unaffiliated with previous]; almost larger dark hair; ½ inch think makeup; black and white dress; severe resemblance to Ethel Merman or actress in “Black Hole Sun” video
Two Native American men, long black hair, ate dinner without saying a word to each other, but stared intensely at other patrons
Tall white man [at least 6 ½ feet tall], belly, pinstripe pants, suspenders, pressed white shirt – clearly the leader of the clan at the large table – perhaps an alderman
Large person [upon further review, adult white female], reddish-blonde buzzcut, money-taker as no one else in the restaurant was allowed to handle money.
Twenty-something white male, hat with local feed company, shirt that said “Paddle faster, I hear banjos”
Young white girl, eyebrow piercing, tight gray shirt that foreshadowing a pudgy future

There were obviously others, but these are good enough.

The food was, on the whole, below average, sadly. Part of this may be due to the fact that we are entering a different style of BBQ as we move north [though we are still in the Confederacy…well…Oklahoma wasn’t a state until 1913, but pretty sure they would have sided with the South] – the deep south is more focused on the taste of the meat, KC-style is more about the sauce. That said, we ordered a combo plate and split it [with Josh extolling the waitress about how much he loved “hot chicks with big hooters” to inoculate against any same-sex misperception]. The combo plate includes: ribs, ham, pulled pork, brisket, sausage, and bologna with two sides (we ordered two more): cole slaw, potato salad, and beans. The best part of the meal was the potato salad – though heavy, it had by far the most flavor of any we’ve had on the trip. The pulled pork was fairly juicy despite an absence of sauce (we were served two sizeable cups with our trays, so we were not without) and the sausage was pretty good [salty, which we liked, a bit like hillshire farm about which we were ambivalent]. The ribs were passable – the ends were tough and chewy; like the rest of the meats, there was almost not smoke flavor. The cole slaw was about average – not like the Blue Moon but nowhere near Big D’s or, the reigning champion, Bill Spoon’s. The real stinkers were the brisket [very, very dry, like a flavorless beef jerkey] and the beans. The beans [still giving me trouble as I write this] were thick, goopy, and sweet enough to make Dennis the Menace sick. Speaking of sweet, the sweet tea was really bad – bad tea flavor and the wrong amount of sugar [but I don’t know whether this was too much or too little].

One last thing: bologna tasted exactly like bologna. So, naturally, it was awful.

We are about to enter Missouri [the existence of which Grandpa Simpson refuses to acknowledge].

Our thanks to everyone who has written comments – it lets us know that there are some people reading about this trek. Special thanks to Dale for his continued emails about good BBQ places and to Mike for taking the time to direct us in Memphis. Onward to Kansas City! [this is sort of like a cattle drive – Big D to KC]

[Josh here] We have just finished dinner at Gates and Sons BBQ in Kansas City MO. There was not a lot to relate between the last writing and this post with the exception of Gates. For a good hour in the car I got Koski to read me radiology board exam recall questions (oh yes, I am taking a board exam in a few weeks). That was loads of fun for both of us, but now I can claim to have been semi-productive. On to the meat of the matter:

Gates is a BBQ shrine. There is no other way to put it. We of course found the original location (there are now 6 in the area). Famous for the welcome of “Hi, Can I Help You?” in that great drawl, it did not disappoint. I personally thought that although it came down to personal preference in many respects, Gates is my favorite rib thus far. Koski prefers Dreamland, but what can you do. It is a toss up in many ways. The rest of the meal was OK- good potato salad with more sour pickly flavor than many others. The slaw was creamy, but not on a level with Bill Spoon’s. Pasta salad was a bit bland. The other unique aspect to the meal was the beverage of choice. I saw a bottle labeled with the Gates logo containing a red liquid that looked not unlike transmission fluid (I know what this looks like as I had a car once that required a bottle of fluid every time I drove it so that it could leak out onto the road on the way). It was simply called Gates Red Soda Water. Imagine taking a whole bag of Jolly Rancher watermelon flavored candies and melting them into a bottle. Then adding an extra cup of sugar for good measure. That is what it was like. It is a good thing neither of us are diabetic as we would still be convulsing on the floor of Gates right now. Instead we are at a coffee shop downtown (without WiFi) with a DMC DeLorean parked out front. I had to stop Koski from jumping in and trying to go back to the future.

Now we are headed out of town to stay with Mike’s parents in Lone Jack MO. I am guessing that they might not have WiFi either, so we are going to try to stop outside a random hotel lobby on the way to make this post. Wish us luck. Tomorrow is a LONG day.

An Interim Post

Sorry out there- the recap of the exciting events of August 10 will have to wait for a morning post. We are enjoying the hospitality of the Millers here in Lone Jack, but I cannot make my laptop work with their network, so we will make a full post in the morning. Signing off.

The Crossroads of Ida

The Crossroads of Ida

Writing now from Interstate 30 across…Texas. The best part about today so far is that we left Shreveport [hereafter referred to as Mos Eisley – for those of you not familiar with Star Wars, this is referred to as a “wretched hive of scum and villainy” by Obi-Wan Kenobi; if you don’t know who Obi-Wan is than you are a Communist] – I cannot believe that people would choose to live there. There is a hospital there and Josh informs me that they must pay doctors about $1 million a year….or else people must just use voodoo and other local methods to deal with the ailments that result from poverty and malnutrition.

Okay. I’m done talking about how much I dislike Mos Eisley, but understand that it is the “bitter” juxtaposed with the sweet of the previous locations and [as I will soon divulge] future locations.

But first…a detour. A big one. As many of you know, we [Josh and I] loathe some parts of Texas, particularly Houston. Also, as you know, we have been in the car a great deal and the secondary highway between Mos Eisley and Houston is approximately 240 miles long, passing through such gems as Nacodoches, Texas. As a few of you know, I have actually been to Houston and a worse place I cannot think. [In fact, while we’re on the metaphor, think of me as Han Solo and Josh as an Ewok that can drive]. Finally, a notable omission on our initial map was the state of Arkansas, what you might call a Democratic oasis on the Dune Sea of Republican ideology. Sadly, some Republicans make good BBQ.

This is a long explanation to say that we cut Houston from our route and drove to Texarkana, Arkansas instead. We are very, very glad we did if for no other reason than the road leading north from Mos Eisley to Texarkana somewhat redeems northern Louisiana. There are cattle, immaculate homes, anti-immaculate trailers on blocks, and the oldest/smallest oil derricks we have ever seen. They look like something you would see in Futurama or the movie Robots when someone was trying to caricature an old robot.

The Crossroads of Ida signified a great shift culture and, dare I say, aura. Just within the first few miles of Arkansas Josh and I notices some strange feeling of familiarity – sort of like when we see a gun rack in a pickup with a Union Yes! sticker or eat a piece of huckleberry pie. Indeed Arkansas has many similar features to the great state of Montana – pine trees, smoke shops in gas stations, and empty freeways. In fact, many of you already know this, the world record brown trout (a favorite of mine from the Ruby River back home) was caught in AR. I believe it was 40 lbs. 4oz. Texarkana is like Kalispell [our home town in the Treasure State] 20 years ago…so, I guess it is Uncle Owen’s farm? Maybe Taschi Station [which is…never mind…in Star Wars]. Anyway, it is sort of trashy (giant tire plant, logging, agriculture) but not completely worn down. However, unlike Kalispell it has some pretty good Texas style BBQ at Big Jakes.

We ate our lunch at 11 AM. This is pretty early for many of you….but…we are sort of unaffected by time. Big Jake’s Texarkana, AR location [there is a Texarkana, TX location] is a bit newer than we would normally like, but the business has been around for over 25 years. There is an appropriate wooden décor, a number of ceramic animals that you are about to or are currently eating, a tin roof, and some very nice [and pretty] staff. We each got a two meat plate with cole slaw, sweet potato fries, and two pieces of white bread served in a Ziploc bag. Josh got the brisket and hot links; I got the brisket and ribs [I have eaten many of these now…]. Sauce is served in plastic cups on the side; mild and hot. I got sweet tea (I have not drank anything else on the trip with a meal), but it was commercially produced so I won’t mention it here. It tasted very similar to the tea I had in Mos Eisley and at White Lightening in Macon.

The verdict is quite positive. The brisket is tender, though not particularly smoky and matches quite well with the BBQ sauce. As we progressed through the meal, the heat from the hot BBQ sauce steadily climbed until we doused it with the large chop cole slaw. On its own, it wouldn’t stand, but it works with the other flavors on your plate. The hot links also have an afterburn that is pleasantly surprising – dipping them in the hot BBQ sauce is playing with fire. My ribs were excellent – they were very similar in texture (tender, fall of the bone) and taste (good bark, dry rub with some paprika) to how both Josh and I cook our ribs. This is not necessarily how the purists eat, but it was a nice, well-cooked familiar taste. I must say that the sweet potato fries were excellent – clearly fresh and, in a strange twist, they were dusted with powdered sugar. This was particularly well played given that that cole slaw was not sweet – otherwise the cole slaw would have overpowered the mildly sweet fries.

We are now on our way to Texas. Yea-haw.

How to tell when you are in Texas:
Monster Truck hummer with a missile on the roof
Army surplus store with Jeep and F-4 Phantom for sale
A billboard advertising Cooter Brown’s Liquor Store [next to, appropriately, an adult novelty shop]

[Josh here] TEXAS!!! I am writing from Dawn and Larry's home in Plano TX. Dawn is the sister of my stepfather Mike. As I type Chris and Dawn are sipping Scotch. I had some, but I still need to blog, so I want to retain some sensibility. Plus I have a toothpick in my mouth and I don't want it to end up in my tonsil. I had that happen once. But that's another story.

Since Koski has already taken up all of the attention span of our dedicated readers, I will keep it sweet and short. I can describe Texas as...hot. Real hot. We were not dissuaded from the tennis courts however. Perhaps we should have though. I am down about a quart. And the whisky is not replenishing my fluid effectively. Soooooooo....

At the suggestion of Larry and Dawn we took off to Big D (Dallas, not the Teepee) for Big Al's Smokehouse. You will note the theme of bigness developing- Big D's, Big Jake's, Big Al's, and now we are in the land of Big Hats. Big Al's is behind a Chicken Express store in a very run down strip mall which had closed with the exception of Big Al's. The rest was more or less boarded over. Big Al's had the beef ribs that Koski has been demanding for several hours, which is why we went. We both in fact had the beef ribs which were excellent. I also had the hot links while Koski opted for the brisket. Both were good- perhaps the best brisket we have had- managed to retain some pink color and flavor while still being tender and not at all chewy. The star of the show as far as I am concerned was the best creamed corn I have EVER had. I know creamed corn doesn't really sound like something that invites reflection, but it was just that good. Not the existential good that was to be found in Dreamland, but good. I even had a beer, which for those of you who know me realize is nearly a singular event. It will likely remain a singular event.

I don't have much else to say. Vote for Pedro.

The Sargasso Sea of BBQ

I am typing in the car, which might be a mistake, but since have been up late every night writing we figured maybe we would get a jump on it today. So:

Last evening we were saddened to find that our humble abode at the La Quinta had a TV that would not let us play Playstation 2. So we had to resort to watching South Park’s spoof on the World of Warcraft online. The truly sad part of that is that we watched this satirical spoof of the game, and laughed at the incredibly nerdiness of the characters, and yet later would both admit that the show made us want to play the game.

We starting the morning off right. The South has contributed much to this great land: Mark Twain, Eli Whitney, Thomas Jefferson, etc. There has also been a more recent contribution on such a scale: Krispy Kreme Donuts. It was to this Center of Cellulite, this Obelisk of Obesity, that we awoke and resumed our journey.

Back to I-20. Our companion for several hundred miles. Our destination? A place called Pocahontas, Mississippi just north of Jackson. Why Pocahontas you ask? In Pocahontas is a symbol of not only great BBQ, but of our youth. Big D’s Teepee BBQ, an institution for over 25 years, now housed in a giant concrete teepee. A teepee not unlike one situated on the eastern shore of Flathead Lake that always signified that we were near to Yellow Bay, my (Josh) often childhood playground. However, at this teepee I was not anticipating mosquito bites, swimmer’s itch, and broken glass, but rather fine ribs and chopped pork.

Big-D’s is just across the tracks. The teepee stands out from a background of dilapidated shacks. It is good to note that the shack owners retain a sense of humor(see pictures). The entrance to the restaurant is filled with Polaroid photos of those who have come before. The smell of smoke is thick. The proprietor is serving two men on their lunch break. They glance at us and one comments “y’all aren’t from around here, are you.” I can’t imagine what has tipped him off. Could it be my sandals (fake Birkenstocks)? Perhaps Koski’s multiple earrings (I am frantically trying to display my wedding ring everywhere we go)? Perhaps Chris’ Carroll College softball weekend shirt proclaiming the Naturally Selected (Biology (+Chris) team of 2001)? Nope.

“Saw your tags.”

Practical people these folks. But on to the food. We both had the combo plates. I had chopped pork and sausage with potato salad and beans. Koski had ribs and, at the suggestion of the proprietor, pork loin. My sausage was excellent and complemented by the sauce in a bottle at the table. The chopped pork was a bit mushy, but was spiced up by the “Rebel Yell” hot sauce. Oh, and I had a delicious piece of pecan pie. That is “pe-Kahn” pie. Not “pe-Can” pie for you Yankees out there. I asked for “pe-Can” pie and was informed that a “pe-Can” is what poor people use who don’t have a toilet. Remember that. The ribs were VERY meaty and had a nice flavor. The pork loin, true to the recommendation, was the best thing there- juicy and flavorful.

We exchanged a few stories with two nice folks in the dining room who were (at least the gentleman) BBQ fans. His wife stated that she liked BBQ, but ….well, not quite as much as her husband. Such a common sentiment for some reason. We wandered out to take pictures of the local flavor, which was good because we were stuck behind a passing train anyway.

Now we are on the road to Lousisana- Jefferson’s crowning achievement. He would be sad to see that the signs for the LA casinos start several miles from the border. Or perhaps he wouldn’t. After all- as his servant mistress could have attested to- Tommy J loved a good time…

Chris here –
Never felt like a Yankee more than I have today [see quoted conversation below and Josh’s previous post].

This is going to be very short because, frankly, we’ve had a lackluster day. I think today felt somewhat like the book “the phantom tollbooth” [if you have not read this then your elementary school was deficient] – we entered a fanciful land, but had to wade through a large section of the doldrums. Josh got the privilege of writing about the better part of the day (the Teepee in Pocahontas, MS). The road between Tuscaloosa and Shreveport – should you choose to drive it – is almost less interesting than driving from Billings to Lame Deer [however, there are other cars on the road with you here – you will not find other cars on the Northern Cheyenne Indian Reservation]. I will say that the brief period of time we were on the Natchez parkway just outside of Pocahontas was some of the most pleasant scenery on the trip. Like an errant back hair, this was ripped from us when we entered our old albatross, Interstate 20.




We have some pictures of interesting things we saw (like a man whose ceiling in his Buick was falling) or two twenty-something men who were driving a car painted like a bag of skittles. I am not making that up. I guess we did see something significant: the Mississippi River. I can remember each time I’ve crossed it in my life [this is the fourth] and I always reflect upon it. You simply cannot cross this country without going over it; it cuts us in two culturally and represents the older colonies and territories versus the western frontier. So, in reality, our movement is akin to manifest destiny.

So, we are now in Shreveport. Many of you are thinking: what is in Shreveport? The short answer is a Southern version of San Bernardino, CA – i.e. a hole. Part of the problem is Louisiana, with its drive up liquor stores, high poverty rate, inept police, and history of political corruption. Another part of the problem is the presence of a military base – BEFORE SOME OF YOU GO OFF THE HANDLE, understand that the areas proximate to a military base are typically populated with some infamous and nefarious businesses: check-cashing locations, pizza huts, strip clubs, crappy sports bars, used car dealerships, and, in a new wrinkle, bad barbeque places.

As an aside, given Josh and my background in MT, we drove through a neighborhood that took us back to our earlier days. We saw, for the first time in perhaps 10 years, a number of 18-22 year old men with shaved heads and mullets – this look was very common among people we knew back in Kalispell [in fact, we think we have found Dan’s long lost younger siblings…a select few will know who this is and will appreciate it].

It is my sad task to inform you of yet another stinker. Blue Moon BBQ just outside of Barksdale AFB is not worthy of your time. It is the first really bad BBQ we’ve had on the trip…well…this is not entirely true. Their homemade baked beans are really, really good. They have a lot of body, a nice combination of sweet and tangy and are something I would recommend getting if you ever have the bravery to have a picnic in Shreveport. However, absent that, the place is really not worth your time. The brisket is tender, but 100% flavorless. The very friendly and ebullient staff give you many ounces of sauce – and you will need it to moisten the brisket and cut the extremely greasy sausage [which tastes a lot like hillshire farms]. The potato salad is pleasant with mashed potatoes and chunks of them, but don’t drive to Shreveport for them [or anything else, unless you need a check cashed while getting a lap dance from a stripper before blowing your money at a cut-rate casino]. There are some really bad things here:

1. The cole slaw is very heavy and almost wilted – there is also some type of flavor in there that makes it hard to eat too much.


2. The banana pudding is clearly jell-o with some mixed in vanilla wafers. Josh bravely ate all of it.


3. The WORST part of the meal is perhaps some of the worst chicken I have ever eaten in my life. The chicken is smoked and looks like it ought be tasty and even has a bit of a hickory taste to it upon first bite. However, as you chew, you are thinking to yourself whether or not this has actually been cooked. The texture is as close to uncooked chicken as I can imagine – having not eaten much for obvious health reasons. Both Josh and I were so nauseous afterwards that we raced to a Kroger grocery store for some [a lake to ate] apples and bananas.

As if to punctuate our crappy Shreveport experience, we tried our luck at Diamond Jack’s casino. We both played Wheel of Fortune in honor of my Aunt Sherie who tended to have mythic luck…none for us. The scene in the casino was far worse than any I have seen in Reno [a.k.a. the white trash Vegas] and reminded me of a scene in the movie The Adventures of Baron Munchausen where all the heroes are in the belly of a whale playing cards with the Grim Reaper waiting to be taken on.

Also…casinos aren’t a lot of fun when you are married with children.

We tried to mitigate the bad juju from the evening by eating a Krispy Kreme before going to sleep. It helped.

There is something to salvage from today. Perhaps the best part about Louisiana is that its purchase enabled about two-thirds of Montana to become a part of the United States [earlier inhabited by Native Americans who weren’t really using it…].

Quotes from today:

“I don’t eat greens recreationally.” – Owner of Big D’s BBQ.
“Do you want to sit in the Teepee?” – Grown man to another grown man.

“You must of kissed the cook,” said a customer with a NASCAR shirt on to me without actually looking at me.
“Well, I guess my charms worked on him, unlike on you,” said me.
“…” said him.

Tires were not slashed. Yay.

Elysium (even without a military discount)

Today we drove from Charleston to Macon to Tuscaloosa - roughly 500 miles. It felt much longer than yesterday, perhaps this is due to the fact that the road wasn't quite as interesting [but there are some gems...]

It turns out that pilgrims on a journey to BBQ are in desparate need of touristy sustinence. We stopped along the way at a roadside stand selling various types of cider (peach, cherry, etc...) where we purchased some southern delectables (pecan syrup, anyone?) and ate some boiled peanuts. For those of you living in the north who have no idea what I'm talking about you just need to get a literal translation in your head of peanuts in their shell boiled in water with some spices (salt or cajun or other) to the point where they no longer have any crunch left. You tear (rather than crack) open the shells to find the boiled peanuts which are now the consistency of lima beans and, on first bite, taste a little like potatoes. The flavor begins to grow on you (it grew so much that we at them all despite the fact that we knew we would be eating BBQ in less than two hours). Later, after leaving Macon, we purchased some pork rinds. They were...appropriate. And that's all I have to say about that.

Macon, Georgia is a bit bigger than we thought it would be, but it was still easy to find "White Lightening". We were hoping that this title would mean that the place would have some white sauce; it turns out that the owner [a woman, very rare in the BBQ world] is a huge fan of the 1973 film of the same name starring the multi-talented Burt Reynolds. There are several versions of the movie poster hanging on the wall as a testament to this nugget of information. There are, of course, some elvis pictures, a small stereo playing some of the crappiest country music [as if there is any other kind] the radio station has to offer, a caricature of Jimmy Carter [GA native] and - strangely, a copy of John Stewert's "America" book. The building is new and all the benches are identical. The sheet metal paneling on the walls is a nice touch.

The restaurant is in close proximity to the hospital, which explains the fact that half the clientele were in scrubs. Also, quite interestingly, there was some vanilla spice softsoap in the bathroom (give you three guesses why this might be...) [an aside - WHY THE HELL ARE YOU IN PUBLIC IN SCRUBS? Don't you wear them as some sort of shield against all the gross things that can potentially come out of sick humans?]

The careful reader will notice that I'm writing a bunch about the restaurant and not the food. The food is sort of nondescript and and a huge letdown from the previous day. The basics: we ordered the 1/2 chicken plate and the rib plate. Each comes with cole slaw, brunswick stew, and your choice of fries [strange] or chips. Let's start with what is right with the food - the chicken really is quite good. Josh seems to think it is better than Melvins, I'm not so sure. The tie-breaker might be that the chicken is moist all the way through; Melvin's chicken breast was pretty dry and flavorless [maybe it is the woman's touch, men really never know what to do with breasts]. Also right at white lightening (I keep thinking of white lion's "When the Children Cry" when saying the name of this place, AWESOME SLOW DANCE SONG!!!!) is the cole slaw. Slightly creamy, large chunks of vegetables, more carrots than normal, and a mild flavor. Things that are okay: the brunswick stew is more like a chili. Things that are wrong. The rib plate was quite descriptive - it should be called the "two rib plate". The ribs were tough - I don't even know how that is possible - and the sauce was forgettable, sort of vinegar based with very little heat. Quite disappointing - good thing human's weren't made from these, we would be like the walking melanomas that inhabit Miami Beach. The pulled pork was also subpar - somehow, despite being drenched in sauce, it was dry and chewy. Pork is not the specialty of White Lightening. But, they can get better.

Things we saw on the road today:In addition to those mentioned by Dr. Nickerson, we also saw a swamp - a real, bona fide swamp, which we are sure the sovereign state of South Carolina is doing its best to drain and develop.

We saw a number of strange vehicles.

As if telling us we were heading in the right direction, we saw a truck pulling a smoker.

We also saw a compact pickup pulling a load [probably 15] of old electric stoves.

We came upon an oversize load of a semi pulling a giant crate bound with large chains. We can only surmise that it was King Kong.

We saw some strange things

A sign that referred to a landscaping company called the "Sodfather"

I cannot describe the shear number of 100% depressing trailer parks here in the south. I am not averse to trailers in anyway. My grandpa lived in one for most of my life; Josh grew up in one in MT. However...these parks...the land is taking back some of them. I would describe them as "tornado bait".

I saw Josh dart across the grounds of the Alabama welcome center after drinking strawberry, no calorie poweraid. Strawberry - later he played with my little pony while complaining about how ucky boys are. Seriously, who drinks strawberry anything once they are old enough to add and subtract. [Colleen Harris is a notable exception here.]

We saw two earwigs and a spider in our hotel bathroom. Needless to say, I will stuff cotton in my ears tonight.

And we saw this:

Still dreaming of Dreamland.

It can't be this good. It has a strange name. It has a billboard. It has multiple locations.

However, to original location of Dreamland is everything that a BBQ place should be - and that is all about the food. Everything else in the restaurant is designed to facilitate you eating the best BBQ Alabama (or maybe the universe) has to offer. The pit isn't fancy, it is authentic. The chairs aren't new or aesthetic, they are functional. They provide a nice cushion for you as you prepare to dip your white bread in Dreamland's spicy/sweet/vinegar sauce and mow down on some ribs - however, to call them ribs would be to group them with all the other ribs cooked in the south...pure heresy. A sweet tea that even Josh could drink (hint: if you squeeze the lemon you have something quite close to that which would satisfy a deity) and banana pudding that is thick, rich, and satisfying...but somehow a perfect accompaniment to slow cooked meats. This experience was truly spiritual for me. As many of you know, I'm not a particularly religious person...but...and I'm being serious here, there was something meaningful about eating in that shack across from mobile homes out from Tuscaloosa proper. A calm settled on me such that to even evaluate the cooking would be condescending and, frankly, unnecessary. As we left, I noticed that a number of other churches populated Jug Factory Road. Dreamland may look different, but its ability to supplement life with meaning is as powerful.

Jackson, you have a BIG job tomorrow.

Today's list of quotes [from us]

"I made a mistake by wearing a belt today" - Chris

"I am NOT drinking another gallon of sweet tea" - Josh

"That has to be the biggest bass center in the world. In the world." - Josh

Chris: "This is Jug Factory Lane, not road." Josh: "It's probably it. I mean, really, how many other roads can be named 'Jug Factory' anyway?"

The answer is, in fact, more than one.

Josh here. From White Lightning is was westward towards Alabama. Back to the Prius. It was previously difficult for me to fathom settlers traveling the grass sea in wagons moving at oxen's pace for months. I say previously because after the first few hours of the afternoon slipped away I almost felt as though I could smell bags of flour and spare wagon wheels in the trunk and was waiting for little Mary to come down with typhoid. That was the pace we seemed to set as we skirted Atlanta by taking a "scenic route" through semi-rural (as opposed to cosmopolitan) Georgia. At one point we were following a truck pulling a trailer with a clearly homemade smoker on a trailer behind it. The device was something like a combination of pot-bellied stove and locomotive engine. We also passed a truck hauling A LOAD OF WATERMELONS half in the ditch with either a flat tire or perhaps a broken axle. While I suggested we pull over and take a picture, the driver did not look in the mood to pose. In a small hamlet we passed a car also stuck with a flat donut tire. Not regular tire, but the backup. And there was no third string to put in. We eventually reached the highway again. And it was a good thing...

Did you know that there is a calorie-free form of PowerAide? I didn't. But now I do. I also know why sucralose does not cause any calories to be absorbed. Because it goes straight to the kidneys. And what does it do in the kidneys you might ask? Well, let me tell you. It draws every drop of fluid in and propels it like a jet drive into your bladder. Within perhaps 20 minutes of drinking the bottle, I was nearly crawling through the window as we pulled into the welcome center for Alabama.

Why else did we feel welcome in Alabama? How could we not with the signs along the way to Birmingham!

"Liquor Outlet- Military Discount!" this was followed closely by:

"Divorce Lawyers- Here for You" and then as if telling a story:

"Hong Kong Spa and Massage Parlor" located in a truck stop.

There was also the massive "Discount Fireworks" and "Smoke Shop" offerings. Not sure how those fit in temporally with the first three, but I am sure they are just fuel to the fire. At last we pulled into Tuscaloosa. Home of the legendary Dreamland BBQ, the first true Shrine of the journey. In preparation we checked into the hotel. Well, I should say I stood on the curb while Chris went to get the hotel employee to unlock our room since the lock mechanism had been disassembled as some point. A quick two sets of tennis to minimally offset the impending calorie fest, and we were ready.

I would tell you to close your eyes and envision the following, but that wouldn't work very well, would it. So do it afterwards. Passing our hotel we are beset on all sides by Title Loan stores, pawn shops, smoke shops, etc. We drive on, up a hill past construction equipment and empty warehouses. Are we lost? This doesn't look like where a restaurant should be! We drive on. Past two churches made from steel prefabricated buildings. We pass a dilapitated trailer court. Is this right? 15th St. A turn. And out of the evening haze it rises. Little more than a shack behind a worn red painted wooden fence, the stone and mortar smoke stack billowing with a sweet pungent smell. The cars in the parking lot fill a larger area than the building itself. It is a place seemingly untouched by time or technology. A sign proclaims: "Dreamland." The door is unmarked. Inside it is filled with the sounds of pilgrims to this promised land receiving the sacrement. The walls are covered with license plates from the length of the nation, including a 7 plate from MT (Kalispell) and a 4 plate (Missoula). It is as though they were there to welcome us. We sit. Sweet tea is placed and we order. There are but three options. Ribs, Rib Sandwich, Sausage. There are no sides. We order a slab and sausage. First to arrive is a tray of white bread and sauce. Then the sausage and ribs. The RIBS and SAUSAGE. I am nearly at a loss for words. If I have ever had better of either... well...I haven't. In fact, I have never even had anything close. It is almost surreal as I write this only an hour later. The memory is hazy and the colors blur. The tastes and smells blend into a cacophany of ecstasy. I must process this longer- I can write no more on the subject.