Category: Travel

Greensboro

It’s as surreal as ever being at home with Mom and Dad in Greensboro. Understand that I have the good fortune to have completely sane parents, which is quite a blessing, but it’s still a bit odd being back under the childhood roof. Among other things, I immediately feel about fifteen years younger — all in all, I guess this is a plus. But there are adjustments: I have to close the bathroom door when I piss, I feel odd about staying out late, I’m mildly uncomfortable about smoking in the house, etc. Plus, there’s no place to go should I meet the man of my dreams…

 

The older I get, the more time I devote to actually spending time with the parents when I visit home. I guess it’s due in part to the fact that I’ve realized they’re not immortal (at ages 67 and 72), and in part to the fact that I’m not as excited by the idea of spending every night lurking around in bars. Of course, last time I was here I felt safer at home anyway.

Mind you, I’m not completely averse to nightlife. Last night was fun. Jeff and I met some friends at New York Pizza, which was one of my old “trouble spots”. This is a strange little bar with a strange mix of people of all sexual, social, and cultural persuasions. Ran into an ex-something from many years past (“boyfriend” would be too strong a word…) who recently has had a heroin problem, was flirted with by another friend, and had generally good Christian fellowship. And pizza…

  

There have also been the obligatory trips to new subdivisions and shopping centers. Greensboro seems perpetually under construction, as perfectly good and relatively new homes and retail buildings are deserted for still newer ones farther out, a result of overabundant cheap suburban land.

But hey, the cable TV is great here; I’ve even been watching Nick-at-Nite’s TV Land. I didn’t think ANY cable companies carried it.

And it’s raining! I’m so excited…

 

Flirtations and relatives and barbecue and clean laundry. All is well down Carolina way. But I now remember that a trip home is no vacation. There are far too many responsibilities for that. There’s this relative and that relative to visit, friends to see, “quality time” with Mom and Dad, etc. I sort of feel like I’ve been on a schedule ever since I got here, even though I really just wanted to sit around watching TV and eating myself into oblivion.

 

It will be odd if my only debauchery of the entire trip occurs here. There have been flirtations, one that I wouldn’t have turned down Tuesday night, and one less enticing one last night. Tuesday’s wasn’t to be at the time, but was fun all the same. As for Wednesday’s, it went as follows (keep in mind that I had given NO signal that sex was a possibility):

“Can I be direct with you?”

“Sure…but I’m really beat and it probably won’t do much good.”

“So how do you feel about HIV?”

Now you see, I hate when it starts like this. I live in San Francisco. I’ve slept with people who have HIV. I’ve dated people who have HIV. Even though I’m negative, I pretty much assume everyone else is positive. But when this is the first part of a pickup line, it makes it hard for me to respond in any polite way. If I say no, it seems as if it’s related to the HIV rather than the fact that I’m just not interested in the guy, when in fact the latter is the true reason.

 

But I got out diplomatically and finished watching the drag show, although I was being stalked by someone else throughout. All this other guy would do was stare at me and try to make me uncomfortable. No conversation. He didn’t even buy me a beer.

Baltimore to Greensboro

The junction of Virginia, West Virginia, and Maryland is full of history. Where else could your highway choices be Charles Town/Leesburg or Fredericksburg/Gettysburg? It’s as if both the American Revolution and the Civil War selected this scenic area as ground zero just so tourism would be strong in the twentieth century.

 

This is a truly beautiful part of the country, one of the top two or three in my humble estimation. I spent a lot of time here as a child, so I know the layout pretty well. Twice a year or so, my family would come to Charles Town, WV for the horse races and balance the trip with side trips — always to Harpers Ferry, and sometimes also to Washington, Baltimore, Richmond, or Williamsburg. The Shenendoah Valley was like a second home to me as I was growing up and I was looking forward to a return after fifteen years.

Jefferson County, WV is home to both Charles Town and Harper’s Ferry. The tow are connected in history by abolitionist John Brown’s 1859 raid, held in Harper’s ferry, and his subsequent trial, held in Charles Town. I was happy to see that at least downtown Charles Town hadn’t changed much, although the outskirts have been bludgeoned with the sledgehammer approach of Wal-Mart and related enterprises.

 

I saw all the sights: the courthouse, Charles Washington Hall (where we used to eat breakfast every morning), the 7-11 where I bought cigarettes when I was 15, the motel where I fell down the stairs at age 7, the hospital I was rushed to afterward, the old and deserted race track as well as the renovated new one…

I was, on the other hand, appalled to find that you now have to pay five bucks to park and take a bus into Harper’s Ferry from a lot two miles away. Having no time for such nonsense, I drove into town and found a two-hour space and told to the National Park Service, in essence, to bite me.

 

I looked in the old shops. I stared at the absolutely beautiful point where the Shenendoah meets the Potomac. I climbed the mountain. I saw the ruins of the old church. I sat on Jefferson Rock. I made a nice lady from North Carolina take my picture and showed her party where the graveyard was.

And then I left. West Virginia gave way to Virginia and I realized I was damn close to home. It goes without saying that no maps were required from this point on.

Baltimore and Environs

  

Once in the city of George, Maria, and Cecilius Calvert (Lord Baltimore and family), we were treated to a Sunday afternoon high tea with Taylor, a fellow Greensboro native, who managed to entertain and amuse us by making his fall vacation collide with mine as he drove from Philadelphia to Norfolk. This was a most memorable lunch indeed.

Afterward, we drove around by some places I wanted to see again, including the Rotunda, where a very nice man once tried to befriend me in the men’s room, and the increasingly trendy Fells Point area.

 

We headed down North Avenue (original Highway 40, the “National Road”) to its intersection with U.S. 1. The neighborhoods were interesting and this was a side of Baltimore I’d never seen. And then the diner of my dreams appeared on the left. It was a wonderful thing, pretty faithfully restored, and was a most fitting coffee and pie stop.

 

Then it was back to Westminster, because I was not about to miss the season premieres of “The Simpsons” and “King of the Hill”, tour or no, and neither was Risa.

We stopped at Roy Rogers on the way back so I could experience my first Double-R-Bar Burger of the trip; yer host loves this part of the country ‘cuz it’s the only place Roy’s hasn’t been completely bastardized by Hardee’s. In fact, they even tried to change the names and formats here a few years back and business took such a nosedive they had to change back. OK…I’m overly enthusiastic about fast food here. I’ll stop…

Afterward, I got to hang out with cute boys in the computer lab at Western Maryland College. Big bonus here. And I finally witnessed my first Jewish wedding, albeit on video rather than in person.

And the updates on old high school and college pals prepared me somewhat for the fact that I would be back in North Carolina in a day or so.

Pittsburgh to Baltimore

On the morning of my departure, I got the whirlwind tour of downtown and a few more skyline views. It’s a very compact but bustling downtown district in the “triangle” formed by the Ohio, Allegheny, and Monongahela Rivers. A big centerpiece is the much-praised PPG Plaza, which is actually a sterile post-modern nightmare, David cited a reference describing it as as ” a drag queen on acid’s version of a disco in Oz”. Amazingly fitting, I must say…

 

There was fog and drizzle all around as I left, and Pittsburgh started looking like a more and more viable alternative to SF. But I’ll reserve judgment on that…

 

On the way in, I experienced that special joy which is the Pennsylvania Turnpike in the rain. I stopped at one of the oldest service plazas on the pike. There was even a historical marker; I was impressed, despite the fact that it was originally a Howard Johnsons Restaurant was not mentioned.

 

I didn’t realize that it had been nigh onto ten years since Risa and I saw each other. Regular email contact has that effect. But it was good getting back together.

Baltimore is one of my favorite underrated cities in the US. Of course, I’m supposed to stress that I was staying In Westminster, not Baltimore. I awoke to fields and horse-related smells rather than urban blight and decay. But we did go to Baltimore, even though I could have stood to spend more time there.

Pittsburgh

  

Morning number one (and morning number two for that matter) was a good excuse for breakfast at Ritter’s, a classic Pittsburgh diner. Thus fed, we proceeded to tour the entire city, bridge to bridge, tunnel to tunnel, and neighborhood to neighborhood. A good bit of this happened on foot, which was a blessing after too many days in the car.

 

I was particularly fond of the Strip District, which is an old market and industrial area which has not yet completely succumbed to gentrification. There are still markets and warehouses and factories around, although the coffee shops and trendy bars are starting to pop up.

One particular building here just sent me into fits of ecstasy for some reason. It was formerly the Armstrong Cork factory, and is now abandoned and just waiting to be taken over. Too bad that it will probably be ruined by some developer who will clean it up and make it all nice and pretty for new upscale tenants. But I love it as is it is, in all its faded glory.

Another favorite was the Hill District, once Pittsburgh’s own little Harlem, with theatres and clubs, and restaurants. Now, it’s pretty much a standard urban ghetto, but it’s still possible to catch glimpses of what used to be.

 

I decided that the south side Mount Washington area would be the place I’d most likely end up living if I moved to the city (which is not as unlikely as it might sound). But I’d most likely find myself doing a lot of boy-watching around Pitt and Carnegie-Mellon as well. Of course, there’s a lot to be said for Shadyside and Oakland too…

Late afternoon activities centered around the university area: bookstores, boy-watching, the Cathedral of Learning and more. The campuses of Pitt and Carnegie-Mellon are more or less on top of each other and they make for a lively urban area. The bookstore at Pitt is a wonderful thing, which has not yet been taken over by a chain.

  

At twilight, there was Schenley Park. The “cruising park”. Hmmm. Of course there was a visit. I was amazed; it was mobbed. The proximity to the universities and the easy automobile accessibility are definite pluses as far as the crowd goes. Nice trials. Nice collection of people. I might never have to hit a bar.

Actually, I could not tell you about the bars. That’s on hold for a more lengthy visit. It didn’t seem a priority for this trip, although I remain curious.

 

Detroit to Pittsburgh

OK…it was more or less only a place I was supposed to spend a night sleeping, and only won out over Cleveland because I was offered a place to stay. But I liked Pittsburgh so much I allowed myself to get a full day off schedule for the first time so far just because it was so cool here.

 

This is in marked contrast to Ohio, which I will specifically describe as one of the most unpleasant places on the tour so far. Toledo was such a traffic and construction snarled hellhole that I didn’t even stop to get money or food before getting on the overpriced Ohio Turnpike. Of course, as it turns out, there are NO ATM’s along the pike, despite the distressing number of Hardee’s. This made getting off said turnpike a very interesting experience as I had about two bucks in my pocket at the time. I now owe the state of Ohio three dollars. It’s a good thing there was no comment card attached to the citation. All in all, I’d just as soon skip Ohio next time, crappy turnpike and all.

 

But I did love Pittsburgh, once I finally arrived! It’s a beautiful place; with the rivers and the hills and the trees, it easily rivals San Francisco as far as the natural setting goes. In fact, the addition of actual trees and greenery affords Pittsburgh a beauty which is almost impossible to find anywhere in California.

As I drove in, on the winding highways cut between the hills and the rivers and saw that the actual city was pretty damned cool too, I realized that one night wouldn’t be enough. Fortunately, David, my host, was amenable to this idea. The fact that the Goodyear blimp was in town to honor my arrival made it all the more special. Obviously, the city really took my visit to heart.

 

Fifty years ago, the steel industry ruled Pittsburgh and it had a reputation as perhaps the ugliest and most unpleasant place in the USA. Maybe that’s why I liked it so much. Actually, I didn’t catch much evidence of the former steel domination. What I did see were great neighborhoods, interesting buildings, and the boys of the University of Pittsburgh (some of the most visually appealing of the trip so far). Apparently, the writers who so despised Pittsburgh were unable to see past the smoke and soot which used to be everywhere.

   

I guess there’s nothing really specifically spectacular about the place. I just liked it. The geography offers a great setting for the town and the mountains and rivers divide it into quite manageable village-like areas. It was good that I had a guide, or Pittsburgh might have been damned near indecipherable, my geography degree notwithstanding. A host who provides topographical maps is always a good thing.

Detroit

  

Of course, I was truly unprepared for the unspoiled grasslands, sunny vistas, and wide open feel of Detroit. Mainly I was surprised because all of these things were found in former neighborhoods rather than in parks. The level of decay here was at the same time more and less astounding than expected. What can you expect of a city which had two million residents 30 years ago and contains fewer than a million today?

I came to Detroit primed by Camilo Jose Veraga’s photo essays in “The New American Ghetto”. He was so bold as to assert that the near-abandoned downtown area, with its collection of empty skyscrapers from the 1920’s, be designated an national park with urban ruins and our disposable society as its theme. I don’t think I’d go quite so far.

 

Actually, I found a shockingly beautiful city of early twentieth-century architecture, wide boulevards, and unusual neighborhoods. Driving here is a wonderful experience; it’s not just the lack of traffic, but the fact that Detroit was (understandably) designed for the automobile.

 

Granted, it was a bit depressing to see all the “holes” in the neighborhoods, the empty spaces where homes once stood, the boarded-up storefronts, the abandoned skyscrapers, etc. Literally, you drive through what used to be a dense neighborhood of rowhouses and large apartment buildings or even mansions and find two or three per block still standing, with the rest having reverted to grasslands. It’s quite disorienting.

 

There were definitely patches where I felt uncomfortable. But, as in St. Louis, I was more afraid of what WASN’T visible than of anyone I saw on the streets. With a knowledgeable guide I would have felt secure doing more exploration. This will happen soon; I’m no less drawn to the place that I was before I arrived.

It’s sad to see that a city which was once so great is now in such condition. It’s also exciting to sense the potential. Detroit seems as if it’s sleeping, trapped in time and waiting to wake up and become a major city again (OK…I admit to paraphrasing Veraga here). Development has not removed the past here, although fires and abandonment have taken a huge toll.

  

Lest this get depressing, all is not bleak in Detroit.

I will admit that I bedded down in the suburbs. I was indeed part of the problem rather than the solution. There is perhaps more of a disparity between the city and the suburbs here than in any other US city. The segregation rivals that of the south. I do not usually operate this way. I did so here for two reasons.

First, I simply didn’t know my way around and was worried about landing somewhere that my car, laden with essential trip stuff, might avoid a break-in. This is the same caution I exercise in SF all the time.

Second, in order to experience all that happens in Detroit, sad to say, it is absolutely NECESSARY to experience the suburbs, like’em or not. Much of the nightlife, shopping, and even the “trendy bohemian” scene has moved north of Eight Mile Road to places like Ferndale. Frankly, I never ran across a lot of motels in the city either.

  

I ate at many White Castles. I photographed many former White Castles. I traveled Woodward Road, the depressed but definitely not boring main drag. I saw “the fist”, a large sculpture placed in the new alternative “white downtown” near Renaissance Center by Coleman Young. I rather like the symbolism. I saw the abandoned Hudson’s — once one of the largest department stores in the US — and the renovated Fox Theatre, and the former Book-Cadillac Hotel.

  

I hit a few bars, including the paranoia zone known as the Gold Coast, and a really cool spot in Ferndale called the Groove Room, which just happened to be queer-populated and hosted by a drag queen the night I was there. I got the feeling that there was an incredible scene but that I was having a hard time finding it.

 

I also took the tour “overseas” to Windsor, Ontario, where I accidentally entered a (gasp) nude male strip club and another bar, bought chlorophyll chewing gum, and got inordinately excited that there were still Esso stations. I took advantage of the fact that combo meals were the same price at Burger King even though the Canadian dollar is worth only 72 cents US currency. However, I skipped the 61.9 cents per litre gasoline in favor of the much cheaper US variety.

 

I did not, however, find my way to Lafayette’s Coney Island although it came highly recommended. And the Body Shop, a highly recommended bar, is no more. But boy do I have plans for my next trip when I can actually spend some time here.

LOVED Detroit.

 

In Dearborn, I hit the Henry Ford Museum and marveled to the intact Holiday Inn guest room (circa 1968), the complete Texaco station (circa 1939) and the plethora of old cars, etc. This place is pretty amazing, and I found it worth the admission price. Think about it: a museum of car culture. What could be a more appropriate place for me to visit, especially while in Detroit on a trip where I was in search of roadside culture?

 

I smelled the nostalgic (from MY childhood at least) aroma of the Mold-a-Rama, which creates a plastic sculpture in a matter of minutes for the price of loose change. These machines were in every tourist trap in the world for a period in the early 70’s. I guess they were abandoned because too many people passed out from the fumes; now they’re a “period piece” in an exhibit on plastics. Does this mean my long-lost plastic dolphin from Marine World and my plastic Eiffel Tower from King’s Dominion (which are not for sale because I don’t know where they are, so please stop emailing me with purchase offers) are valuable now?

 

I hit the fully-restored diner. I saw the billboards and the neon signs and the streetcars. I fantasized (as I often do) about owning a Corvair. I even bought things. And then I left.

Like I said, I LOVED Detroit. And I HATED Ohio.

Indy to Detroit

After leaving Indianapolis, another big Indiana goal was realized with a visit to the studios of WOWO in Fort Wayne. I listened to this station as a sullen teenager and was determined to stop in as I drove through. They gave me a tour of the facilities and lots of cool stuff. We like WOWO. We wish they’d lose Rush Limbaugh, though…

 

So now, I’ve moved onto Detroit, where I’m trying to decide which side of Eight-Mile Road is creepier; the devastated urban south side or the completely lifeless suburban north side. I’ll let you know as soon as I figure it out.

Indiana: Coast to Coast

Bob referred to the game plan for days two and three as “the coast to coast tour of Indiana”, and in fact we covered most of the state from east to west along old Route 40. We saw Terre Haute and Richmond, Brazil and Shelbyville, Greensburg and Greenfield (but not Greencastle or Greentown). There’s more here than you might imagine, from covered bridges to cute farm boys to courthouse squares. It actually kept my interest despite the fact that I’m a diehard city boy.

 

  

Major stops included:

  • Billie Creek Village and the covered bridges of Parke County.
  • Shelbyville, hometown of my host.
  • Greensburg, home of the courthouse with tree attached and a dang good piece of strawberry pie.

Meeting Bob’s family was a great aspect of the trip. I got much more a feel for what the people (and dogs) are like here than almost anywhere else I’ve been so far. I have to say that I liked everyone I met. It was almost as if I was visiting my own relatives, not only because I was treated like “one of the family”, but also because of the similar backgrounds. These are the kinds of people I grew up with.

  

Granted, there is a certain conservatism in Indiana, and I was a bit put off by the fact that there were people who offered no apologies about using terms like “nigger”, etc. But in general, this was not not nearly so oppressive as in the south (or even in large chunks of “progressive” California).

I guess (racism aside) it’s a more informed and independent sort of conservatism, I felt that people were more familiar with the issues as opposed to mouthing doctrine supplied by the local fundamentalist minister. Thus, I was able to respect it a bit more, despite my leftist leanings. Agree or not, one definitely gets the feeling that people think for themselves here, rather than blindly submitting to dogma like in North Carolina…or San Francisco…

My preference is to believe that Dan Quayle is merely an aberration (sort of like Jesse Helms in my home state). I have to believe this. It is a necessity…

 

A few post-mortems:

  • Them Hoosier boys are cute! I was able to capture at least some photographic evidence of this.
  • A pork tenderloin in Indiana is a far different thing in Indiana than in San Francisco. Vive le difference!
  • NO, I did not visit Bloomington and take pictures of little pink houses. My apologies to those who were looking forward to this.

Indianapolis

 

Indy is a classic midwestern city, sprawling and laid out on an unrelenting grid pattern with a few diagonal streets for variety. US40, the current alignment of the old National Road cuts through from east to west.

 

If you look hard enough, you can find neighborhoods form every period from the mid-1800’s to the present. Historic districts here have the typical midwestern sensibility (“people still have to live there so let’s not turn it into Disneyland”).