Day 87 - Walking In Memphis, Amongst Other Things...

From – Nashville, TN
To – Memphis, TN
Miles Driven – 213

Today’s Photos - http://www.flickr.com/photos/32017704@N03/sets/72157613133699935/

We’re a bit behind with the blog at the moment so I’m going to make this a quickie, catch up edition. It helps that, whilst we did quite a lot, not much of it was particularly earth-shattering. For example, we drove from Nashville to Memphis and Bridget turned 10,000 which was celebrated with choruses of Happy Birthday and For She’s A Jolly Good Fellow and a trio of hip-hip-hooray’s. It was fun if you were there but it hardly makes for Pulitzer Prize winning journalism. In similar vein (i.e. stuff that is dull to read about but entertained us immensely), we went Walking in Memphis (sing-a-long-a-blog) and found the largest dog run in Northern America, met Kate’s hair twin (a fellow carrot top), talked to a woman from Blackburn (just 20 miles from my home town) and Kate went on a crazy tough, muddy cross-country bike ride.

Are you still awake? Good, because now it gets a bit more interesting. Not a lot, but a bit. Kate’s Memphis research had unearthed a couple of drive-in movie theatres which has been an ambition since I was first exposed to Grease as a kid. The choice of films was pretty pap but we settled on watching Cadillac Records which got one thumb up for being vaguely Memphis related and another thumb up for not being Paul Blart, Mall Cop. To be fair, the film quality didn’t really matter (which is lucky as it was just OK) because the experience was awesome. From the huge screen to the corn-dog vending hut, tuning into the sound on our car radio, sneaking Molly in the back of the car and having to put the engine on every 10 minutes to stave off hypothermia…a really unique Americana experience. That said, we’ll probably chose Regal next time as my old man’s bladder can’t handle 2 ½ hours without going potty.

Tomorrow we’re donning matching polyester jumpsuits to visit Graceland before changing into something more sombre to see where MLK’s dream ended.

PS If you’re wondering where the descriptive food entries are today, breakfast was cereal, lunch was a sub and dinner was soup. Not every day can be cordon blue I guess…

Day 86 - Opry, Piggy & Country

Author – Grant
Based In – Nashville

Today’s Photos - http://www.flickr.com/photos/32017704@N03/sets/72157613136224680/

I’m proud of us today because we did exactly what you are supposed to do in Nashville. Namely enjoy the nature, eat slow cooked pig, visit the Grand Ole Opry and then see some mighty fine live country music. Let’s break that down a little further.

First up we bashed out what we assumed would be a sprightly 4.5 mile walk with the four-legged one but the majority of the walk was either 45 degrees uphill or 45 degrees downhill and was conducted in sub zero temperatures. I always thought that Tennessee and it’s neighbouring states that make up The South (Georgia, Alabama, Louisiana, South Carolina etc) were dusty, hot, cactus-filled deserts that rarely strayed below 100 degrees day or night but clearly I am an ignoramus because they are green, lush wetlands that are highly susceptible to weather that you might more readily associate with the Outer Hebrides. Given the terrain and the conditions, we finished the walk completely exhausted and caked in mud but childishly proud of our achievement. Enjoy nature – check.

Such an achievement deserves a reward and, as always, we chose an edible one. Given the number of Christian stores, anti-liberal bumper stickers and churches we have seen, it is clear that worshiping god (the Christian god, not any of those other pretenders to the title belt) is the number one past-time but the number two spot would be a closely fought scrap between Country Music, NASCAR and eating Barbeque. Personally I think that NASCAR sucks (they don’t turn right…ever) and I’m pretty ignorant about Country Music but I knows my low & slow meat and I had been looking forward to tasting some in the place of its inception since I was out of nappies. A quick search brought up Famous Dave’s and we recognised the brand from several BBQ shows we had seen on TV as they have won over 200 awards in various competitions. Jenny, our bubbly waitress, brought us an amuse bouche of fat fries in order to try each of the five sauces which she had ingeniously written her name with. Kate liked the sweet first ‘N’ whilst I liked the slightly hotter, smoky second ‘N’. If we’d have known a plate of unordered fries were coming then we wouldn’t have ordered the buffalo shrimp which were exactly how you would expect them to be and did not a lot more than take the edge off my rampant hunger. But all of these bits were simply the inconsequential D-List warm up acts for the U2-esque entrees that were about to arrive. Ever the health conscious girl, Kate ordered a baked potato topped with beef brisket but two things were to transform this into a gazillion weight watchers points. Firstly the potato was the size of an American Football. Secondly, when asked “would you like cheese, bacon, sour cream or butter?”, she replied “yes”. I look forward to citing this during the divorce proceedings when I swap her for a thin one. I took a much lower moral highground and ordered a combo which included St Louis Ribs, Beef Brisket, corn on the cob, coleslaw, beans and a cornbread muffin. Quite rightly, the meat stole the show. The brisket fell apart like Tutankhamen’s exhumed loin cloth and the ribs had the perfect fat to meat ration (about 1 to 3) that kept them juicy as all hell and as tender as a teenager girl’s heart (metaphorically, I don’t condone eating human hearts…although…). I got four ribs and offered Kate one out of politeness but when she unexpectedly accepted and stripped an entire rib of its meaty jacket, I honestly felt like I had lost a limb. Eat slow cooked pig – check.

The Grand Ole Opry is the country music version of Wembley but it only has performances on Tuesdays and at the weekend. We’re are pretty miffed to be missing out on both The Killers (not that they are anything to do with country music) and the legendary walking fun-bags, Dolly Parton who are both playing this coming weekend but we have a semi-schedule that we had better stick to else it’s going to take us until we’re 60 to finish this trip. Still, it was good to have a gorp at the venue and tick that off of the list.

Whilst last night’s entertainment was a crawl around the bars of the fairly touristy District area of Nashville, tonight we headed 6 miles out of town to Bluebird Café. The place is famous for launching the careers of a whole host of stars including Faith Hill and Garth Brooks and it particularly attracts songwriters because of their strict ‘no cover songs’ rule. It’s a tiny venue with a capacity crowd of about 75 huddled around the performers who sit in a circle in the centre of the room like a public séance. Other than recognising one of the performers (Walt Aldridge) as the guy from the bar the previous evening who all the other performers were clambering over to shake the hand of, the rest of the names meant nothing to us so with open minds and open ears (but unfortunately not an open bar) the very informal show began. First up was singer / songwriter / pianist Deanna Bryant with the first of her “I’m over 50, divorced and I’m going to let you know about it” ditties. In fairness, they were all excellent and she has an “in principle” agreement from Willie Nelson to cut one of her songs which must be the holy grail for a country music songwriter. Next was singer Marla Cannon Goodman accompanied by a jolly guitarist whose name I didn’t catch. She seemed to have a famous dad and sister and be very well known locally which isn’t a surprise as she had an excellent voice. Next up, Walt Aldridge who, it quickly became apparent, was clearly a superstar with a bucket load of number one hits. His manner treaded either side of the “too good to be here” / “lovable rogue” throughout the night but there was no doubting his talent. Finally, Dave Berg who provided the highlight of the night for us by playing one of his songs which we actually knew. Turns out that time spent listening to country music radio stations for the past few days was well worth the effort. I can hopefully convey how mesmerised I was by the 2+ hour show by way of the following sentence. After being there about 45 minutes, our food arrived and I completely forgot that we had ordered it. That’s right, I FORGOT that I had ordered food. Having about 2lbs of piggy at lunch probably helped but nevertheless, this is a situation without precedent. A truly fantastic evening.

Off to Memphis tomorrow and I’m already dreading the car journey as Kate has been singing Marc Cohn’s “Walking Memphis” for at least a week…it’s still better than the Cher version though.

Day 85 – Going Country

Author – Kate
From – Atlanta, GA
To – Nashville, TN
Via - Chattanooga
Miles driven - 250

Today’s Photos – http://www.flickr.com/photos/32017704@N03/sets/72157613136070118/

Grant has started a couple of blogs with the line “if Kate was writing this blog blah blah” Well if Grant was writing this blog he would for sure spend the opening paragraph telling you that he was scared for his life during the 2 hours that I was driving (badly) in rain (torrential) from Atlanta to Chattanooga (choo choo) surrounded by trucks (18 wheelers). It was, in short, horrific. But Grant isn’t writing this so we can skip that and instead I can start by telling you about our hike.

Atlanta has a huge park system, sorry I realize that might be dull but we have gone a bit geeky keen about parks with hiking trails lately. So we picked out another 4 mile walk for the morning. This one was a lot busier than the prior days because the first half is paved and it wasn’t as picturesque at first but once we got off the main 2 mile path (where one super fit man had lapped us 3 times) we got to a nice trail that was a bit hilly but not too hard. It’s a really good feeling to get exercise out of the way in the morning and know that Molly had some fun too. I am always amazed at how many other people are out doing the same thing as us because it never even entered my head for the first 30 years of my life that being outdoorsy would be entertaining. Old and Geeky, that can’t be good.

The main excitement of the day was that we were heading to Nashville. As Ive already hinted I don’t want to go on about the drive too much but I should mention we stopped in Chattanooga on the way for lunch. The town didn’t look particularly special but that may have just been because of the rain. Lunch was a quick stop at Chilis which is a chain all over America but that oddly enough we know from our days living in Reading England where we use to go on date nights about 10 years ago – arhh bless. We went healthy and had soup with salads so it was nothing to write home about. After lunch the rain stopped and Grant took the helm so the remaining drive was a bit calmer. We passed a sign telling us we were crossing into the Central time zone and got really excited about having gained an hour, I think if we knew it was coming it would’ve been much less novel for us. The change caused confusion for us a couple of times that day as I changed the time on 80% of our clocks (they don’t call me half the job Kate for nothing) and we kept looking at the other 20% by mistake.

Once in Nashville things got cool pretty quickly in 2 respects. Firstly it was literally freezing and we weren’t quite prepared for the 30 degree drop from that morning. Secondly one of the first people we saw when we arrived in the home of country music was dressed in a fringed leather jacket and wearing cowboy boots and we love it when an American stereotype is true as much as the next man. We went for a quick run to offset the big food we were planning and then headed to the bright lights of Broadway for some beer, food and country music.


We were not disappointed once that night if you don’t count the food and creepy waiter. Im not the foody one so we can skip that too. Broadway in Nashville is lined with bars all of which have cracking country music bands playing and apparently almost all of the great country stars began their careers there. Every place that isn’t a bar is either a rib joint or a cowboy boot shop. We didn’t go into the cowboy boot places as I’ve wanted a pair for a while and don’t really trust myself to pull of the look so feel its best left. Instead we went to two of the bars that were busiest which were ‘Tootsies wild orchid’ and whatever the place next door is called (soz am not a details person either). Ten minutes into the first bar and we’d already bought a cd from the band as we are quite blatant tourist. Everything about it was great, the music, the long white beards, the cowboy boots, the Stetsons, even the coats which when there wasn’t head to toe denim were fringe leather or hunting outfits. Everyone in every bar seemed to know everyone and we spotted a couple of people that looked like they must be in the music business. One guy was having his hand shaken by every other person walking in and one girl was stunning and in quite an outfit so it wasn’t too much of a surprise that the next time we saw her she was on stage singing in the bar next door. The bars were lined with pictures of people who must be icons in this town but who we didn’t recognize. We got excited when we saw Dolly Parton, Willie Nelson and Kid Rock on the wall as it meant the mega icons still hangout here every now and again too. Country is on pretty often on mainstream radio here so we know (and like – yikes!)a few songs but Jolene by Dolly was the only one we knew that night. We belted it out with pride before heading home to the pooch.

Tomorrow : another hike and another music venue.

Day 84 - Tourist-Tastic Atlanta

Author – Grant
Based In – Atlanta
Money Given To Big Corporate Companies Who Probably Don’t Need It - $69

Today’s Photos – http://www.flickr.com/photos/32017704@N03/sets/72157613021673251/

You have two choices when faced with the problem of trying to get the best out of a city in a very small period of time. The first option is to try to get to know the real city by roaming around the bits that aren’t mentioned in the guide books, talk with the natives, eat and drink where the locals do and avoid anything with an entry fee. The second option is to open yourself up to the façade that the city’s tourism bureau wants you to see and visit their list of attractions, throwing as much money in their direction as is possible. Clearly the first option paints a more realistic picture of what a city is like but sometimes it’s fun, easier and less punishing on our fois gras livers to do the second option. So that’s what we did.

After a bracing and fairly challenging early morning four mile walk with Molly on one of Atlanta’s dozen or so excellent walking trails (although I’m still unsure how the burnt out shell of a car was half-way up a densely wooded slope), on went the almost matching North Face waterproof jackets (think Japanese couple on honeymoon) and central Atlanta beckoned. So far we have managed 9500 accident free miles (of which Kate should be given full credit for her 300 mile contribution) on this trip despite every season mother nature can throw at us and Bridget has remained blemish free. Until today, when I managed to scrape the side of her up a column in a parking lot. This reduction in resale value has just cemented my original wish that, when this trip is over, we can just drive her off a cliff. No one will ever love her as much as we do and the thought of her being sold as scrap is too painful. It’s what she would have wanted.

Time to begin the whistlestop tour of Atlanta’s biggest tourist attractions (minus the aquarium as we’re still fishy from Baltimore). First stop, CNN for a behind the scenes tour given by a guide who’s voice will narrate my nightmares until the day I die. After riding the largest free-standing escalator in the world (which is about as unimpressive as it sounds), the 55 minute tour begins with some insight into the magic of television including listening to the controllers orchestrate the live show which is seriously interesting. The highlight is watching the newsroom where the live footage is being filmed and beamed across North America at that very moment. Especially interesting is watching the anchorman when he is not on camera and we were lucky enough to witness the cliché moment of him checking himself out in a huge hand-mirror kept under his desk. The other awesome non-scheduled moment on the tour was the public arrest of a drunken hobo in the food court which caused quite a stir. As Kate pointed out, Breaking News unfurling before our very eyes.

Lunch was in the aforementioned, but now thankfully drunken hobo free, food court which provided a good opportunity for me to continue the American Fast Food Exploration Experiment. Chick Fil A (I’m assuming it’s a pun on fillet but I might be wrong) is a Georgian fast food brand that claims to have invented the chicken sandwich (think chicken burger for the UK readers) so it is kind of like being in the fried chicken in a bun version of Bethlehem. In order to ensure everlasting life in the afterworld (and probably to speed up my journey towards it), I went for the classic chicken sandwich which comes with waffle fries. I have to say, it was a mighty fine chicken sandwich that ticked all the boxes. The fillet was huge. Juicy yet meaty on the inside, crispy on the outside and came as naked as the day it was deep fried with absolutely nothing other than a couple of slices of gherkin. Chicken sandwich perfection from a fast food chain? I’ll try another dozen in the coming days and let you know for sure.

Next up was a visit to Coca-Cola World which is just down the road from where Mr Pemberton originally invented the tooth-dissolving beverage many crowns ago. The staff were predictably over-hyped and over-caffeinated but generally it was all good fun. More signs of getting old as we were both more interested in the funky memorabilia, marketing merchandise, international bottles and company history than the 4D theatre. The tour highlight for all ages was the hall containing a puke inducing 64 soda fountains with unlimited self-service access to various coca cola products from around the world. My favourite was a pineapple and coconut drink from South Africa whose name escapes me. Kate’s favourite? Diet Coke of course.

Final stop on the tour was a visit to the Martin Luther King Historic Site which is a sadly run-down and poor area of town in desperate need of some investment. The only two buildings that contain a full quota of windows and don’t look like they are about to turn to powder are the visitors centre (where we watched a short film about his life) and the new version of the Ebeneezer Baptist Church where MLK and his dad preached together in the mid 60’s. The visitors center also contained an exhibition which included the famous poor man’s cart that pulled his coffin through the streets of Atlanta which was a bit surreal. Within a five minute period we saw the house where he was born and the plot where he is now buried which fairly accurately portrays out whistle-stop tour. I’m glad we went but I also hope that someone pumps some money into the area as, ironically, it’s not a very good advert for a largely black area of a city that is generally considered to house the largest accumulation of black wealth in America.

The decision to dine at Bella’s Pizzeria that evening has to be the most random way to choose a restaurant ever. When we pulled into the parking lot of our hotel, we noticed a lone newscaster out the front as we happen to be based next to a Home Depot service center. Ten minutes later we saw the newscaster on our TV talking about the effects of Home Depot’s announcement to lay off a chunk of its workforce and the segment included interviews with various local businesses who might suffer because of the lay-offs. Included were our hotel, a cigar villa (a shop selling cigars and providing reclining chairs to smoke them in) and…Bella’s Pizzeria. I’d like to claim it solely a charitable act on our behalf that took us there to help out an ailing company but the truth is that I was licking my TV because the pizzas shown in the newscast looked so damn good. The place was the perfect blend of bar and pizza joint where Muggs, our very fat and very gay waiter / bartender / raconteur, served us up with ice cold beer and some of the largest portions of food I have ever seen. Seriously, it was like doing a guest appearance on Man vs Food. Kate had two whole peppers stuffed with meat ragu, half a pound of buttery bow-tie pasta and a handful of garlic knots. I had a meatball stromboli (like a calzone) with a house salad. They were both decent enough and certainly did the job but unfortunately the food left our bellies too full for any more beers. Having a double helping of The Office starting at 10pm on TBS had absolutely nothing to do with our early departure…honest.

We head to Nashville tomorrow and I’ve saved my t-shirt with the guitar on the front especially. Final thing is to wish Mrs. Martin a belated Happy 35th birthday. It seems almost spooky that we were at the wedding of her 30 year old daughter only last year…

Day 83 - Buff In Atlanta

Author – Buff
From – Valdosta, Georgia
To – Atlanta, Georgia
Miles Driven - 240

Today’s Photos - http://www.flickr.com/photos/32017704@N03/sets/72157613021303275/

Kate and I will undoubtedly disagree on the highlight of Day 83. Kate would probably choose between feeling distinctly better than the previous day or a fantastic meal we had in the evening whilst my highlight was, without question, having the receptionist of our hotel point out where the gym is because I am clearly “a fitness guy”. When questioned on whether or not she was taking the piss, she insisted that I look buff. That’s right, buff. I could have hugged her but, with these guns, I was worried I might hurt her. It turns out that Georgia’s warm welcome is either based on dodgy eyesight or downright deceit.

Everything else that happened that day pales into insignificance but I guess I should recount it nevertheless. First thing in the morning it was tough to tell whether Kate still had the remnants of her migraine or if she was just sleepy but I thought I would leave her alone to sleep until check-out. Whilst this meant effectively missing out on the day in Atlanta which was still a five hour drive away, it did afford me the luxury of a) eating as much as I wanted from the deluxe buffet breakfast counter without snide comments or suggestive glances, b) reading a newspaper from cover to cover for the first time in way too long (an article that a high-school basketball coach had been fired for allowing his team to trounce another high-school 100-0 made me angry) and c) buying a pair of walking shoes to replace the pair lost to water damage on a ride in Orlando (I had a bit of an Imelda Marcos moment and walked out of the store with four pairs but I promise they were all very much needed). As I’ve said before, it’s exhausting being unemployed.

Nothing much to write home about on the journey up to Atlanta other than the miserable weather and the largest beef sandwich (not a euphemism) I have ever witnessed. In the ever-continuing American Fast Food Chain Exploration Experiment, today’s subject was Arby’s. For those unaware of this outlet, they advertise hot sandwiches. The house specialty is the hot roast beef sandwich so that’s what I ordered. Admittedly I had the large version but I wasn’t expecting the monster that was passed over the counter. I physically couldn’t get my enormous gob around it and had to remove a good handful of beef before dislocating my jaw to begin consumption. At less than $5 a pop, the meat isn’t exactly top grade but it’s tasty enough resembling doner kebab meat in both appearance and flavour. Without 10 pints inside me, it was OK. With a skinful, I’m assuming it would be heaven. Perhaps their strap-line should be, “I’m Drinking Arby’s”.

Having played the role of Angry White Man for the majority of the day, I thought it a good idea to give Kate a break from me for a while and go pound out my anger running the streets of Northern Atlanta. Now, everyone knows that San Francisco is full of steep hills but, as I found out ten metres into a 4.75 mile run, so is Atlanta. At times I thought my lungs were going to explode but I finished having swapped my anger for hunger. Time to eat. The website for my cooking school has a great resource that we haven’t taken enough advantage of – it’s a map of the US locating all the restaurants run by FCI alumni. Despite the co-owner of Repast looking like an over-serious serial killer on the web-site, we set off for the ten mile drive. Unfortunately, just one mile down the road, we passed a sushi place set in a discarded train carriage (I think this is the third discarded train carriage we have eaten in on this trip) called…wait for it…Orient Express. More importantly, it was mobbed so something good was happening inside. This meant we skipped the FCI alumni place but it also meant we missed potentially being killed by the chef. Orient Express turned out to be three restaurants under one roof (hibachi, sushi and Chinese cuisines) which is usually a bad sign as being good at one doesn’t automatically transfer to being good at the rest given they are completely separate cuisines and, despite what you’ve heard, they don’t all look alike. But, good news for us, the sushi part seemed to be run by bona fide Japanese…well, except for the Mexican lad who did nothing all night except spread rice onto dried seaweed papers. We took a seat up at the prep counter which meant we got the free show watching CJ and his pyjama’d buddy prepare their works of art all night. And what fine fodder it was. We started with some steamed, salted edamame (soybeans) and gyoza (pan fried dumplings) and then a selection of sushi rolls (spicy tuna with avocado, soft shelled crab spider and an atom bomb) and sashimi (yellow tail and scallop) which were, without exception, outstanding. And the presentation, as I hope the pictures convey, was stunning. I think they saw me taking photos and hammed it up a bit by adding vegetable carvings to everything but that’s just fine with me. Perhaps, going forward, I should tell people we’re food reviewers from the NY Times who are very open to edible bribes. My only minor gripe was that the yellow-tail was so cold that it lacked a little flavour but that was probably a result of our frighteningly short plate-to-belly time.

Tomorrow we get to explore Atlanta proper with an action-packed itinerary of hiking, touring CNN and Coca-Cola and checking out the Martin Luther King Historic Area. I was never that active when I had a job…

Day 82 - Headaches, Superbowl & Salad Dressings

Author – Grant
From – Sarasota, Florida
To – Valdosta, Georgia
Via – Tampa, Florida
Miles Driven - 284

Today’s Photos - http://www.flickr.com/photos/32017704@N03/sets/72157612940417425/

Not good news today - Kate woke up with a headache. For a normal person that would mean popping a couple of Advil and getting the fluff on with it. For Kate it means a day of avoiding sun-light in a semi-coma state. Don’t misunderstand me, I’m not calling her a lightweight (well, not this time) as clearly she is properly ill and I have no real comprehension of what a migraine is like. All I know is that I have several simple jobs throughout the day:

1) Redirect the sun never to be in her face. Driving 284 miles through Florida makes this a fairly tough task but I’ll give myself a B+ for my, often dangerous, high speed one handed sun-visor readjustments.

2) Hold her head every second she is awake. I am hopeless at this as it’s really boring. I know how selfish that sounds but doing it for 10 seconds just seems to make it worse when I stop so, I figure, don’t start. I get an F for this.

3) Don’t eat hot, “smelly” food in a confined space near her (e.g. car, hotel room etc) as this triggers projectile vomiting. As I don’t want to get puked on, I’m fairly good at obeying this rule. Tonight, for example, I had dinner (a microwaved bowl of soup…sometimes it really sucks not to have a kitchen) in the lobby of our hotel. The girl behind reception couldn’t work out if I was a hobo, a mad man or a combo of the two. Not my finest moment but I award myself an A+ grade for effort.

4) Ensure that, when the recovery begins, the “supplies” are ready. The list is always the same…crisps (ready salted), a banana, full-fat sprite, a fruity power/gatorade and skittles (the sweet it is impossible to order over the counter without sounding gay). Another A+ for me as every ingredient is waiting to be devoured.

My overall nursing grade is B-. Shows potential but could excel with more effort.

Shame she slept throughout today’s travel as the first hour was a stunning drive over the huge bridges spanning Tampa Bay. This wasn’t the original route but I wanted to have a gawp at the Raymond James football stadium which will be hosting Superbowl 17 million (or something) in exactly seven days. I think it is generally a bloke thing to feel the need to see stadia even if they aren’t currently in use but I drove away from Tampa thoroughly relishing next week’s encounter between the Cardinals and the Steelers. Theoretically we’ll be somewhere in Mississippi when it’s on but I’ll get a strange and probably unjust sense of pride when I see stadium on TV and will be able to say “I’ve been there”. However, presumably I’ll be trumped by Kate’s “I nearly puked on that”. So I detoured in search of one sporting venue but came across three. Unsurprisingly I passed Tropicana Field (Tampa Bay Devil Ray’s colossal indoor baseball stadium) but I also passed the huge New York Yankees summer training complex and, judging by the crowds milling around, they were in session. Which reminds me…just 2 ½ months until the season starts. That’s when this blog will become surprisingly baseball dominated as I want to see as many stadiums as possible.

This doesn’t quite fit in with any other part of today but it’s become a recurring theme recently. I ordered a salad today (that’s not the recurring theme; that will never be the recurring theme) and it came with enough dressing on the side to wash your feet in. Just check out the picture – there was at least 200ml of the gloop. I used about a third of one of the two pots and even then it felt a bit smothered. It has the dual unwanted effects of turning a relatively healthy meal into a lard-busting binge and completely masking the flavour of the salad components. Other salads we have got recently have come with sachets of vinaigrette that could easily double as dog pillows. It’s mental. I’m glad I’ve got that off my chest - this blog is saving me a fortune in therapy fees.

Nothing more of interest to report today. Another decent sized drive up to Atlanta tomorrow. Cross your fingers for a clear head for Kate…mainly because I wouldn’t mind a hand packing up the car in the morning…

Day 81 - Foot Soldiers

Author – Grant
Based In – Sarasota, Saratosa or SaraToga…Toga…Toga (depending on number of beers drunk), Florida

Today’s Photos - http://www.flickr.com/photos/32017704@N03/sets/72157612940104655/

I used to categorise myself as a morning person. You know, one of those annoying people who jump out of the bed at the crack of dawn and that accuses people who wake up post 8am as not living life to the full potential. That trait, however, is clearly no longer in me as I wasn’t a happy camper when the alarm started bleating its melodious guitar riff at 6am. More disappointment was to follow as I realized, in chronological order, that the reason for the early rise was to do a 4 mile run, that it was still pitch black and that it was freezing cold. The temptation to hit “cancel”, roll over and safely assume that my coma-state running partner wouldn’t be naturally stirring any time before midday was immense but, instead, I started the morning ball rolling. Perhaps if we hadn’t already paid the $25 entry fee for the race then this blog entry would read very differently.

As the sun finally rose over the Sarasota, Saratosa or Saratoga bay and our eyes began to finally open, it became clear that this was a decent sized event with a crowd of about 2000 expected to run. The registration area was filled with a plethora of obscure pre-run entertainment including a bouncy castle, a cat adoption van and a petting pool just in case you needed to lick a toad for extra running energy. As the runners waited for the starting gun, the obligatory Star Spangled Banner was blasted out by some American sweetheart but this was an anthem with a difference. For a start, she was tone deaf so I can only assume she was a Sunshine Club kid with a deeply unimaginative last wish. So it was no surprise when the PA System went silent half was through her performance. The jury is out on whether a) it was a legitimate technical error, b) someone pulled the plug for the sake of musical pride or c) she dropped dead. Either way, the crowd was undeterred and finished the song off for her with the kind of rousing, patriotic spirit shown during the last 7 minutes of World War II. It was either awe-inspiring or stomach-churning depending on your nationality.

We have been regularly and comfortably running distances around four miles for the past few weeks so today’s race shouldn’t have been too much of a challenge. However, we sort of forgot to factor in that the Ringling Bridge, which we had to cross twice, would have a fairly nasty incline so a distance that would usually leave us energized, instead left us for dead. Having said that, we both walloped our estimated times (33.33 for me and just over 40 mins for Kate) which Kate attributes to race adrenalin and I attribute to the fear of her beating me. We may also have subconsciously been spurred on by the smell of hot-dogs as the post-race snack area (which usually consists of a bottle of water and an apple) was stocked up with sandwiches, hot dogs and mini-donuts. Needless to say I had a sandwich, a hot-dog and a couple of mini-donuts. Not many people can say they have run a race yet still had a positive calorie count by 8:30am…that takes real dedication.

Time to explore Sarasota. With puppy in tow we set off on the four mile walk into downtown and the bay. Exactly what we were thinking when setting off on an eight mile round trip walk after our already strenuous morning, I’m not sure. All I know is that with one mile of the return journey left, Kate was trying to flag down anything on wheels to give us a lift home. Not a wise move considering we were in the amusingly dubbed HoZone. As a local woman explained to us over lunch in a cracking little Tiki Bar on the beach, our shitty hotel (the ironically namely Quality Inn which is probably the nastiest hotel we have stayed in to date) is located in a zone where anyone with a prostitution related conviction (presumably on the customer side) is banned from visiting. I don’t really understand the logic of this move but apparently all it does is to advertise where the local pro’s hang out and hence it’s HoZone nickname. Another inspried local Government decision.

Ooo, I forgot to mention the park we stumbled upon that contained a full 18 hole frisbee golf course, complete with layout and par information at each tee. Some of the holes looked practically impossible as they were over 100 metres and flanked by trees that left a miserly 10 foot gap to get the disc down. But the most surprising thing was that the course was packed...and that most players either carried or wheeled round a full bag of frisbees of various sizes, weight and camber. I consider myself a sport lover but surely some sports aren't meant to be taken quite so seriously and Frisbee Golf must fall into this category. If it is accepted into the Olympics in my lifetime then I'm moving to Mars.

After all our exertions, the night was never going to be too adventurous so we decided on the tried and tested dinner and a movie formula. Food was courtesy of the locally recommended Mattison’s City Grille. Good quality, reasonably priced food was served alongside huge local beers in their casual outdoor setting (thankfully under heated lamps) and, for the second time that day, I could have happily sacked off our plans. My duck confit salad with dried cranberries, mixed greens and a sesame dressing was excellent (and officially classified as a salad hence I was fully justified schnarfing a box of Reece’s Pieces during the film) and Kate’s Fruits De Mer Pasta was just as good and choc-full of tasty ocean goodies. The film (Doubt) was also pretty good (really well acted but a tad shy on story or twists) but I‘m not a film critic so IMDB it.

Over the next couple of days we’re heading to Atlanta, Georgia so tomorrow will involve a big drive and a stay in some random south Georgian town. In summary, I wouldn’t bother reading tomorrow’s blog.

Day 80 - The Key Saga

Author - Grant

From - Key West, Florida

To - Saratosa, Florida

Via - Fort Lauderdale, Florida

Miles Driven - 395

Today's Photos - http://www.flickr.com/photos/32017704@N03/sets/72157612917413524/

We have a recurring argument that has been on the go for over 11 weeks since we checked into the first hotel somewhere just north of New York. We are always given two keys upon check-in but, by the end, one has almost always gone missing. Now in your average budget dump it doesn’t matter because they are the disposable credit card jobbies but in the nicer places we get an actual key so losing it is a bigger deal. If Kate were writing this blog, she would either tell you that it is me that always loses a key or she just wouldn’t mention it as she is a nicer person than me and is less likely to wash her dirty linen in public. Anyway, today’s three hundred and ninety five (written longhand for emphasis) mile car journey locked in a warm metal box started with just such a barney. The good thing about these tiffs is that the after-effects don’t last too long these days as we both realize that 6 hours on the road without conversation is unmanageable. Still, I’m secretly looking forward to rubbing it in her face when the missing key falls out of her pocket within the next 24 hours…even if I have to plant it there myself.

Anyway, despite the potentially explosive start to the journey, the rest of it can be very quickly summarized, leaving space for a couple more mildly interesting Key West musings. 1) We saw our first car crash of the journey as a 4x4 in the opposite lane wobbled into the centre lane before swerving and flipping over. 2) Lunch was a bowl of cereal in the parking lot of a Fort Lauderdale gas station…not the culinary high-point of the trip. 3) We got attacked by a swarm of bees outside a grocery store on the outskirts of Sarasota.

Now that the dullest paragraph of the blog so far is out of the way, let me tell you a couple of things about Key West that hopefully you’ll enjoy…despite one of them falling into the “history” category. There are “Conch Republic” flags all over Key West which is a good tale that hopefully helps reiterate the inhabitants whackyness. In 1982 the US government set up road blocks in and out of The Keys to curb the flow of immigrants and drugs from Cuba. The impact on the number of visitors to The Keys, which relies almost entirely on tourism, was devastating so with the support of it’s 30,000 residents, the leaders of Key West did what any collection of insane authoritative figures would do…secede from the US, declare war on them, break a loaf of Cuban bread over the head of a man dressed in a US army uniform, immediately surrender and then demand $1 billion in foreign aid. The most surprising thing is that it worked and the US removed the road blocks. The moral of the story is; if things aren’t going your way…throw a tantrum. If only all history was this interesting…

The final thing to mention about Key West that I forgot to include yesterday (which almost seems sacrilegious) is our experiences with Key Lime Pie. Despite its inclusion on almost every dessert menu south of Washington, Kate has been saving herself until actually being in its birth place before giving it a try. The result…a bit disappointing really. The first version we tried (a meringue topped pie) was incredibly tart and could have done with a thicker base. The second version was probably illegal in the eyes of the locals as it was a frozen segment of pie speared on a stick and dipped in chocolate. Is nothing holy? I often say that I would rather have another starter in place of dessert and this hasn’t done anything to change that opinion.

So the reason for the monster drive to Sarasota was because we are taking part in the New Balance Ringling Bridge Run VI at 7:30am on Saturday morning. One of Kate’s new year resolutions is to take part in five to eight competitive races this year (a strangely vague resolution) and it would seem that I am going to be dragged along for the ride. Is this really her subtle way of putting me on a fitness regime? The crafty bugger…

Days 77, 78 & 79 - Musings From Down South

Author - Grant

Based In - Key West, Florida

Mildly Interesting Fact - We're closer to Cuba than mainland USA (a poxy 90 miles)

Childish Fact - America and Cuba aren't speaking cos Cuba spilt America's pint

Photo’s Link - http://www.flickr.com/photos/32017704@N03/sets/72157612838157269/

First and foremost I think it’s important to apologise for the previous lazy ass blog entry by my traveling companion. Under considerable pressure, she had agreed to write the blog on the first day we arrived in Key West but clearly this town’s relaxed atmosphere penetrated her soul quicker than any of us expected resulting in a clerical list of actions rather than any sort of descriptive entry. I can’t complain, however, as I too have been dragged in by the relaxing nature of Key West and hence haven’t bothered writing anything for the past few days. So hopefully this entry will summarise the highlights of our stay before we start heading north frighteningly early tomorrow morning.

First thing to note is that we have to head north tomorrow because the simply is no more south left to explore. Well, no more US south that is. As you can imagine, this is a fact that is heavily exploited here with the obligatory buoy denoting the absolute southern most point which has a line of people waiting to get the obligatory photo op despite not actually being at the southern most tip of the country. Still, it’s close enough. I was exploring on my own when I first came across the buoy which may explain why I have absolutely no idea who the people are posing next to it as I was far too embarrassed to stand in line alone and ask a stranger to take a photo of my sorry, lonely ass. The surroundings all claim to be the southernmost something including the southernmost hotel, guest house, deli, house, bar, beach, beach bar but my favourite is the southernmost southernmost house which, I hope you will agree, is clearly the most southernmost house because of its repetitive description.

Kate adhered to this town’s quirkiness in her previous blog but nowhere is this more apparent than in the cemetery. Rather than being a somber, sad place, it is laced with comedy epitaphs such as “I always dreamed of owing a small place in Key West”, “X – Dig Here”, I told you I was ill” and “I’m just resting my eyes”. This is a town that is clearly proud of it’s wackiness which, it has to be said, walks a fine line between funny and tacky. On one hand there is the cemetery and signs like the one outside Bourbon St Bar which reads “On this site in 1897 nothing happened” which is al pretty amusing. On the other hand there are the t-shirt shops sporting such super-tack as “My Pen In Huge”, “I got Duval Faced on Shit Street” and “From My Space to My Face” which is a bit cringeable.

I realise that I haven’t really said much about what we have done but that is mainly because we haven’t really done much. Most days have involved some sort of exercise, walking the pup (who is now fully mobile following her two week vet ordered rest period) then finding a scenic bar overlooking the sea to spend the afternoon getting slowly tipsy sipping on cocktails/wine/beer whilst reading a fine book or ogling sunbathers boob jobs. Despite this seemingly event-free existence, time has absolutely flown by and it seems to have turned dark in the blink of an eye. However, unlike most other town’s we have visited in the last ten weeks, this place certainly doesn’t sleep when the sun goes down. In fact, it takes on yet another bunch of different personas. Let’s get the bad persona out of the way first. At 5pm every night a collection of touristy shows start down in the marina involving street performers…and it’s predictably horrible. Luckily however, you’re only a fire-juggler’s broken arm away from the numerous bars along Duval Street. During the day, these bars are fairly indistinguishable from one another but at night each bar takes on it’s own character. There are a good smattering of gay bars (apparently 40% of the permanent population here is gay), some margarita bars attracting the grey and blue topped clientele and then (my fave) a huge number of live music bars. Our favourite was Hog’s Breath which has a two man band called the Massaccustics playing who were either fantastic or the cocktails were particularly string because one of their CDs was in my pocket the following morning. There are plenty of other decent bars I would recommend but I would have to drag you there by the elbow as I can’t remember their names. Oh, except the Green Parrott which is a little off the beaten track (i.e. NOT on Duval Street) where you’ll be rewarded with a good selection of bar games and a more local feeling crowd.

Final (yet most important thing) to report on is the food. Generally we have been culinarily pampered here with local specialties and regional influences executed with authenticity. We are flanked by the Atlantic and the Gulf of Mexico so, predictably, the seafood is mighty fine, even in the bars where we had a fantastic platter of locally caught tiger shrimp. The local insistence on calling the Mahi-Mahi “dolphin” is confusing as it is both inaccurate and, in all seriousness, a bit off-putting to the average customer who doesn’t want to eat the cast of the little mermaid. The best we had was at the Caribbean inspired Blue Heaven which is generally considered the best offering in town. Kate’s yellow snapper in a lemon accented beurre blanc with angel hair pasta was nearly as good as my blackened, sesame seed crusted grouper with brown rice in a coconut milk and ginger broth. Their setting is also pretty special as usually the dining is done in the yard where the chickens run free (as they do all over town) but it was a bit brass monkey the night we went so dinner was in the tree-house.

Definitely worth a mention is the Creperie run by a crazy yet lovely French lady who slams out sweet and savoury crepes to adoring hoards of on-lookers who are there half for the food and half for the show. A favourite of ours was Louie’s Backyard which we found due to it’s location backing on to the tiny dog-friendly beach. They throw out a decent enough selection of lunch staples but it’s the well spun cocktails and the unbeatable setting (on the southern side of the island and protected from the arctic wind currently passing through Florida) that keep you here for hours.

I nearly forgot to mention conch fritters which appear on every menu in Key West. They are basically a crab-cake but replace the crab with conch...the tropical gastropod best known for it's spiral shell that doubles as a horn. Whilst the quality varies from venue to venue, they are generally a really tasty snack with the tiny pieces of conch adding more texture (a bite not dissimilar to soft bone) than taste.

Oh, and we saw Michael Ruhlman here; the guy who is wrongly most famous for being the nemesis of Anthony Bourdain but should be known for being a mighty fine culinary author. I went a little weak-kneed like a school-girl backstage at an N-Sync concert as I’m always a little star-struck on such occasions.

So, in summary, good times were definitely had in Key West. However, as per the rest of Florida, I’m not sure I could live here as it all seems like short-term, unsustainable enjoyment. Add the fact that it gets unbearably hot and is filled with mozzies in the summer and I’m not too sad that we are heading northbound tomorrow morning. Apparently Kate had signed us up for a run over a bridge in Saratosa which is nearly 400 miles north of here. Apparently this trip isn’t all fun fun fun…

Day 76 - Just A Quickee

Author - Kate
From – Naples, Florida
To – Key West, Florida
Distance Driven – 270 Miles

Today’s Photos – http://www.flickr.com/photos/32017704@N03/sets/72157612750265427/

The blog today is going to be a quickee as we are in Key west and it feels wrong to be sitting at a computer (even if I am doing it next to a pool). We should be sipping Mojitos and so once I’ve finished this we are going to pack the lap top away for a couple of days or until Grant gets bored of lounging.

We got up at the crack of dawn for the 6 hour drive to Key West. The spectacular drive starts with the familiar alligator lined road through the Everglades and ends with us driving across a 7 mile bridge with the Atlantic Ocean on our left and the Gulf of Mexico on our right. By that time we hit the bridge we had Cuban music blaring out of the radio and the passenger in the car in front had their feet hanging out of the window. Things are going to be a bit more relaxed down here.

The idea of getting up at the crack of dawn was that we have the early afternoon to explore the little island we’d just arrived at. The problem with getting up so early is that by the time we’d arrived I was knackered and so went to bed for a quick 2 hour nap but Grant and Molly had a wander around to check out the scene. Key West is closer to Cuba than the mainland and so has its own special vibe going on. Someone reportedly said it’s like someone shock America and all of the nuts fell to the bottom. From what we can tell so far the 4x2 mile island is one big bar and everyone is uber relaxed.

Our rather nice B&B is in the historic part of town and so are close to the nightlife. Refreshed from my nap and a run with Grant (who was doing 2 laps of some streets as I’m so slow) we hit town. I think Willie Ts bar was my favourite because they had a Bret Michaels look-a-like singer (think the lead singer form Poison) who rather surprisingly turned out to be German. Cow Boy Bills was a close 2nd because of the fully kitted out cowboy on the door but the band there was singing their own songs rather than the American classics that everywhere else in town was playing and noone likes not knowing the words. There is definitely enough in town to keep us occupied for a few nights.

The Keys are meant to be sunny but the weather is being pretty schizophrenic flipping from flip flop to umbrella weather so we are not too sure what the plan is for the next few days other than lounging. Wish us luck.

X Kate, Grant & Molly

Day 75 - And Make It Snappy

Author - Grant
Based In – Naples, Florida
Why? – 30 Miles From The Everglades National Park

Today’s Photos - http://www.flickr.com/photos/32017704@N03/sets/72157612679392353/

This was a crazy day. Seriously insane. I don’t even want to build up to the punch line – you can just have it right from the start. In fact I wouldn’t even bother reading on; just flip through the photos and you’ll understand why it was nuts. We were literally a few feet from dozens and dozens of huge alligators for the majority of the day. This is no exaggeration and there was not a single safety barrier in sight – a surprising twist considering we are in the land of the law-suit for uneven manicures. I’m getting goose-bumps typing this – it was that mental.

I’ll gather myself together now and explain things a little more. It may sound a little weird to drive a 150 mile to do a 15 mile bike ride but we decided to adventure deeper into the Everglades than yesterday to see what we could see. Shark Valley Loop Road is half misleading as there aren’t any sharks but it is a loop and we had read that there was a good chance of spotting alligators here. What they failed to mention is that the 6 foot wide road would be literally strewn with sunbathing dinosaurs that made the ranger’s orders to never get closer than 15 feet to the alligators impossible to obey. And, trust me, I really wanted to obey them. These bad boys can grow up to 13 feet long although I would guess the biggest we saw was about 9 feet. The other piece of advice they give is to always hold on to children as they are about the right size for a gator snack. Something tells me I simply won’t take little Neville (the future name of my firstborn son) anywhere that he is a potential meal – surely that is responsible parenting? Anyway, they are a surprisingly sedate creature that are unlikely to attack unless provoked (unlike their croc cousins) but we didn’t want to test the theory. One guy looked like he did, however, when he skidded off the road into the outskirts of the river where, luckily, there was no hungry gator laying in wait. Shame as it would have been great to see one feeding in its natural environment. He was also lucky that none of this area’s 39 snakes (of which 4 are deadly) were in his path. Still, it was enough to get my heart racing well above 150 bpm so lord only knows what it did to his. Another heart-in-mouth moment was provided by a part of the path that was flanked by two gators on either side leaving a worryingly tight gap though which we had to squeeze. Kate’s average sped increased considerably at this point which accounts for the picture where she is quite far off in the distance. If only France were to line the streets with man-eating reptiles, she may stand a chance in next year’s Tour.

Next it was time to tick off something from the Lifelong Ambition list. Without Jennifer Anniston, Cameron Diaz or a tub of Nutella anywhere in sight, that ambition was going to have to be “Take An Air Boat Ride in The Everglades”. I think this desire originated from watching Gentle Ben as a kid but don’t let that dilute its importance. Whilst we saw nothing that we hadn’t already seen, twisting through the mangroves at high speed powered by a fan big enough to simulate twisters was a truly awesome experience. Our guide had some interesting views on nature (his answer to most questions was “shoot it”) and our co-riders (an old couple from Bath, England) were officially crazy but nothing could detract from the beauty of it all. Well, except for the guide’s story about the snake that fell in the boat from a tree last week…that I could have lived without. Brilliant, brilliant, brilliant.

So by this stage we had seen alligators on foot, by car, on bike and by boat. What other alligator related activity could we indulge in? Oh yes, we could eat them. Pinchers Crab Shack is in Tin City (Florida’s answer to the Maine Coast and surreally reminiscent of the early Jaws scenes) and specialises in Stone Crab Claws. Now I didn’t know this but Stone Crabs are a truly sustainable food source as, once removed, their claws actually grow back. Exactly how they feed themselves or wipe their ass during this hand-free time of life is more of a mystery but that’s not my problem. The crabs, served cold as tradition states, were excellent with especially tasty and juicy knuckles. But I’m purposefully leaving the appetizer to the end. As we heard earlier in the day, the tail of the alligator is “where the good eating is at” so we ordered some breaded, fried “gator nuggets” served with a spicy chipotle dipping mayo. It’s a cliché to describe any exotic meat as tasting like chicken but Kate accurately described the taste and texture of the juicy white meat as a cross between swordfish and…you guessed it…chicken. I was seriously impressed and would definitely have it again but it would be good to try a format other than the ubiquitous breaded and deep fried. Sashimi might be a step too far but I think a simply grilled seasoned fillet finished with lemon juice would stand up nicely.

Tomorrow we have a six hour drive to Key West where we’ll be taking life very easily indeed for at least four days. Oh, and Molly gets to run around again now that her two week exercise hiatus if over. Happy days all round.

Day 74 - Going To The Dogs

Author - Grant

Based In – Naples, Florida
Why? – 30 Miles From The Everglades National Park

Today’s Photos - http://www.flickr.com/photos/32017704@N03/sets/72157612679120849/

Waking up the day after being hungover the previous day is like being reborn. Flowers look prettier, water tastes sweeter and even Kate’s morning breath doesn’t seem so toxic. It was with such an optimistic outlook on life that I woke with the larks on the morning of Day 74 ready for some Everglades adventures. Today’s method of exploration was by canoe which may seem an unwise choice given the prolific numbers of alligators in the area but this was a tour led by an Everglades ranger so we had to assume they knew what they were doing. So armed with nothing more than a flimsy tin boat and a couple of paddles we headed out into the swampy marshlands of the Everglades to see what all the fuss was about.

First thing to note is that heading out in a two-man boat is not a great idea unless you have a particularly strong marriage. We witnessed an otherwise sedate elderly couple nearly murder each other and, within our own boat there a few times when it was lucky that neither Kate nor I were armed. Her gripe was that I am a power mad, controlling nag that apparently “doesn’t understand wind” whilst my gripe was that she was merely wetting the paddles rather than trying to propel us forward. So thanks solely to the power of my guns, “we” paddled about a mile upstream, often in water no deeper than a couple of inches, until we entered thick overhanging mangroves where the overpowering stench of sulphur was a small price to pay for the beauty of the surroundings. The tannin in the vegetation that falls into the swamps turns the sludge a unique yellowy shade of brown and hundreds of branches hang down from the mangroves attempting to suck it up. The wildlife in this area of the park is limited to huge blue herons, marsh crabs and some other birds whose names I forget but their shear size takes them way beyond dull ornithology. Oh, and this is all in addition to the hoards of monstrous 6 foot wing-spanned vultures that are constantly circling overhead. You’d think that would be incentive enough to paddle harder…apparently not.

The drive home along the Tamiami Trail (it stretches from Tampa to…I’ll let you work out the rest) was truly spectacular as almost every inch of sun-exposed terrain to the northern side of the road is occupied by wild sunbathing alligators. Much like my other half, they are cold-blooded animals who need the sun’s rays to survive (hence they live in Florida rather than Vermont) but the sight of them just yards from the side of the road was incredible. We pulled over to take a walk along the side of the road for a closer look which was equal parts exhilarating and dumb but we weren’t nearly as dumb as the local fisherman who all looked just one small lunge away from catching dinner to being dinner.

The evening’s entertainment was a night at the local greyhound racing track; an old favourite pastime of both of ours. And bugger me if Saturday night wasn’t their weekly prime rib buffet night. Coincidence? Kate still thinks so. However, in retrospect, I shouldn’t have been quite so excited about a buffet at a dog track as it was always going to be more cordon bleach than cordon bleu. In fairness, the prime rib was really nicely cooked and as melt-in-the-mouthy as you would want. It was the other dishes (seafood ravioli, a creamy chicken thing, coconut shrimp, roast chicken, meatballs in BBQ sauce and sides like mixed veg and mashed potatoes) that were all either cold, tasteless or both. Still, like I say, it’s a dog track buffet so stop whinging, keep nailing the booze and bet wisely. Speaking of which, anyone who has ever been to the dogs with Kate knows that it isn’t something that you do twice. Whilst, admittedly she is very good, unfortunately it is at the expense of being sociable. It is tough to have conversations with her as she ignores the rule that girls should pick dogs based solely on either colour or name and, instead, studies the form guide with more intensity than a debt-ridden addict. Whilst I childishly refuse to ever bet on the dog in track one because it always wears red (Liverpool scum), Kate utters phrases like “I like the 2,4 and 7 dogs in a box quinella” or “the 8 dogs looks tasty as her trainer had a winner 4 races ago”. The result…I won absolutely nothing in 14 races and I think one of my dogs may have been shot after falling heavily whilst Kate managed to more than double her allotted budget. Perhaps we could use her talent to pay for the entire trip? I’m not going with her though. Oh, I forgot to mention that she has to stay sober to properly study the form which meant that I could get tipsy and she had to drive home. Summary – we were both winners in our own minds. I still had to pay for dinner though…

More everglades adventures tomorrow with a 15 mile bike ride round Shark Valley Loop Road and a much awaited airboat ride. Gator-Tastic.

Day 73 - Recovery

From - Fort Myers, Florida
To - Naples, Florida

Today's Photos - http://www.flickr.com/photos/32017704@N03/sets/72157612658823480/



11:45am - Woke up
12:00 - Checked out of hotel
12:05 - Ate BLT Bagels from Mel's Diner
12:15 - Set off for the 35 minute drive to Naples
14:00 - Arrived in Naples after sitting in a traffic jam for the majority of the journey.
14:00 to 16:00 - Laid on bed, wanting to die
16:00 - Pottered round Naples main drag (5th Ave, no relation to its namesake in New York)
16:03 - Put pottering on hold to eat greasy comfort food in an Irish bar. Kate had a beer and the sight alone nearly made me puke
16:12 - Pottered round the high street at the same pace as the grey-haired natives of this retirement town.
16:37 - Found a restaurant with a name that my childish, hungover state found too amusing.
18:00 - Back to the room for a night of sitting, watching TV, planning and rehydrating.
23:30 - Sleep.

Off kayaking in the aligator infested Everglades tomorrow. Surely that can't be safe?

Day 72 - The Fort Myers Freak Show

Author – Grant
From – Orlando, Florida
To – Fort Myers, Florida
Miles Driven – 205

Today’s Photos - http://www.flickr.com/photos/32017704@N03/sets/72157612658808852/

My My. What to say about Day 72? It all started normally enough with a sedate car journey from the east coast of Florida to the west coast, leaving behind the surreal Orlando area where even the electricity power lines are Mickey shaped. The destination was Fort Myers where honourable Brit Chris has set up tent after leaving New York a while back. To be fair, I only met Chris a couple of times when he was in New York but any tentative link is enough to have us turn up on their doorstep so let that be a warning to any of you who have, out of politeness, invited us to call in on you when we’re passing through…WE WILL. Anyway, fellow Brit and Thursday Club co-founder Teddy was visiting Chris for a week long drinkathon which sounded like the perfect storm for an impromptu large night out. And so it was.

But I have to prepare for a big night out these days as I’m not the beer-to-urine processing machine I once was. Step 1 – drink enough water to drown a cat in. Check. Step 2 – Line the stomach. Our hotel was blessed with having Mel’s Diner in the parking lot. God clearly wanted me to have a foot-long hot dog topped with chilli, cheese and onions and I, as his loyal servant, obliged. Check. Step 3 – Have an invigorating shower and splash on some pure lady magnetism (Brut). Check. Aaaaaaand…showtime.
Chris came to pick us up in his stunning, yet package-compensating Maserati which was clearly the first time a car of such ilk has been on the forecourt of any of America’s La Quinta budget hotel chain. His house is equally impressive with it’s own pool…but we’ll come back to that later as you’ll not be surprised to hear that it features heavily after a night of heavy drinking.

Dinner was at H2 Tapas & Wine Bar and what fine fare it turned out to be. I think the four of us managed to get through twelve plates by the end of the meal, of which a good eight were home runs. Especially noteworthy were the delicate lobster ravioli and the creamy/dreamy pan-fried foie gras with a berry and pistachio sauce…all washed down with some sizeable refreshing margaritas. And then it all got a bit weird. Bar one was having an eighties night which is always good for a giggle but we became a little self-conscious after thirty minutes of staring at spandex. And so on to bar two which was a laser-filled, hip-hop (I think that’s what the kids call it) joint where the clientele had suspiciously star shaped pupils. We left after the obligatory single drink because the informal drunk girl show had finished. The finale was a spectacular dance floor rugby tackle resulting in the two of them being escorted out without even having time to pick up their dignity from the cloak room. Bar three was the best of the bunch with a decent band pumping our various anthems which provided a good backdrop for the vast amount alcohol we were putting down our throats. It gets a bit blurry from here onwards but we headed back to Chris’ palace for a truly hilarious session of Rock Band (Teddy’s insistence that the drums experience wasn’t realistic was followed by him berating us for never having played in a real band…I thought it best not to bring up my high-school UB40 tribute band that practised plenty but never actually performed to a crowd) whilst Kate wisely slept through the 100 decibel noise. There was skinny dipping. There was bleeding and a suspected broken arm. And then somehow it was 6am. Thanks to Chris for his hospitality and thanks to Teddy for his abuse.

Clearly tomorrow is going to be dominated by recovery…