Tuscson - Phoenix


Friday, March 23 - Wipeout!

Arrived last night after 10 terrific days in Tucson enjoying the good life while trying to get in shape for my Grand Canyon adventure next week.  Lots of fun in the sun (well, except for the 36 hours of positively biblical rain, hail and thunder).  I attribute the bad weather to the presence 90 miles north, in Phoenix, of a large number of Dechert partners attending the Investment Company Institute annual meeting.  All I can say is, if you plan to be in Miami near the end of April, bring your rain gear . . .

The Tucson hiking was fantastic; I went on four hikes, including a nature photography hike where I was the only guest so I got a lot of guidance from the professional photographer/hiking guide (Kim).  Kim was one of the few people I've met here who actually grew up in Arizona.  He worked for a number of years as a press photographer and still does commercial photography along with taking people like me into the desert to try to capture a few pixels of its beauty.  Not sure I did but you can judge for yourself with the photos below.  Happily, Kim has the same camera body I do (which is a joke considering I am a rank novice) so he could give me a lot of very specific instruction.  Kim also worked in the Grand Canyon at Phantom Ranch, the campground at the bottom of the Canyon, so he gave me a lot of useful info about what to expect (mainly that my knees will be sore as hell).

Kim found a small piece of Indian pottery and I started to look for more and found three more pieces which seem to be part of a much larger pot.  Apparently it is quite rare to find pieces and my find got the local hiking community pretty excited.  Here's what they looked like, along with a horse shoe I found, which I think bodes well for my visit to Las Vegas.

Other hikes were pretty strenuous; one, to Wasson Peak, was quite challenging (2300 vertical foot hike) and you can see me in this photo.  And that is actually a grin, not a grimace.  No comments about the little green belly - it was St. Paddy's after all.

A few other assorted shots from the various expeditions in and around Tucson, which has just wonderful trails, parks and outdoor scenery. Note the snow in the first and third shots; very unusual for Tucson, especially later in March.

I also did a difficult road bike ride, took a couple of spinning classes, a few yoga sessions and various other workouts (even a Zumba class - I was pathetic) .  Needless to say, I was pretty sore and so made the ulitmate sacrifice in trying to find the most effective massage for this condition and yes, folks, we have a winner!  The hot stone massage that me so relaxed that I could not move; all I wanted was a conveyor belt directly to my bed.

Yesterday, my last day there, I went mountain biking for the first time.  WHAT A BLAST!  There were fantastic trails that were great for a newbie like me.  And yes, there were a couple of wipeouts, which gave me some personal time with the local cactus population.  Its not for nothing that all the guides carry tweezers!  A shot of some of the damage (and my shapely but hairy gams) is below.  If you have nightmares, its your own fault.

I really had fun with the mountain biking, and if I had room in my apartment, I'd get a mountain bike.  Actually I could use the second bedroom but Chris would kill me.  At some point, though, I will definitely try it again; no broken collar bone jokes, please.

Today through next Tuesday, I am here in Phoenix to see some spring training games (thanks, Pete!) and do a bit more hiking.  After tomorrow's hike, I plan to reward myself with a visit to the annual BBQ and Beer Festival in Chandler, AZ, just next to Phoenix.  In the interim, here is a view of a different sort of brew - the "Rootin Tootin Root Beer Float" I had yesterday in Old Scottsdale, where I had a great chat with the proprietor, who used to live in Detroit (as did I) and worked at the hallowed Vernor's Ginger Ale plant near downtown.  Enjoy!

Texas to Tucson


Monday, March 12 - Made It!

A week after I started from Poolesville, I finally arrived late afternoon in Tucson, where I will stay for 10 days trying to get fit, eat right and generally "chill."  First I need to learn what "chill" means, however.  I guess that's the point.

I left Sonora on Sunday morning and, happily, the skies eventually cleared as I approached West Texas and I could finally experience the Lone Star State.  It also finally felt like I was in the West, and began to understand why Texas seems so big.  Texas is big, it was the widening vistas begin to surround the car on all sides with thrust-up spiky hills and small mountains as I gained altitude heading west.  This scene from a rest stop is indicative of what began to dominate the view out the car window.

By now I was also growing tired of the Ancient Greek History lectures I had downloaded (free), essentially an entire semester's worth from an eminent professor at Yale.  Unfortunately, the professor was more interested in historiography (the study of the field of history) than in history.  He had some interesting things to say about the nature of the Greek development of the polis, which was a moderately democratic form of government and the tension that exists between forms of government that emphasis individual rights over collective rights.  But he became repetitive and superficial so, in the middle of his discussion of Sparta, I switched to another Yale course about European history, which was more interesting.  It is amazing, I have to say, how self-involved these guys were, even they were at opposite ends of the modern political spectrum.  Today I heard lectures on Robspierre, who seemed fascinating (until he lost his head at the guillotine), and Napolean, who was less so, if a huge factor in the development of modern France.

But enough of that.  Several hours brought me to El Paso, at the far western edge of Texas (and just across the border from Cuidad Juarez.  El Paso was gritty and did not seem to have the benefit of the thriving economic boon that Dallas, Houston and San Antonio have had in the last quarter century.  A massive Asarco plant, now largely in shambles (reminiscent of Detroit), borders the northern side of town.  By the time I reached Las Cruces, New Mexico, 45 minutes north, however, the vistas broadened even more, with mountains kissing the horizon.  Thus this sunset:

Las Cruces seemed like a nice town, nestled up against a mountain range, and is home to New Mexico State, which coincidently is picked by some to go on to the Sweet 16 in the NCAA men's basketball final.

And finally today, I got going but called an audible (switching sports), deciding I had time to swing south through Bisbee and Tombstone before heading into Tucson.  I veered off I-10 (my route of some 900 miles since New Orleans) onto Route 80, due south toward the Mexican border.  Route 80 is a deserted road that rises and falls along ever steeper mountain ranges.  Some of the hills were entirely covered with luscious yellow spring desert flowers.  This view down Route 80 gives some sense of the terrain, which was a delight.

After an 90 minutes or so (made shorter by some bursts of speed that tested, but hardly topped out, the available speed of my Audi), I reached Bisbee, an old mining town that I had heard good things about.  Approach the town from the south (and at about 5,800 feet), you go past the now played-out copper mine that was the town's reason for being from about the 1880's until the 1950's.  It is an amazing site, which this photo gives only some limited feel for.

I can only image the composition of the black pond that remains at the bottom.

A bit further up the hill is Bisbee, which has actually been charmingly restored.  Many buildings from the late 19th and early 20th centuries remain.  These have been converted into museums, dozens of shops, restaurants and art galleries.  There are some very quaint but well-cared for old hotels and the place was bustling with tourists.  I sampled a Cubano coffee at the fine local coffee shop and, were I not driving, would have considered sampling the assorted beers made at the Bisbee brewery, housed in a century old warehouse.  I recommend it!  Did not take many photos, but here is one of the old hotels on a side street.

Far less attractive was Tombstone, about 20 miles north of Bisbee.  It is a hodge-podge of sketchy tourist traps, with a paucity of parking and a few actors in costume.  The OK Corral is enclosed behind a wall (see below) and I did not pay for entrance.  The best thing about the town was the handsome 1881 county courthouse, now a museum, which is pictured below.

I left Tombstone quickly and, after my second Border Patrol inspection of the day (they stop every vehicle), I was en route to Tucson and my home for the next 10 days.  There may not be much posting, although I hope to go a a few hikes and biking tours, which may yield photos of the Saguaro mountains that cusp the city to the north and west.  After Tucson, I will be in Phoenix/Scottsdale for some baseball and more hiking, followed by my more serious four day hike down into the Grand Canyon and back.  I have a lot of training to squeeze into the next two weeks to be in some semblance of shape for that.  With over 2500 miles under my belt, I will be happy to be in one place for a while.

Texas - Drought?  What Drought?


Saturday, March 10.

I am staying the evening in Sonora, a quiet town of 3,000 in western central Texas sitting on a high plateau, having driven from Houston, where I spent last night.  I have driven over 500 miles in Texas and it was raining, sometimes torrentially, for about 480 of them.  I have seen virtually nothing of the state, other than noting skyscrapers in the distance in Houston and San Antonio as well as something of the Hill Country north and west of San Antonio.

This messy passage began, suitably enough, with a spot of dumpster-diving at the Texas Visitor Center just over the border from Louisiana.  After tossing some trash, I noted that I did not seem to have my car key.  Yep, after a few frantic minutes, I saw it at the bottom of a disgusting bag of trash too tall for even my long arms to get to the bottom of it.  Texans must have thought I was another crazy New Yorker when I took apart the metal trash container (fortified against racoons, I think), to get at my keys.  I stank like stale coffee the rest of the way to Houston.

My inexpensive but out of the way hotel did not offer any food options, so I found a not bad Thai restaurant after a soggy search around the area.  And today began the same way, with pouring rain and heavy traffic.  The rain lasted almost until Sonora but did not slow down traffic that much.  Given the speed limit west of San Antonio on I-10 eventually works its way up to 80 mph, it was white knuckle all the way.

The nice lady at the hotel desk is recommending the little Mexican family restaurant across the street and I will be there shortly.  Perhaps I will see more of Texas tomorrow before I finish the day at Las Cruces, New Mexico.  2100 miles so far!

New Orleans

Thursday, March 8.  Les Bon Temps Roulez (but watch out for the jello shots)

Properly sated with french coffee and beignets from the justifiably famous (if not bashful) Cafe de Monde, I am taking advantage of the free wi-fi supplied by the French Market in New Orleans.

I was so starved, this picture only shows half remaining of this delicious and quintessential NO treat.

Yesterday took me from Meridian, MS under four hours to New Orleans.  I decided to keep my speed just under the allowed 70 MPH, which seems to have been a good idea since in the last hour there were many state police about.  With a nice car and NY plates, I figure I'm real cop bait in these parts.  Interestingly, unlike just about any other place I traveled, the rest of the traffic also kept it at or under the speed limit, even the trucks, no doubt reflecting the unhappy consequences that lie at the hands of the state police.  One could argue their deterrent effect is worth it and, since I was not in a hurry, I burbled along at 68 until the Louisiana border.  There, it seemed as though drivers felt liberated and upped their speed almost immediately.  A sign of things to come in the Big Easy.

As I traveled over the long Lake Ponchartrain bridge, I felt a frisson (see, I'm in character already) of excitement, and called my brother and my folks, who seemed suitably impressed that I had made it 1400 miles from NY.  I checked into my hotel and got the concierge to recommend lunch and dinner places and I was on my way.  First stop was Acme Oyster Bar in the French Quarter.  Raucous, crowded and full of both tourists and locals.  While worried initially about the line, I was shown straight to the bar (do they know something?) where I met Pam, who clearly ran her section of the place.  Oysters first, of course, half dozen regular and then a half dozen grilled.  The regular oysters were the size of dessert plates, plump and very fresh.  In size and quality, they reminded me of the lunchtime oysters I used to enjoy at Lexington Market in Baltimore almost 35 years ago.  But I digress . . .  The grilled oysters, which had been drizzled with a garlicky sauce before grilling, were stupendous.  Here they are in all their wonderfulness.

I enjoyed a local Arbiter Purple Haze beer with them and, just because I could, I followed up with half a po-boy sandwich.  The po-boy is a local or regional favorite, comprised of souddough french bread with fillings that can include fried shrimp, fish and/or oysters, along with a tartar-type sauce, pickles and other mystery components.  There is a lot of compeition in NO over which place has the best po-boy, the local equivalent of Philly arguments over cheese steaks and NY debates over pastrami.  I can definitely recommend the Acme version.

After a well-deserved nap and further trip planning (Austin is off the schedule since the SWSX event, which would have required more planning to attend, has taken over the city and hotels)  I ventured out for the next meal.  Yes, there is a theme.  Yes, I will need to exercise and diet even more.  Yes, it is worth it.  I went to NOLA, one of two of Emeril's restaurants in NO.  There are many who feel he no longer serves the best food in town but others claim NOLA has made a come back.

I was seated at the "chef's table," a bar-like counter in front of the cooking area, where orders were being shouted about and multiple line cooks firing up the next diner's meal.  After fried green tomatoes (ok, a cliche but when in Rome), I had pork shank and a glass of red wine.  Sitting next to me was who I will call "Sammy" (to protect the guilty), a visiting Boston-based investment manager on his last solo night before his wife joined him for the remainder of the conference.  Sammy and I chatted and he invited me to join him later at "Crazy Katz" on Bourbon Street, which he claimed had excellent music.  After a stroll, I did and in fact Crazy Katz had an excellent soul/top-40 group, not what you might expect in NO but in fact just right for the mixed crowd.  We had the obligatory one drink minimum and pressed on down the street, stopping at another well known place with a competent, but uninspiring rock group.  After strolling down Bourbon Street, which was packed with visitors clutching beers and "Hand Grenades" (don't ask), we decided to try another area for some more traditional jazz.  I leave you with this enduring image of Bourbon Street.

Frenchman Street, a pedicab ride away, was mostly locals and we enjoyed very traditional (almost curated) jazz, which I enjoyed but, I think, bored Sammy.  So back to Crazy Katz, where waitresses were pushing jello shots in test tubes they carried around in racks.  This had no appeal to me but Sammy decided to press the issue, buying two on the sly and then getting the waitress to do what she could to get me to have my first jello shots.  I will not trample on the sensitivities of my gentle readers to describe how she did this but suffice it to say that within short order, I found two "jello shots" rapidly descending my throat.  My throat, having more sense than I, promptly closed down for business when it encountered the harsh and utterly un-jello like rocket fuel, leaving more jello shot on me than in me.  That literally dampened my interest in Bourbon Street for the night and I left Sammy as he turned down a side street in route to the Penthouse Club.

The next day saw my breakfast at Cafe du Monde, a pleasant fish lunch and, later, more oysters.  Many street bands were out and I listened to several; here is one that was camped in front of the Louisiana Supreme Court building.

 I went back to Frenchman Street in search of more music and wound up listening to Chapter SOUL, which was a superb funk and soul band that really got people moving.  A great night of music, and a perfect ending to my stay in New Orleans.  And, as I got back toward the French Quarter, I came upon this unusual juxtaposition of the shadow of a statute of Jesus against a church under the night's full moon, capturing some of the more mystical and melancholy aspect of this old town.

And Away We Go!

Greetings from Meridian, Mississippi.  This is the first of what I hope will be many posts.  As I am new to blogging and to Blogger, changes can be anticipated.  Apologies for the length, but you can always skip to the exciting parts.  I'll let you know when I come up with some.

My trip technically began on Saturday, March 3, when I drove from Washington, DC to McLean, VA.  The afternoon was spent with my old friends (OK, Cathy, let's just say we've been friends a long time) Cathy Botticelli and Mike Spafford, who were my hosts that evening along with their great kids Monica and Andrew. Saturday evening we travelled to Bethesda to the home of Jeff Puretz, fund and insurance lawyer extraordinaire, where he was hosting a party for our former partner but permanent friend and co-conspirator, Ruth Epstein.  Many DC partners and spouses were present, and we feted Ruth, who has now been with her new colleagues at Stradley Ronan, where she is happy (but she misses us and we miss her).

Of course, there was discussion of my leave of absence, also known as my frolic and detour.  There were many suggestions and at this point, it will take a year to do everything just in the US.  While I have decided to "see America first," I do hope to visit many other countries.  Let's see if I survive this initial jaunt.

Sunday I visited with my parents (my dad is almost 90 and my mom is 85) and then travelled 40 miles northwest of Washington to Poolesville, MD to visit with my brother and his family.  Poolesville is an old town set among rolling hills with a classic upper Maryland and lower Pennsylvania horse country feel to it.  Its like stepping into a Matthew Brady photograph.  Without the dead people.  Bob took me to the C&O Canal, which passes through the area.   There is an amazing 1855 stone bridge across a branch of the Potomac there that carried the canal far above the muddy waters swollen by the early spring rains in the area.  After a decent night's sleep (courtesy of my nephew Sam, who gave up his bed), I consulted with Bob about the best way to get to I-81 and off I went.

One would not think of a car trip to the West starting by water but this one did.  I took the ancient Whites Ferry from Poolesville across the Potomac to Leesburg, VA in the pointedly named "Gen. Jubal Early" ferry boat (cap. 20 cars) for $5.  Sorry, no photos but my detailed trip planning did not, apparently, include the right memory card, which should be rectified soon.

From Leesburg, I went due west to hit I-81, which runs along the spine of Virginia and the Shenandoah Mountains.  Soon, snow began falling and continued for several hours, almost until I reached Tennessee.  The route threaded between the tall hills of the Appalachian Mountains from the Shenandoah's to the foothills of the Great Smoky Mountains of east Tennessee.  The snow and clouds prevented me in large part from enjoying the views, although occasionally glimpses of distant snowy hilltops offered some diversion.  The highest point on the road was 2,600 feet (in - wait for it -- Rural Retreat, VA), and I felt my ears popping often.  Unfortunately, there was a wet sound as well, which was the sound of my oncoming head cold, which was in full throttle by the time I arrived, exhausted, in Johnson City, Tennessee.  Johnson City is famous for its Tennessee Walkers, a show horse, and is part of the "Tri-Cities" that include Johnson City, Kingsport as well as Bristol, VA.  Nearing Johnson City, I also passed a gigantic modern brick complex of buildings that turns out to be an evangelical church.  Since then, I have noted a number of these "megachurches" and listened for a while to the local radio, which is dominated by religious programming.

After doses of Zicam (not the nasal form, linked to the loss of sense of smell), I was doing a little better this morning and, after a late start, I continued on.  My route took me through Knoxville, home to the University of Tennessee, which I had last visited with my older son, who was attending a chess tournament there.  Chess is great for kids but lousy for parents, who spend many hours waiting for tournaments to finish, unable to watch the action and worried about how their child will handle losses, which are pretty much inevitable and are not diluted, as is the case with team sports, by the presence of other players.

After Knoxville, I turned south, through Chattanooga, where the amazing Lookout Mountain looms over the city.  Soon after, I skirted an edge of Georgia for a short while before entering Alabama (where a huge sign over the entrance of the Welcome Visitors Rest Stop states "Welcome Back, Snowbirds").  Over the period of several hours, and an atrocious meal at Strykers, a regional fast food place, I traversed the entire width of Alabama.  Birmingham sat in the middle and is a built-up modern city with skyscrapers, traffic and some actual industry.  The area is notable for not only an apparently still operating steel mill (in Bessemer, of course) but also several foreign car manufacturing plants (I saw VW and Mercedes), lured by government inducements and right-to-work laws.  Just as textile manufacturing went to the South in the 19th Century, leaving New England mill towns like Lowell and Lawrence in bad shape (although with great old buildings suitable for rehabbing), the end of the 20th saw auto manufacturing leaving the Midwest and Northeast for accomodating Southern locales from Alabama to South Carolina.  It is to be hoped that these Southern workers do not suffer the same fate as their forebears when textile manufacturing left for even cheaper labor overseas.

Finally, I reached my third state of the day (and 9th of the trip in just 3 travel days), Mississippi, where I finished up in Meridian.  A very strange interpretation of my hotel's location by Google Maps took me to downtown Meridian, which is truly disheveled.  While there seem to be glimpses of efforts to reclaim the downtown, it seemed mostly rough territory with a few handsome old buildings.  Finally I figured out that I should ignore the instructions and head back to the area abutting the interstate where chain hotels, restaurants and shopping areas appear to have escaped to.  I'd traveled 520 miles today, zapping myself with Zicam and with a buzz from Sudafed (now available only from the pharmacist since a key ingredient is used to make crystal meth, a drug that has its claws into wide swaths of rural America from coast to coast.

Happily, across the parking lot of the hotel is Logan's Roadhouse, one of the highest rated eateries in Meridian.  I opted for one of the "health nut" meals (so-called on the menu) and it was actually pretty good.  Strangely, my meal was comped (I did leave a "healthy" tip).  Either they took pity on my for avoiding the very good looking steaks, ribs and burgers or they thought, pad and iPhone in hand, that I was a restaurant critic.  That, of course, only means I'm a New Yorker.

So that is the start.  Tomorrow takes me to the Big Easy, which I have never really had time to see before.