The Fourth in Philly

I'll admit—I let my last blog get away from me and started plunking away about journalism techniques. But I realize those could be very valuable tools for any blogger, no matter what the topic of interest. My apologies, readers. Maybe my future will unfold with a blog about writing, too.

Since my Bici Reunion with a mass of new cyclists in Chattanooga, J and I spent the long holiday weekend in Philadelphia, the city of brotherly love. It was my second trip to Philly, and this time the weather was perfect—a few cool mornings, clear days with blue skies and a few puffy clouds.

After skipping out of work and a four-day week, J and I drove to Atlanta and stayed with his family there. The next morning we drove to the Georgia Aqarium early to park the car and take MARTA to the airport—my first MARTA experience! I always doubted the ability for Atlanta residents to get around without a car, especially if they were reliant on the bus system. But the train was effective and efficient, save for a five minute delay on the tracks.

We made it to the always busy Hartfield-Jackson Airport just in time to board our tiny plane to Philly. The ride was quick and painless, and, of course, it was sunny when we landed. J and I spent the afternoon lounging around and ate some of his mama's heavenly quiche—she had been on a Julia Child kick. Flakey crust, fluffy filling, perfect cheese. Another inspirational dish.

C had made reservations (read: reserved some dough!) for the whole gang to eat at Tacconelli's, a pizza joint in northeast that is known for its brick oven and tomato pies. Apparently it's best to call ahead to reserve your dough. After complying with the BYOB rule (my fave!) and our own salad, we devoured four heavenly pies—the spinach and garlic was my favorite. Nothing beats seeing customers walk in with their own cooler. I was impressed. Tacconelli's also had been recommended to J and I by our friend in Chattanooga, a former Philly resident.

The next day we ventured to New Brunswick on the train. For a mere $35 roundtrip, J and I left from 30th Street Station and made it to our destination in less than 2 hours. We had one quick transfer to NJ transit in Trenton but otherwise had a smooth, seamless and relaxing trip. I really dig trains, of course, and this was my first experience on regional rail in the Northeast. With about four or five tracks, the electric-powered (right?) trains are quite speedy. Nothing like the Acela trains that flew by us at about 50 mph through the station, of course, but still timely, convenient and (to me!) FUN!

After grilling weenies in the backyard, my aunt drove J and I past Johnson & Johnson and we spotted signs of Rutgers—and a Robert Wood Johnson facility, shoutout to work. The town was cute, flat and had ample public parks. We drove through the little town of Dunnellen where my mom was raised and had a delish iced coffee before heading back to the station.



Upon our arrival at 30th Street, J and I, feeling adventurous, hopped on the subway in search of a recommended coffee shop. Needless to say it took us a few blocks to find the place, but we were rewarded with a local brewery, Dock St., next door and a tasty shot of espresso. It was fun to explore without our hosts, for once, to parts of town we had never experienced. Later they picked us up and we headed to Standard Tap for more delicious brews and dinner on the patio.

For the 4th, we sleepily laid around the house, and Craig took me on a drive in his super cool old Jag! BBQ and brews followed that afternoon, and I fell asleep on the couch watching Dark Knight with J. Monday we gallavanted around town—Manayunk, where all the shops were closed for the holiday, and downtown, where we had cocktails at Rouge and people watched on Rittenhouse Square. J bought me a hardback copy of Lolita, and we headed for the airport.

Can't wait for more trains and big city adventures! In the mean time, I'll be cruising around the Chattanooga. Cheers!

Vacation Roundup: The Tractor of Bicycles

I just got back from a solo trip to New Orleans, LA. While the original agenda for my week off was to trek to Seattle to visit J's friends and my friend in Eugene, plans changed. Said Eugenian friend was already in New Orleans for the summer—so why not go there?

A big fan of Amtrak and any sort of rail transit, I was determined to incorporate riding the rails in at least one segment of my travel. So last Friday J drove me to Atlanta, where we hung out with his sister and brother-in-law, two cool cats who work at the Georgia Aquarium, and a few of their aquarium friends. I also met an editor at New South Publishing. I'm always eager to talk with editors, writers, publishers and the like about their experiences.

The next morning J took me to the itsy bitsy, teeny tiny Amtrak station, which is right off Peachtree and next to the omnipresent interstate. I was about to bounce out of my seat for about an hour after boarding, with Hank William's "Pan American" rattling around in my head throughout the trip:

I have heard your stories about your fast trains
But now I'll tell you about one all the Southern folks have seen
She's the beauty of the Southlands listen to that whistle scream
It's that Pan American on her way to New Or-leans.

She leaves Cincinnati headin' down that Dixie line
When she passes that Nashville tower you can hear that
whistle whine
Stick your head out the window and feel that southern breeze
your on that Pan American on her way to New Or-leans.

[...] If your ever in the Southlands and want to see the scenes
Just get your self a ticket on that Pan American Queen
Louiville Nashville Montgomery the cap'tal of Ala-bam
You pass right through then all when your New Orleans bound.

The folk, Old Time and country/bluegrass songs about the railroad run deep. Unfortunately, the Pan American Queen no longer exists. No regional passenger rail lines even come though middle and East Tennessee. When I was riding cross country in 2009, my favorites included a version of "The City of New Orleans," as I was riding on Amtrak's City of New Orleans train from Chicago>New Orleans. Other train favorites of mine include Rev. Gary Davis "When the Train Comes Along" and J.J. Cale "Ridin' Home."

If you thought flying could exaserbate emotions and feelings, imagine being rocked to sleep by the rails. The trip is slower, but you get to experience the entire landscape. There is something so natural about riding a train.

Anyway, I digress. I arrived safely in New Orleans, where my friend greeted me with a big hug at the station. We hit a few bars in the Marigny district before collapsing at her friend's house. Sunday was spent watching family cookouts in Audobon Park and sitting on the Fly watching massive ships and tug boats move cargo up and down the Mississippi.

After a night in, I filled my early Monday morning with what else—bicycle hunting!

As noticed in the Marigny district Saturday and Sunday, quite a few folks in New Orleans perfer to cruise—cruisers were everywhere! Dramatic swept-back handlebars and top tubes matched the "relaxed" riding style. I saw many, many riders going the wrong way on one-ways with no helmet or lights. In fact, quite a few of them were talking on the phone, smoking a cigarette or drinking. I was astrounded, if not impressed.

Many cruisers had excellent wire baskets, too, on both the front and back of the bike, though more commonly on the front. Old mountain bikes seemed to have the most, next to women's cruiser bikes. 

After seeing the influx of bar-hopping riders on Saturday, Monday's commuters were a welcome change. Men in dress shirts, pants and shoes buzzed by on their commuter-style bikes. This lady smiled at me on her way to work.

That night I trekked out to Molly's on the Market, a pub on St. Phillip and Decatur that my neighbors, former New Orleans residents, recommended. I said hello to their bartender friend and talked to a fellow about cycling in the city. He was a Seattle native who was testing out his roommate's cruiser for the night. He deemed them the "tractor of bicycles": you're not going anywhere too fast on a cruiser. Many of them happen to be quite heavy, as well, and I spotted some cruisers with seats literally as wide as my office chair at work.

A little cyclo conversation really made my night. Before leaving on my trip, friends can attest to my plan to bring or borrow a bicycle for the occasion. While Amtrak allows passengers to check bikes in a large, purchased cardboard box, it's not the safest or most effective method of transport for a beloved cycle. Especially after driving to Atlanta to catch the train. However, walking proved to be just as pleasurable. And I didn't have to ask for directions in the Quarter on my bike, as two girls asked me Tuesday.

These were a few touring bikes I noticed, and then I saw the folks who appeared to be owners. I should've asked where they were from. Obviously, the panniers and such weren't in tow.

Both friends/hosts in New Orleans didn't have cars. My girlfriend, however, had borrowed her folks' car for the weekend in order for us to more efficiently get around town. Cycling seemed to be the fastest way, though I'm glad I didn't bring my bike. Judging by the amount of seats that had been locked up or removed by owners, safety would have been a major concern.






Maybe next time : )

Next week: Philadelphia!

Almost Train Time!

My bag of snacks for the train ride fills slowly...

with the most heavenly peanut butter chocolate chip cookies. (!!! they're perfect!!!)
with tempeh salad sandwiches.
with carrots and grapes.
with apples and oranges.

I wisely decided to leave my clunker techno-leash at the house. I don't need to be plugged in, for fuck's sake, and I don't want to lug that white piece of plastic around. I'd like some tunes, but I've adjusted to not having them. I'll let the rails rock me to sleep, the sun and mountains wake me in the morning, and the conversation of fellow passengers to sooth my ride. A journal, some good pens, my camera and the new Jeanette Winterson books I scooped up at Powell's last night.

I've been itching to dive into those books, ever since reading her "Art and Lies," after my sister turned me on to Winterson with "Written on the Body." Such sensual (hot!) writing, beautiful language, artfully woven stories, especially the former. I picked up "The Lighthousekeeper" and one of her collections of short stories. Finally, a chance for me to get into short stories! Eeep!

The trip isn't as planned out as I would have hoped, but I have no doubt it will be a barrel of fun and surprises. Denver apparently has some decent mass transit, aka it goes to the airport, and other than that, I'm not too worried about the adventures in between.

Tonight: a fire queued up in the back yard, fresh cookies, a tall beer and friends. A heavenly spring is unfolding.