Tripped

Iconic Deep South Shot of the Day

"Way down upon the Swanee River," Branford, FL. Which is actually the Suwannee River - Stephen Foster was as bad at spelling at he was at making money off his music. Not much to see that distinguishes it from any other small American river, which hasn't stopped the towns along its banks from milking the tourist interest in the "Historic Suwannee." It's main claim to fame besides the the song is that it's the only waterway in the Southeast that was never dammed.

Iconic Deep South Shot of the Day

We're on the road again, meandering our way northward after a couple of weeks at Eileen's parents. Friday night was Dothan, Alabama, which I confess to having never heard of (or completely forgotten if I had) despite its august position as "The Peanut Capital of the World." Today we're in Birmingham, headed eventually toward the Shiloh battlefield. As you can see above, yesterday we passed through Selma.

I still have pictures and a story or two to share about our journey from California to Florida, so those will be interspersed with our current travelogue over the next few days.

Roadkill You Don't Expect to See

Dead alligators. This one was very much alive, but we saw two of its expired relatives on the pavement during our tour of bayou country today on Louisiana Highway 82, apparently after a nighttime encounter with a semi. This only days after our previous roadkill highlight, seeing vultures feasting on at least dozen different deer carcasses during the course of our drive across West Texas from Big Bend to Austin.

Iconic Southwest Highway Shot of the Day

U.S. 90, just east of Marathon, Texas.

Wrong Citgo Sign

Another day, another new ballpark: last night it was the park formerly known as Enron Field, home of the Houston Astros. Now it's Minute Maid Ballpark, where the steam train above the left field wall now incongruously hauls a load of giant oranges that really look like pumpkins in its coal hopper, and the Citgo sign we've all grown used to seeing in the distance beyond the Green Monster at Fenway has been moved into a prominent spot inside the park above the train tracks. 'Stros lost to the Reds; the highlight of the night was when former Red Sox '04 hero Orlando Cabrera stole third off an inattentive young reliever named Sammy Gervacio, who was so rattled he promptly balked him home on the next pitch.

Hey Look, It's Nolan Ryan!

Slightly out-of-focus, but still a Hall of Famer. We spent the night adding a new ballpark to our list, watching the Tigers beat the Rangers 8-6 thanks to back-to-back home runs in the top of the 9th by Miguel Cabrera and Brandon Inge. Eileen found us great seats on the Internet under face value just three rows behind home plate, and only a few feet from where the owners sit, including Ryan.

Here's Bad Vlad Guerrero after he knocked in two to tie the game 6-6, before the Tigers' heroics in the 9th:

Iconic Southwest Highway Shot of the Day

Ross Maxwell Scenic Drive, Big Bend National Park, April 20, 2010.

Prickly Pears in Bloom

Big Bend National Park, Texas.

Amazing day cruising down the Ross Maxwell Drive from Chisos Basin to Santa Elena Canyon on the Rio Grande. We've seen prickly pears all over the Southwest on our way here, but this is the first spot where we've been at a low enough elevation to see any of the species actually in bloom. Particularly fabulous to see multiple flower colors on a single plant.

View from Our Window This Morning

Chisos Basin, Big Bend National Park.

Sprechen sie deutsche?

Our unscientific survey is that Germans vastly outnumber all other foreign nationals touring the Southwest this spring, and come close to outnumbering the Americans we've seen. The family above is but one example: we saw them at White Sands National Monument, where the older child in the red cap was throwing a temper tantrum, which his mother attempted to abort by coaxing him into doing a yoga pose with her - Virabhadrasana II, I believe. It didn't work. He was still wailing his lungs out as we drove away.

The Germans seem particularly attracted to renting Harleys and aping American cultural icons. In Needles, California there were two middle-aged guys indulging their inner Captain America (no German would ever dress up as Billy, I guess). In Death Valley there was a whole gang of them at Badwater Basin posing in their custom leather chaps and vests for a group photo around the "lowest point in North America" sign, looking very orderly and clean cut and not at all ready for walk-on parts in Sons of Anarchy.