#2:  Blazzues

After two full days of hitching, I found my last driver happened to be a salsa dancer who told me of a restaurant/bar called Blazzues that I just had to go to.  I was coming in on a Wednesday which he excitedly told me just happened to be their swing and blues night.  I took this piece of information with a a reluctant grin because after hitching for two days, dancing sounds nice but slipping into a coma sounds better.  However, I decided to suck it up and give it a shot come rain or come exhaustion.

 ”Just five more minutes ma”

Blazzues is a swank little place that hosts different types of live music from soul to funk, jazz to blues, and the occassional shitty band and indifferent sound technician that no restaurant is immune to having every once in awhile.

Be that as it may, whether you dance or not, you can come enjoy live music, wine tastings, BBQ, drunk people who don’t know any better when you hit on them, and nice bathrooms people don’t piss all over (trust me, travel like I do and you appreciate these things).

If you do dance, they have salsa, swing and blues.  For my swing and blues bretheren I want to call this place Blazzuestcoastswing because I walked in and immediately fell into a west coast swing trap where I was mauled to death by Westie dancers who had little sympathy for my lindy background. 

My personal recommendation when you go is to dance with Orion Hall and Jennifer Luke.  Two amazingly talented Westie dancers.

  Jennifer

“I’m working on my pistol fingers.”

  Orion - Always dance with a man who carries anti-shark spray 

Dancing with these two could be compared to a week at Oktoberfest with no hangovers and it should be required that you smoke a cigarette after every dance with them.

“I tickled that Elmo”

Honorable Mention:  Running The Train Tracks

One of my favorite things to do is run down train tracks.  You always get great out of the way scenery.  Though I didn’t put this into my top 3, Pensacola has an insane amount of train tracks that are great to run down.  If you enjoy long runs, walks or camping adventures to find the dead body of Ray Brower then exploring the tracks are something very worth doing.

For those of you who didn’t catch the reference

Thank God for no mosquitos…this time

I love seeing the worn down, dilapidated parts of American history.  These places evoke strong feelings of things in my own life that have come and gone.

Tune in next time for my number one spot as I tell you how I did the thing I swore I’d never do.

For my #3 Spot on Things To Do In Pensacola, FL: http://wacsonwacsoff.tumblr.com/post/10055811764/sex-on-the-beach-and-my-top-3-spots-of-pensacola-fl

It was my original plan to stay in Nashville all of three days, but by the end of my journey there, I had stayed there almost two weeks.  It was a town that enchanted me and was hard to leave.  My fantastic host Christine Wheatley definitely made it possible for me to extend my trip, but my journey called me onwards and I had to get down to Pensacola, FL.

I began this trip with the belief that everything I needed would come to me.  As I journeyed onwards, I found this was a belief that was about to get tested. 

I left Tuesday early in the morning, but before getting out of Dodge, I was treated to a lovely breakfast at one of my jewels of Nashville: Provence.  They have been awarded best bread by their local paper and eating it I finally experienced why.  

If you’ve ever had a Grandmother and didn’t spontaneoulsy pop out of a hole in the ground, than chances are you had one that made delicious homemade bread just like mine did. There is something amazing that happens when you throw together flour, water, eggs, salt, yeast and cat nip.  For $3 at Provence, you can get shot put right back into such delicious childhood memories.  Quite the deal.

After taking a long nap in my friend Shante’s car (who treated me to this lovely smorgasbord of culinary goodness), I hit the road once again making my way towards Pensacola to dj their first ever blues dance event.  Because the distance was 442 miles, I planned on stopping part way in Birmingham, AL.  

It was going to be I-65 most of the way since I didn’t have a flying Delorean that “doesn’t need roads” nor a wild haired uncle willing who made it capable of flying.

Now I suspected that my first experience hitching seemed to flow so smoothly that it was probably the exception and not the rule.  When you’re gaining experience on the road you have to take things day by day and simply add them up until you have enough data to make a proper pie graph on the ratios of cars that stop to cars who see all hitchers as the scream killer. 

Mmmm…tastes like corn syrup.  Little do they understand that in the heat of the south, that uniform is just plain silly. 

I began soliticing myself to local traffic around 1 PM and after a dismal hour with no luck and a hue of remorse for not showing more leg, I picked up my bag and started walking down the highway, thumb out.  When I crossed this sign, I knew if I didn’t catch a ride I’d have a ways to walk.

Now hitching while walking on the highway went against the original suggestions given to me, but I soon found out you have to modifiy as you go in order for things to work.  After a few miles of walking I was picked up by a musician whose car looked as if a grocery store had exploded in it.  I didn’t care though.  He was a musician and was kind enough to give me a ride for a few miles to a truck stop where my luck might improve.  

When he dropped me off, he presented me with a tough choice that I had very little time to make a decision on.  I could either keep trying to hitch into the wee hours of night, though the later it gets the harder it gets to catch a ride.  Or, I could stay at his place and his wife would make us dinner and I could start again the following day.  Being that it was late and never wanting to turn down free food, I was very tempted. 

 So…tempting…must…resist

I considered it seriously for a moment, but then said “Nay!”  I had an event to get to, a deadline to meet and I was only about fifteen miles out of Nashville which was a dismal amount for being close to 6 PM.  I thanked him and turned down his offer.  Whether I was going to sleep under a roof with a bed or under a bridge with a troll I was going to forge ahead.

Walking along the highway is an interesting experience.  When you’re out in the middle of nowhere, not knowing where you’ll be that night or what will happen, there is a sense of freedom that is quite tangible.  A reality that sinks in that life is truly what you make it, and that there are more paths to take than meet the prescribed avenues society often lays out for us.  Thinking on all of this, I got to take in the beauty of the local scenery, watching a sunset over the hills.

There is something so relatable to Forest Gump when I watch a sunset in the middle of nowhere.  

After a few hours of walking, another car stopped and grabbed me.  My next ride again only took me a few exits, however when we got there he took me to a Burger King and bought me dinner.  A very kind and generous offer.  Being that I aim to eat healthy I looked over the menu, my mind going “no, no, no, no, no, no” till finally landing on a chicken sandwich in the style of grilled.  

While there, a couple overheard me talking about my travels.  They were probably in their 50’s or 60’s and were incredibly friendly.  They had been traveling for the past month, however their story was much different than mine.  Their son had just died, and though they were very vague, I took from what they had said that he had committed suicide.  Despite their good spirits and warmth towards me I could see the pain in their eyes and understood that being a parent is something very foreign to me. 

What amazed me though was that here, in the middle of a Burger King in po-dunk nowhere, Tennessee, I had a heart felt moment with these wonderful people who I had just met.  We hadn’t known each other for weeks, only a brief moment in time and yet here they were opening up their hearts to me and telling me what they were going through.  It’s touching to feel what you can share with people you consider complete strangers.  What can melt in just an instant.  

We shook hands and they left with the wish that they could give me a ride.  I decidely wanted that too, but we were heading in opposite directions.  After I finished my sandwich and talked with the cashier who snuck me out a free Sprite which I thanked her for and then threw away because I don’t drink soda, I packed up my stuff and faced the truth: it was late and I was going to be sleeping out tonight.

I had prepared myself for this, and had to admit that traveling like I do, sometimes you catch a ride and sometimes you don’t.  I walked out into the warm night, and looked at the highway wondering how long it would take me to find a bridge worth sleeping under that wasn’t infested with fairy tale trolls who have grievances about people klick-klacking over their homes.

 Nothing like getting “was grounded into jelly” in your obituary notice and I unfortunately was short on my troll mace.

Being that I was short on brothers who were meatier and tastier than I, my selection was crucial. That’s when something very interesting happened that I did not expect.  Something that changed the course of my journey that night.

Tune in next time to read about the rest of my travels to Pensacola.

After a late night of partying, I awoke to the peaceful sounds of my hosts in preparation for their move.  I swore by the calm feeling inside of me that it was at least 11:30.  Such dismay to find it was 9.  In a way, it was like when i called to cancel my atuo insurance and they told me I would receive $239 back.  Holla!  Then the woman I spoke to told me she miscalculated.  ”I’m sorry, that will be $99 back.”  There is a term used by master chess players when someone moves a piece and then attempts to change their move.  It’s called “tough titties, you fucking moved”.  A long term mind you, but one I find would have been quite appropriate in this instance.

Last night I was happy to receive an invite from a beautiful little lass to have dinner

with her and her family.  Having a home cooked meal on the road is like cat nip for gypsies.  While there, she decided to give me a lesson on how to play the oboe.  Mind you she’s a classically trained player who has a mini wood shop in her room for making reeds.  I felt if someone was going to teach me how to make the proper embouchure, the French term used to describe the mouth position used when either blowing an oboe or a man with a scarf smoking a cigarette, she was the one.

Note the deep concentration in the facial lines.  The powerful pressure on the diaphram.  After looking at how I played the oboe, I imagine every chinese man that 

went to an opium den should be a master.  

I laugh at my own joke.

Learning to play the oboe can build up a jonesing for sugar.  Fortunately the family knew this and didn’t want me pulling a Bruce Campbell by going after their daughter asking her to give me some sugar.  In a preemptive strike against my hormones, they took me to the Custard Station, conveniently located next to a train station.  Apparently, this is where trains that break an axle go to be put down, pureed and turned into edible goodness.  Much like how horses are turned to glue.  ”Mmmmmm…freight train.  Glaaaaauuuuugh.”

.

As you can see by the undramatic picture above and to their great relief, it was open.  I found myself there with a frozen cup of peanut butter custard that was labeled a “mini” but was about as mini was the single scoop salted oreo ice cream my friend Gabri got me when I was in Denver

That delicious monstrosity was taken after I had already worked on it awhile and is one of the few things I know that could make Adam Richman from Man Vs Food do a double take.

“That’s enough ice cream to go onto each piece of pie.”

Yes it is Adam.  It was also enough ice cream to get me to yell “fuck it” in defeat as I chucked it into a bush, unfinished.  

Later that night, just to prove I was making my way closer to the south, I ran into a chick coup that flooded my memory with thoughts of deliverance. 

Perhaps if I learned dueling banjos on the oboe, I could avoid red neck gang rape. Then again, that instrument is awfully phallic.

We ended the night dancing blues to an awesome blues band whose name I never got.  I just enjoyed watching a group of black women staring at my friend and I with a smile as we strutted our moves.  In classic fashion, I took my shirt off while there.  There is no place too good that it can’t take in one shirtless waffle.

This is my last night in St Louis.  Tomorrow I start my hitchhiking journey towards Nashville.  I fit my life into a pack today and decided it was a good thing I have a lot of energy or else lugging that thing around might be disheartening.  I had to work on setting up my tent a few times so I didn’t get hit with a case of down syndrome while in the middle of nowhere.  Getting ready to leave, I do not feel a strong sense of any emotion.  Mostly just a feeling that it’s time to do this.  Like starting a new job, you just buckle down, focus and learn as best you can until you get the hang of it.  This will take some getting used to.  Either way, it’s time for me to do this.

Starting all of this, my emotions go to the girl I fell in love with and had to let go of to continue this journey.  I miss her.  I have an aptitude for being a lone wolf and going my own way, but some prices are steep and hard to pay.  I don’t know if I made the correct decision or not, or whether or not either exists in this case.  Merely a tough decision.  I  have had many mixed emotions about that and it’s difficult bringing that into the start of such a profound adventure for me.  We all carry baggage of some kind around.  For now, this will be part of mine.

So I bid adieu.  Be well St Louis and thank you for a weekend full of wonderful memories.  Till we meet again..

Wesley

It is said that the journey of 1000 miles begins with one step.  That may be, but the journey of 5000 miles begins with a blog entry.
Hey everyone!  It’s been a little while since I’ve blogged.  Most of you remember my articles about from my last blog as I expounded humorously on my sex history with gym ropes, stuffed pandas, lonely furniture and lots of women.  After I got about halfway through I decided to stop and do the rest on my own and form it into a book.   It is in the editing process so for those of you still chomping at the bit to read what I did with whom to make your work days more bearable, do not fret.  Salvation is close at hand.  
As many of you remember I decided to pull up stake and take my own journey around the country.  My own personal walkabout.  A chance for me to make my way around the country on nothing but faith, hospitality and the hopes that the occupants of the large vans stopping to pick me up aren’t huge fans of Silence of the Lambs.  
Though this blog begins now, my walkabout technically started in February.  I wasn’t feeling very fulfilled with my life and needed a change.  I needed to do something drastic.  I quit my job and decided to travel in a way that put me outside of my comfort zone.  I had a brief stay in Tulsa, where I had to make the difficult decision of whether or not to stay there for a girl I really liked or to continue on with my journey.  Making that decision was about as much fun as getting a root canal with a phillips head screw driver.  
Needless to stay after a month of going back and forth I decided to continue my journey which has not landed me here: in a Panera Bread in St Louis, stealing internet so I can entertain you all with my stories. 
Because of the present state of gas prices and my desire to push myself out there, I have decided to make my journey by foot and by hitchhiking.  I feel vastly unprepared for this journey and have done nothing like this before.  Much of my prep time was spent deciding whether or not to choose the journey or the girl (Tulsa unfortunately came with the girl), which has left me to basically start this trip on a wing and a prayer. 
Though not ideal, it is how I prefer it in many ways and I will tell you why.  When I was little I heard a man speak.  He was a traveling preacher who decided to live his life completely on faith that God would provide him everything he needed.  He had no job, though he had a family which he needed to provide for.  He simply trusted that God would give him what he needed as he spread his message of love.  The courage this man had along with the stories he told intrigued me.  What I didn’t know was that his story would continue to  resonate with me still to this day.
Now I am not a Christian, but that doesn’t take away my appreciation and respect for this man’s journey.  And so I have found in my life, I often like putting myself in situations where I have no idea what to expect and trusting for a great outcome.  And such is the nature of this trip.  I could relate it to a box of chocolates like Forrest Gump saying you don’t know what you’re going to get, but I’d say a box of Bert’s Every Flavor Beans would be more precise becuase in that you have the danger of getting a cod oil flavored bean.  Chocolate tends to avoid putting road kill in the middle of their treats.
I will be making my way south to Florida to dj a blues event in Pensacola and then make my way West and North for Emerald City Blues in Seattle.  If you are in the path I am going and want to house an otter for a night or two, please let me know.  In this journey I find I will be much like Blanche Dubois, continually relying on the kindness of strangers.  However, I am willing to go beyond that and rely on the kindness of friends as well.  
I will keep an ongoing journal about my travels and journeys so be sure to stick with me as I travel.  My desire is to do this for a year.  Though technically this all started in February, I am willing to make now the starting mark.  I look forward to seeing what each new day brings and to seeing who of you I meet along the way.
So here’s to happy trails and humorous blog entries.  
Warmest Thoughts,
The Otter Waffle
P.S.  I have found I am as much jungle cat as I am otter, so if any of you can give me a good amalgamation I will be happy to use it as a nickname.  

(Source: wacsonwacsoff)