The Hamster and the Highway

Thursday was all about equality. After spending a week seeing various celebrations of the Confederacy, we needed to see some history that would be uplifting instead of upsetting. Thursday was that day. It was not the most exciting day of the trip but it sure felt good. I don’t know if it’s ironic or fitting that we found the antidote to racism in a state that became internationally famous in the ’50s and ’60s for its deeply entrenched racism (and doesn’t exactly have a reputation for open-minded inclusiveness today), but either way I’ve got a real soft spot for Alabama now.

We started the day with something entirely unrelated: a guided tram tour of Hyundai Motor Mnufacturing watching cars get assembled. Hamster and I are both fascinated by factories–coordinated stations, the custom-made machines moving in strange ways, the sheer volume of production, the way raw materials become finished products in seconds, the illicit behind-the-scenes secret feel of watching it all happen. Sam says his favorite part of our trip so far was the World of Coke tour, especially the part where we watched glass bottles being filled with Coke. Watching cars being put together, well that would be the same kind of cool on a larger scale. Or at least that was the plan. When we pulled up to Hyundai the very apologetic security guard told us that VIP tours were being conducted today and all public tours were all cancelled for the day. Seeing our disappointment, he called inside to ask if we could tag along on one of the VIP tours but the answer was no. We were devastated. But after a suitable mourning period of a minute or two, we both decided not to let it ruin our day and we turned the page, excited for our next stop. And on the bright side it meant we were once again well ahead of schedule.

On to the Rosa Parks Museum, a stately building in what turned out to be the only reasonably attractive part of town. (While thankfully much has changed since Parks’s ride, physically Montgomery doesn’t seem to have improved much at all. Outside of a few blocks in the middle of downtown, the city still looks a lot like it does in all that black-and-white news footage from the ’50s and ’60s: ugly, poor, and run down.) The museum is clearly geared toward groups on school trips, but there was nobody else there when we arrived, so we had the two-part tour to ourselves. Part 1 is a ride in a semi-replica of the Cleveland Avenue bus that Parks took that fateful night, only this one has a robot driver and is a “time machine” that takes its riders on a video journey from the Dred Scott decision in 1857 to Parks’s ride in 1955. It was a good way to ease Sam into Civil Rights Day, as my wife called my plan for Thursday, because there was a fun element to the upsetting stories and a positive central message that if you keep fighting for what’s right, things will eventually get better. The rest of the museum focused on 1955 to the present day, and started with us standing outside a more realistic replica of the bus and looking in, where cleverly designed and placed video screens made it seem like we were watching the events of that night as they were narrated for us by a prerecorded voice.

I know there are many people who think that Rosa Parks was merely tired that night and should not be celebrated as a hero. But as the museum makes quite clear, she had long been active in the fight to end segregation and, though her protest may have been a spur-of-the-moment decision, she knew exactly what she was doing and deserves to be celebrated. The city of Montgomery and the civil rights movement were fortunate to have her.

Meanwhile, Sam’s favorite part of the museum was at the end when he got to sit on a bronze bus seat next to a bronze Rosa Parks.

A close second, though, was when he saw a small display about civil rights activist Ralph David Abernathy. Let me explain. He and I have both been a mildly obsessed with Ralph David Abernathy since … a few days earlier when we drove into Atlanta on a highway named for him. Sam was initially amused by his name and somehow, by the end of a rather dumb conversation about things that Abernathy’s mother might say to him, it quickly became a running gag for us to exclaim, “Ralph David Abernathy, you silly goose!” as a non sequitor. Well, you can imagine Sam’s excitement when a giant photo of that silly goose was waiting for us in Montgomery!

We then drove about half a mile (passing the famous Court Square fountain where Parks boarded that fateful bus) to the Dexter Avenue Baptist Church, where the Reverend Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. presided (and lived) for several years. We didn’t go inside but the exterior is beautiful building with a rather unusual two-story entry.

Perhaps its most enjoyable physical feature, though, is that it is literally just down the street from the state capitol, on the steps of which Jefferson Davis stood when he was sworn in as president of the Confederacy. In fact the buildings are so close that you can’t stand in front of one without seeing the other.

On that positive note, we left Montgomery–the midpoint of our trip according to both the calendar and the map–and headed north.

Our next stop was Birmingham, the Magic City. Instead of diving straight into more civil rights stuff we were welcomed first by Vulcan, a 56-foot tall cast iron statue (the tallest ever cast in the U.S.) of the Roman god of fire holding a hammer and anvil. The statue, a tribute to the iron and steel mines and mills that built the city, stands atop a much taller pedestal overlooking downtown Birmingham from a small but pretty public park that bears his name, and serves as the unofficial symbol of the city. Much more interesting to us, however, is the observation deck just under the feet of the statue. We opted to skip the elevator and climbed the 159 stairs to the observation deck. I enjoyed the panoramic views of the city and it surroundings; Sam enjoyed looking up at Vulcan’s butt.

We ate lunch in the park before hitting the Birmingham Civil Rights Institute, a simultaneously disturbing and inspiring museum that Sam and I were both able to enjoy thanks to a little compromise. He was, understandably, getting a little tired of educational venues so I struck a deal with him to get us both through the museum happy: he would read the brief text on the large summary signs at the beginning of each part of the exhibit and he didn’t need to read or look at anything else if he didn’t want to. That gave me enough time to look a bit closer and call his attention to the parts I thought he’d find interesting. He chose to linger long enough to watch a few videos here and there and to press buttons at some interactive parts, and I think he came away with a real understanding of both the suffering and the determination of those fighting for civil rights for the 100 years following the Civil War.

Across the street from the museum in one direction is the 16th Street Baptist Church where (as we learned inside the museum) four young girls were killed in a KKK bombing. Across the street in the other direction is a one-square-block public park filled with statues related to the civil rights movement: a small statue of King sort of welcomes people to the park and a central, circular path is dotted with darker statues of protestors being sprayed with fire hoses, attacked by police dogs, and jailed. As you may have noticed, Sam usually likes to mimic the poses of statues but he wasn’t quite sure how to handle these. His mischievous side wanted to play but he also understood the intended tone. He ended up doing both: he insisted that I take two pictures of him at every statue, one serious and one playful. I’d share them here but I’m as torn as he was, and I think it’s probably best to keep them between the Hamster and me.

We had planned to visit the ballpark where the Double-A Birmingham Barons play, but of course it started to rain pretty hard as we finished up in the park. Apparently, getting rained on at some point every day is kind of our thing now. So instead we took the advice of the extremely friendly ticket-taker at the Civil Rights Institute and went to the McWane Science Center. It was clearly the right idea, because we got a great parking spot right out front, and as we got out of the car Sam noticed that the car parked in front of us had Alaska plates (our second Alaska plate so far–we need only Idaho and Hawaii to get all 50), and its owners (a young family of three) were just coming back. I stuck up a brief conversation and it turns out they had indeed spent the past eight days driving down from Alaska. “When you hit the U.S. border, that’s about the halfway point,” the dad told us kind of matter-of-factly. I suddenly felt a lot better about my seemingly not so long drive home.

Anyway, the ticket lady at McWane let us in free because it was less than an hour till closing, and we ran around like maniacs trying to enjoy every little bit while we still could. We played tug of war, we blew giant bubbles, we used air pressure to shoot a tennis ball up to the ceiling, we had wheelchair races, we withstood 75-mph winds, and we pet a live shark (it felt spongy, in case you’re wondering). Suddenly Sam didn’t mind a little education. Maybe the Civil Rights Institute needs to have more rides, or a shark tank.

And it was still only 6pm! We checked into our hotel, a Wingate that was super nice, super quiet, and so stupidly inexpensive I thought the price might be a mistake. Except for the rain, Civil Rights Day was a success. The negative taste in our mouths was gone, institutionalized racism had been replaced by institutions celebrating humanity’s triumphs over adversity, and we settled down to watch some Olympics with clear minds and happy hearts. And did I mention we got to pet a shark? Magic City indeed.

We’ve been on the road for week and a half, and we’ve been behind schedule for most of that time. I’m trying not to be anal about sticking to our itinerary but at the same time it would suck pretty bad to miss out on doing something cool because we couldn’t get there before it closed. Besides, after almost 16 years of marriage to my hyperpunctual wife, it irritates me to be late to anything. But everywhere we go there’s either been unexpected traffic, or road work, or tours that took longer than they were supposed to.

It definitely affected my mood. Even when I’ve been having fun the time has been in the back of my mind nagging at me. I’ve definitely been a little tense and I’ve snapped at Sam several times for taking too long in a gift shop or dawdling when I wanted him to hurry. (In my defense, the kid refuses to choose a souvenir until he’s examined–optically and physically–every single item in the store. It’s like going shopping with an archaeologist.) And I’ve been hoping that at some point we’d get ahead of things so I could worry less and enjoy more.

That all changed on Wednesday. Which is pretty great, because I’m trying to cram way more than we have time for into the second half of this week. The plan for Wednesday, for example, included stops in four cities in two states. We woke up in Chattanooga and headed straight to the Incline Railway, a 117-year-old train/cable car hybrid that goes straight up the side of Mt. Lookout at a 72 degree incline (steepest in the world).

For once the skies were reasonably clear and we enjoyed great views of the Tennessee Valley and the tail end of the Appalachians from the top of the mountain. As we were about to board the tram or whatever it’s called for the ride back down, we saw the most incredible sight yet: a toddler with a mohawk. And did I mention he was wearing an muscle T? If the White Trash Hall of Fame sold postcards, he’d be on ’em.

I only wish the Incline Railway gift shop sold mini figurines of this kid so I could take one home as a souvenir.

Anyway, by the time we rode back down to the bottom and got in the car, we were already running late. This in itself was no big deal but there was a whole chain of stops that was supposed to end with a trip to central Alabama’s Desoto Caverns, whose last tour of the day (complete with light show inside the cave) starts at 4:30 pm.

Now it was time for the most disappointing venue of our entire road trip: the Chattanooga Choo Choo. For just about everyone over 30, and some people under 30, the first (and perhaps only) association with Chattanooga is the Choo Choo. And the Choo Choo is still there. But it’s not a train anymore. Perhaps the second most famous train station in America (behind Grand Central Station) is now a hotel. The train tracks are still there, and there are even trains on a couple of them, but those trains are just for show and don’t actually go anywhere. Sadly, despite what the song says, even if you can afford to board the Chattanooga Choo Choo the Chattanooga Choo Choo cannot choo choo you home. Still, we couldn’t visit Chattanooga without going there, so we stopped in, snapped a few quick photos, and left.

Now it was decision time. We had hoped to see Ruby Falls, a beautiful park with a series of waterfalls, but we were so far behind at this point that if we saw Ruby Falls we’de never make it to the caverns. Sam voted for caverns over waterfalls, so we headed out of town and into Alabama.

And this is when everything changed. Well, really it was only the time zone that changed. But suddenly we went from way behind to way ahead of schedule. I had completely forgotten about gaining an hour when we got far enough west to reach the Central Time Zone. Bam! Noon became 11 am. I celebrated by breathing a huge sigh of relief and then laughing out loud. We were able to do some grocery shopping, get gas, and still make it to our next stop ahead of schedule.

That’s pretty fitting, I guess, considering our next stop is all about fast driving. At some point in the planning I realized that if I’m truly going to experience the south I need to see some cars driving in an oval. Even though it’s NASCAR season none of the races worked out with our schedule. So we did the next best thing: Talladega Superspeedway. We got there just in time for a guided tour of NASCAR’s longest track, during which we drove across the starting and finish line and stood in the winner’s circle.

When I say we drove across the finish line, what I mean is that we sat in a handicapped-accessible van while a 70-year old man drove us very slowly across the finish line. But shut up, it still counts. I don’t really know much about NASCAR and the Hamster knows even less than that, but we both had a great time here. Right next door to the track is the International Motor Sports Hall of Fame and Museum, which we also visited. We zipped through the museum because most of the stuff on display meant nothing to us, but we had lots of fun gawking at the more impressive-looking cars on display. And I was excited to see one car in particular: Will Ferrell’s Wonder Bread car from “Talladega Nights.”

Maybe the best part about this place was that it’s in the middle of nowhere. I mean, it kind of has to be in order to be able to handle 100,000 people and thousands of RVs on race weekend. But when you spend an entire road trip on interstate highways every state looks pretty much the same and you start thinking that McDonalds and Waffle House and Exxon are America. Driving through rural Alabama for a couple hours gives you a pretty different perspective.

And to top it off, we made it to Desoto Caverns on time, and we had the 4:30 tour all to ourselves. The cave formations were pretty cool, but I particularly enjoyed the story our guide told about how, during Prohibition, the cave had been used as a speakeasy called the Cavern Tavern, but only for six weeks because underground bar fights were so frequent that a local reverend heard about the place and called the cops. Also, about halfway through the tour we noticed a large metal cross hanging from the ceiling; the tour guide explained that the cave’s owner is a religious fanatic and the light show included on every tour is synchronized to prerecorded readings from the bible. I guess he noticed the perplexed/disappointed looks on our faces, because he offered to give us an alternate show that he synchronizes to his favorite Blink 182 song.

To celebrate our successful day and our extra hour, we found a state park and grilled ribs for dinner. They were not the most tender ribs I’ve ever made but for 15 minutes on a portable grill they were pretty great. A couple hours later we were in Montgomery, already settled into our room in a surprisingly nice no-name motel just a few miles from downtown. We were well-fed, we were relaxed, and we were, for once, early. It was about time.

Hamster and I are spending the night in a motel in Montgomery, Alabama that is much nicer than it has a right to be for $52 including tax. Well, except for one important thing: the wifi signal in or room is too weak for me to get online.

So instead of spending the next 5 hours trying to write a full post about our day on my phone I’ll just have to update y’all tomorrow.

Yeah, that’s right, I said “y’all.” We spent most of the day in rural Alabama, and it grows on a guy.

After a couple of very serious days, it was nice to have a day that was purely fun. We learned very little today, and we had a fantastic time.

We started the day with a guided tour of Turner Coca-Cola Delta Coca-Cola Field Presented by Coca-Cola And Did We Mention Coca-Cola, the home of the Atlanta Braves. As ballpark tours go (and I’ve been on eight or 10 by now), it was just OK. There were very few stories about the ballpark’s history and although we did get to see the clubhouse it was from behind a velvet rope. But we did get to sit in the giant Coca-Cola chairs and see the Coca-Cola Party Deck and the giant Coca-Cola cannons and the even giant-er Coca-Cola fireworks launcher.

Corporate synergy aside, touring a Major League ballpark is never a bad way to spend a morning.

You’ll never guess what we did next. That’s right, we went to World of Coke! Two years ago Sam did a research report for school about Dr. Pemberton, the dude who invented Coke, so he was really excited for this. He was not disappointed. During a two-hour indoctrination tour, we saw lots of old Coke memorabilia, learned about the bottling process, and watched a 4D movie about how awesome Coke is and how we are the secret ingredient that makes it special. But the coolest parts were the last two things we did there. Because Coke is such a major sponsor of the Olympics, they got to keep the torch that was used in the U.S. leg of the Olympic torch relay, and visitors to World of Coke get to hold and pose with the torch, which is a pretty awesome opportunity if you’re into the Olympics at all, which we definitely are.

Even better was the tasting room, where you get a cup and free reign to gulp down Coke products that are sold in other parts of the world. A few were pretty disgusting but most were pretty good. Among other surprises, we noticed that Coke makes a lot of apple-flavored sodas for other countries, and we got to drink flavors made specifically for Thailand (delicious), Italy (horrible, like Robitussin), and Djibouti (just OK-tasting, but it’s fun to say “Djibouti”).

For lunch we headed to Atlanta’s best and most interesting kosher restaurant, a South American place called Fuego Mundo. I had beef skewers with beans and fired plantains, which were the best I’ve had. And the Hamster must have been feeling adventurous, because he ordered something called the Wild Colombian Hot Dog, which was a hot dog on a crusty bun, split open and topped with diced grilled chicken, french fried onions, shredded lettuce, and what tasted roughly like apple sauce and tartar sauce. It sounds crazy but he loved it. We left the place wishing we were staying longer in Atlanta just so we could eat there again.

Originally Hamster and I wanted to take the CNN studio tour but last night as I checked us into our lousy motel I noticed a brochure for Legoland. Sam loves Legos and I knew Legoland would be great for him but we didn’t have any free time in which to fit it in. So we ditched CNN and went to Legoland instead. Great call. The phony factory tour they forced us to sit through right when we walked in was awful but then we were free to roam. We spent some time in a miniature Lego version of downtown Atlanta complete with baseball and football stadiums, state capitol, CNN building, and other landmarks.

Then Sam spent almost an hour building vehicles that he could race on a very short downhill track. We coud have stayed there all day but Chattanooga beckoned.

Specifically, the Chattanooga Lookouts, a minor-league affiliate of the Dodgers. We got caught in some heavy rush-hour traffic on our way out of Atlanta but thanks in part to wolfing down a sub-par dinner in the car (good thing we had a great lunch) we managed to make it to the game just in time for first pitch. Not only did the Lookouts win 3-1 thanks to a late-inning home run, but Sam once again got two balls tossed to him by players during the game.

And he wasn’t done there: between innings the team mascot threw soft mini-balls into the crowd and of course Sam ended up with one of those, too. And upon further inspection it is not merely a ball but, according to the printing on the ball, also a coupon for a free queso at some local place called Abuelo’s. We’re only going there if they serve Wild Colombian Hot Dogs.

The Hamster and I had a fantastic day. It was so disjointed and unexpected and organic and interesting that instead of leading with some sort of overarching theme I’ll just jump into what happened.

Last night when Sam went to sleep I had only a vague idea of what we’d be doing in Savannah. When he woke up this morning I had a clear plan. Upon entering Savannah we headed straight for Congregation Mickve Israel, the third-oldest Jewish congregation in America and the only gothic synagogue (architecturally speaking) on the entire continent.

It started as an Orthodox congregation in 1733, just a few months after the founding of the Georgia colony, but in the late 1800s it gradually shifted left until it officially became Reform in 1903. Today it’s still a very active building that includes a relatively new (2003) educational wing with a mini-museum focused on the history of the congregation in particular and Savannah Judaism in general. Tours are given several times daily by stereotypically delightful southern old ladies, and we had a fascinating one. The building is stunning inside and out and the stories are fascinating.

We learned about the architecture (the columns are not actually marble but cast iron painted with a faux marble finish), the congregation’s founders (they were all from London and were mostly Sephardic of Spanish descent with the exception of two Ashkenazi families, until about 15 years later when England and Spain went to war and Spanish Florida threatened to conquer Georgia, sending the Spanish Jews in Georgia fleeing northward to avoid another Inquisition and leaving only Ashkenazim in Savannah), and historic Jewish influence in the area (the first kosher bakery in Savannah was hired to bake the first batch of Girl Scout Cookies–a batch of 92,364 cookies, according to the order form).

We also saw a deerskin Torah scroll that dates back to the 1400s and is still used by the congregation once a year: on July 11, the anniversary of their founding. And the best part is that the tour and museum kept Sam’s interest the entire time. Actually, the best part was immediately after the tour, when Sam and I stood in the sanctuary and said afternoon prayers knowing all that had transpired over three centuries to make it possible. It’s endlessly uplifting and inspiring to know that, almost 300 years ago, a small band of Jews set off on a dangerous voyage to a new continent to make sure there was a place that they could worship G-d appropriately and then set about preserving it so that countless generations (and the Hamster and I) could follow them.

Our next stop was not as moving but was impressive nonetheless: the antebellum Owens-Thomas mansion.

Built in 1819 for some really rich dude, the house and gardens are beautiful, and Sam and I were equally wowed by the ornate double staircase, the third-story bridge (literally, a bridge to get from the front of the house to the back), and the fact that the house had indoor bathrooms on all three levels years before even the White House had multilevel plumbing. I wish I could include photos of the staircase and bridge but they don’t allow picture-taking inside the house. So here are a few more shots of the exterior and gardens:

Before I move on I should probably mention that Sam was most impressed with a very stately period chaise we saw on the third floor: “Awesome couch. Seriously. For years I’ve been wanting a couch like that.” We go to one nice house and suddenly he’s Nate Freakin’ Berkus. I don’t even know whose kid this is sometimes.

The day was going very well but it was about to get better, thanks to our visit to the flagship store of the Savannah Bee Company. If you haven’t ordered honey from them online, you really need to. I don’t remember how I first heard of them but a couple of years ago I ordered a sampler pack and all I wanted to do was order more. Their honey is sustainably produced, kosher, available in lots of unusual varieties, not terribly expensive, and FREAKING DELICIOUS! When I realized we’d probably be including Savannah on this road trip the first thing I put on the Savannah to-do list was to see if we could take a tour here or something. Turns out there are no factory tours but the “or something” was pretty great: a honey tasting, featuring seven varieties of honey and one large bite of raw honeycomb that was like liquid sugar exploding in my mouth. It was so good that I bought jars of every variety to bring home. Hours (and hundreds of miles) later when I was putting Sam to bed we both agreed that the honey was the best part of a great day.

As we tasted, we also chatted with the counter girls about the character of Savannah. If I can say so without condescension, Savannah is an adorable city. Throughout the downtown area, homes are beautiful houses full of individual and collective character rather than apartment buildings.

Major streets are not only lined with interesting native trees but also intentionally interrupted with public squares full of walkways, flowers, and the occasional statue.

Even commercial areas are attractive, with awnings or understated signs rather than neon. Streets are occasionally paved with cobblestone. Sidewalks are occasionally paved with brick. The city is small enough that getting around is quick and easy and big enough to offer variety. Street parking is metered almost everywhere but is also readily available. There’s little to no traffic (the girl at Savanna Bee Company insisted that Friday afternoons have traffic but I don’t believe her). And there’s history of all kinds, not just of slavery and Confederate warmongering.

Our hunger stoked by artisanal honey, before leaving town we made ourselves lunch and ate it while wandering Forsyth Park, a mini-Central Park in the heart of the historic district whose most famous feature is a pretty impressive fountain.

Up next was Stone Mountain, a town half an hour outside of Atlanta known for its namesake mountain, which features a massive, Rushmore-esque 3D carving of three Confederate “heroes” on horseback. But to get there we had to drive 250 miles first.

Now’s probably a good time to bring up the frequent, brief bursts of rain. For the past three days, the weather’s been mostly sunny and hot, except for brief periods when, completely out of nowhere, it gets very dark, rains very hard, and then quickly goes back to being sunny and dry. The first time it happened was in Myrtle Beach while Sam was taking a shower. When he went into the bathroom, it was sunny and the beach was teeming with tourists. When he got out, it was sunny and the beach was teeming with tourists. In between it poured and beachgoers scurried for shelter. He didn’t believe us when we told him what had happened. Now he does. All day Sunday in Charleston the weather fluctuated like this, raining terribly for a few minutes every hour or so. The same thing happened today but was timed a bit better so that we never actually got wet. That is, until we were about halfway to Stone Mountain, and the skies opened up and didn’t close. I’ve never driven through worse rain. Even with the windshield wipers on top speed, visibility was near zero.

Sam had been watching “The Natural” on our portable DVD player to pass the time, and he had to shut it off because the rain was so loud that he couldn’t hear the movie, even on full volume. We slowed from 75 mph to about 10, and I was nervous going even that fast. And the rain didn’t let up at all for over half an hour. Soon I was less worried about visibility than I was about getting stuck in a newly formed lake on the Interstate.

Eventually the rain did subside, the sun came back out, and by the time we arrived at Stone Mountain Park there was no trace of the storm. Before we headed to see the mountain carving we decided to take advantage of the newly beautiful weather and have dinner. On the recommendation of the parking attendant at the entrance, we found a quiet picnic area next to a grist mill and waterfall that provided both a place to grill and a great view while we ate.

After dinner we drove around looking for a good vantage point for the carving. Every night during the summer there’s a laser light show on the mountain at dusk. It took us a while but we found the main viewing deck, which turned out to be an area called Memorial Park. I was impressed until I realized what was being memorialized: the Confederacy. OK, I guess in hindsight the 50-foot-high carving of Jefferson Davis, Stonewall Jackson, and Robert E. Lee was a pretty big clue.

Still, even after all I’ve seen in the past couple of days I couldn’t have imagined the pro-Confederacy spectacle we saw. On the observation deck was an engraved quote about how brave and honorable the Confederate soldiers were to die protecting their rights. Never mind that they died protecting their right to take away other people’s rights. On both sides of the lawn in the photo above are several smaller decks, each dedicated to the Civil War efforts of a different Confederate state, with a plaque describing the great valor shown by that state’s residents in fighting this wonderful war. We tried to focus on the engineering and craftsmanship of the carving rather than its meaning, but the shameless celebration of America’s biggest mistake was impossible to ignore. The Confederate soldiers (and civilians) who died trying to protect the despicable institution of slavery still deserve to be mourned and certainly deserve to be remembered. But the display at Stone Mountain Park does not merely memorialize them–it honors them. It a stomach-turning end to an otherwise pretty fantastic day.

To make matters worse, we thought we found a place to spend the night, only to find out that United Suites does not have any nonsmoking rooms. I don’t mean they don’t have any available tonight, I mean they allow smoking in every single one of their rooms. I didn’t even know such a motel existed but I would bet that Mayor Bloomberg has never stayed there. Actually, considering how run down the place was, even if they banned smoking completely he’d be pretty unlikely to stay there.

By the time we checked into a nonsmoking room in a motel a few miles down the highway, it was late, our spirits were getting low, and we were in need of a happy ending. Luckily we had one with us: Sam plopped down on his bed, took out the DVD player, and we watched the rest of “The Natural.” Roy Hobbs knocked out the lights, the Knights won the pennant, Sam drifted off to sleep, and they lived happily ever after.

I knew when I planned this trip that we’d be seeing a lot of Civil War-related stuff: statues, forts, museums, battlefields, etc. I also knew that we’d be delving into the history of some cities that don’t exactly have the most exemplary history, from a human rights standpoint. What I didn’t realize is that many of these cities and sites don’t simply commemorate their sordid history but, in ways subtle and blatant, celebrate it.

In Virginia, we saw statues of Confederate “heroes” like Jefferson Davis, Stonewall Jackson, and Robert E. Lee, and in Washington, DC we saw the Robert E. Lee statue that the state of Virginia had donated to the Capitol. (Every state donated two statues to the Capitol, all of prominent residents of the state. Considering how many of our Founding Fathers came from Virginia, it’s pretty noticeable–and telling–that Virginia chose to honor Lee.)

Obviously growing up in the North gives me a perspective different from that of many southerners, but I just don’t think I’ll ever understand the lasting pride in the Confederacy. I’m not nearly as concerned about having Alabama’s deplorable history of resisting the civil rights movement ruin our visit there later this week, because the state is now a bastion of civil rights museums and tributes to the leaders who helped garner those rights, not a depository for statues of Governor Wallace and other local bigots. I wish places like Charleston would take a lesson, because the disturbing part of its history really tainted almost everything we did.

Our first stop today was Fort Sumter, the site of the Civil War’s first battle. It’s hardly a coincidence that the war started here: a few months before the battle, South Carolina was the first state to secede. For their part, the Park Rangers presented the battle in neutral terms–two sides that believed so strongly in their positions that they were willing to go to war. And the only dedication there is to Major Robert Anderson, the Union officer who commanded the fort until the Confederates forcibly took it from him. But the ferry to the fort leaves from Liberty Square, an ironic name considering that the battle was fought because South Carolinians were willing to kill U.S. soldiers to protect their “right” to keep liberty out of the hands of so many people. And the once imposing fort built to protect the country from foreign invasion is now largely rubble, thanks to an attack from its own countrymen.

We also visited downtown Charleston’s historic district, advertised all over the place as beautiful and charming. Architecturally, it certainly lives up to its billing–this part of the city is absolutely breathtaking. The multilevel porches, the columns, the pastel colors … it’s extraordinary.

And yet, as I gaped at the antebellum mansions it was hard not to think of the slaves who staffed those houses and on whose backs their owners were able to afford such opulence.

We then visited the Battery, a public park on the waterfront that would be rather peaceful if it weren’t for all the Civil War cannons and statues peppered around the perimeter.

Among the area’s more popular attractions are several prewar plantations that offer guided tours. I put a couple of them on my to-do list but I messed up in terms of timing and they were all closed by the time we were ready to go see them.

Another stop I had hoped to make in Charleston was the Old Slave Mart, a museum that stands on the spot of one of the very first places that handcuffed Africans were brought so that they could be sold into slavery. I wanted to go there for similar reasons that I go to Holocaust museums and memorials: to understand the pain of the countless victims who came through there and to feel the horror that not enough people felt at the time. Sam, understandably, wasn’t interested. “I don’t want to go,” he said. “It’s scary and it makes me feel sad. I don’t care that it’s closed forever–if we go there, it might seem like it’s just closed for the day.”

We didn’t go. Instead, we visited a monument to true inclusiveness and equality: Congregation Beth Elohim, the birthplace of Reform Judaism and the oldest Reform synagogue in the world.

Not that I’m a proponent of Reform Judaism. But it was a nice change of pace to see a beautiful old building that has a history of inclusion rather than abuse. Unfortunately, we were too late once again, and we weren’t able to go inside. (That theme kept repeating all afternoon. Our last stop in Charleston was the WWII aircraft carrier the USS Yorktown, permanently docked at the U.S. Navy’s official maritime museum here, but when we arrived we were told that the 45 minutes we had until closing time wasn’t nearly enough and were sent away.)

On the way out of town we appreciated the guilt-free beauty of the Arthur Ravenel Jr. Bridge, one of the longest cable bridges in the world and certainly one of the coolest looking. It opened in 2005, which means it was built by union workers who were paid for their efforts.

As charming as Charleston is physically, I was somewhat eager to leave town. Monday will be spent in Savannah, which has a pretty similar history in many ways, but I’ve already learned my lesson. We may visit an antebellum mansion or two but we’ll spend most of our time in more modern parts of town so we can appreciate all the city has to offer now instead of focusing on all it took away back then.

I’m writing this late Saturday night / early Sunday morning, so you’ve got a little catching up to do. I’ll try to make this quick, because you and I both need to get some sleep.

Friday morning we drove about three and a half hours to Myrtle Beach, SC, or “the Redneck Riviera” as it’s known to some. Along the way we passed 21 billboards for South of the Border. (Sam counted them–it became our new game to pass the time.) When I was in college I drove down to Florida with a couple of friends (well, they drove and I tagged along because I was pretty late in getting a driver’s license, but that’s another story for another time). We had never heard of South of the Border but we were intrigued by all the billboards for it, so we stopped in when we finally got there. What a colossal disappointment. It was basically a Mexican-themed Chuck E. Cheese (Carlos Y. Queso?) that was half gift shop. This time I was not going to make the same mistake. As the Hamster and I sped by, it looked like the place had grown significantly since my college days and might even be worth a stop. But we had somewhere more important to be: Myrtle Beach International Airport.

It was there that we picked up my wife (Sam’s mom), who brought with her not only the smile and hugs we’d both been missing, but some much-needed supplies from home, chiefly our pillows and the newly found charger for the camera battery.

Reunited, the three of us headed off to check into our hotel and visit the only kosher restaurant in the area to pick up food for shabbos. Those two activities took more than two hours, but we still managed to find time to ride the tallest Ferris wheel east of the Mississippi and play 18 holes of minigolf at a pretty darned-impressive pirate-themed course complete with cannon blasts, shipwrecks, and treasure-filled caves that we had to play through.

Obviously there’s a lot of stuff that happens each day that I don’t mention in this space for various reasons. One of them is that, when Sam and I were swimming in the Outer Banks, he got hit with a wave that took his goggles out of his hand, and before he could grab them they were taken by the undertow, lost forever as a sacrifice to Poseidon or something. I just told you that story so I could tell you this one: on Friday Mom brought him another pair of goggles from home, but the lost ones had a nose covering and the replacements don’t. He’s very particular about these things, so on Friday afternoon we stopped at one of the billion beachwear stores that dot the main drag here and got him a new pair of full-facemask goggles. Well, today he took them to the beach and it took less than an hour for a wave to take them right off his head and out to sea. Poseidon must be pretty ticked about something.

Anyway, shabbos was spent reconnecting, eating very well, relaxing by the beach, futilely looking for Sam’s goggles, and enjoying the hotel pool, which included two sprinkler areas, a two-story water slide, and a lazy river. This seemed pretty amazing to us at first but it appears to be de rigeur for Myrtle Beach hotels. Myrtle Beach strikes me as a kind of gentrified Coney Island, but one that’s meant more for tourists than for locals. It seems like every building that’s anywhere near the beach is either a place for tourists to stay or a place for tourists to spend some time and money. Beachfront hotels are tall and narrow so more of them can squeeze in, and the blocks immediately behind them are filled in with carnival rides and games, bars, restaurants, souvenir shops, minigolf, and the aforementioned beachwear stores. Sometimes a couple of these places are combined into one. The beach, like everything else here, is crowded but pretty nice and open late into the night.

Speaking of which, tonight we went to a little tourism smorgasbord called Broadway at the Beach, an outdoor mall packed with various tourist chain restaurants (Hard Rock, Planet Hollywood, etc.), tourist chain bars (Senior Frogs, etc.), souvenir shops, snack kiosks, and various activities including a couple of theaters, a zipline and ropes course, and a lake right in the middle of it all. It’s like the Myrtle Beach version of Times Square. This is normally not my thing but we went there specifically for a place called WonderWorks that might be best described as what would happen if Dave & Busters and a science museum had a child together.

It was a bit overpriced but we had a great time. We lifted ourselves with pulleys …

… lay on a bed of nails …

… struck out the Phillie Phanatic …

… landed a space capsule …

…and blew giant bubbles.

OK, I believe you’re all caught up. Now if you’ll excuse me, my real pillows from home await.

You know that feeling you get when you find a really fantastic parking spot? It’s a mix of triumph, invincibility, and paranoia that maybe you’re not really allowed to park there. Once you triple-check the signs to make sure it’s OK, you know it’s a good omen that maybe things are going to go your way today.

The first place we went today was the North Carolina State Capitol in Raleigh, and we got a parking spot directly across street from the building entrance. If the governor has a better parking spot, I’d like to see it.

The building itself is not the biggest capitol we’ve been to, but it’s the only one we’ve been allowed to wander by ourselves. On our self-guided tour we went inside the chambers for the state Senate and House of Representatives, and we peeked into the state library and, oddly, the state geologist’s office. We also saw a very strange statue of George Washington dressed like a Renaissance painter.

Then we watched a brief video that revealed that none of those rooms have been in use since at least the 1960s, and the statue is a copy of the original which was destroyed decades ago in a fire. Well, at least we got that great parking spot.

We didn’t even have to move the car to go to the next stop: the Raleigh Life Science Museum, which was recommended to us by people I’ve literally known my entire life.

When I was five years old, my family moved from one part of Queens to another. On moving day, my mother sent me to hang out with her childhood friend Jean so that my parents could tend to the move. Now, keeping me entertained for a whole day is a lot to ask of anyone. It’s a particularly onerous favor to ask of someone who lives in upstate New York, as Jean and her husband, John, did at the time. Jean and John are probably the kindest people I know. About 15 years ago, Jean and her husband John moved from New York to North Carolina—specifically, a town  about half an hour south of the Raleigh-Durham-Chapel Hill triangle. If someone told me they did it just so that they’d be able to show Hamster and me around Raleigh today and then house us tonight, I might even believe it.

We caught up on various family events as we walked through the museum helping Sam spot amphibians and learning the difference between voles and moles. It would’ve been nice to spend more time with them, but like I said, keeping me entertained for a whole day is a lot to ask of anyone. So we said our goodbyes and headed off to Durham for a tour of Duke University.

Why Duke? Well, Sam’s best friend, Harry, is a huge Duke basketball fan. Sam (like most Americans) is only mildly interested in college basketball until the NCAA Tournament begins, but thanks to Harry he was curious to see Duke. Besides, we had tickets to the Durham Bulls game at 7pm and we needed something to do until then. We also took a tour of the Notre Dame campus on last year’s trip, so Sam has now taken two more college campus tours than I ever did before I started college. As we stood outside the admissions building, he turned to me and said, “Come on, Dad, let’s go get me into college!”

The architecture is extraordinary and the campus is beautiful, but all that walking on what turned out to be a very hot day (according to the car’s thermometer, it was 95 degrees when we arrived on campus) exhausted us and left us little patience for what turned out to be a very admissions-focused tour. Lots of information about academic programs and campus life, and not a whole lot about the Blue Devils. Well, at least Sam now knows where the freshman dorms are and that he won’t have to declare a major until halfway through sophomore year.

Thankfully it was much cooler out by the time we got to the ballgame. At the game we met up with another old friend, this time someone I haven’t seen since we were coworkers in 2006. The game was great all around: the ballpark is beautiful, our seats were in the fifth row and right next to the Bulls’ dugout, the Bulls won 1-0, we got to see Major League superstar Evan Longoria in action while he finishes rehabbing an injury, Sam caught not one but two game-used balls tossed to him by Bulls players, and he was shown on the stadium’s big screen holding up his souvenirs (or if you prefer, he had a lot of balls to show off on the big screen).

To top it off, the whole day was practically free. There was no admission charge at the capitol or the museum and the Bulls tickets were only $8 each. And I’m writing this from Jean and John’s house. Not a hotel, not a motel, but an actual home. That parking spot turned out to be a good omen after all.

When you take a major road trip, especially when you do it with a 10-year-old, you need to miraculously marry meticulous planning with extreme flexibility. The planning comes naturally to me, but the easy-going flexibility, well, not so much. But today I needed to be an Olympic gymnast. Today we had a great plan that started disintegrating literally the moment I woke up and only got worse from there.

For starters, we got to bed pretty late last night so Sam wouldn’t budge this morning. I managed to shower and get us packed up while he got an extra hour–hour–of sleep, so we were only about 20 minutes behind schedule when we headed out. I wasn’t exactly as deft as the U.S. women on the vault, but I think I did OK.

We were on the road for a few minutes when it occurred to me that there was something besides pillows that I forgot to bring from home: beach chairs, or a beach blanket, or beach towels, or really anything that might be useful at a beach. This was a bit of a problem because the plan was to spend most of the afternoon at one of the beaches on North Carolina’s legendary Outer Banks. But soon we passed a Wal-Mart, which gave me an idea. We stopped in and bought a cheap king-size flat sheet to use as a beach blanket and found a beach towel on sale for $4. Ten minutes later we were back on the road all ready for the beach. Meticulous planning 0, Flexibility 2.

We had a few interesting stops to make before the beach, though. The first was a last-minute addition to the itinerary and the kind of thing we never would have done if the girls were with us: Digger’s Dungeon, home of the legendary monster truck Grave Digger. The place is right on the highway we had to take anyway, so it was a no-brainer. We posed with the truck, ogled a bunch of its awards, and even took a ride in a monster truck around a small dirt track. (I’d insert video here but I took it with my camera, which died a little later in the day.) So far, so good. Except that it was drizzling, which did not bode well for our beach plans. But what could we do? We hoped the weather would clear up later, and moved on.

The next stop was Kitty Hawk, which turns out not to be the site where the Wright Brothers took their first powered flight. That event was in the next town over, Kill Devil Hills, but apparently KDH was largely uninhabited in 1903 so the Wrights had to run over to Kitty Hawk just to find a post office where they could send news of their success. Anyway, the town of Kitty Hawk took advantage of the misconception in 2003 and, for the 100th anniversary of the first flight, dedicated the pretty impressive Monument to a Century of Flight, a Stonehengesque spiral of aluminum spires with plaques detailing the biggest highlights in aviation history.

Sadly, the monument is behind a parking lot which itself is behind the Outer Banks Welcome Center, so you really have to go looking for it. (See, that’s where the meticulous planning comes in.)

That was about when my camera’s battery died. And we didn’t bring the charger with us because we couldn’t find it when we were packing for our trip. Not to worry, I just started using my cell phone camera. I was improvising so well I almost applied for a job with Second City.

Up next was the Wright Brothers National Memorial in Kill Devil Hills, where we learned about their research and inventions, saw a recreation of the shack where they lived for four years as they tinkered, viewed the markers showing exactly where their first four successful flights took off and landed, climbed up the biggest hill to a giant airplane-tail-shaped monument that doubles as a lighthouse, and laughed about how the Wright Brothers Pavillion looks like a couple of giant macaroons.

Unfortunately we also got SOAKED, because by this time it was absolutely pouring.

[Side note: if you have even the slightest interest in history or aviation you really need to visit this place. It’s inexpensive, the park rangers run lots of great programs throughout the day, and it really gives you a deeper appreciation for what the Wrights went through and how their developments begat a whole industry. It’s awe-inspiring to think that in 1902 there was no such thing as an airplane, and a dozen years later military planes were dropping bombs all over Europe, and within 66 years of the Wrights’ first flight we flew people to the moon.]

Thanks to Sam’s late wake-up, our Wal-Mart pit stop, and some pretty bad traffic we were well behind schedule by this point, but it didn’t really matter because the weather had pretty much ruled out the beach. In fact I was starting to worry that we wouldn’t even have dinner because the plan was to grill burgers at a random rest stop on the way toward Raleigh tonight. We were both pretty sorely disappointed about the beach, but since we were already in the habit of improvising we settled on a new plan: we’d head to the beach in a town called Nags Head anyway just to take a quick look and see what all the hype is about, and then we’d play mini-golf before heading west toward Raleigh. Now that we were in no hurry, I spotted a barbershop and we stopped off for badly needed haircuts. The afternoon may be a loss but at least we were being productive.

The barbershop turned out to be the best call of the day, but for a very different reason: it delayed us by a half hour or so, and by the time we got to Nags Head the rain had stopped. So we took our bedsheet/beach blanket and our $4 towel and set up shop. The beach, by the way, is beautiful. I totally understand the hype. The sand is nothing particularly special to look at but it’s super soft. The water, too, is not the clearest or the bluest but it’s warm and the waves are somehow both large and gentle. And the backdrop of dunes and wood shingle beach houses is so charming and timeless it’s like walking into a movie set in the ’60s.

And then, while we were bouncing around in the water, it happened: the sun came out! We soaked it up for as long as we could before it was time to head out. We even found a nicer-than-expected rest stop where we grilled up some delicious burgers, and we made good time heading west, to boot.

And yes, that is broccoli on his plate.

In the end it was a fantastc day. It was certainly not without its challenges, but we met every one of them with open arms.

Of course, I’m still hoping tomorrow goes according to plan.

The whole way to Washington, DC, Sam and I both had a weird feeling that we had forgotten something important. As soon as I got into bed Monday night, I realized what I had forgotten: my pillows. Last year, bringing my pillows from home turned out to be one of the smartest moves of the whole trip, ensuring a comfortable night’s sleep in even the most decrepit motel (and there were certainly quite a few vying for the title of Most Decrepit Motel). The Econo Lodge we stayed in Monday night was adequate, but the pillows were lumpy and it was not the best night’s sleep I’ve ever had.

[Side note: One thing I’ve learned from staying in motels of all kinds all over the country is that there’s very little brand consistency at the bottom of the food chain. A Comfort Inn or a Microtel or whatever in one place can be very different from a place with the same name a couple of states away. Sometimes they’re nicer than I have a right to expect, and other times, well, not so much. Tonight, for example, we’re in a Sleep Inn that, quite surprisingly, has a vast, well-appointed lobby, a gym, a pool, a free hot buffet breakfast, and conference facilities. I’ve stayed in other Sleep Inns where the only conference I could imagine being held there would be the local chapter of the national crack whores union. Econo Lodge, though, is pretty consistent. An Econo Lodge in Oregon is pretty much exactly the same as an Econo Lodge in Virginia. They’re always pretty bare bones with virtually no lobby, rooms you enter directly from the outside, a continental breakfast that consists of only cold cereal and toast, and a price that’s pretty cheap yet still about $5 more than it seems like it should be. It may barely adequate, but at least it’s consistently so.]

Anyway, after a day with a lot of driving followed by a mediocre night’s sleep, today was designed to be pretty easy: Colonial Williamsburg, followed by Busch Gardens, and very little driving. All the official marketing copy says that you need 2-4 days to see Colonial Williamsburg. This is complete BS. I mean, the place is huge and there’s plenty to do and you probably could spend 2-4 days there–as long as you don’t have children. Because no child I know is going to spend more than one “vacation” day learning about colonial times. Immune to the marketing boilerplate, Sam and I planned to spend about 3 hours in Colonial Williamsburg. When we got there, the first thing we did was head to the information desk in the visitors center and ask what we should focus on, considering we had only a few hours. The man looked at me and said, “Well, to see Colonial Williamsburg you really need 2-4 days.” I looked back at him with an expression that made it pretty clear we were serious about the three hours. And then he saved my life. OK, not my life, but a large amount of my money. He suggested that instead of spending $68 total on one-day tickets for the two of us, I spend $4 total on tickets for the hop-on-and-off shuttle bus that runs in a constant loop around the grounds. Without day passses we wouldn’t be able to enter many of the buildings, but we could still wander around, talk to “townspeople,” and get a pretty good feel for the place. Genius!

For me, the biggest draws were the governor’s palace, which housed Thomas Jefferson and various Virginia governors back in the day, and the downtown area where they have a bunch of shops and taverns and have costumed employees act out reasonably authentic scenes from the era. I would have loved a guided tour of the palace but I doubt Sam would have, so that part worked out pretty well. And we both enjoyed the downtown area, although we almost missed out on a couple of reenactments because they’re only for people with day passes. I say “almost” because, well, we kind of snuck in anyway. We saw a quill-writing demonstration, some swordplay, and an argument about possible revolution that was over Sam’s head.

And here’s the best part: because we weren’t really supposed to be there we stayed toward the back of the crowd, which enabled us to “overhear” some commentary by “uninvolved” colonists who were standing behind us griping to nobody in particular about the events in front of us. This, to me, shows the Colonial Williamsburg folks are major league. It’s impressive enough that they reenact these historical events in such authentic detail, but planting extra colonists among the audience to add both extra flavor and illumination shows is the kind of thoughtful touch that makes Colonial Williamsburg the kind of place that I’ve known about since I was a kid while Colonial Yorktown, which is literally just a few miles down the road, is a place I never heard of until I practically drove past it today.

Perhaps the most interesting part of our stay there, though, was when Sam chose soap as his souvenir. Yup. Pomegranate-scented soap, roughly the size and shape of a tennis ball. He saw it when we walked into one of the apothecary shops and he was so amused by the shape and the seeming randomness of the available scents (lemon, magnolia, burberry, and pineapple were the others) that my 10-year-old boy chose to own his own soap. Between the bus tickets and the soap souvenir, I can’t decide which is the best $2 I spent today.

The performances got me thinking, though, about the actors in them, and how they feel about their jobs. Presumably each one of them was once in high school or college dreaming of becoming a professional actor. In a sense that dream has come true and has died at the same time.

I had the same thoughts a few hours later when, as we wandered Busch Gardens, we stumbled upon a pretty entertaining ripoff of Stomp, this time set in an Italian restaurant with musician chefs and dancing waiters.

There they were: professional musicians, professional dancers. Are they living their dreams, getting paid to perform and hearing the applause of hundreds of people every day? Or are they settling for a pathetic gig, not good enough to make it big like they had hoped? I’d bet the answer depends on which performer you ask.

Busch Gardens, in case you’re wondering, was fun. But it left me just as confused about what makes Sam tick as I was when he opted for soap as a souvenir. He told me several times how awesome Busch Gardens was, and he didn’t want to leave, but he didn’t do very much while we were there. There are about half a dozen incredible roller coasters, but Sam doesnt like roller coasters. (That was fine with me, because I don’t either.) There were a few areas for kids, but most of the stuff there was too babyish for him. And for various reasons he didn’t want to go on many of the in-between rides. Normally I would have been fine with this, but after spending only a few dollars at Colonial Williamsburg I was in for some pretty severe sticker shock at Busch Gardens. Admission to most amusement parks is somewhere in the $30-50 range, but Busch was $68 for each of us, plus $13 for parking. And you know those big souvenir cups of soda that come with free refills at most parks? Those free refills are $1 each at Busch Gardens. They even charge $5 to blow warm air on you when you get off the water rides. And the ratio of shops and vendors to rides has got to be at least 6 or 7 to one. The place makes DisneyWorld look like a nonprofit. I spent close to $200 there, and I didn’t even buy food. And it rained for an hour or so. We did manage to find a handful of rides to go on and some other fun stuff to do, and I will say that the place is physically beautiful. Still, between the paucity of in-between rides and the ungodly prices I’d rank it pretty low on my list of amusement parks I’ve been to. Somehow, though, Sam loved it. Certainly his optimistic view is related in part to the fact that, in the one carnival game I allowed him to play, he won a soccer ball so hunormous that we had a rather comical moment trying to get it into the car when we left.

He raved about the place after we left–he even thanked me (unsolicited) for taking him there. Very little of this day went the way I expected, but for Sam it was a dream come true.