--- Fading the White Line --- A journey across the American South
My Journey begins many years ago. I can't remember the precise moment it started or what it was that triggered this whole affair, but at somepoint I knew that Texas and the Southern States of America was where I wanted, no needed, to be. And this is the story of those travels; the bewiching scenery, the crazy characters, the adventures, the food, the beer, the music, the dreams and the realities about this place I have thought about for so long.
If I were to tell you of a land comprising of towering noble mountains, great open plains, vast immeasurable chasms, raging wild rivers, pristine white desserts, giant soaring pillars of rocks and great coloured waves of earth you would think I was speaking of a land inhabited by elves, goblins and hobbits. However, this is what surrounds you as you cross the remarkable lands of Arizona and New Mexico. (Although I have seen some very strange looking people since I’ve been here though!)
I’ve included some photo’s as always with this blog but there is no way you can adequately capture in a single frame the majesty and sheer breath taking beauty that you encounter around almost every bend as you traverse this part of the world.
I could spend page after page exalting the praises of the places I have visited and you could spends weeks, in stead of the five days I had, exploring the places yourself, so I will just pick out a couple of highlights.
MonumentValley, the star of countless western films, and as famous a backdrop as any in the United States, is amazing. This is not simply a movie set though. Taking millions of years to form and representing a very spiritual site for the Navaho Indians that have lived there for generations, you feel you know the place so well already but are still blown away by these monoliths splendour and dignity as they stand guard over the land; centurions of centuries of change. You would expect here in America that there would be a Mall attached to them by now selling cheap, tacky souvenirs, and a theme park with people wandering around in foam suites dressed as ‘Morris the Monolith’ to attract as many people as possible and take all their money. But here, as with all of the natural wonders I visited there is no marketing, no hype, no schemes to empty your wallet, just the landscape itself, which is all you need.
The Grand Canyon. I’m not sure what I can write about. This is such a indescribable place, that no amount of words or pictures can even do it an ounce of justice. I was prepared before I saw it to be blown away and amazed by its size and scale, but the moment that you first see it you can’t honestly comprehend it all. There is so much to take in all at ounce that your levels of scale and perception are altered because your brain can’t understand seeing something so vast. And what you can see of it from any one place is only a fraction of the whole thing. It floors you that all it takes is time and water to create such a thing. It takes a whole day just to get to the bottom of it! What the first settlers moving west thought when they first came across this mightiest of barriers I don’t know. I think I would have just stopped given up at that point.
And there are countless other places as well; Meteor Crater, The Petrified Forrest, White Sands National Park, El Morro, The Hoover Dam, along with all the natural beauty of the country in between all these places which can be just as striking and picturesque.
After leaving the man made, fake overindulgence of Las Vegas this was the perfect antidote that put all the lights and noise into even starker relief.
There are many, many beautiful natural wonders all over the world, all with their own unique charm and splendour but I can’t think of anywhere with so many different and varied locations with in such relatively close proximity to one another. When I look back on this trip in years to come I will remember all the lovely people I’ve met, the fun I’ve had and the adventures along the way, but I think what will stand out most in my mind are these few days and the wondrous places that I visited and the magnificent spectacles that I saw.
I'm back folks. Stop you’re crying, cease you’re fretting and put and end to those feelings of anxiety that have kept you awake at night over my short term departure from this blog.
I have been on a road trip for the last week or so, across the desserts of Nevada, the aching beauty of Arizona, the wilderness of New Mexico and the plains of Texas (more of this later).
But my journey began in Las Vegas. SinCity. The Neon Capitol. The place where dreams come true and fantasies can be realized. But for price of course.
Now I’ve wanted to go to Vegas for a long time now, ever since I started watching poker on TV and I saw all those players winning money, talking about the great shows and the best restaurants, and generally showing the city off as one great adult playground where anyone can come and enjoy themselves.
The reality, however, as I have found out, is not as rose tinted as they would have you believe. I was expecting it to be loud and tacky. There are hotels built like medieval castles, Egyptian pyramids and the squares and canals of Venice! 70 years ago the place was just a barren dessert. The whole town was built on a foundation of greed and hedonism, so I knew beforehand it was not going to be the most sophisticated or tasteful of places.
Everyone of your senses is attacked as soon as your free from your room, bright flashing lights and huge neon signs punctuate the night, alarms and bells ring out of every machine to attract your attention and to make you stop and play, the sickly sweet smell of doughnuts or roasting hot dogs permeates the casinos in case you get hungry and don’t want to leave your seat, hoards of people mill around, wondering up and down the street or the rows of slot machines looking lost or maybe just overwhelmed by everything they are taking in. Outside the casinos, away from the relative sanctuary that these behemoths provide, you are accosted every 20ft by someone trying to thrust cards into your hand with nude women on advertising strip joints or escort services 24/7, and when it’s not that there is a homeless person or beggar asking for money or people in costumes (and I use that word in the most loosest of senses) dressed up as cartoon characters posing for photos. The only small reprieve from all this I found was the fountain displays outside the Bellagio. For a few minuets you can forget where you are and enjoy a truly beautiful combination of music and natural wonder. A calm oasis in this dessert of intemperance.
Now all of this would be fine, acceptable even, if everyone there was enjoying themselves. But no one there appears to be having any fun at all. Everyone is walking around with a haggard look on their face, as though beaten down by all the excess that surrounds them. If it wasn’t for the noise of the slots the casino floors would be almost silent as people just sit there quietly and watch their money disappear. No one talks to one another, the odd glance across a blackjack table when the dealer gets 21 again, or the mumble from players around a roulette wheel as they chant for their number to come in. Everybody there knows they are going to loose, they expect it, assume it, but it’s what you do here.
And when you’re done gambling you have a few drinks remember you’re in Vegas and decide you must be having a good time, that’s why you came here, that’s why everyone else came here, so it must be true.
I don’t however believe it was always thus. Back when Vegas got going and the Mob ran the casinos and the town I think people did legitimately have fun. The first casinos; Binions Horseshoe, The Flamingo, The Stardust, weren’t built to make money themselves, but to launder the dirty money from the Mob. So they were run for fun, to give people a good time, to show off, and to give a bit of magic and pizzazz into the average person’s life, so that, for just a brief moment, they knew what it felt like to be Somebody. But all that disappeared when the conglomerates took over. They are only concerned with the bottom line and with extracting as much money out of each 'customer' as possible, and in doing so they have squeezed out all the romance, the enjoyment, and the fun from the one place in the world you knew you could get it.
Vegas is now just a business; the wild young teenager of the past has grown up, is wearing a suit, and looks at numbers all day. They have you believe you’re enjoying yourself while they are simply after the contents of your wallet. So bring back the gangsters, they're probably no more crooked than the CEOs are and they know how to have fun!
You might remember a few weeks back I mentioned in one of these blogs that I went and watched an event here in Austin called the Electric Run; a 5km race for charity after dark where everyone is wearing lights and glow sticks, there’s music and then a big party at the end. It turns out there are similar events to this almost every weekend.
Yesterday was the Colour Run. And this time I was taking part.
These things take place out at the Austin rodeo and carnival grounds. So after waking up at some un godly time in the morning, and after queuing for an hour to get in, we were met by a sea of 15,000 people in white T-shirts. Everyone had received a pack before the race containing race No. etc and a white colour run T-shirt and a pack of paint powder. There was only one rule: You start clean, and end up dirty!!!
A strong influence on the event is the Hindu festival Holi which celebrates the end of winter and the start of spring. It also removes some of the social boundaries between age, class and sex, everyone gets together to celebrate and have fun. This is something that definitely carries over into the Colour Run. There were people running from the ages of 1 – 85, and what better way than to disguise someone’s wealth, culture or upbringing than by having everyone where the same cloths and be covered in paint?
Every kilometre there is a different colour station where volunteers cover race goers in more paint, and they certainly don’t hold back. After the orange station everyone looked like the guy from the 90s Tango advert (I thought about slapping Graham in the face and shouting ‘You know when you’ve been Tango’d’ but I didn’t think anyone would understand and I might end up being tackled by a police officer, so I resisted), and when was the last time you saw a bright blue 70 year old?
At the end, there is another party around a dance stage where everyone opens their paint packets and the ground, the air, everything, descends into a rainbow of colour, movement and fun.
The tag line for the event is ‘The Happiest 5k run in the World’ and I can’t imagine there is one that can beat it. The atmosphere was great, everyone was having a good time and the more colourful you were the happier you became.
So I was thinking, why doesn’t Exeter do something like this? You have the location out at Westpoint, a large student population that would get behind it, and a strong local running community that would support it as well. Plus, it’s great fun!!! So I’m going to look into this when I get back and see if we can’t make this happen for next year. So if you think this is a good idea, want to help or know of anyone that could help me get this off the ground then let me know.
I’ll see you all next year then with your t-shirts and paint in hand.
It has certainly been a busy week this week. I have been joined for the last 7 days, out here on my journey of discovery, by my two friends Anna and Mark, and we've been on a musical marathon across the country; from the centre of American live music in Austin to the home of country music Nashville, and onto Memphis and Graceland, all while taking in the delights of Louisiana, Mississippi, Alabama and Arkansas. Fading the white line has never been more appropriate!! (that's over 2000 miles).
Nashville has for a while been somewhere where I have desperately wanted to go and explore, ever since I discovered the greatest, most heartfelt and true music that there is; Country. Now I know that most of you will scoff and look down at me as visions of Dolly Parton, rhinestones and hillbillies in trucker caps flash across your mind, but that's like thinking all Americans are fat, stupid and shallow. Ok, bad example, (while driving across the southern states one woman had never heard of England and the other asked if we were from France!!), but I guaranty your prejudices of country music would change once you arrived in Nashville. The whole place is dedicated to it's musical charms with live music porting out of every bar and enough hats and boots to stock an army of cowboys. But the jewel of the crown is the Grand Ole Opry. This is a live weekly concert that has been broadcast on the radio without interruption for almost 60 years and has hosted the greatest names in the business and brings the country music community together like no other.
On Friday, the day of the show, sadly one of the true great legends passed away, George Jones, and the show that evening was both a fitting memorial and celebration of his life and work. Artists of all generations paid tribute including a surprise appearance by Brad Paisley at the end (that won't mean anything to you but it's a huge deal). For Anna and Mark, both musicians, they found the evening inspiring and motivating more than anything they had experienced. Which made a change from the squabbling, bratish brother/sister act that they seemed to enjoy falling into whenever they got bored.
The other thing I will never forget about Nashville is Prince's Hot Chicken. This is an institution. A tiny, grimy, old joint that dishes out fried chicken second to none. This chicken is also hot enough to let you see through time!!! Now I'm a man that enjoys spicy food, I enjoy a vindaloo and a fiery chili with the best of them, but I have never experienced unadulterated pain like I did eating that chicken. I lost my voice after one bite. I went into shock and didn't know what to do. I desperately lunged for some fries to try and numb the pain and ease my torment, but whatever spices that had been mined from the depths of hell and seared onto the chicken (and now the insides of my mouth and throat), had also been liberally doused over these fried potatoes as well, resulting in an expression that I can only imagine looked like I had just swallowed a bee while watching The Queen doing an erotic dance. Regrettably no photographic evidence of my reaction exists.
Going to Graceland was also a highlight. I'm not a big Elvis fan but I enjoy his music and respect what he managed to achieve in his life. He was The King. And he certainly lived like one. Graceland is an homage to bad 70s designer taste. With shag pile carpets, hideous color schemes and gold everywhere, it certainly hasn't dated very well. However it stands as a testament to a great performer, one the likes of which we will never see again.
So people have been asking me why I chose the title ‘Fading the White Line’ for this blog of mine and what in heavens name dose it mean? Is my eye sight getting worse perhaps, or have I suddenly acquired a debilitating cocaine addiction and these musings are just the result of a chemically enduesed three month binge, where in fact I’m not in America but in the toilet of some grubby club somewhere off the Kensington High Road.
It is neither of these things, so don’t panic mum.
The term as I have seen it refers back to the 50s and 60s where aspiring poker players in Texas, such as Saylor Roberts, Amarillo Slim, and ‘Texas Dolly’ Doyle Brunson would drive themselves all across the state going from one game to another, winning their pay, beating the local players, and quickly getting out of town if the losers took exception to their ‘good fortune’. These guys would crisscross the highways of the south driving for days to get to a game they had heard about full of rich guys with very little skill. These long road trips across the vast, desolate tracks of Texas country with little in the way of entertainment other than going over your hands form the night before, and with next to no sleep would be referred to between them as Fading the White Line, regarding the line down the centre of the road.
Well having been driving around Texas myself now for the past few weeks I am confident that my choice of title was extremely fitting. It is quite something to sit behind the wheel and just pound the miles away, watching the scenery streak past, going from town to town, passing farms and ranches, huge malls and little village stores (that still seem to stock everything you might need from a quart of milk to a new Corvette), vast skyscrapers and simple country churches.
The road just stretches on in front of you, like a never ending wave, inviting you to see what is over the next ridge or around the next curve, with the promise of discovery and adventure ever hanging in the air. That and exhaust fumes and dust.
I paint a very idyllic picture I know, however it is not quite so.
The sign posting over here is idiotically poor, with very little, or no notice given of junctions or directions. How people got around before the invention of sat nav I just don’t know. There are probably still people that left their home during the Great Depression that are still looking for the correct turn off for the I35 heading West.
The other hazard is the quality of the road surfaces. There is certainly no chance of falling asleep behind the wheel with a plethora of cracks, potholes, changes in surface, studs, and all other manner of objects that makes sure the White Line doesn’t fade for too long.
Sitting here watching the last day of the Masters Golf Tournament currently being played at Augusta, Georgia, gives me a good excuse to talk about the great outdoors, and how Americans treat their vast and pleasant land.
They all seem rightly proud of the fantastic scenery that is encompassed in this huge and diverse country. In Texas alone, which I give you isn’t small by any means, there is an ever changing countryside that moves past you as you traverse the state. You have the flat open planes of the Pan Handle in the north, the lush forested regions to the east, the dry, arid tundra of the south, and the rolling hillsides and valleys in the west. All distinct, all unique, but all quintessentially American.
This is surely one of the major reasons why people, like myself, come here to visit. We have all seen those fantastic images and film of the jagged, snow top peaks set against a searing blue sky, the sweeping, scorched desserts or the humid, sultry swamps of the bayou, and when you get here there is no way you can leave feeling disappointed.
Having spent this weekend camping in the hill country to the west of Austin, and watching the sun set over a beautiful lake, and waking up in the woods over looked by vine covered slopes, it felt great to get out of the cities and away from the hustle and bustle of all the people and experience what the country had to offer. For Graham it offered a burnt thumb on a piece of firewood and a racoon trying to steal our food and trying to scare it off with a large beef steak on a long stick! It also gave us an epic drive 90 mins out of Austin along some twisty, curving hillside road, and it turns out the country also has some very nice wines and plenty of vineyards that you can try them at. I have to admit I did not expect to be sat in between rows of grapes, in Texas, sampling home made wines, and looking up at a hill top castle copied from a 16th century Bavarian stronghold (that you can rent out for your fairytale wedding or your hunting party).
And this is a big part of how the Yanks look at their country; ‘What can I take from this’. Whether it’s hunting, fishing, camping, off-roading or just escaping from the towns and cities, these beautiful wildernesses are now seen as playgrounds and theme parks (or the perfect places to set up your headquarters for your religious cult, and ‘bible camps’ to send your kids to).
And this is a great shame. There are some great small communities in these places that are slowly dying and being taken over by people from the cities buying property as weekend retreats. Being still a relatively young country that only a few generations ago was still being explored and colonised by pioneering families, a land of such huge expanse that space has never been at a premium, and an economy based on vast natural resources that bloomed settlements overnight where there had previously only been dust and sand, Americans have never seemed to have much of a problem picking up and moving on.
Britain has been at the cutting edge of music since the 60s. This is a fact. A bold statement you might think, but and accurate one as I will now prove to you.
Musicians that have come from this Scepted Isle have been at the forefront of almost every new musical genre you can think of. Pop, Rock, Punk, Electro, Dance... Think of some the groundbreaking bands and artists that have truly shaped the world of music and have pushed boundaries or opened up styles to a global audience; The Beatles, The Rolling Stones, Led Zeppelin, Black Sabbath, Pink Floyd etc.
The proof of this is that since I've been over here, traveling across various cities and States, I have heard far more British bands on the radio, I've heard far more bands cover British songs, and I've heard far more enthusiasm from fans about British bands and music.
Some examples I hear you cry. Well, almost every 'store' I've been in over hear seems to have a fascination in playing 90s British Pop, from Blur to Jamiroquai to All Saints, it's like being back at home listening to Heart FM (only without the moronic DJs and the thoughts of suicide you get after listening for more than five minuets). And if it's not Brit Pop blasting out of the speakers the only other thing it will be over here is Mumford & Sons. They are obsessed with them. It must be that whimsical, folksy charm and the accents.
However since the dawning of this new millennium a dark cloud has past over British music snuffing out almost all creativity and uniqueness within... Simon Cowell. But even under this tyrannical ruler who discharges bland one hit wonder acts with ruthless German efficiency, the Americans are still entranced by what we have. Whilst I was in San Antonio one evening, having a quiet meal in the beautiful, Mediterranean like surroundings of the riverside, my thoughts were tastelessly interrupted by a hoard of screaming banshee like teenage girls all desperate to see the latest pop act to be excreted from our shores; Little Mix.
Having spent the last week though in New Orleans it has restored my faith in music. This is a city that truly doesn't sleep, and if you do, you are lulled off to the sounds of some of the greatest jazz, blues, funk and soul that has ever been set forth. There is a real pulse in this city. Music is ingrained into every stone wall, wooden shutter and iron balconey. Here is where you come to forget, let go and not think about tomorrow. The original Sin City. Temptations of everykind wherever you go. A heady mix of cocktails, gambling, women and dance all to the incessant beat of drums, guitar and brass, and the wail of truely soulfull voices. This is a city that is literally over flowing with talented musicians that create some truly amazing sounds and an atmosphere that is as infectious as it is pleasurable. When you come here, and I urge all of you to do so, you will be ushered into a world where creativity reigns supreme, uniqueness and diversity are encouraged, and the more love and fun that you have, the more your audience will appreciate it.
So Britannia may have ruled the music waves for the last half century, but our ship is taking on water and we need to dock somewhere like the Big Easy to find our way again.
The 
