"Well I'm a-standin' on the corner of La-fay-ette, state of Louisiana..."

- Paul Simon, 1988

I wrote this story in an attempt to remember all the events which happened to me during my fall break, 1994. It's a stretch, and there is still more to come, but I think I am on my way. There will be pictures and sound forthcoming, but until then, you can read the tale of the First Day's Drive. Cheers.


I went to the bayou to find out about the people, the culture, and the language. Louisiana had become a mystical place for me: reading about its history, studying the language, and hearing tales told of its beauty made me want to go. I was to do some research on Cajun phonetics for a paper while I was there, and then make my way back to Chapel Hill along the Gulf Coast. I took highways that passed through swamps, plains, and cities. Excited and anxious to travel, I started out for Louisiana, not really knowing what I would find there. Three thousand miles later, returning to Chapel Hill, I wanted to write down what I did, so seemingly stupendous, to make it real to me again. And so here my narrative begins -- in a small college town in northern North Carolina, a thousand miles away from the heat and humidity of southern Louisiana.

My trip to the misty bayeux of Louisiana began at four-thirty in the morning in Chapel Hill, North Carolina. We had planned to drive straight through to Atlanta, make the necessary arrangements for Rachel's departure, and then I was to continue with Will to Birmingham, Alabama, stopping only for gas. It was to take about 13 hours for me, driving at maximum speeds, to arrive in one piece in the heart of Acadia: Lafayette, Louisiana.

Rachel decided she would claim the back seat and proceeded to make it in to a hive-like structure, arranging the blankets to cover herself and swath her in sleep. "Can you turn the music down," she asked with heavy eyelids, and I knew that soon she would be far more awake in her dreams than I actually was. I hoped she would sleep for me. The lawns of Hillsborough Street yawned as I drove past them on my way to pick up a total stranger from Craige Dorm. I had found his name on the "Rides Needed" board at school. All I knew about him was that he needed a ride to Birmingham, his name was Will, and he was an English grad student (first year). And he'd give me gas money. I didn't think to ask him too much else, since we'd have plenty of time to discover each other, driving through the Southland together.

Rachel and I pulled into the parking lot and he got in. He was affable enough, but tired and worn looking. "Wow! You're the man," Rachel exclaimed as she saw his baggage. Yes, Will knew how to travel light: all he possessed was a blue knapsack flung over his shoulder; whereas we, two females going places for no more than four days each, had taken up the entire trunk of the wagon. We had been wondering how he'd fit all his belongings in the car, but he conveniently solved that dilemma. He carefully put the bag at his feet and looked at us for the first time. "Hey," he said. We nodded our hellos and exchanged pleasantries. I wondered if I could smoke in the car with him around. It was going to be a long drive.

My car hummed as we started the drive down to Atlanta. I could picture myself as if I were General Sherman astride a great grey beast, purring encouragingly to it as the South fell burning around him. Will and I talked quietly as Rachel slept in the back seat. He had worked in a bookshop, as I did, and we swapped small tales. The horse chewed on its petrol and galloped on.

The sun didn't come up until Charlotte, North Carolina, was in front of us. The Queen City fed us gas and filled up our stomachs with convenience store food topped off with carbonated fuzz. We kept driving through South Carolina, stopping once to "stretch our legs" (as Mom said, it's good to keep circulation going). I thought about asking Will to drive so that I could sleep, but, I didn't. The wheel was becoming like a second appendage. I had to smoke. Fortunately, no-one really minded. Will told us about his summer in San Francisco and what a great city it was. Rachel and I mmm'ed in assent and thought about going from Chapel Hill, North Carolina to a thriving metropolis like Atlanta in all of 6 hours. The thought pressed us onward, recreating the blaze that Sherman left in his wake on I-85.

Once we were approaching Atlanta, I realised with dismay that it was near lunch time rush hour. When I went to Long Island, New York a few years ago, I drove up with a friend of mine. We thought that we would play it smart and leave before the dawn, scurrying into his car at 4 in the morning. Not only did we hit Richmond's rush hour, but also Washington DC's, and eventually New York City's (at night). I swore to myself and wished we weren't meeting Mike for lunch at a specified time. Maybe Atlantans would see my license plate, take pity on me, and move aside to allow me safe passage to wherever it was we were going. Rachel got out the directions to the rendezvous, and surprisingly enough we found it the first time. However, we also happened to be about an hour early. Everyone decided that a trip downtown would work OK. "How about Little 5 Points?" I suggested. We all thought that was a great idea until we realised no-one knew where it was. "Well, we'll find it," Will said sagely.

We kept driving. And driving. And turning around. And driving some more. Several times we made certain our doors were locked. I wished I had a map of downtown. Finally, we pulled to the side of the road and yelled out the window to a cop, who pointed us in the right direction. "Thanks!" we waved. "Sure thing," he said in a cop- like manner. We drove in the direction he had pointed and sure enough, there was Little 5 Points, lying ahead of us like a gleaming diamond. Sherman had elected to leave that much unscathed. We found a used books store and went in. I bought some books, Will bought some books, but Rachel decided against her choice. "I bet it's one of those books that doesn't live up to blurb standards," she sighed. Some older lesbian got uncomfortably close to me as I stood in line. I went outside and lit a cigarette while Will was paying for his books. There were two men who sure didn't look like Cub Scouts asking for money on the street corner. I realised I was standing by myself outside of this store, and promptly decided to become a humble, lost Québecoise if he approached me. Fortunately, Rachel came back & Will came outside & we headed back to my car.

The place where we were to meet Mike (an old friend of mine from high school) for lunch was about ten minutes away from Little 5. "He won't be there," Rachel and I agreed, giddy with intimacy. Will nodded in assent, trusting our judgment of this person's timeliness. I swore I wouldn't buy Mike lunch, despite any cajoling and pleading he might do. Laughing, Rachel said, "Yeah right." I knew I'd be out ten dollars before we left Atlanta.

"HUE!" I shouted as we approached the restaurant. Rachel and I were right, he wasn't here. The small black lady at the door greeted us kindly and ushered us in. "Come on in, y'all," she said with a honeyed tone to her voice. We asked if a thin white guy with a scar on his neck had come in yet. "No, not yet," she said, looking perplexed. "But we get a lot of those 'round here." I considered this for a moment. We stood in line for our salad, looking at our watches and hoping Mike was alright. Suddenly, I heard a distinct "HUE!" behind me and turned to see Mike standing there, grinning broadly. We hugged and shook hands and gathered our food (I unbegrudgingly paid for Mike's meal, cursing Rachel's omniscience) and sat down to eat.

After a while, Will became part of the discussion. It's hard to incorporate yourself into the lives of people you've known for six hours, and then hold up a conversation with people who've known each other for years. However, he managed to do so admirably. Mike told us about the carrot system at this particular restaurant. "The number of carrots you have on your shirt is your ranking on the restaurant totem pole," he explained. We asked our busboy about it and he pointed to his shirt. "Mine are sewn on," he beamed proudly. "I'm a manager." We congratulated him and turned back to our meals. When we finished, there was laughter for dessert. We engorged ourselves on it.

Time passed by, and reminded me that I had to leave soon. He prodded Will and I onward to Birmingham, only few short hours away. Everything is just a few short hours away when you're driving thirteen hours in a row. Will and I said our good-byes and left town satiated and content.

The drive to Birmingham was occupied with talk about music, school, John Zorn and different places in the United States. Will extrapolated on his San Francisco experiences, even going so far as to tell me he was in a band there. "We played polkabilly," he stated as Lyle Lovett crooned in the background. "I played guitar. It was fun. I wish I could do something like that in Chapel Hill." I tried to imagine what 'polkabilly' would sound like, and then figured it would pretty much sound like Lyle Lovett on a good hair day. I asked Will if he had heard of the Wifflefist Collective, and he admitted he hadn't. We talked about that for a while, and then I had another cigarette. Two hours outside of Birmingham and nine packs of cigarettes to go.

[We immediately gained an hour when we passed into the Central Time Zone. For all I knew, this hour could have been under the trash in the back seat, coming along with us for the ride.]

Will's mom lives in a nice area of Birmingham where the houses seem to say "You can live here! But don't put your feet on the table". There was even a house which was a pseudo-castle. It stared stonily at us as we drove by. The Maytag repairman was in the driveway of Will's mom's house when we arrived. It was the only time I had ever seen a Maytag repairman in real life. The repairman had to travel incognito or risk the wrath of the Maytag company, which has its reputation built on reliable washers. I snickered at the repairman, who looked puzzled. Will pointed out his car to me as we went inside. "That's why I'm here," he said. It had stickers in the window of universities which were in various places outside of North Carolina. "To get it back to Chapel Hill." I smiled firmly at the friendly collegiate car and stepped inside.

My plan, as drawn up at Will's, was to find the house of my roommate Ken's mom, who also lived in Birmingham and was rumoured to make a mean chocolate cake. I was excited to be fed home-cooked food, but dubious in my ability to eat much after the grandiose meal we all had in Atlanta. I called her from Will's place and she said she'd come meet me at the street corner in about half an hour. Her voice was a combination of Benson and Hedges cigarettes and half a bottle of whisky: a permanent mark of a Southern matron. From what my roommate had told me, she was in her late 60s and was a standing monument to Southern cultural life. This, combined with the chocolate cake, made me want to meet her. I figured on leaving Birmingham at around 7, potentially catching a nap at her place along with dinner (a traveller's dream come true!), and making it to Louisiana by two in the morning.

It came time to bid adieu to Will, whom I had grown to like a lot. I didn't know if I should do anything more dramatic than offer my hand, so that's all I did and he awkwardly shook it, wondering if he should do anything else either. I restated my invitation to get together once back in Chapel Hill, and we exchanged email addresses to insure that we would, and I went on my way.

Birmingham, Alabama. I didn't know much about the town except that Martin Luther King, Jr., had spent time there, and that there were steel mills which used to be the main industry of the region. I found Ms. South sitting outside a Waffle Shop (every town, it seems, has a variant of a Waffle House) and she bid me follow her to her house. I was grateful to her for her hospitality. She nodded and in a no-nonsense fashion proceeded to put dinner on the table. There was more food than I could have possibly eaten. I did accept a piece of cake for later, and filled up my thermos with hot coffee. I thought about Will and hoped he had gotten some sleep. I asked if I could lay down after dinner, and was told that I sure could. "But why don't you just stay the night?" Ms. South asked. "I have to be at USL by 10 tomorrow," I said. "I'd rather wake up there than wake up here and drive to there." I was ready to get this trip behind me. I asked her to wake me in an hour and then I would be on my way.

...in my dreams, I was Lady Godiva, riding in my station wagon to the middle of downtown Lafayette, Louisiana. My red hair cascaded down my chest, covering my nudity, and I was speaking in French to everyone. "I've come a long way!" I shouted. "I'm glad to be here!" The people smiled at me. They greeted me in French and asked how long I could stay. They liked my hair.

Ms. South knocked on the door to the room I was sleeping in. "Honey?" she queried. "It's seven o'clock." Seven! I'd been asleep for an hour, travelling since 4:30 that morning, and yet I still hadn't made it to Lafayette. I knew I had miles and miles to go before I slept again, so I struggled on out of bed and wandered into the kitchen, where I drank some coffee and inhaled some nicotine in an attempt to awaken both my body and spirit. I was able to make it to my car without falling over from tiredness, and I rearranged everything to my satisfaction. Tapes within reach, radio within reach, cigarettes within reach, coffee within reach. I was set. All I had to do was to take I-20 south and hit I-10 west, which would take me all the way to Lafayette. All of six more hours to go.

Night was beginning to fall as I left Birmingham. This once proud city, so fierce in its protection of heritage and rank, quickly fell behind me as I sped towards the interstate. Will was probably snug in his bed by now, and I was soon to be in Mississippi. I listened to a country music singer wail about his lost love. "Shut up," I muttered to him. Lost love, what do I care about lost loves? I had lost enough things in my life to this point -- time, money, love, freedom -- to care about his loss. I was shocked by my callousness. The night shrank from my headlights. I pressed onward.

It's amazing how, when driving, you become one with your vehicle. It's almost as if your car or truck or bus or van is an animal, attuned to your every need and desire. My station wagon hugged the roads to it, embracing each curve and celebrating each mile. I certainly was in no mood to be celebrating. I caught the tail end of some radio show espousing the Christian faith. I lit up a cigarette in reply. My coffee was beginning to grow cold as I approached Meridian, Mississippi, so I elected to pull off the road at the Welcome Center and rest for a little while, place some phone calls, and replenish my coffee supply.

I pumped up my tires, checked the oil, cleaned the windshield. I was finally by myself on this trip, and would be for the rest of my time on the road. I had been wondering about the last leg of my trip (to Sarasota, Florida from Lafayette), and determined it to be a very long drive. I elected to call a friend of mine from last summer, Larry Bellman, who was the uncle of my roommate from last year, and see if he was going to be around on Thursday evening. I was driving right past his town of Ocean Springs, Mississippi, and figured I could call in a few favours. He agreed pleasantly enough to having me stay over, and I hung up the phone relieved that I wouldn't have to drive so much on the return trip. But for now, I had to make it to Louisiana before 3 AM in order to keep my hotel reservations. I didn't think there would be a great demand for hotel rooms in Lafayette, but one can never be sure and especially not with luck like mine.

I kept driving. The road signs shook their steely heads at me as they swam in front of my eyes. The only thing that could stimulate me enough to stay awake was a cigarette. Coffee didn't help. Mountain Dew made me feel sick. I had pumped my body full of stimulants. I didn't see why people did this for fun. I was tired, and hungry, and sick to my stomach. I wanted to find the bed which had my name on it and collapse. It had only been a day into my adventure, and three more to go.



Second installment.

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