Who dat?

Finally-
Finally, some warm weather. Here we are in Lake Charles, Louisiana, way over west near the Texas border. We couldn't really have found a better spot to stay, (thanks to Morgan, Michael, Taylor, and Chris for putting us up and up with us). We're on this finger (middle finger) of land that sticks out between Lake Charles and the Calcasieu River.
One side
The other side


I'm told that this area has the largest population of geese in N. America. It's a different landscape here (duh). I went for a sweaty, stinky hangover run this morning and was marveling at the:
1. flatness
2. wetness
3. Spanish mossiness
4. warmness
5. goosieness
6. pain
But I realize that I'm way ahead of myself. There are roughly 2600 miles between us and my last post. Let's hit the rewind button, shall we? (Having read this, I am acutely aware of my shifting tense. I'm all over the place, I know. But guess what...It's not English class, so suck it up.)

Leesburg, Va.

Cold. Snowy. If anyone is more snow-stunned than Philadelphians it'd have to be the Virginians. These poor folks don't know whether to shit or go blind. Here's a populace that freaks out over a dusting of snow and now they're literally buried under four feet of the damn stuff. Actually, I guess people take it in stride. There wasn't any panic in the streets that I saw. Or maybe they're all just in a state of TV induced narcolepsy that nothing short of a volcanic Armageddon could shake them out of. But, before I get carried away waxing superior, consider this; within view of Sarah's parents house is a mountain in the center of which is a vast underground complex designed to house, in the event of some catastrophe, the President, both houses of Congress and probably a bunch of military advisers and personnel. If I know about this, then it must be a matter of public record, which to my mind makes it an inviting target for anyone bent on serious destruction, such as some sort of explosive missile strike. Which, of course, could provide the disruption necessary to cause even the most soporific denizen of northern Virginia to suddenly look up and say, "Jesus Christ! What's with all this fuckin' snow?!"

Also, the sheep

had some babies.

Mars Hill, N.C.
Cold. Snowy. If anyone is more snow-stunned than Virginians it'd have to be the North Carolinans. These poor folks don't know whether to shit or go blind. Actually, that's not true. I sensed a hardiness from the people there. Nevermind that the only North Carolinans I interacted with were at the grocery store. I could sense it. These are hill folk. Mountain men. ...And women. Don't forget to give the mountain women they're due, 'cause they're mountain women and they'll fuck you up if you piss them off. Now, granted, we're only halfway across the country and have yet to get into the Rockies, but so far, the Blue Ridge mountains are the must stunning bit of terrestrial upheaval that I've seen burped up out the Earth's mantle. I was looking at some notes I had taken while riding and saw where I wrote that if "If the Earth is God's nutsac, the Blue Ridge mountains are the wrinkles on that heavenly nutsac." An arguable point, for sure, but I challenge you to PROVE me wrong. I would have taken some pictures to show you how pretty, but I was driving, so you'll just have to use your imagination.
At this point, we were nearly a thousand miles south of where we started and the temperature had done nothing but fluctuate one or two degrees and I was starting to get angry about it. After wending our way through snow covered passes we pulled into Sarah's friend Alex's mountain farmhouse in time for supper.

There we met his two friends, Jake and Ryvo, both timber-framers who are building him a kiln shed. The interesting part about this is that they both live in Montville. I had even met Jake maybe a year ago at a Tree By Leaf show in Belfast. El mundo pequeno.

Ryvo has a message for you...

So we have some beers, we have some food. We hang out, we have some beers (Thanks for the care package, Gerry), we go to sleep. By morning the temperature has fallen ten degrees and it's snowing. Again.

Now I'm pissed. Really, deeply indignant somewhere in a hot and dark place inside of me.

I feel as though I'm the arse of some galactic fucking joke. I hate the cold. We took this trip to get away from the cold. I don't know if I'll ever be able to do a trip like this again, and somewhere, some cosmic schmuck who thinks this is funny is just laughing his cosmic ass off. I wanted to punch him in his stupid little cosmic lips.
Our exit route should have been I-40, but that was closed to a massive rock slide. (No doubt the work of this cosmic joker again. He's always leaving his toys all over the place. SOOO immature. Like Uh Muh Gawd.) This eventuality forced us to backtrack about an hour and take an alternate route, which is noteworthy for a reason I'll reveal later. The hour's backtrack takes us into the mountains again, where the weather is effing atrocious. Fortunately the highway crews were liberal with the salt, so the roads were wet but not deadly.
Conditions improved some once down from the mountains and slowly the snow on the sides of the road began to thin, however the temps did not rise. We settled back and cruised Highway Whatever for a good number of hours, the car running nicely. Then I saw the billboard for Ripley's Aquarium of the Smokies and, well, I love a good aquarium, so off we go in search of Pigeon Forge Tennessee and the wonders of the sea.

Check back soon for the mind-blowing continuation.
p.s. Leaving comments reminds us that you love us.