This is the final post in a three-part series.
Sunday was the final day of our trip to Los Angeles, and it wasn’t really supposed to be much of a day for us. The plan was to get up early, pack up our things, find a place to attend mass, and make the long drive back to Phoenix. Continue reading
This is the second post in a three-part series.
For the most part, Kathryn and I slept pretty well the first night in L.A. I was woken up by a bit of noise around the pool area at midnight, but I got back to sleep pretty quickly. What woke me up was the sound of a beer bottle hitting the ground. Luckily it didn’t break. The managers must have given the folks a talking to, because they drank from cans the following night.
We woke relatively early Saturday, around 6:30 or so, knowing we had a big day in front of us. We had a light, early breakfast at the hotel, mindful of the fact we’d be attending mass later. The breakfast served was what a lot of hotels now refer to as deluxe continental, which means continental plus a waffle iron. Kathryn and I shared a waffle and each had some cereal and something to drink. After heading back to the room to shower and dress, we got in the car and headed over to St. Francis. Continue reading
I haven’t updated my blog with any good travel tales for quite some time. However, Kathryn and I managed to pack a lot into our 60-hour road trip to Los Angeles last weekend, so I figured it was time for a new post.
When I sit down to write a new post, I often have the title in my head before the text. The word pilgrimage came to mind right away. Although I was a little hesitant to use it at first, I think it’s appropriate here. The timing of the trip was chosen to allow us to witness one of the friars from our church make his profession of solemn vows into the Franciscan order, as well as to support our choir, which would be singing at the mass. Los Angeles, a city named after Our Lady of the Angels of the Portiuncula, the place where the Franciscan movement began, seems like a particularly fitting place to celebrate such an event, especially in a church named after St. Francis. Continue reading
As I was reading Wise Bread this morning, I found a coupon for a free two-piece grilled chicken meal at Kentucky Fried Chicken. I was telling friends this weekend, I’m a little surprised Kentucky Fried Chicken is pushing its new grilled chicken so aggressively; it seems to me the grilled chicken fad started and ended over a decade ago. However, free is the right price, and since I missed out on their free offer last week, I thought I’d give the coupon a try today.
Now, it’s probably been almost five years since the last time I was in a Kentucky Fried Chicken store. Back then, they were calling themselves KFC, perhaps because the word Kentucky made the product sound too regional, or perhaps because the State of Kentucky threatened them with a defamation lawsuit. Whatever the case, with hyperlocalization being fashionable again, I guess they had to follow the pack and bring the original name back.
When I sauntered into my neighborhood Kentucky Fried Chicken at 11:30 this morning, I wasn’t surprised to see several dozen customers in line ahead of me, all with their own coupons. On the other hand, the folks who worked there seemed awfully surprised by the turnout. Although they had plenty of staff on hand, they didn’t have nearly enough food prepared. I guess they assumed the several thousand Honeywell employees across the street had no internet access at their desks and therefore wouldn’t have coupons.
Anyway, I waited about 40 minutes, but eventually made it to the front of the line and received my free two-piece grilled chicken meal. Come to think of it, it wasn’t a significantly longer wait than my previous trip to Kentucky Fried Chicken; there were just a lot more people in front of me this time. I also ordered a small soda, so my total bill with tax was $1.07.
The food, frankly, was not that good. The chicken was a bit rubbery, and the overwhelming flavor was salt. However, the value of my time was really low today, and since the value of a small soda on a hot day was at least $1.02, I’d call the trip a success. Apparently I can use my coupon three more times. I’m not sure I will.
One final thought: Is Kentucky Fried Chicken the only business in the U.S. that has actually become less green over the past five years? They used to sell meals in those paperboard containers that were probably recyclable and biodegradable and most likely made from a significant percentage of post-consumer material. Today, my eat-in order was shrouded in a heavy plastic sarcophagus that was large enough for two meals and weighed almost as much as the food they put in it. I turned the material over, looking for some sign of recyclability; I didn’t see any, but perhaps I missed it. Either way, an old-school paperboard container would have been sufficient.
On a flight home after a Presidents Day vacation with Kathryn, I read an article in the USAirways in-flight magazine about the Sonoran hot dogs sold by street vendors in Tucson. The description made my mouth water. A Sonoran hot dog is a hot dog wrapped in bacon and fried in bacon grease, served in a bakery roll with mayonnaise, pinto beans, diced tomatoes, onions, and whatever else is available. It sounded delightful. When we arrived, I wondered aloud whether similar hot dogs were also sold on the streets of Phoenix. The next day, Kathryn asked around at the hospital, and one of her co-workers said the only place he knew was at 20th St. and Indian School Rd., and only after 6 p.m. We sort of forgot about it after that.
Typical Sonoran hot dog(photo by Stuart Spivack)
Fast forward roughly six weeks.
The Arizona Republic ran a story about Sonoran hot dogs here in Phoenix, and sure enough the address of the vendor was at 20th St. and Indian School Rd. We live in the northern part of Phoenix, so most nights we’re not in central Phoenix after 6 p.m. However, we were planning to attend the Palm Sunday Mass at our downtown church on Saturday evening, so an opportunity presented itself, and we decided to try the place after Mass.
The name of the vendor is Nogales Hot Dogs. It’s operated from a pushcart with a tent over it, next to which they set up an open-air dining room of folding tables and chairs, all in the parking lot of a guitar store that has gone out of business, at the intersection of two busy streets. The menu is very short. They serve Sonoran hot dogs, sodas imported from Mexico, and bottled water. The bottled water is domestic, I guess. The proprietor greeted us, wiped down a table for us, and took our order: two Sonoran hot dogs with everything, a Coca-Cola, and a water. A few minutes later, dinner was served, and it looked great. Kathryn added some cheese to her hot dog, while I loaded up on green chili salsa, some sort of jalapeno sauce, and a couple different kinds of cheese. They also served some grilled onions and roasted peppers on the side. Then we dug in. The hot dogs were absolutely wonderful. But then, if you read the description above, how could they not be? The imported Coca-Cola in old-school glass bottles was a nice touch, too.
To sum up the experience, we’ll definitely be back. Heck, we may never go to Mass on Sunday morning again! And, in case you’re wondering, total cost of dinner, including a very generous tip, was $10.
We’ve only been home a few days, but Kathryn and I have already heard a lot of questions about our trip. For the benefit of everyone else, I’ve decided to repeat some of them here, along with their answers.
What was the highlight of the trip?
It’s been really tough to single out a highlight, since we had such a great time the whole trip. For me, picking up the new car in Germany was a moment I won’t soon forget, and flying a glider in Austria was a truly unexpected surprise, but the trip was really a series of highlights punctuated by sleep.
How were the flights?
The first leg of our flight ended up being Phoenix to Phoenix. It wasn’t the start we expected. However, when all was said and done, we arrived in Munich only six hours later than we had anticipated, so it wasn’t a total disaster. Furthermore, we were each quite surprised to find $400 vouchers in the mail, along with an apology letter from Continental. The vouchers are good on Continental for up to a year, so we’ll give them another chance and fly somewhere in the near future.
The return flight was stressful, because every segment was late, meaning that every connection was too short. We literally ran for our gates in both Paris and Houston. Air France isn’t alone to blame, though. Customs and Border Protection and the Transportation Security Administration get a fair amount of credit for the nearly missed flights, as well as the security services at Charles de Gaulle.
Did you stay in hotels or bed-and-breakfasts?
We stayed in a combination of hotels, guest houses, and friend’s homes. We spent three nights with my friend Sigrid in Munich and one with my friend Katharina in Eisenstadt. I would consider our night in Baden-Baden to be in a guest house, although the place called itself a hotel. I guess it depends on where you draw the line. Our night near Neuschwanstein was definitely in a guest house. The rest of the nights were in hotels.
Great big beer at Oktoberfest
The beers are really that big. The standard beer size at Oktoberfest is called a maß, which is one liter or approximately 34 ounces of beer. For the record, I had only one, and Kathryn and Sigrid stuck with apfelschorle, which is apple juice mixed with sparkling water.
BMW in France
The new car is amazing. I love the color. I love the leather. I love the way the instrument panel is laid out. I love the way the steering wheel fits in my hands. I love the way the mirrors fold in at the push of a button, and then unfold automatically when you start driving again. I love all the little features I didn’t even know it had, like the lighted door handles and the climate control memory. The only thing I don’t love is having to wait another six to eight weeks to drive it again.
How fast did you drive?
Most of the time, I drove around 80 to 85 miles per hour on the highways. However, there were a couple of occasions in Germany where I got up to 110 to 115 miles per hour in sections with no speed limit. Other than my death grip on the steering wheel, I was pleased that it handled pretty much the same at the higher speeds as it did at the lower ones.
Kathryn at the wheel, totally in control
I put most of the miles on the car, but I did let Kathryn drive a couple times. She got it up to 90 to 95 miles per hour at one point in Germany, but she seemed to be in control, so I didn’t mind.
Entrance to Taillevent, Paris
Our lunch at Taillevent was simply amazing. I’m embarrassed that I lack the vocabulary to describe the food properly, so I won’t even try. We each ordered a kir royal as an aperitif and then, after receiving a dizzying array of menus, ordered the fixed-price lunch, which had been our plan all along. Naturally, we ordered a bottle of wine, letting the sommelier choose the appropriate bottle for us. An amuse-bouche arrived, which was gazpacho, just to get our taste buds excited. My appetizer was jumbo shrimp, and Kathryn’s was risotto. I continued my seafood theme and had a main course of salmon. There was brie after the main course to clear the palate, followed by dessert — a rich chocolate cake for me — which was accompanied by a plate of assorted chocolates. I had coffee after dessert, and by the time we left, we had been there about two-and-a-half hours. The most pleasant surprise came as we were heading for the front door, when our waiter stopped us and asked us to please wait a moment. A moment later, the owner came out to thank us personally for coming, ask for our repeat business, and wish us a pleasant stay in France. I thought it was an impeccable touch. Someone running a restaurant with two Michelin stars is willing to make guests ordering fixed-price menus and wine-of-the-day feel as important as guests ordering tasting menus and vintage bottles from the cellar.
Did you gamble in Monte Carlo?
No. However, we did take a peek inside the famous casino, allowing us to feel very James Bond for a moment.
Did you take a gondola ride in Venice?
No. A few rides on the vaporetti convinced us that spending $100-plus on a gondola ride might be the most expensive vomit we ever bought. As it turned out, walking around Venice was quite civilized and gave us a chance to see the city without the unwashed hoards.
A little green after first glider flight
When my friend Katharina and her boyfriend David came to visit me in Phoenix two years ago, I took them on an early-morning flight from Deer Valley to Payson for breakfast. At that time, I learned David is also a pilot, but he flies gliders, not airplanes.
Fast-forward two years. When I arrived in Eisenstadt, Katharina let me know that David had a surprise for me the following morning. He arranged for someone in his flying club to take me up in one of their gliders. So while Katharina and Kathryn spent the morning and much of the afternoon seeing the sights in Vienna, I was at the airport in Wiener Neustadt waiting for the weather to improve. However, it eventually did improve to the point where I was able to get a roughly twenty-minute flight. I took the controls for about five minutes, and although I think I did a pretty good job maintaining airspeed, it was a lot different from flying an airplane, especially for maintaining coordination in turns. Glider pilots seem always to be circling for the best air currents. After circling for a while, I was starting to get nauseous, so we headed back to the field a few minutes ahead of schedule. However, it was a positive first glider experience overall, and now that I know what to expect, I may be willing to try it again.
Did you bring home any souvenirs?
I’m not one to buy much of anything when I travel, so my souvenirs from my trips abroad tend to be somewhat accidental. My favorite souvenir of the trip is the German license plate from the front of my new car. Some have suggested that I remount it when I get the car back, despite the dubious legality of displaying it in the U.S. One colleague suggested I leave it on until some cop decides to give me a ticket for it — a suggestion I’m definitely taking under advisement. I also ended up with all the safety equipment required in Europe but not here, such us the reflective triangle, the safety vest, and the first aid kit. Since the items aren’t required in the U.S., they don’t ship with the car, but I can put them all back in the car when it arrives in Phoenix.
Do you feel like the trip brought the two of you closer together?
Definitely.
It probably seems like I just got back from Las Vegas, but I went again a couple weekends ago. I had some unfinished business from my December trip, so I’d been itching to take another trip up there. I had two specific goals for my recent visit. I wanted to see Celine Dion, who was sick when I visited in December, and I wanted to learn how to play craps. I’m happy to say I accomplished both goals, and I did it while fighting a cold. In retrospect, I probably should have spent the weekend in bed, but I really did have a great time.
I’ve only been to Las Vegas a few times, and on previous trips I’ve always stayed in hotels directly on the Strip. This time I decided to try an off-Strip hotel, so I booked two nights at The Orleans, which is about 1.5 miles west of the south end of the Strip. Obviously, it was a lot cheaper than staying in one of the mega-casinos. The room was very nice, bordering on fancy. I had a view of the Strip from Bellagio north, which was really cool at night. I didn’t do a whole lot of gambling there, other than some slot machines, but the casino is huge. The slot club is worth joining, if only to get a discount on the buffet, which is a lot cheaper that what you get on the Strip. There is a shuttle bus to Barbary Coast, their sister property on the Strip. The shuttle is supposed to come every 30 minutes, but it seemed to come a lot more often. I’d definitely stay there again.
I left Phoenix Friday afternoon and arrived in the early evening. After checking into the hotel, I took the shuttle to the Strip. Barbary Coast is directly across the street from Caesar’s Palace, which is where Celine performs. I had checked out the ticket situation on Ticketmaster before I left Phoenix, but I decided not to buy ahead of time, in case I decided not to go because of my cold. This turned out to be a stroke of incredibly dumb luck. I went to the box office and asked for the best available ticket, and the agent showed me where my seat would be. First orchestra, sixth row. I couldn’t believe it. Literally. As the agent was running my credit card, I was still scratching my head over the fact that the seat I was getting was so much better than the one I found on Ticketmaster. “That seems like an awfully good seat,” I said to the agent. He replied, “Sir, Celine will be no more than 20 feet from you.” He was right. Actually, I think it was more like 15 feet.
Some of my friends have been a bit surprised that I’ve been so hot to see Celine Dion. The truth is, I’m not such a big fan of her recorded music. Before I attended the concert, I’d have had trouble naming three of her songs. I still would. And I really disliked that song from Titanic, which assaulted my ears for about 18 months on radio stations. However, I’ve heard really good things about her Vegas concert since the first season it opened, and I’ve been wanting to see it for years, if only for the spectacle of it. The fact that she is an absolutely phenomenal vocalist is a nice plus. The show is ending at the end of this year, so I’m sure it’s going to be harder to get tickets as the year goes on. I felt I should go now, or I’d never see it.
I arrived about 45 minutes early for the show Saturday night, and I took my seat next to, I swear to God, Celine Dion’s biggest fan. She was a gray-haired, middle-aged woman from London, England, who has seen the show every season since it opened. And she doesn’t just see one show. She comes for an entire week each time and sees five shows on back-to-back nights. She had already seen the Wednesday, Thursday, and Friday shows that week, and she was going to see the Sunday show before flying back to England. She complained about the drunks sitting next to her the previous night and said she was relieved to have someone sober sitting next to her that night. I swear, she has sat in every seat in The Colosseum. She told me how great our seats were, but where there were even better ones. I told her I bought my ticket less that 24 hours earlier. I couldn’t tell if she was impressed or jealous. It may have been both. As chatty as she was, I was a little worried it would carry over to the show, but she was quiet as a mouse when the show started.
What can I say about the show? As much as I paid for tickets like that, my expectations were high, and they were exceeded. I was completely captivated from the first note she sang. The Colosseum seats over 4,000, but there was still a felling of intimacy. When she looked out into the crowd, I almost got the feeling she was looking at me. As taken as I was by her voice, I almost forgot to notice the spectacle of dance that was going on around her. As the show continued, I got better at dividing my attention between Celine and the dancers. Simply put, the show was amazing.
Earlier in the day Saturday, I finished breakfast at my hotel, and decided I was going to take the shuttle to the Strip and do a little people-watching. As I was walking through Barbary Coast, I noticed a sign saying they give free craps lessons every day at 10:30 am. What an easy way to accomplish my second goal! It was about 10:15, so I decided to hang out until the lesson started. I was all alone at first, but by the time the lesson started, there were easily 20 people there. The instructor, who I think was a pit boss, was really friendly and walked us through the basics. The table etiquette is as important as the rules, so I paid careful attention. Since I had arrived so early, I got picked on a couple times by the instructor. He used me to demonstrate how not to hand money to the dealer. It turns out dealers aren’t allowed to take money out of a player’s hands. The money has to go on the table first, and the same with the chips. I also got to be the one who demonstrated throwing the dice. I did exactly what I was told, and it was a textbook throw. A whole table of people started cheering me. There wasn’t any money on the table, and I was already on fire! Such is the power of craps. After taking the lesson, the casino gave us all coupons for $5 in match play, but as it turns out, I ended up not using it.
After the concert, I was determined that I was going to play for real. Playing at Caesar’s on a Saturday night was out of the question. The table minimums were way too high, and the place just had too much of a nightclub feel, with all the skanks lining up for Pure and so forth. I went back across the street to Barbary Coast, since I had to go there anyway to take the shuttle back to my hotel. They had $10 tables, but that was still a little high for a first-timer. I decided to head back to The Orleans, but the line for the shuttle was about 50 people deep, and it only held about 15 at a time. However, the shuttle to Gold Coast, another sister property just off the Strip, was practically empty. I decided to ride over there instead. They had $5 tables and 3x-4x-5x odds. That was perfect for starting out.
Walking up to the table for the first time was a little intimidating, even with the lesson. Everything happens so fast. I pulled five $20 bills out of my pocket, placed them on the table, and with as much authority as I could muster, said, “Change one hundred, nickels.” A few moments later, I had a pile of chips and a space along the rail. Being a little timid, I waited until the come-out roll and placed a single chip on the pass line. The shooter rolled a six, so I could take odds. I put five chips behind my first chip. At some point, it occurred to me that I had $30 on the table that was going to disappear as soon as the shooter rolled a seven. Several rolls went by. It seemed like forever. Then, a six! Suddenly I had a whole bunch of chips in front of me. I was paid $5 for my original $5 bet on the pass line, and then another $30 for the $25 odds bet. I was completely hooked. I played the same way for at least an hour. I was up and down like a roller coaster until I finally wagered and lost my last chip. In retrospect, I should have given it to the dealer as a tip, but my etiquette will improve, I’m sure. It was, by far, the most fun I’ve ever had losing $100 in a casino. Next time I’m in Vegas, you can find me at the craps table.
Sunday morning, my cold really kicked into high gear. I woke up feeling like total and complete shit. I contemplated staying another night and just ordering room service and pay-per-view, but for some reason, I latched onto the idea that I really wanted to be ill in my own bed. After checking out of the room, I drove over to Ellis Island Casino & Brewery for breakfast in their restaurant. This is quickly becoming a tradition for me. If you’ve been to Vegas and you haven’t tried this place out, you should. It’s a dark, smoky little casino that’s popular with the locals, but they serve a damn fine breakfast, and it’s super-cheap. I had the corned-beef hash and eggs, served with toast and potatoes. It was very good, it was so much food I couldn’t finish it, and it was $3.95. I’ve also been there for lunch and had the fish and chips, which is also good and ridiculously cheap. And the beer is $1.50. If they had a decent craps table, I wouldn’t have to go anywhere else.
The only good thing I can say about the drive home was that I got across Hoover Dam before the afternoon traffic piled up. The cold medicine I was taking made me have to pee every hour. Somehow it all worked out, and I was home around 4 pm.
I took Monday and Tuesday off work.
My lunch today was the single-most exquisite meal I’ve ever eaten. Actually, that last sentence was total bullshit, but it really was quite good.
Sometime last month, I saw a segment on Fox News Channel about Heart Attack Grill, located at the corner of Warner Rd. and Kyrene Rd. in Tempe. The restaurant, proclaimed the “most caloric restaurant in the United States” by French state television, features enormous hamburgers containing from one-half pound to two pounds of beef, fries cooked in pure lard, soda, beer, and cigarettes. More importantly, all of it is served by waitresses dressed up as naughty nurses, medics, and pharmacists, who will offer a wheelchair ride to your car if you finish a Triple Bypass Burger. Interestingly enough, what put this place on the map was a complaint by the Board of Nursing that the restaurant was misusing a protected title. There’s no such thing as bad press.
After hearing about the place, I started asking around among my friends and co-workers to see who was interested in going for lunch sometime. In short, the only person who said no is a vegan. The problem was how to get everyone together at the same time for long enough to drive to Tempe from the State Capitol area where we all work. After weeks of putting it off, we finally settled on today, and we were able to include all but two of the people who wanted to go. There were seven of us total: six men and one woman.
We arrived in two groups around 11:30 am, and the place was already so packed that we had to remain in two groups in order to be seated. That took some of the fun out of going as a big group. However, once seated, our orders were taken quickly. Because the menu is so limited, everything is mostly prepared, so we were served in just a few minutes. I’m pretty sure Nurse Rachel was our waitress. Everyone at our table got the Single Bypass Burger, which has a single half-pound patty of beef. In the other group, one of the guys decided to be an alpha male and order the Double Bypass Burger. I never found out whether he finished it. On the other hand, I was the only guy who left my skirt back at the office and ordered a beer.
I must say, the burger was very good. It was topped with bacon, cheddar cheese, red onion, and tomato. There was also some sort of tangy hamburger sauce in squeeze bottles on the table. I applied the sauce somewhat conservatively, so I can’t give you a good idea of what if tasted like. The fresh-baked bread they used for the bun was a nice touch.
However, the thing that impressed me the most was the fries. I’m not exaggerating to say they were the best fries I’ve eaten anywhere ever. I remember when I was young lad working at McDonald’s, and they made the switch from beef fat to vegetable shortening, completely ruining the fries forever. It seems there’s a great deal riding on the fat used to cook a fry, and lard apparently works great.
There were only three beers on the menu, but since one of them was Kilt Lifter, the other two really didn’t count.
Although I did finish my entire burger, all my fries, and my beer, I didn’t require any medical attention. That was too bad, because I’m sure I would have enjoyed being resuscitated by some of the medical staff they had on hand.
Nobody ordered cigarettes for dessert.
This past weekend was unusually busy for me, but it was busy in a good way.
My weekend got off to a great start Friday evening, when I had dinner and saw a movie with a classmate from high school. It wasn’t until several weeks ago that I even knew any of my classmates were living in Phoenix. It turned out we had a really fun evening. After having some so-so Chinese food at a restaurant near my place, we went to the Arizona Center and saw Children of Men. It was a really well done movie, if not a particularly uplifting one. Actually, the only part of the movie I didn’t like was the couple sitting next to me that didn’t shut up for two hours.
I finished cleaning my apartment Saturday morning, and my buddy and his wife from Pasadena arrived in the early afternoon. In addition to seeing me, he came to Phoenix to run the P.F. Chang’s Rock ‘n’ Roll Arizona Marathon, so we had an agenda of things to do to get him ready. However, before taking care of business, we first had lunch at El Comedor Guadalajara, a decent Mexican restaurant in a not-so-nice part of the city, the kind of place that keeps a security guard in the parking lot to watch your car. They were happy I was driving my car, since nobody would steal a Mercury. With our bellies full, we went to the Health & Fitness Expo, where my buddy picked up his race number and the time chip he had to attach to his shoe. We walked around the expo for a while to check out the displays. Much to my delight, Anheuser-Busch was giving out free samples of Michelob Ultra. I never would have tried a low-carb beer if someone hadn’t given to me for free, and truthfully, it wasn’t half bad. I was also given a demonstration of some self-massaging device called The Stick. The salesman was putting the hard sell on me. “Are you a runner or walker?” he asked. “Spectator,” I replied. This went back and forth for a while until he decided that, as a computer programmer, I would need The Stick in order to massage my neck after a day of straining to see the keyboard. I didn’t buy one. After the expo, we went back to my place, where we kept the evening very chill in order to get my buddy mentally prepared for the race. My sister came over and joined us for dinner, and then we watched a movie from my collection. If you think you’d enjoy a very sexy French thriller and you haven’t seen Swimming Pool, it’s worth a viewing.
We were all up early the next morning for the marathon. My buddy and I were up at 5:15, and his wife was up shortly thereafter. We were all out of the apartment shortly after 6. We anticipated a lot of traffic, but between our early start and the use of surface streets, it was smooth sailing. In fact, we were there so early, we stayed in the car with the engine running for almost a half-hour. It was the coldest morning I’d experienced since moving to Phoenix, and in fact the first time I’d seen the temperature fall below freezing here. After my buddy got corralled for the start, his wife and I found spots on the other side of the line so that we could watch the start. Then the real fun began.
We had mapped out three points along the route where we were going to cheer him on, and at the pace he had set for himself, it was going to be a tight squeeze to get to them all. The first point was 24th St. and Camelback Rd., roughly at mile 8. I had always heard that this was the place to see the marathon. Perhaps, but the only ones who arrived before us were the cops and the band. We used the bathrooms at Starbucks, where some woman made a big deal about the fact that I went into the ladies’ room, which I did because there was a woman who was taking forever in the men’s room. Whatever. We stood behind the barricades, which conveniently doubled as a cupholder for my coffee mug, and watched the elite runners pass. This was the only place we saw them, since they were at the finish line before we arrived at our third spectator point. Not too long thereafter, my buddy passed, right on pace and looking great.
On the way back to the car, I fell. As difficult as it is to believe, I slipped on ice here in Phoenix. Some business on Camelback Rd. decided to water its grass overnight, which sprinkled onto the sidewalk and froze in sheets. I walked on the grass to avoid the ice, but then I slipped on ice that had formed around a gravel landscape feature. I hit the ground hard. I’m still scraped and bruised, and the arm that broke my fall is still stiff. As concerned as I was about my buddy getting injured, especially with the cold weather, I never thought that I would sustain an injury during the marathon.
Our second point was 44th St. and Thomas Rd., roughly at the halfway point. It was clear at this point that the elite runners were way ahead, and the leaders had spread out more. We continued to cheer for everyone who passed, and when my buddy went by, he was still on pace.
Our third point was Scottsdale Rd. and Thomas Rd., over in Scottsdale, roughly at mile 20. My parents were also there, giving my buddy a complete four-person cheering squad when he passed by. He was still on pace and in such high spirits that he smiled for the camera and even did a little dance when he saw us.
After the third point, my buddy’s wife and I headed for the finish line on the Arizona State University campus in Tempe. Traffic was much more of an issue there, and we arrived with less time to spare than any of the other points. We were somewhat concerned we’d miss him. However, when we arrived at the actual line, we could see the clock and we were ahead of his pace, so we waited. As we waited, we became increasingly concerned something had gone wrong. We watched his pace time come and go, and then it had gone by several minutes. About five minutes after his planned finish time, he came around the bend, and the high spirits we saw at mile 20 had vanished. It turned out he pulled a muscle around mile 23, and he was in excruciating pain. Honestly, I’m not sure why he finished. He did set a personal best time despite the injury, and perhaps that’s what motivated him. Anyway, he finished, and he was well for the most part. We took him back to my place, and with our early day, we all rested for several hours.
After some hard-core napping and a light lunch, we drove out to my parents’ place for an afternoon of watching the Patriots beat San Diego in a close game. One of the players’ benches had The Stick. I shit you not. My father cooked up a bunch of steaks on the grill, but because the weather was so unseasonably cold, we ate inside. My parents were really pleased to see my buddy and his wife, whom they hadn’t seen for over seven years, and we all talked for hours. Then the younger crowd went back to my place for another movie, Drop Dead Gorgeous this time, and another quiet evening.
The next morning was straightforward. We all slept late, had an enormous breakfast at First Watch, and said goodbye for now.
Remarkably, nobody puked the entire weekend.
So … a Catholic, a Jew, and an Indian walk into a soul food restaurant …
No, it’s not the beginning of a bad joke. It was my lunch today.
One of my friends told me a couple weeks ago that he’d heard about a soul food restaurant in South Phoenix, not far from where we each work. So I picked him up at his office this morning, along with one of his coworkers, and we got some great chicken and waffles for lunch.
The name of the restaurant is Lo-Lo’s, and it’s at 10 W. Yuma St., just off of Central Ave., about a mile or two south of Downtown. If it’s someplace you’d like to try for lunch, I suggest you arrive early. We got there before 11:30, and when we left just after noon, there was a line outside waiting to get in.
I’d like to tell you about the rest of the menu, but when I got to item 3, the Lo-Lo’s Special — three pieces of Southern-style fried chicken and two waffles — I stopped reading. I was sold. The drinks came in Mason jars to make the place seem almost authentic.
Mmm … lunch was good. I was smiling ear-to-ear when I got back to work.
