Charlotte was alas, a brief blip on the tour. I had a quick lunch at Gus’ Sir Beef with Duncan and realized I wouldn’t have enough time to visit Dawn. Oh well…Christmas again…

After Charlotte, I continued farther and farther south on I-85 (after stopping in Gastonia for some really cheap cigarettes), past “the peach” in Gaffney, through miles of road construction around Greenville and Spartanburg, and onward to Georgia to meet Tony and Dan.

 

Atlanta has always seemed like a bit of an adopted home for me. I’ve been visiting since I was about five years old, and I’ve always been fascinated by the place. This was also the first place I “roadtripped” to in college, as well as a pivotal point in an early non-relationship for me. Suffice to say, Atlanta and I have history, and it wouldn’t surprise me if I ended up living here at some point. It’s such a self-consciously southern place, despite its urbanity; I can’t decide if this is a good thing or not..

 

The host for my Atlanta gig was Tony (as well as his betrothed, Dan, and their cat…who fetches…). It is a good thing to stay with someone who’s about to move into a house at the corner of Hollywood and Vine. That’s Decatur, not Los Angeles, incidentally. Tony is also a former SF resident, so we had things to talk about.

Tuesday night brought sleep.

Today brought visits to the relatives in Reidsville. This is always nice even though it means being trapped in a non-smoking environment for three hours or so, and I’m usually a bit edgy by the end. Now I get to go over to my aunt’s house and finish hooking up her new VCR. I’ll probably miss “The Simpsons” again…

 

I also did my traditional run downtown to see the shadows of what we had instead of malls when I was very young. I peered into the old stores, most of them closed and boarded up, and thought about the crowds which used to roam the streets, and Santa Claus at Meyer’s, and eating at the S&W Cafeteria, and movies at the Carolina Theatre, and popcorn at Kress’s. I’m sad that it’s all gone now, but at the same time glad that I’m just barely old enough to remember when downtown was still the center of things.

I may try to hit Myrtle Beach tomorrow. I lived there for four months eleven years ago. Haven’t been back since. It’s changed either dramatically or not at all, I’d imagine. We’ll see.

***

Seems my dad developed a serious kidney stone in honor of the Tour. Thus, my biggest single frame of reference for the Greensboro leg as been the emergency room at Cone Hospital. Spent pretty much all of Saturday there waiting for something to happen. Fortunately, surgery finally ensued with no complications and my dad is home and quite normal now. Except for the string. Let’s not discuss that…

So I got to relive another aspect of my childhood by hanging out at Cone Hospital. From about age four to age eight or so, I had an awful lot of relatives die there and I remember playing on the steps in front of the main entrance many nights while my parents worried. I finally found those steps again last night while prowling around looking for a smoking area. They look much smaller now.

 

In the process of lurking about the hospital staring at the cute orderlies and interns and reading all about the architecture of Pittsburgh, I managed to miss my cousin’s wedding. At least I was spared the repetitive “I guess your next” comments of my more distant and less savvy relatives.

As yet I haven’t gotten in contact with half the people I planned to, due in part to the above-mentioned semi-drama. I have one day left; it might be a bit tough now.

I did, however, run into several old friends by accident Friday night when I realized that I’d had it with fags and Babylon’s rave children and instead checked out the band at ZooBar. The drummer for the trio on stage turned out to be Roy, a former co-worker from Kinko’s. The sound “man” was his wife Emily. And then I ran into an old WUAG cohort, Lynn Blakey, and found out that her new band, Glory Fountain, had opened. CD received; review forthcoming. I’m prepared to like it.

So as not to be completely removed from queers, I checked out opening night at the new bar in town, the Jokers 3. This is actually a straight club which has fallen on hard times and is now attempting to woo the fags on weekends. As of Friday, the strategy seemed to be failing miserably. And the bar is from hell. Surly staff, $3.25 for a Rolling Rock, and no crowd. Except for the straight redneck holdovers who looked as if they’d been clustered at the same table for the past ten years or so. I opted for a hasty retreat.

 

Drove to the Raleigh and Durham with mom on Friday as well. I’d probably have seen more and done more alone, but it seemed a good “quality time” moment, and was actually a nice break between trips to the hospital.

Tonight brought the big family gathering and dinner. Tons of food and most of the assorted relatives. It was nice, and I’m impressed that my mom managed to pull it off after yesterday.

Today also brought the first mild debauchery of the trip. I’ll skip that detail for right now, but suffice to say UNCG did it for me again…

    

The day before I left, we headed to Mt. Airy, birthplace of Andy Griffith and model for Mayberry. Oddly enough, I’d never been there before despite living most of my life about 45 miles away. Neat place, but they are completely shameless in their exploitation of the Mayberry theme. There’s a Snappy Lunch (which actually predates the show and was really one of Andy Griffith’s hangouts), as well as a Blue Bird Diner, Floyd’s Barber Shop, and Goober’s Filling Station (all “after the fact”).

 

Leaving Greensboro was rough. I have to admit to suppressing a few sobs as I headed for I-85; it’s rough leaving Mom and Dad. Unlike many people who move to SF, I wasn’t running from them. I actually like my parents. It’s Greensboro I was running from. The place just bugs the crap out of me for some reason. No doubt there will be more on this subject later.

So of course I never got in touch with Adam or Daniel and I feel most guilty, but it was a bit of a crazy week. There’s still Christmas, I guess…

It’s as surreal as ever being at home with Mom and Dad in Greensboro. Understand that I have the good fortune to have completely sane parents, which is quite a blessing, but it’s still a bit odd being back under the childhood roof. Among other things, I immediately feel about fifteen years younger — all in all, I guess this is a plus. But there are adjustments: I have to close the bathroom door when I piss, I feel odd about staying out late, I’m mildly uncomfortable about smoking in the house, etc. Plus, there’s no place to go should I meet the man of my dreams…

 

The older I get, the more time I devote to actually spending time with the parents when I visit home. I guess it’s due in part to the fact that I’ve realized they’re not immortal (at ages 67 and 72), and in part to the fact that I’m not as excited by the idea of spending every night lurking around in bars. Of course, last time I was here I felt safer at home anyway.

Mind you, I’m not completely averse to nightlife. Last night was fun. Jeff and I met some friends at New York Pizza, which was one of my old “trouble spots”. This is a strange little bar with a strange mix of people of all sexual, social, and cultural persuasions. Ran into an ex-something from many years past (“boyfriend” would be too strong a word…) who recently has had a heroin problem, was flirted with by another friend, and had generally good Christian fellowship. And pizza…

  

There have also been the obligatory trips to new subdivisions and shopping centers. Greensboro seems perpetually under construction, as perfectly good and relatively new homes and retail buildings are deserted for still newer ones farther out, a result of overabundant cheap suburban land.

But hey, the cable TV is great here; I’ve even been watching Nick-at-Nite’s TV Land. I didn’t think ANY cable companies carried it.

And it’s raining! I’m so excited…

 

Flirtations and relatives and barbecue and clean laundry. All is well down Carolina way. But I now remember that a trip home is no vacation. There are far too many responsibilities for that. There’s this relative and that relative to visit, friends to see, “quality time” with Mom and Dad, etc. I sort of feel like I’ve been on a schedule ever since I got here, even though I really just wanted to sit around watching TV and eating myself into oblivion.

 

It will be odd if my only debauchery of the entire trip occurs here. There have been flirtations, one that I wouldn’t have turned down Tuesday night, and one less enticing one last night. Tuesday’s wasn’t to be at the time, but was fun all the same. As for Wednesday’s, it went as follows (keep in mind that I had given NO signal that sex was a possibility):

“Can I be direct with you?”

“Sure…but I’m really beat and it probably won’t do much good.”

“So how do you feel about HIV?”

Now you see, I hate when it starts like this. I live in San Francisco. I’ve slept with people who have HIV. I’ve dated people who have HIV. Even though I’m negative, I pretty much assume everyone else is positive. But when this is the first part of a pickup line, it makes it hard for me to respond in any polite way. If I say no, it seems as if it’s related to the HIV rather than the fact that I’m just not interested in the guy, when in fact the latter is the true reason.

 

But I got out diplomatically and finished watching the drag show, although I was being stalked by someone else throughout. All this other guy would do was stare at me and try to make me uncomfortable. No conversation. He didn’t even buy me a beer.

The junction of Virginia, West Virginia, and Maryland is full of history. Where else could your highway choices be Charles Town/Leesburg or Fredericksburg/Gettysburg? It’s as if both the American Revolution and the Civil War selected this scenic area as ground zero just so tourism would be strong in the twentieth century.

 

This is a truly beautiful part of the country, one of the top two or three in my humble estimation. I spent a lot of time here as a child, so I know the layout pretty well. Twice a year or so, my family would come to Charles Town, WV for the horse races and balance the trip with side trips — always to Harpers Ferry, and sometimes also to Washington, Baltimore, Richmond, or Williamsburg. The Shenendoah Valley was like a second home to me as I was growing up and I was looking forward to a return after fifteen years.

Jefferson County, WV is home to both Charles Town and Harper’s Ferry. The tow are connected in history by abolitionist John Brown’s 1859 raid, held in Harper’s ferry, and his subsequent trial, held in Charles Town. I was happy to see that at least downtown Charles Town hadn’t changed much, although the outskirts have been bludgeoned with the sledgehammer approach of Wal-Mart and related enterprises.

 

I saw all the sights: the courthouse, Charles Washington Hall (where we used to eat breakfast every morning), the 7-11 where I bought cigarettes when I was 15, the motel where I fell down the stairs at age 7, the hospital I was rushed to afterward, the old and deserted race track as well as the renovated new one…

I was, on the other hand, appalled to find that you now have to pay five bucks to park and take a bus into Harper’s Ferry from a lot two miles away. Having no time for such nonsense, I drove into town and found a two-hour space and told to the National Park Service, in essence, to bite me.

 

I looked in the old shops. I stared at the absolutely beautiful point where the Shenendoah meets the Potomac. I climbed the mountain. I saw the ruins of the old church. I sat on Jefferson Rock. I made a nice lady from North Carolina take my picture and showed her party where the graveyard was.

And then I left. West Virginia gave way to Virginia and I realized I was damn close to home. It goes without saying that no maps were required from this point on.

  

Once in the city of George, Maria, and Cecilius Calvert (Lord Baltimore and family), we were treated to a Sunday afternoon high tea with Taylor, a fellow Greensboro native, who managed to entertain and amuse us by making his fall vacation collide with mine as he drove from Philadelphia to Norfolk. This was a most memorable lunch indeed.

Afterward, we drove around by some places I wanted to see again, including the Rotunda, where a very nice man once tried to befriend me in the men’s room, and the increasingly trendy Fells Point area.

 

We headed down North Avenue (original Highway 40, the “National Road”) to its intersection with U.S. 1. The neighborhoods were interesting and this was a side of Baltimore I’d never seen. And then the diner of my dreams appeared on the left. It was a wonderful thing, pretty faithfully restored, and was a most fitting coffee and pie stop.

 

Then it was back to Westminster, because I was not about to miss the season premieres of “The Simpsons” and “King of the Hill”, tour or no, and neither was Risa.

We stopped at Roy Rogers on the way back so I could experience my first Double-R-Bar Burger of the trip; yer host loves this part of the country ‘cuz it’s the only place Roy’s hasn’t been completely bastardized by Hardee’s. In fact, they even tried to change the names and formats here a few years back and business took such a nosedive they had to change back. OK…I’m overly enthusiastic about fast food here. I’ll stop…

Afterward, I got to hang out with cute boys in the computer lab at Western Maryland College. Big bonus here. And I finally witnessed my first Jewish wedding, albeit on video rather than in person.

And the updates on old high school and college pals prepared me somewhat for the fact that I would be back in North Carolina in a day or so.