Menu Close

Travel

SF to Bakersfield

 

OK, it was my first time there and it was also a really good excuse for a road trip taking those convoluted routes I’m so fond of, this time including more chunks of Route 66 and Highway 99 through the Central Valley. This time, the raod led through Bakersfield and Pixley and Barstow.

Like it or not, you have to be impressed by Las Vegas’ unchallenged status as “white trash cultural capital of America”. Plus there’s really cheap food, 24 hour bars, and more neon than the mind can fathom.

So my friend Duncan e-mails me from Charlotte and says “wanna go to Vegas?”. He was going to be there for a convention and invited me along to share in the fun. Being unemployed and bored, how could I say no to a good road trip and dirt cheap (OK…free…) accommodations? So, equipped with my newly acquired “NAC Green Book”, the 1941 auto club guide to the west coast, off I went.

As always, I ended up leaving later than planned. And as usual, I took the old road as opposed to the new. I’ve developed this real fascination with Highway 99, which was the main California north-south route before I-5 was constructed in the late 1960s and early 1970s. Having done the Fresno and Sacramento/Stockton portion of the journey, I was excited about finally hitting Bakersfield.

Highway 99 is great. It’s easy to see the remnants of its former dominance, and the towns scattered along it have not been gentrified and modernized into a generic mess like most of coastal California. My first major sighting on the road was an abandoned Horne’s Restaurant near Kingsburg. I knew it was going to be a good trip.

 

Several miles down the road, I found the Elmo Highway. Anyone who really knows me knows how exciting this moment was for me. I don’t know where it goes and I didn’t drive on it, but I’m glad to know it’s there. More towns followed, and I felt compelled to take the “99 Business Route” (the old highway) through most of them. Interesting sights all around.

 

Pixley! Suddenly, there it was in the distance. Seeing Pixley was more than I’d hoped for. Although there were no traces of Hooterville or Bugtussle nearby, I was happy to see that the commercial tradition started by Sam Drucker’s Store was alive and well at the Pixley Mini Mart and the Pixley General Store. After watching a train go by (I don’t think it was the Cannonball), it was time to leave and make the rest of the journey into scenic Bakersfield.

  

The only information I had about Bakersfield was from maps and the song “Far Away Eyes” by the Stones. I was delighted to see that it looked just the way I’d imagined: flat, dusty, and a little bit trapped in 1962. Block after block of old motels, coffee shops, and drive ins caught my eye. While I’m sure that an “80’s strip” full of chain stores and the like exists somewhere, I was mercifully spared the sight of it and my fantasy remained unchallenged. Thank you Jesus. Thank you Lord. (Thanks Mick…)

  

The terrain was flat and low-lying. The streets were wide. The buildings by and large were not “modernized” (which in the 80s and 90s usually means stripping away the original modernism in favor of something which is neither modern nor aesthetically pleasing).

 

I decided this would be a dang nice place to spend the night.

Downtown Bakersfield was great! Traditional “historic district” types would not be impressed, because the whole area seems to have been built between 1940 and 1965. Of course, this was right up my alley. Old department store buildings, a cool Woolworth’s, and an old Kress store brought back to life as the City Planning office. Overlooking it all was the Padre Hotel, in all its seedy beauty, with coffee shop and “casino room” intact. There are also a couple of great old theatres and a really exciting drug store which I managed to see prior to its repainting in tones of “corporate blue”.

OK…maybe it was because it was Sunday night. I don’t know. But the nightlife just wasn’t happening. The queer bars were not jumpin’, there seemed to be no one out on the streets (except the police, who were very much in evidence), and live music was not happening at all.

All the same, I managed to hit a few spots, none of them tremendously populated. First on the list was the Casablanca Club (1030 20th Street). It was a friendly type spot; the bartender, Rick, was out front and bored and greeted me upon my arrival. I will say that walking in was a bit intimidating. There were about eight people sitting in the darkened room, IN TOTAL SILENCE. Apparently, the juke box hadn’t been fed recently. When the music started again, it was country. Had two beers, talked to a couple of people and got recommendations on other spots, and hit the road…

  

…to the Cellar (K Street between 19th and 20th). A sign out front warned that parking was limited to 36 minutes. I didn’t use all my allotted time. I was in and out in about ten. Scary place. It tries really hard to be “nice”, but the music was horrible and the crowd was desperately seeking something I was unable to define. Probably a good thing. This bar reminded me a lot of the Palms in Greensboro, except that I like the Palms.

The evening’s last stop was The Place (3500 Wilson Road). The never accurate Bob Damron Guide listed this as a “country western” bar, so I was a tad leery. Needn’t have been; it was standard generic faggot disco in a strip mall setting. It wasn’t a particularly bad place…just not my scene. It was, I will admit, the only place in town that seemed to have any sort of energy.

Home. Bed. Alone.

Bakersfield to Las Vegas

 

I found a really great breakfast spot the next morning. The 24th Street Cafe (24th Street near Chester) was an old coffee shop, which may have pretensions toward being “chic”, but fortunately the prices and clientele haven’t caught up yet. Great waitress who called me “honey” and kept refilling the coffee cup, great local regulars who had conversations about things you rarely hear in SF (crops, the church bazaar, gas prices), and great hash browns.

 

A quick trip to the Salvation Army for the thrift store fix, a stop by the gas station (pump first THEN pay), and Bakersfield was history.

 

I followed the route of what used to be US 466 out of Bakersfield, through Tehachapi, Mojave (the town and the desert), and Barstow. Currently, the road is California 58 from Bakersfield to Barstow and I-15 from Barstow to Las Vegas. It’s interesting to see the terrain get progressively hillier and browner moving east from Bakersfield. This part of the Mojave Desert is actually pretty far above sea level (upto 4800 feet at Mountain Pass near the Nevada border). I even felt inspired to take a few nature pictures, knowing full well it might ruin my image.

 

Barstow is a strangely wonderful place. Its main reason for existing seems to be its role as the junction of a number of major highways. One of these highways used to be Route 66, the “mother road”, before it was replaced (at this stretch at least) by the cross-country Interstate 40, which begins in Barstow. Barstow was a pilgrimage I had to make because Greensboro, my hometown, used to be the eastern terminus of I-40 (it now cuts all the way through to Wilmington).

  

Main Street is home to much roadside beauty, including the El Rancho Motel and the Beacon Bowl and Coffee Shop (East Main Street), where I felt compelled to have lunch. As luck would have it, a busload of high school age Belgian tourists felt compelled in the same manner at the same time. Each of them paid individually…with travelers checks. This tended to slow down service tremendously as there was but one increasingly harried waitress. Good food though. I was well-fed for the remaining desert crossing.

Las Vegas in the daytime is so ugly it hurts. It’s flat, full of vacant lots, and sand blows through all the major intersections. The roadsides have no grass or plantings, only sand and dirt. The surrounding mountains have no trees. The buildings are without any trace of color. Suburban sprawl of the most generic king surrounds the city. It’s hard to imagine a more unappealing locale for a resort destination.

  

And tourism is most definitely what Vegas is all about. It’s the only local industry covered in the press (casino receipts are up six per cent this year), and tourist facilities are everywhere. It’s almost hard to imagine that anyone lives here if you don’t leave the “strip”. Of course I did leave the strip.

The good thing is that things look much better at night. Perhaps it’s because you can’t see anything but the lights. White trash culture has been raised to an art form here. EVERYTHING is tacky and gaudy. It’s inescapable. Don’t get me wrong; this is not necessarily a bad thing. My tastes run toward the lowbrow, after all.

The locals complain about all the tourists, although without them there would be more or less nothing here. They complain about the lousy drivers, although most of the cars I saw pulling out in front of me, stopping for no apparent reason, etc. had Nevada tags. I had flashbacks to the love-hate relationship I noticed while living in Myrtle Beach. I think I saw lots of the same tourists as well.

  

The reason for the trip was the NAB (National Association of Broadcasters) convention. Home was the Palace Station Hotel and Casino. Vegas rule number one: EVERY business doubles as a casino, including the Seven Eleven and the corner bar. The host was Duncan. The political issues of the week were the write-in candidacy of Jack Russell (a dog) for City Council and a new Nevada law prohibiting sexual relations between teachers and students, even those above the age of consent (16 in Nevada).

Duncan summed up Vegas very well when he pointed out that the only vice still legal in the city is gambling. Therefore, non-gamblers find little to do there. Vegas is a lot like Times Square; it’s been cleaned up too much. The city even advertises itself as the largest theme park in the US. It’s pretty much true. Reality seems unable to gain a foothold here.

  

Random notes: walking is not something which can be easily accomplished in most sections of Las Vegas. I tried it. It didn’t work. Smoking, on the other hand, is very easily accomplished. You can do that ANYWHERE…

In Vegas

  

Las Vegas is now marketed as a major family resort. There are carnival rides (including a roller coaster and “drop” ride atop the Stratosphere tower). There are “all you can eat” family-style buffets. There are shows and museums and any number of diversions. That’s all well and good, but gambling is what Vegas is all about. Do not be fooled into thinking that these “improvements” are concerned with diversifying the economy. No, no, no. The added attractions are designed — like everything else in town — to draw and suck in gambling tourists. Gambling is where the profits are. Period. And the “strip” casinos are where most people do it.

  

Las Vegas Boulevard is pretty amazing, especially at night. What was originally an attention-getting form of roadside advertising has now become a tradition. Strangely enough, a subdued and “tasteful” casino might be more likely to stand out now, if it could be seen through the sea of lights.

  

For a good look at where Vegas has been (and, alas, where it’s going) check out the Fremont Street Experience. The Fremont strip was the original casino zone and is the one you usually see in movies and videos. You know the one which inspires awe when you drive through it? It’s located downtown and is much more concentrated and dense than Las Vegas Boulevard, where everything is surrounded by a sea of asphalt. Unfortunately, it’s being turned into a mall. The street is now closed to vehicular traffic, and a strange post-modern “roof” has been added. Light shows are projected on the roof to compete with the neon. An 80’s aesthetic nightmare which was constructed in the 90’s. Pity.

  

Cruising Vegas

How to eat and drink in Las Vegas? It’s pretty damned easy, I must say. If you’re gambling in the casinos, you can usually drink free. Even if you’re not gambling, food and drinks are dirt cheap in these places (see below). The only catch is the design, which requires you to wind your way through every square inch of gaming space in order to arrive at the buffet or the bar. Marketing, y’know? Kind of like the way that milk and eggs and other staples and things you want to grab fast are always at the back of the supermarket…

As to that queer scene, Vegas is a huge closet of a town. This is most likely due to the fact that the redneck factor here is even higher than in some parts of the south. I’m referring both to the tourists and to the locals, unfortunately. A big minus is that there is no “gay zone”, so bar hopping requires some major driving. On the plus side, many of these bars are located in residential areas off the “strip”, so it’s possible to get a feel for what the natives are really like.

 

Some nightlife:

After visiting the vey snotty Inferno and the very creepy Badlands, I found myself happier at Eagles/Texas, which wants to be a leather bar, but the patrons won’t seem to let it. Wednesday “Underwear night” was crowded and fun. Tuesday “Keno night” wasn’t. Fun place, generic music. The “Texas” side resembles a set from “Gilligan’s Island”. We referred to it as the “Sugar Shack”.

I also liked Angles/Lace, which had nifty new wave videos the first night. It was a big bar with lots of rooms to explore. Wednesday was “Goth Night” in the back dance area, although the DJ’s definition of “gothic” included New Order and other 80’s new wave. I ran into a friend from SF here incidentally.

I liked Snick’s, which was friendly and cruisy and was locked (wityh patrons apparently inside when I tried to revisit late at night), and Buffalo. I hated Flex and couldn’t even be bothered to stick around long enough to buy a beer.

And then there was the Mini-David room. How could I resist a porn theatre with an eight dollar cover? Straight stuff in the “theatre”, gay stuff in the back room. Not much action, but lots of old discarded console TV’s scattered about.

  

And some buffets:

Wind your way through the casino. Pay a small amount of money ($5-8 tops). Eat all you can. Feast on prime rib, ham, and turkey. Sample Seafood Newburg, Chicken Masala, macaroni and cheese, baked potatoes, chocolate cream pie, pastries, pink Bundt cake, and more. This is how you eat in Vegas. Even the locals do it in lieu of grocery shopping. It’s cool. It’s fattening. It’s gluttony at its finest. And they have smoking sections! I noticed several patrons who were so excited they smoked and ate at the same time!

The Palace Station (West Sahara at South Rancho) was my favorite, but was also three bucks more than the Sahara (South Las Vegas Boulevard at East Sahara). Prices ranged from $2.49 for breakfast at the Sahara to $8.79 for dinner at the Palace Station. Just do it. It’s good for you.

Cheap Motels:

Once again, Fremont Street is the place to be. This was the original Vegas strip, before the monster complexes sprouted along South Las Vegas Boulevard. It’s tremendously seedy now, but it’s still obvious that this used to be “the place”. I was excited. The “highly recommended by owner” motel was my favorite. I’d stay there based on that recommendation. You?

  

Vegas Music:

Radio ranges from generic modern rock to a cool heavy metal station to a “music of your parents’ life” station. The second and third options seemed most appropriate to cruising the city.

There seemed, alas, to be no live music scene except in the casinos. I opted against paying $65 to see Huey Lewis at Caesar’s.

The background music at the Place Station took the prize, however. When I drove in, the first sound was “Feels So Good” by Chuck Mangione. Very fitting arrival music. The assault of forgotten hits of the 70’s, those songs even the oldies station avoids, continued throughout the trip. I must have heard “Magnet and Steel” by Walter Egan at least four times (although once was in a very depressing Jack in the Box in the ‘burbs).

Liberace:

The main thing I wanted to see in Vegas was the Liberace Museum, reputed to be a veritable temple of kitsch. Alas, I never caught it open, so there’s no report and no pix. Sorry…

The Long Way Home

The trip home led me on the most convoluted route so far (on purpose, of course…). The original plan was to drive south to Kingman, Arizona and cross the desert on old Route 66, but this proved to be too much of a drive. I settled for hitting the “mother road” back at Barstow by way of Zzyzx Road and I-15. From there, I headed south through Victorville and across Cajon Pass to San Bernadino (site of the very first McDonald’s).

  

Route 66 runs across Foothill Boulevard, Alosta Avenue, and Huntington Drive as it winds its way through the “Inland Empire” toward Los Angeles. Unfortunately, a lot of what was once there has been replaced by strip mall nightmares, especially around Fontana and Cucamonga. There are still sights to be seen, however, including one of the original Wigwam Village Motels in Rialto.

In Rancho Cucamonga, a small sign caught my eye, directing me to the Route 66 Visitors Center (7965 Vineyard Avenue, off Foothill Blvd.), a museum and gift shop devoted to the road. Great place, and I spent a good half hour there poking around and talking to the “greeter”.

  

The next stop was LeRoy’s Restaurant in Monrovia. It’s been there since Route 66 was still the main highway, and still does a brisk local business. friendly, homey kind of place, with a counter (where I sat) and yet more waitresses who called me “honey” without fearing I might sue them for sexual harassment.

 

The drive through the north section of Los Angeles was daunting, but the scenery was good. It’s hard to trace a few original portions of the route, due to freeway construction. The alignment I followed was Mission Drive to Cesar Chavez Blvd. to Sunset Blvd. to Santa Monica Blvd. At this point, I left Route 66 for old Highway 101 (Ventura Blvd.) headed north. Eventually, I had to hit the freeway at the early end of rush hour. I was making better time on the surface road…

Before long, I was in the thrift store mecca of Ventura, also the headquarters site for Kinko’s. I’d spent time there before and didn’t feel the need to give it more than a half hour of my time.

Next stop was Santa Barbara, where I’d originally planned to stop for the night. I can’t adequately describe how much I hated this town. The place is nauseatingly cutesy and precious and white. There were no malls, except for a downtown which very much resembles one. The whole town was completely sanitized and reminiscent of Marin County. Nothing could have made me spend a night here.

Thus I continued on to San Luis Obispo, home of the Hearst Castle, the Madonna Inn, and Cal Poly. Definitely a little higher on the reality scale than Santa Barbara, although this was a most obvious college town. Since it was almost 10PM, and I’d been driving since 7AM, a stop was in order.

A beer or two was also in order, so I headed to the local queer bar, Breeze’s (11560 Los Osos Valley Road). Nice place, fairly generic music, and a couple of cute boys. I didn’t meet my first obsession. If anyone knows him, tell him to get in touch. I’m guessing age 25 or so, medium height and build, goatee, curly dark hair, and he won a T-shirt for knowing that ABC denied a lesbian cruise line the opportunity to advertise on “Ellen”. He drives a red car. I crave him.

I did, however, meet an off-duty DJ and fellow Mac supremacist named Glenn. He seemed a good person to pass last call with while sitting outside. I sat outside a lot; a city ordinance prohibits smoking inside bars in San Luis Obispo. I could never live there…

Back to SF

 

Lots of sleep followed by Saturday morning cartoons, and I was off. This was the uneventful part of the trip, where I covered more familiar territory. I did see beautiful downtown San Luis Obispo as well as a really cool original A&W Drive-In in Paso Robles.

As luck would have it, traffic jams on every freeway slowed my approach to San Francisco and (once again) dampened my enthusiasm about the return. All in all, though, a great trip. Perspective will follow soon in the inevitable postmortem.

Thanks for coming along!

Sacramento

“Isn’t Sacramento the place where “Eight Is Enough” was set”?”

Well, yeah…but there’s other stuff there too. I have to admit that I really like Sacramento. It’s where I go when I need a little perspective after spending too much time in the loony bin which is San Francisco — kind of an adopted home town. Actually, it reminds me a lot of North Carolina. Tree-lined streets, houses with yards, queer bars that look like steak houses, etc. And the abundance of roadside architecture, especially in West Sacramento, is truly amazing. Sacramento is also a thrift store mecca.

To start, I must admit that I really love Sacramento, It’s a very comforting place — mainly, I guess, because it reminds me so much of the towns I knew in North Carolina: tree-lined streets, houses with yards and driveways, strip shopping centers, etc. Strangely enough, I actually even had sex with a charming couple in their trailer here a few years ago. It was a first time for me, despite my upbringing in the motherland of trailer parks.

On my last overnight trip here, I met a very cute boy who liked jazz and be-bop and we spent the night making love to the likes of Ella Fitzgerald. As I drove home the next day, I discovered that Ella had died that very same night. I was almost as depressed by her death as I was when I learned how much my host paid for his apartment. I’d sort of hoped we might run into each other by accident. We’d lost touch during the past year (OK…we’d never again talked after “the fact”…). Didn’t happen. Oh well…

I got up Saturday morning and decided to hit my adopted California hometown after the obligatory “Animaniacs” and “Pinky and the Brain”. I had a fairly late start, but it allowed me time to hit the Chick-fil-A in Farifield (the only one in the Bay Area). I also made it into Sacramento in time to obtain my traditional room at the Motel 6 and hit a few of my favorite thrift stores.

And damn, was it hot there; by 8PM, it was still 82 out. I had strange flashbacks to summer Saturday nights back home, sitting on the patio as the sun went down. I drove through the subdivisions and saw the families cooking out and socializing and I realized that growing up here was probably not unlike growing up where I did. I never get this feeling in the city. Maybe the difference is what attracted me to San Francisco…

Not much luck at the thrift stores, so I visited motel hell in West Sacramento.

Originally, two major cross-country highways, U.S.40 and U.S.50 met in Sacramento before dividing and reconverging in San Francisco. U.S.40 now ends somewhere in Nevada, replaced by I-80. U.S.50 now has its terminus in West Sacramento, its western leg having been replaced primarily by I-580. The old routes through Sacramento can still be traveled (Auburn Blvd. and West Capitol Ave. for U.S.40 and Folsom Blvd. and Stockton Blvd. for U.S.50).

 

West Capitol Avenue in West Sacramento is a virtual mecca of 1940’s and 50’s motel architecture. This area has a long-standing reputation as a “wide open” town with a tolerant attitude toward prostitution and other “vices”. West Sacramento and nearby Bryte were home to most of the area gay clubs in the late 60’s and early 70’s, when law enforcement in the central city forced them out.

  

I drove around the capitol building, and watched the prom kids posing for pictures and getting out of limousines on every corner. Dinner at Wienerschnitzel on Broadway (just because I could…).

Back to the Motel 6, where I stared at the lipstick on the bathroom wall and the burn marks from someone’s travel iron. This was not a showcase suite, despite the fact that this location got a “banner” in the new directory. I took a shower. It was painful. I watched a little TV, which was even more painful.

Then off to the nightlife, such as it was. The Wreck Room was not as much fun as usual, although I did meet a very interesting “healer” who bought me a beer and offered to come back to my room and “realign my spine and relax me…no strings attached”. I declined. I also visited the Mercantile (creepy as ever) and the new location of the Bolt ($3.25 for a Rolling Rock in a very unspectacular bar…gimme a break…). I was horrified to find a flyer for Colossus in San Francisco on my car after parking near Faces. By last call, I was back at the Wreck. Fortunately, since bar-hopping in Sacramento involves a lot of driving, I never had time to get drunk.

After last call, I decided to see if the river access at 10th and Vine was as cruisy by night as it was in the daytime. The traffic jam I found when I got there convinced me my instincts were correct. Not may takers, though. There was a Metallica marathon on the radio station, and for some reason this is not most fags’ idea of “appropriate cruising music”. Everyone looked at me a bit warily. I did meet one guy, but he seemed a bit too concerned with my car and occupation, as well as with stressing that he’d run a marathon this morning and worked out in the afternoon. He seemed miffed that I didn’t care.

Home to bed…alone… Slept with the air conditioner on. Big mistake.

Sacramento Still

Woke up early Sunday morning and called Mom to wish her a happy Mother’s Day. Then, in her absence, I proceeded to wolf down a breakfast big enough for both of us at the Pancake Circus on Broadway. Eggs, chicken-fried steak and four monster pancakes from hell for only $4.99. I avoided the line by sitting at the counter, which is what I usually do even when there’s no line. The coffee refills come quicker at the counter.

A quick cruise through the Tower District and North Sacramento:

Centered around the renovated Tower Theater on Broadway, the Tower District was also home to the very first Tower Records location. There’s also the Tower Cafe, Tower Liquors, and more. Worth a look. Do not miss breakfast at the Pancake Circus a few blocks north.

Del Pason Boulevard in North Sacramento is an excellent 1940’s suburban strip with cheap restaurants, a couple of old theaters and a classic ice skating rink. There’s also a growing art community here.

Then I got on the road for Placerville for some strange reason. I took the old route of Highway 50 (big surprise, right?) through Folsom, got the oil changed by a most attractive lad at Wal-Mart, and then slammed on the air conditioner again. The altitude adjustment was not lessening the heat in any discernible way.

Placerville proved pretty uneventful, although it’s quite pretty. The three used bookstores yielded nothing, and I was not in any sort of “antiquing” mood, so I headed back toward Sacramento. By this time, the temperature was 96, I was dehydrated, and I wanted nothing so much as fog and cool air, so I came home.

For approximately the fifteenth time, I didn’t stop at the Milk Farm in Dixon on the way back. Someday soon, I promise. The Mother’s Day traffic was from hell, and got so bad by the time I hit Berkeley that I actually got off the freeway and cut through Oakland to save time. Unless you live here, you don’t quite grasp the irony of that statement.

Once back in the city, it was off to “beer and a blowjob for $1.50” night at My Place, followed by a late-night adventure in the East Bay with my roommate which was even less exciting than the Sacramento trip and thus bears no mention here.

Reflections on the Central Valley

The major highways through Sacramento are I-5 and I-80, which more or less replaced US highways 40, 50, and 99. Highway 99 is a roadside architecture paradise, running through Lodi and Stockton as well as Fresno and Bakersfield. Highway 50 leads to the Sierra and passes through historic Placerville.

 

Lodi

Lodi is a small central valley agricultural town about ten miles north of Stockton. Cherokee Boulevard is the old route of Highway 99 through town, and there are some roadside gems to be seen. The Safeway below, alas, has been remodeled by its new owner.

  

Stockton

Stockton’s an interesting place. For the roadside effect, check out Wilson Way (old Highway 99). Wilson Way and its environs are also a good area for thrift stores, including Thrift Outlet (East Harding Way near Wilson Way) and Thrift Center (Wilson Way near Harding Way).

University of the Pacific is a good boy-watching spot on Pacific Avenue. There is a gay bar, Paradise (10100 Lower Sacramento Road), but I’ve never been brave enough to check it out.

Another interesting sight is the twin malls on Pacific Avenue. In most cities with two malls, they’re on opposite ends of town. Not in Stockton. Two unrelated malls were constructed next door to each other. There are even a couple of stores with branches in each. Strange…

 

Planet SOMA US Tour 1997

8800 miles. 29 states. 2 countries. 5 weeks. This was some trip!

On 2 September 1997, yer humble host leaves on a very long journey around the country. The object is to see the USA, via the old roads as much as possible, and to meet interesting people. Accommodations will be provided in large part by Planet SOMA readers and other friends. Updates will be transmitted from the road.  You’re invited along for the ride, but be forewarned: I break for drive-ins, sleazy motels, cute boys, etc…

So what the hell am I thinking? With minimal cash on hand, I’m embarking on a 7500-mile trip around the country alone. I’ll be gone for five weeks. I’ll be spending a good third of the trip staying in the homes of people I’ve never met face to face. For at least six or seven nights I’ll be lurking about completely alone in cheap motels hundreds, even thousands of miles from home.

This trip is something I’ve been contemplating for a long time. I was pretty damned amazed that a lot of Planet SOMA readers liked the idea well enough to offer couch space and bathroom privileges, as well as guided tours and more.

Why are you doing this?

Well, I guess it’s just because that’s what I do. Over the last few years, I’ve learned that the times I’m happiest are when I’m completely alone, driving down a highway I’ve never traveled before, en route to a relatively unfamiliar destination. It’s such a great sensation, seeing things I’ve never seen before, as well as new versions of things I’ve seen a million times before. The completely banal becomes exciting.

Aren’t you apprehensive about your living quarters?

I’m not worried about the prospect of staying with strangers, and I hope they’re not worried about the prospect of me in their homes. In fact, calling many of my hosts “strangers” is pretty inaccurate anyway. Thanks to e-mail, I’ve formed alliances with people all over the country — and the world. Surely there’s a considerably stronger bond here than with someone I might invite into my home after meeting up in a bar on Folsom Street.

Will you be giving updates on Planet SOMA?

I sure hope so. The level of detail will depend on my computer access as I travel, as well as on how much time I have. At a minimum I plan to put up simple text updates as often as I can. The pictures may have to wait until I get back because (a) I don’t want to spend the whole trip editing them and (b) not everyone can accomplish video captures easily.

That said, the simple answer is “yes…there will be updates from the road”.

Can I still join the fun?

No. I don’t want to meet anyone else.

OK…I’m kidding. I’m still itching to meet more people around the country. Take this as a hint, if you will, but Detroit and Oklahoma City are the two big spots where a friendly face would be appreciated. But there’s still time to meet up if you live somewhere else too. Mail me (before Labor Day would be nice). We’ll talk.

Thanks again to everyone who has expressed support and interest in the trip. It’s gonna be fun.