Chapel Hill, North Carolina

Chapel Hill, or at least the town center, indeed sits atop a hill which was originally occupied by a small Anglican "chapel of ease", built in 1752, known as New Hope Chapel. The Carolina Inn now occupies the site of the original chapel. In 1819, the town was founded to serve the University of North Carolina and grew up around it. The town was chartered in 1851, and its main street, Franklin Street, was named in memory of Benjamin Franklin. -Wikipedia



I could definitely see myself living in a town like this. It is very quaint and reminds me of Fort Collins, Colorado in a way. The streets all have bike lanes and everyone looks healthy. The University of North Carolina meets Franklin St. and you can see into the campus as you pass by. The houses that flank campus are impeccably maintained mansions; they must be the fraternities and sororities.

I wandered around Chapel Hill for a while and looked in a few stores. I was heading back the way I came up East Franklin St. when all of a sudden the sky decided to open up and let loose a waterfall of rain. I made it under an awning fast, but it was so windy I got soaked all over my back, front still completely dry.

Overheard at the Post Office today in Chapel Hill, NC:
"I would like to get my mail forwarded to Japan"
"You're moving to Japan? What, you don't like it here no more?"

Haha. That made me laugh. The guy at the post office was pretty funny.




"My heart is shaped like a bicycle" -Desi


If you are ever in Chapel Hill, go check out LightYears Jewelry store. It is a small, North Carolina local jewelry store that has all kinds of neat stuff. I saw some earrings in there that were similar to something you might find in Sundance Catalog, which I love, and much less expensive.

More Photos

I promise I will be adding some pictures to my blog so it isn't so text heavy. I was too afraid to stop the car last night to take a picture of what I was driving in. You never know who or what is looming in the darkness!

Lost Highway

Tuesday, January 27, 2009
I left Lancaster this morning around 11:30. I was checking the weather periodically throughout the morning because the word was out that a storm was hitting the northwest. According to the Weather Channel, there was going to be bad weather through Baltimore, DC, and Richmond. I headed out regardless of my Grandmothers’ concerns of trouble on the road (lets’ face it, I’ve been accustomed to driving in bad weather for a few years) due to the storm heading this way.

I was already an hour into the journey to Carrboro and I hadn’t even seen any precipitation. I was mostly hoping that the bad weather wasn’t supposed to start until later in the evening when I was already too far south to care. When I started getting closer to Baltimore the sky looked bleak.

I stopped just south of DC at a rest stop. Traffic had started to pick up and I really needed a restroom. I had to laugh a little when I went inside because I don’t trust anyone and concealed all my belongings in my car before I went into the bathroom. When I went into the bathroom, ironically, there was a plaque on the backside of the bathroom door that read “do not hang belongings on the hook, please use the lower hook for purse.”

I remember being in high school and being told a travel story of a family friend; her mother had hung her purse on the coat hook on the inside of a bathroom stall in a rest stop. Someone reached over the top of the stall door and unhooked her purse and stole it. Ever since was told this story I have at least double wrapped my purse strap or not hung my valuables on the backside of a stall door. For someone who apparently has always been pretty sheltered, I always just thought it was an urban legend (although I still believed it).

I was in the restroom for about 72 seconds. Hardly enough time for someone to try to break into Rheannon, or to try to reach over the stall door, only to realize that I didn’t have a purse for which I would have busted out of the stall, chased the culprit down and started donkey punching. (Get it? DONK)

I got back onto I-95 with some traffic on the road. Somehow I still managed to make it through Richmond in adequate time and decided to drive to Hampton, VA to visit my friend Greg.

Greg is a friend from High School. I haven’t seen him much since high school. In November, our friends’ Melissa and Matt tied the knot and I got to spend some time with him and some other great people. I decided that, albeit out of the way by an hour or so, it would be nice to stop in and visit him. He’s one of those people that just make you smile and make you feel good about humanity. He is also a manager at Hooters.

I’ve never been to a Hooters’ before, what the hell? Well, let me just say that I was one of three women in the joint aside from the waitresses. I have never seen so much skin when I was trying to eat! But hey, I guess you just take it for what it is and move on.

This is where the adventure of the day truly begins. With reckless abandon, I did not consult the atlas and took a chance on the GPS. This proved to be a monumental mistake.

I head out on the strip of road that Greg’s work is on. What direction I was going I probably couldn’t tell you. I think it took me Northwest (NOT the direction I wanted to be heading) over to Newport News, VA, across Hampton Roads Bay. It was raining pretty hard, it was dark, and I was on a stretch of two lane road that didn’t look like it was heading anywhere good.

I followed what I believe to be Route 258 West for a while, and then it told me to turn right onto Fire Tower Road (I'm not joking, Ben). Fittingly, it was a dirt road that supposedly was connecting me to another highway. Well, my adventure was actually turning into an adventure, who knew with Global Positioning technology? I’m trying to drive carefully through the muddy, rutty road. Then I heard a load clunk. I was a little worried that I might have popped my tire out here in the middle of nowhere, so I stopped the rig to get out and take a look. Upon further inspection it was just a rock, and no damage was done to the car. Thankfully!

I kept going. Next I was connected to Route 40 westbound. As soon as I got on this road I noticed that the GPS was telling me to stay on this road for about 45 miles, and for about 45 miles there wasn’t a thing in sight but trees folding over the road. With about 15 or so miles left until I connected with I-84, there were headlights pretty far behind me.

Maybe I have a wild imagination, and maybe I have seen too many horror films (last night I saw a film, as I recall it was a horror film). I was crossing my fingers and hoping to god that it wasn’t some fake cop that was going to pull me over and take all of my money (or worse) or Leather Face from Texas Chainsaw Massacre. Now I know why people keep telling me that I should stick to the main roads, I would probably die of fright if I was left to my thoughts for too long on this eerie lonesome highway. I’m thinking I need to thicken my skin in the name of adventure.

One quality I have always possessed the ability to determine a car type by its’ headlights. Or at least be able to determine if I can rule out a police cruiser, a heavy artillery machine, or monster truck. As the car was gaining on my trail, I realized it was a VW Jetta. Phew, I’m pretty sure that Jettas are harmless, and generally so are their owners.

I pulled into Carrboro, NC at 9:46pm unscathed. My friend Jenny is one of my longest standing best friend’s from High School. We met on the swim team sophomore year of high school and have since stayed great friends. I told her my idea for a road trip adventure; she was really intrigued about doing some road tripping with me to New Orleans and volunteering with Habitat for Humanity. When we are together we tend to laugh really loud and drink a lot of wine and raspberry danger water. Neither of us have ever been to New Orleans and I’m pretty sure New Orleans has no idea what is about to hit.

EEEEWWWWW!

I seem to have contracted a cold and I feel like Doo Doo Butter. I also woke up this morning to an inch of snow, but that doesn't concern me as much as this head cold. I am going to go overdose on EmergenC and Tylenol and head on out on my way to North Carolina. Still haven't decided if I will drive through Virginia Beach and visit my friend Greg for supper or not. It adds 2 hours to the trip.

Sailing off FROM Boston

"I believe t that what you sing to the clouds, will rain upon you when your sun has gone away. And I believe that what you dream to the moon will manifest before you rest another day. So stay strong, sleep long, and when you need to let the morning take you out on to today, yeah yeah. And when you find you're at the end of the road, just lift your head up spread your wings and fly away" -Michael Franti

I started my day with the packing that I should have done last night. I was a little sick to my stomach, which I would love to blame on my “nerves,” but lets face it, it was probably due to the hangover. I’m really hoping it wasn’t from sampling the homebrew that Hadley, Geoff and I made. Or the beer bottles that we retrieved from the Savant Projects’ last night recycling…

Anyway, I had a nice breakfast with Luis in the South End, followed by some last minute packing, freaking out and mixed taping. After all my possessions of importance were packed in my car, it was time to head out. I popped the “Allie’s Road Trip CD” that Luis made (it was a matter of secrecy and I was very curious as to what was on it) and headed west on the Mass Pike. It was a crisp, clear blue sky day and Boston was now in my rear-view mirror.

My apologies for not elaborating very much on this part of the journey, it is a section of road I have driven more times that I can count. My grandmother and her husband, whom I refer to as Pop-Pop Fred, and the entirety of my mother’s side of the family, live in Lancaster, PA.

My first stop is made just outside of Hartford, CT at a TA travel center. I need to make a bathroom stop and top off the gas tank. Now, why is it that you have to get all the way into the bathroom, do your business, before you realize there is no more toilet paper on the roll?! Luckily, there was a very nice person in the stall next to mine and was nice enough to hand some under the divider… Gas here is more expensive than in Boston, it is $2.12. Hopefully this isn’t going to be a trend.

I listened to Luis’s CD twice. Then put in a masterpiece of my own.



I love driving over the Tappan Zee Bridge. It is a cantilever bridge that spans the Hudson River between Nyack and Tarrytown, New York. On a clear day as you pass over it, if you look to the South you get an amazing view of the New York City skyline. If you are not driving on this clear day, you can look hard enough to spot the Statue of Liberty. In my case, I got a quick and excellent glimpse of the city while simultaneously trying to get the camera out to snap a quick photo. Hence, why this photo doesn’t nearly do it justice. I don’t know if any photo taken from a vehicle moving 45mph would, I think it is just what you experience as you are driving over it. It is pretty majestic, especially at dusk when the lights are on even though it is still bright enough to see.

I pulled into my grandma’s driveway at 8:00pm. It only took me 6.5 hours to get here, though I didn’t spend too much time on stopping. My grandma, bless her, is always trying to feed me. Especially now that I weigh 25 pounds less than I did the last time I saw her. She probably thinks I starve in Boston, how wrong she is!

You're the Worst

Friday night was spent with a handful of good friends’ at Jacob Wirth, a restaurant in Boston that has become a favorite Friday night spot in my group of friends.. Jacob Wirth is one of the oldest restaurants in Boston’s theatre district with some pretty excellent traditional German food, good beer on draught, and a piano man on Friday nights. Mel, the piano man, is a middle aged guy who is not afraid to tell you how pathetic your drunken shout-singing is, but who also loves a good crowd around his piano on a Friday night, so he’ll settle for your horrific singing. After many a pitcher of beer, some delicious fried pickles, and bellowing gut singing, we dispersed and started making our way in different directions. Amy and I had missed the last train to Somerville, so decided to take a taxi home.

Things get a little hazy here, but we had to stop at an ATM to give the cab driver money for our fare, then stumbled our way to 19 Banks. When we emerged in the morning from the blur of the previous nights festivities, we started to do “damage control”.

“Damage Control” is defined as the act of assessing what may be missing from your life the morning after a night of heavy imbibing. I am a pretty responsible drunk, so I don’t usually have too much controlling from the damage. This morning, however proved to be special. I opened my wallet to make sure all the necessary pieces of plastic where still in fact there and calculate how much cash I had blown. One very important little card, also known as a form of Debit, seemed to have grown legs and left my wallet. My heart rate started to accelerate upon realizing the problem. Where could it be? Jacket Pocket? No. Loose in the purse? No. On Amy’s floor near all of my other stuff? No. In my shoe? No.

Retracing the events of the previous night brought us to the conclusion that it either fell somewhere in the ATM area when we were getting money for the cabbie, or was sucked into the machine and not returned. Amy, while talking me back down from cold sweats, high blood pressure, and a near anxiety attack, is walking with me in the snowy cold New England weather to the bank to ask if the may have found it.

I walk up to the first available teller, and I am sure I look like I hit the bottle hard last night and that maybe the bottle also hit me, repeatedly. I begin to explain to the gentleman “See, I’m starting this road trip tomorrow, and I seem to have lost my ATM card somewhere between your ATM and the bed I fell into last night, I was wondering if maybe you have seen it?”

The kind sir responds professionally with “I can take a look, do you have your ID on you?” I’m thinking, yeah, I can do this, it isn’t the worst possible thing that could happen if I lost my debit card right now, is it? I mean, worse things could happen, like losing my right arm or, having an aneurism.

So I unzip the wallet to rifle around for my ID, and out of nowhere, magically returned to my wallet, is said debit card. Now, I am not one to overreact when I think my debit card is missing, especially in crucial times of need (yeah right.) but I can tell you that I pulled out every card and assessed that had in fact been missing. I mean, I swear on my life it was NOT there. How, had it supernaturally just reappeared in my wallet?

As I that my debit card is in my magic wallet, I chuckle to myself and look up to see the guy waiting for me to hand over my ID. I kindly say “oh. Here it is.” And I turn to Amy and say “I think God just smiled on me.”

Vessel

Recently I have been told (by more than one person) that it is a shame I haven't named my car. Apparently, regardless of road trip, I need to name my car. Since I have had it for a year and a half without a name, I guess now is as good a time as any. Since it is going to be a pretty important fixture in my life for the next two months, it will be my friend. Someone (something) I seek solace in when I am bored and feel the urge to start discussing important topics with, like the weather. Something I seek refuge in when I am stuck in a blizzard or can’t make it to my next warm couch.

Instead of working on something that I needed to do for this trip, like say; packing, or laundry for instance, I spent an hour looking on “Best-of-Craigslist” while simultaneously tossing some names and best-of’s back and forth with my friend Desi. Just as a side note, you will be hearing a lot about her, she is my international secret keeper, writing inspiration guru and BB4L (ironically, I can’t explain this to people who don’t understand). We like to have our “chatting” time pretty much every day and we recently both decided to take adventures at the same time. She has been living in Ibiza for the last 2.5 years and will be in NYC for a few months while I travel the vast expanses of the country. I plan to get in a lot of quality time with her after my trip. I also plan on helping her land the “Best Job Ever” because I want her to be where I can call her.

So, we were tossing around ideas of car names and a few sounded good, but were some earthy hippy names. I have decided that “it” is a she. I will henceforth be referring to my car as “she” or “her” regularly. Because I drive a Subaru Wagon, I have been teased in the past about my choices in vehicles being lesbian cars, but that I have graduated to a professional, grown-up lesbian car. I am not a lesbian, nor do I condone the sort of stereotyping about ones sexual preference or choice in car. I don’t really think there is a direct correlation.

We also decided that you will need a good description of her, so that I can refer to things that have broken along the way, fallen off and are now since lost to the road, or so I can explain to you why she is starting to get a certain odor due to my lack of bathing and laundering. She is white and tan, has a few skylights for night-time stargazing. She has tan leather seats; that have seen a little wear and tear from me throwing skis and bikes in her trunk. She’s pretty high tech, thankfully she graces me with a CD player and pretty good speakers. She is also big enough in the back that I can put the backseats down and fully lay down comfortably. Before I got her, I had the pleasure of camping in the back of her cousin once at the base lodge parking area at Mt. Hood in Oregon with my friend Mike. It was only bad because it was 4° and we had to listen to the sound of snowplows almost driving into the car throughout the night. I will give you more detail of this story some other day; it is one that shouldn’t be forgotten and is actually one of the reasons I decided to buy her.

These were all important factors in deciding the logistics of her name. I had been retelling a story from a family trip to Arizona when I was in high school over the weekend and I started to think about it a lot while driving back to Boston. I was remembering how obsessed I was with Fleetwood Mac’s “The Dance” album. I’m pretty sure I listened to it non-stop for about 3 weeks and I think that I wore through the first layer of plastic on the CD.

As I was driving along Route 2 scanning through stations when Rheannon came on the. Instantly, and probably mostly to keep myself awake, I started to belt out the tune. I was pretty attached to that song during that trip, and since we were in a rental mini van, I didn't really name that car either. I can confidently say that that track on the disc still skips from overuse. I decided then, while holding an imaginary microphone to my mouth, that Rheannon was a very appropriate name for my little while Subee.