Don’t Buy Gas At A Burger King. Don’t Do It.

Since skydiving was once again rained out (farts), we made some pretty good time heading to Little Rock, Arkansas, our next destination.  Our first stop in Little Rock was a bit of a strange one:

This is a mall in Little Rock.  Standard mall with standard stores and standard hillbillies.  We went to this mall, following the GPS, for a reason.  I needed new sneakers, so we headed straight here:

We were in luck; sneakers galore.  I picked out a pair that I am not happy with (I am likely the pickiest person on the planet when it comes to sneakers.  It’s embarrassing), paid the fellows and we were out the door.

The question is, why did I need new sneakers?  I had been wearing the same pair of grey Nike Air Prestige Lows for the entire trip without discomfort.  I hadn’t complained about foot or leg joint soreness while wearing them.  Surely I didn’t actually need them.  Right?  Here’s the story behind our trip to a footwear store in a mall in Little Rock Arkansas:

Unfortunately, my car couldn’t (and probably still can’t) run on wind power, so we occasionally had to stop for gas all over the country.  Here’s the strangest place we stopped:

This place was strange not only because it was a Burger King/Exxon station, but because of how well the gas pumps there work.  Well, at least one of the gas pumps, I didn’t get the chance to try all of them out.

I pulled into the, um, bay or whatever, stepped out of the car, stuffed my debit card into the machine, put in my PIN (please do not use the word “number” after PIN.  If you do not know why you shouldn’t, maybe you can work for my old employer, as they like hiring grammar tards), selected the fuel grade, inserted the nozzle into my car’s gasoline hole, flipped down the whatever it’s called on the gasoline pump handle and got to work cleaning off the windshield with a squeegee . 

Since I had flipped down the whatever it’s called on the gasoline pump handle, the gas was steadily flowing into my gas tank without my help; I merely initiated the pumping.  While I was busy squeegeeing (this word looks ridiculous) away on the passenger’s side, I started to hear a very strange sound.  I stopped cleaning the glass for a second to process it, then made my way quickly to the other side of the car.

Usually, when one flips down the whatever it’s called on the gasoline pump handle, when the tank is full, the mechanism automatically stops the flow of gasoline.  At this Burger King/Exxon however, something was amiss with that mechanism.  To my incredible surprise, the gas tank on my car was full, but the flow of gasoline had not stopped, or even slowed.  Since the tank was full, but the flow had not stopped, you can imagine where all of that gasoline was going.  It was spurting out of the gas tank fill hole and shooting into the air.  I ran over to the pump handle, slipped a little bit (a lot) in the apparently very slippery pool of gasoline forming next to my car, grabbed the handle and finally stopped the gasoline flow manually.

Luckily for you, the second the gasoline started to shoot out of the tank, while I was still cleaning the glass on the car, I had set up the camera on its tripod and timed the shutter.  Miraculously, I timed it perfectly, not knowing that anything was going to happen.  I figured I would have a super great picture of me using a squeegee for you, but instead I have an even better photo of what happened.  I think it came out great:

Once I had finally stopped the car geyser, the woman who worked on the gasoline sales side of the Burger King/Exxon came rushing out informing me that she had turned off the pump.  Phew.  Thank goodness she was fast enough to turn it off after it had shot out of my car, pooled below it, I had slipped it in and had gotten it all over my arm.  What a pro.

After everything calmed down and I had stopped laughing in disbelief, I headed into the store to use the restroom.  The good news?  I used plenty of soap and hot water on my gasoline covered arms and hands.  The bad news?  The restroom smelled like person feces, probably because there was some person feces on the wall.  Yup.  A great place to get clean.

When I had cleaned up/gagged, I headed back into the, um, lobby of the restaurant/gas station and the clerk who rushed out started talking to me.  I was cracking up retelling the story, while Amanda cracked up listening to it (despite what that real time picture above shows, she was in the presumably feces free women’s room during the happenings).  The clerk however, was not laughing.  She said that she “refused to laugh at it”, since it could have been a dangerous situation.  I told her that it was OK to laugh at me, because, well, it was hilarious, especially the poor footing, but she wasn’t taking the bait.  She was one of the Southerners that didn’t laugh at the expense of others.  I call those Southerners dumb, but whatever,

As soon as she finished saying that she wasn’t going to laugh at me acting like the fifth stooge for a few seconds, she was reminded of a person that she did laugh at once.  Her sister.  After surgery.  Yup.  She told us that her sister was just home from surgery of some sort, her first day back, and used a wheelchair to get around.  Since most houses aren’t made for wheelchair exploration, the sister was forced to stand up every once in awhile.  One of those times, she fell on her face.  The clerk laughed at her. 

This cracked me up.  I’m glad she told us the story.

All in all, it was the strangest gas station ever in history.  Ever.

Oh.  Back to the sneakers.  In needed new sneakers because I got 87 octane gasoline all over the ones I was wearing.  They reeked.  We had to crack the windows for the rest of the hours on the drive to Little Rock.  After the shoe purchase, we grabbed some food (Subway) and headed to the hotel (by car).

The next morning was the real reason we were in Little Rock.  We woke up, had some hotel breakfast, showered up and dressed appropriately for the activity.  We headed to our destination, were waved into the parking lot by a traffic cop, parked the car and headed towards the building.  Here’s what we saw:

It looks like an elementary or high school or something.

Perhaps teachers on their way to Sunday school or something? 

Wait.  What kind of Sunday school would have a coffee bar?  Or food court for that matter (see the last picture of the last post)?  Or this diverse a group of students/teachers?  We headed into the main auditorium and took it all in (and I took pictures, discretely):

Oh.  OK.  So it was an early morning concert.  We hadn’t seen any live music music yet on the trip, so maybe this was our first sit down and listen to music experience in the US.  It turns out that that’s not too far from the truth.

In the days before, knowing where we would be on our trip that day, I had researched mega-churches to attend.  I was hoping for a huge gathering of people all raising their hands, palms up, testifying to a yelling/charismatic preacher.  I found this place: Fellowship Bible Church. 

Walking in, it was like walking into a large auditorium for a multi-media presentation.  There were two video screens, a stage, an enormous sound system and a crew of ten or so people behind mixing boards, video monitors and laptops to control them all.  On stage was a seven piece band, with two guitarists, a bassist, a drummer, and keyboardist and two back up singers.  Loud, peppy electronic music was being pumped in through the speakers.

Once the background music faded away, it was time for the show.  The band started a three song set of Jesus-loving songs and folks were singing along and clapping.  Luckily for us, the lyrics to the songs were displayed on the two large screens that flanked the stage, so we could really get the message.  When there weren’t any lyrics?  Close ups of the band members rocking away (or rather, soft rocking away):

This was ridiculous. 

After the songs were over, we all sat down again and it was time for people to talk to us.  The first guy up there was some director of something something and he told us about all of the programs going on at the church.  Including the brainwashing of children groups and the help with addiction groups.  Hooray.

After that guy pimped the church services (including the bookstore, which was in the food court area), another fellow, bald and built like Sergeant Slaughter, took the stage with his over the ear microphone and it was time to learn our lesson for the day.  He went on and on and on, using inflection effectively, praising Jesus and teaching us a valuable lesson through a story.  Basically, don’t let some activities that you do, which could be good ones (volunteering) get in the way or dilute your more important responsibilities (voting Republican)(just kidding)(raising your family). Hooray.

He used a Bible verse to set up the story and then talked for half an hour about i.  It was super boring, but everyone else in the church seemed really into it.  At one point, the woman sitting next to Amanda, offered to share her Bible with us.  We politely declined.  We were, literally, the only people in the room without a Bible.

Also of note: during the long and boring, but well delivered speech, I  noticed that everyone in the room was jotting down notes throughout.  Why?  Well, that’s easy.  Have you ever been to a church that doesn’t hand out little pamphlets with Mad-Libs style fill in the blanks on the back page?  Me neither.  Oh wait.  I have never seen that before.

On the back side of a two page pamphlet, which are apparently printed for every Sunday service, was an activity to complete during the speech.  Basically, you follow along with the preacher and fill in the words as he says them.  I remember doing that kind of thing in, oh, 3rd grade perhaps?  Everyone was following along and everyone had brought pens to this, um, service.  We were out of place for sure.

Once he had finished up with his workbook related lesson for the day, a lot of people left the room.  Apparently, everyone loves beating traffic at this church.  We however, stayed put, as the show wasn’t over. 

A few more Christian Rock songs later and it was time to go.  Please note that I was dying to film the whole thing, but knew that Amanda wouldn’t have been super uncomfortable with that.  I didn’t bring my camera, but was upset to find about seven video cameras set up all over the place, so mine on a tri-pod wouldn’t have been out of place.

After the songs were over, we filed out to the parking lot without stopping by “The Living Room” where you could talk faith with “The Elders”. 

I spent a lot of years at two catholic schools.  I went to many church services in those years.  I had never, and hopefully, will never again, seen or experience anything like that.  It was unlike anything I’ve ever done.  It was basically a few hundred people politely clapping along to a concert for middle aged white people.  Only the songs were about how super great Jesus is (not was, because you know, he’s not a dead person or something).  The intermission of the concert for honkies was a speech about living the Bible.

While I am not, by any stretch, a religious person (I think it’s all ridiculous), I think that there is something to be said for the tradition of church.  Its all very grand and deliberate.  This, however, was not religion.  There was no tradition, no pomp, no etc.  This was, as I see it, very cynically I admit, a great way to draw kids into a place so that they will one day be hooked to it, feel a sense of belonging and eventually donate to your bookstore every week.  It’s a great business plan for sure.

Whatever.  Back to business.

On the way out, I snapped a few more pictures.  Here’s a shot of a few people and their very own Bibles:

And what church is complete without one of these?

Nothing says personal worship like beach volleyball!  These people are insane people.  But rich ones.  I really wish I had the moral ambiguity to take advantage of the dummies that fill this place up every weekend, because they have money to burn and are willing to do pretty much anything that a bald man on stage says.  If you’re up to it, I suggest moving to the south and opening some sort of exploitative venture to prey on these dunces.

That was a little harsh.  They might be halfway smart people, but I doubt it.

After church, we headed to our next destination in Tennessee.  It was completely awesome.  Here’s a hint:

Dry Rub, Son, Dry Rub.

So.  It’s been awhile since I’ve written.  I stink.  I have little to excuse myself other than laziness and travel.  The last few weeks, Amanda and I have been back and forth from her family’s home in New Jersey for reasons crazy.  Literally.

Oh well.  It’s not like you pay to read this.

Once we had finished up in Roswell, we headed to the next destination: Abilene, Texas.  On the way?  A highly recommended Texas food staple:

Tom & Bingo’s Hickory Pit Bar-B-Q in Lubbock, Texas.  This place serves one thing and one thing only: brisket sandwiches.  When we started researching for this trip long long ago, I had no idea what brisket was.  Since then, I’ve learned that it’s basically the breast meat of a cow.  To make it great, apparently one has to smoke it or cook it for hours and hours in order to make it adequately tender and enjoyable.  After an overnight and into the day smoking, this fellow carves of chunks until the restaurant runs out (the restaurant closes when they run out, rather than have closing hours proper):

I love steak in almost all forms.  The meat of a deceased cow is just tops.  I had my hopes up super high for this place as I have never eaten brisket, it was highly rated for its brisket, and they only offered one thing (brisket in sandwich forms).  When a food shack has been open for a long time and has spent the entire time serving only one things, it’s probably going to be incredible.

Amanda and both went in with those high expectations and came to the same conclusion when we were finished:  Tom & Bingo’s Hickory Pit Bar-B-Q in Lubbock, Texas stunk butt.  Here’s the sandwich I was handed:

I wracked my taste buds trying to figure out why this sandwich was so disappointing.  I finally came to a decision and will attempt to describe the problems.

1. The bun which the meat sat between was of awful quality.  It was an almost stale, spongy poorly toasted hamburger bun of the lowest order.  Not a good way to start a great sandwich.

2. The brisket itself, the reason we set foot into the shack in the first place, while very tender, was almost flavorless.  Not only was it lacking in the delicious department, but it was far from abundant.  The natural flavor of the meat itself, which was pleasant, was overpowered by the bun, as the brisket was lost in all of that starch.  In short, the reason we opened the door to the establishment was too sparse and not flavorful enough.  It was cooked very well however.

3. The sauce sitting on top of the brisket, and which was “highly recommended” by the fellow with the knife, wasn’t all that great.  I didn’t slather it on, as was recommended, because I didn’t want to lose the flavor of the brisket itself.  I guess the reason that they recommend the sauce so highly is to mask the fact that the meat itself is a little bland.  The sauce itself was a little sweet and tangy, but not great at all.

All in all?  Not a great stop.  A huge disappointment.  Tom and Bingo need to step their proverbial brisket game up.  One thing that they have going for them?  The interior of the meat shack has bus station seating.  It was awesome:

Once we headed out to the car and got back on the road to Abilene, there wasn’t much to see.  One f the cool things however, was the amount of modern oil derricks.  I expected to see lots and lots of oil derricks pumping away in the Texas landscape, but was really shocked to see this giant wind turbine farm:

Way to go Texas.

After the turbine farm, we stepped on it, as we had a date with some real Texas Friday in Abilene.  First up?  Dinner:

From the outside?  Basically a barn:

On the inside?  Still pretty much a barn, but with tables and the elderly:

What an incredible decision we made coming here.  Admittedly, we had some help from a book, but still, we are geniuses.  I ordered a nice little sampler with some smoked turkey, spare ribs and boring sides:

Amanda ordered a similar plate, but with brisket:

Firstly, the brisket pictured above completely demolished the lunch brisket.  Savory, a little fatty, about as tender as anything can be without falling apart on the fork and incredibly seasoned.  I enjoyed a bite.  Amanda enjoyed more than that:

On to my plate.  The green beans were crappy, the baked potato was mediocre, the smoked turkey was tasty, if not a little dry.  The rib?  Holy essword.  It was the most delicious thing ever to touch my tongue.  That dry rub of mystery seasonings covering it not only was a perfect mix of spices, but it also, over the course of being slowly smoked, turned into a crunchy film of delectable crust.  I wish I had ordered, instead of turkey, potato and green beans, more ribs in their places.  Heck, I wish I could have replaced the silverware, plates and elderly folks with ribs.  Holy moly.

Before the trip, I worked with a fellow who I suspect wished he was from or lived in Texas.  It was curious to say the least.  Now that I have eaten at Joe Allen’s in Abilene, Texas, I would be willing to move into the kitchen subsisting on drippings from their smoker.  Jason is probably still a crazy person for wanting to move to a backwards state like Texas, but it became a bit more forgivable after that dinner.

Yum.

After dinner, which was, as I cannot stress enough, super extra delicious, we were off to some exciting Texas high school football.  I was really excited to see some “only game in town” entertainment both on the field and in the stands. 

I researched a high school to go to and came up with Wylie High.  They were a mediocre team, but their stadium holds 8,200 people and I expected it to be full and rowdy.

We arrived a little bit late and walked up to see this:

This façade going into the stadium probably cost more money than my entire high school.  Way to do it big Texas.  I was now primed for some awesome football and crazy fans.

I got some decent football, including a great injury, complete with ambulance:

The crowd was actually really subdued.  It seemed like it was more social engagement than life of death stereotypical Texas Football.  It was a bit of a disappointment.  Not a disappointment?  The amount of Bump-It brand hair accessories in the crowd:

I guess that might not be fair.  Perhaps a lot of the women in Abilene have horrible birth defects that give their head an incredible lump in the back?  Maybe.

For some perspective on the fan situation, here’s a reaction to a home team touchdown (of which there were many):

For comparison, here’s a Big Spring 90 yard pass.  The much smaller fan base across the field I way louder than the Wylie High bumpkins:

Poor showing Abilene.  Poor, poor work.

While the fans were a bit of a disappointment, the halftime show delivered entertainment in spades.  I am so happy that I started to film these marching bands.  First up?  The Big Spring High band and color guard girl who left her costume and flag (kind of important) back in Big Spring:

Next up?  During the same routine, I found a fellow who takes his flag corps a little too seriously.  He cracked me up:

The game itself was kind of boring, but halftime certainly delivered.  Thanks Big Spring High School band and flag kids.  You are the best.  But maybe also the worst.

After the game, we retired to the hotel nearby, slept,and got back on the road.  Once we hit Fort Worth, we stopped in here:

Highly regarded in one of the many books we had, and also on the internet, we were pretty excited to try it out.  We got there around 11:30am.  We walked up to the front door, pulled on it and turned right back around and drove away.  Why?  Well, the restaurant closes at 11am on Saturdays.  Duh.

This made me angry.  What kind of restaurant closed at 11am?  The Paris Coffee Shop does.  Of course.  Maybe they are taking the “Paris” part of their name a little to seriously?  Maybe they strike every Saturday to show solidarity for the Parisian protestors marching to bring awareness to the super high unemployment rate in France?  Maybe I hate the Paris Coffee Shop from now on?  Yes.  I do.

We drove here after I complained to Amanda for a few minutes:

Joe T Garcia’s.  It was packed with people.  Completely full:

We got a table pretty quickly, luckily, and chowed down:

Pretty good rice, excellent refried beans and dry, kind of crumby (not crumb producing, but the 1960s slang version) miniature beef chimichangas.  I should have gotten something else, as no chimichanga will ever top El Charro’s offering.  Gosh darn that thing was sterling.

A fun quirk?  I ordered a Coca-Cola Classic.  It came with a cherry:

Weirdoes.

After brunch, we drove on, hoping that the weather would hold out so we could go skydiving.  Here’s the weather:

It was like this off and on for most of our trip once we left San Francisco/Oakland.  It was delightful.  Obviously, we didn’t go skydiving.  Instead, we kept driving, slowly, through the rain until we hit Arkansas.

*Dumb Nun Aside* – When I was in first grade, one of our class projects was to write to a state governor and get an info kit about the state back.  I picked Arkansas out of a hat.  We all went down the lie choosing from the hat and when I selected mine, a girl in class asked the teacher, Sister Ann, how to pronounce it.  Sister Ann took a beat, then replied “Are-Kansas”.  Even though I was only in first grade, I knew that wasn’t correct, and that, I presume, why I have held onto that memory and discarded so many others.  maybe public school isn’t so bad after all? *Dumb Nun Aside Over*

*State Selection Aside* – I selected Arkansas, as I stated above.  The governor of Arkansas when I was in first grade?  None other than the greatest fiscal president of my, and likely your, lifetime; Bill Clinton.  *State Selection Aside Over*

When we got to Little Rock, our destination for the next morning’s festivities, we got to the hotel and enjoyed a little extra free time.  So, obviously, we used it to watch TV and sleep.  Duh.  The next day, however, epic:

*Word usage aside* – I don’t really like how the word “epic” has lost it’s meaning in the last year or so.  Everyone overuses it.  Stop it. *Word Usage Aside Over*

That is all.  I will try to get some more writing done soon.  I promise.

An Entire Micro-Economy Based Upon Lunacy

Our first, and last, stop once we left Arizona (home of the greatest Chimichanga in the world) and entered New Mexico was, obviously, Roswell.  I will spare you a long explanation of Roswell, as everyone knows what the stupid hill people made up in 1947.

Before we finally hit the metropolis of Roswell Proper, we drove through a lot of nothing:

Surprising, I know.

*Fun Aside* – I am an enormous fan of Bill Watterson’s Calvin and Hobbes.  It is embarrassing.  I still read the comics and have been influenced to an almost unbearable degree by the characters, the art style and, most importantly, the writing/vocabulary.  The books are, simply, perfect.  Because of the influence on my life, whenever I see a bootlegged version of Calvin excreting urine on a Chevy logo, or flipping someone off, I get a twinge of rage. 

Bill Watterson, with the exception of a calendar early in his career, refused to license his characters.  That’s why there are no Hobbes plush stuffed animals or Calvin coffee mugs.  Merits of his refusal aside, when I see the fake stickers or t-shirts or anything else, I feel like I need to defend Bill Watterson and that’s why the anger creeps up.  Now, I don’t get super crazy and yell and scream or whatever, but it does slightly affect me.

I have seen, over the years, hundreds, possibly thousands of Calvin stickers on the rear of cars.  I have never been so moved as when I saw this one, driving in New Mexico:

This sticker is the most appalling of the bunch.  I had never seen anything like it.  If you are unfamiliar with Calvin (Watterson by proxy), then I will only say that Calvin praying to a Christian symbol is, in the religion of C&H, blasphemous.  I wanted to firebomb this Toyota Sequoia with the intention of maiming the sticker buying decision-maker.

Ugh. 

*Fun Aside Over*

See?  Super fun.

When we finally made it into Roswell, New Mexico, we headed straight here (obviously):

If you can’t quite read it, the name of this place is “The International UFO Museum and Research Center”.  Yup.  The last part of the name is not a typo.  They are, apparently, actively researching Unidentified Flying Objects.  For real. 

After all of these years, sixty-three of them, all of the research that they have done (thankfully, using no tax dollars), has netted them a dreary looking warehouse building with, and I am not joking, the adult equivalent of fifteen middle school kids’ science projects.

When you enter, you are met at a grey desk by an elderly man with what appeared to be out of control nose tumors.  He, and his gigantic, bulbous mid-face asked you for five dollars each, then explained how to best enjoy the museum.  Basically, walk around and read a lot.

once we paid, we immediately put our little pins into the map, locating where we were from.  Here’s Amanda putting a pin into terrible, smelly and crappy New Jersey:

Blech.

Once the fun part was over, we started to walk around and read.  A lot.  Science Fair Project 1:

Yup.

Science Fair Project 2:

That’s an actual replica (made of plastic) of a piece of a UFO.  That’s alien writing.  Bet on it.

Science Fair Project 3:

This is the best example of what the museum had to offer.  Basically, you slowly slide left to right reading for tens of minutes on end.  Exciting.

Science Fair Project 4:

This was, by far, my favorite picture.  It’s a grainy picture of an obviously crack potted man trying to explain how, using a hilarious number of colors on his extremely confusing charts, the crash actually happened.  They actually had his real, legitimate, presentation ready white board on display in Science Fair Project 5:

I will just let you peruse that.  Any doubt shadows about aliens?  Decimated.  It’s science, folks.  Eat it.

The dénouement of the museum was a replica of an alien on a gurney:

 

Were I to work on an alien, I would call both a qualified surgeon, complete with gloves and scrubs, and Don Draper.  he probably comes with his own gloves.

In all, Roswell was a bit of a disappointment.  The town was not as ‘alieny’ as I had hoped for, as there were only a few shops dedicated to alien kitsch.   After the experience, we trekked onward to Abilene, Texas for some good, old-fashioned, only game in town Texas high school football:

 

America: From The Future

First things first: Amanda and I were shown on television yesterday and are currently featured on online television today.  It’s very strange, but kind of awesome.  Here’s the link:

Watch Us Here

There are a lot of ads to sit through, so if you don’t want to sit through them, here’s some proof that we were actually featured (thanks Sarah).  We’re right over the gay Asian man in the purple v-neck t-shirt’s right (your left) shoulder:

I wanted to count how many times we appeared, but that would take forever, as we were all over the place.  Or rather, we were in the same place, but featured a lot in the crowd shots.

Back to the retelling of Road Trip experiences:

Once we left San Diego, basically immediately after the Zoo trip (sorry, Jason), we headed across California and into it’s lovely neighbor, Arizona.  We were on a straight course to The Future (initial caps).

Sadly, the future was far away, so we stopped at a crappy hotel and stayed the night.  The Future would have to wait until the next day.  Crap.

After some crappy hotel breakfast we piled back into the car and were back to The Future.  Or whatever.

To paraphrase The Notorious BIG, if you didn’t know before, then I guess I will have to tell you: The Future is in Gila Bend Arizona.  We were pretty excited to see what was in store for us twenty or so years from now, so when we pulled into The Parking Lot Of The Future, we were greeted by this:

That, friends, is The Future.  It is both a motel and a restaurant, run by the Best Western corporation:

The above is what all signs will look like in The Future, get used to them.  We headed into the restaurant expecting some weird décor and lots of stark white and stainless steel.  We were disappointed:

A gift shop in a crappy looking diner.  Really, very disappointing.  If you’re going to bill your restaurant as “Space Age” (rather than “Space Aged”), at least give it a shot.  Instead, these folks just threw in some standard diner booths and beige tile flooring.  What a waste.  Oh, and in case you were wondering…:

…they have terrible, low quality salad bars in The Future.  See?

Terrible.  The dressing was slop for sure.

Hiding our disappointment, we ordered.  I was not optimistic about the quality of the lunch, so I took it easy with a grilled ham and cheese:

It was below good, with orange American cheese and fat filled, processed ham.  Sub-par work Space Age Restaurant.

To redeem ourselves and make it up to our taste buds, we headed down the road a quarter of a mile (any further in any direction and Gila Bend disappears) for some delicious soft serve here:

On this trip, we tried to eat places that we had never been to before.  Dairy Queen fit that description for me (but not Amanda), as I don’t think I have ever been to one before.  Amazing, but probably true.  I had also never had one of these before:

Regular vanilla soft serve I’ve eaten before, but not dipped in chocolate.  It was super great.  1 for 2 Gila Bend.

After that, we headed to Oracle, Arizona for one more attraction from The Future, but not before taking a bunch of pictures of the boring landscape to put together in Photoshop:

These panoramas look like crap because the weather was crap for days and days.  Sigh.

Anyways, back to The Future, again.  We arrived in Oracle to a place that I was actually pretty excited to see: Biosphere 2 (Biosphere 1 is the earth.  How clever):

It’s that big failed experiment building.  Basically, a bunch of nerdy scientists tried to live in that building without any outside contact or supplies.  grow the food, eat the food, harvest the sun, etc.  They didn’t make it very long, but Biosphere 2 is still kicking as serves as an experimental facility.  Most of them have to do with how to deal with lack of water in different climates.

We walked in hoping to get a tour of the place, but sadly, we would have had to wait for a few hours to get said tour.  We decided, instead, to just walk around the buildings (which is encouraged) and take it in.  We were also allowed in the sea climate place, which was pretty dope:

It’s basically a big aquarium with waves and kelp and fish and all that fun sea stuff.  I love huge aquariums, so I was OK with taking a look at it for a few minutes.

The rest of the tour included peeking into the Biosphere 2, walking around where the scientists lived/ate/etc., seeing some exhibits about sediment and conservation and the like, as well as me sneaking into the Biosphere itself to check out the crazy indoor forest:

It was really nice inside of there.  The air was, not surprisingly, super clear and lovely.  I wanted to to keep sneaking around, but I didn’t really want to be thrown out.  Someday we’ll head back there and I will sneak around everywhere, and possibly jump into the fake ocean.  Some day…

One more picture of the crazy looking BioPyramid:

After we had our fill of walking around a big building, we hopped back into the car and drove to Tucson.  For some food from The Past (and some sleep).

El Charro Cafe is the oldest Mexican restaurant in America.  Or at least that what they claim. 

It’s basically some Mexican man’s house.  Or maybe it just used to be.  The dining rooms were double parlor sized and segregated, but filled with old, ugly art, and more importantly, people:

All of the tables were pretty full, and when I see that, I get kind of excited, as full table at a random restaurant in a weird neighborhood in Tucson generally means great food.

First up?  Homemade tortilla chips and two kinds of homemade salsa:

They look pretty standard, but they were excellent.  Still warm from the oven chips, and chunky, perfectly seasoned dips.  A little spicy, but very good.  We plowed through two bowls of these before our main course came out:

Refried beans, seasoned white rice, a salad that was a waste of space, and a super duper extra mega uber delicious deep fried burrito filled with marinated beef; also known as a Carne Colorado Chimichanga.

I had never had a Chimichanga before, nor had I ever eaten Carne Colorado.  I made one of the best decisions of my life.  The beef was tender.  The fried tortilla was crispy and chewy.  The Colorado marinade was spicy and savory.  Even the refried beans and rice were great.  This was, easily, one of the best things I have ever eaten.  Just delicious.

I finished the entire plate and wanted to order a second one.  Sadly, that would have been a waste of money, so I didn’t go for round two.  I am such a sissy.

God that thing was delicious.  I need a deep fryer and a Mexican fellow to run it.

After dinner, we headed back to the hotel and slept.  I probably melted the sheets as well…

The next morning?  Another famous Tucson restaurant.  This time for breakfast.

The name of it was ridiculous…

The look of it was depressing…

The breakfast inside was mediocre at best…

…but nobody goes to Gus Balon’s for any of those things.  They go there for these:

Gigantic, fresh from the oven sweet bread (cinnamon roll).  The rolls come with steak knives, as they are much too big and dense for puny butter knives.

This comes out before your actual meal, so it renders the eater completely incapable of finishing the actual meal.  No matter.  The sweet bread, perfectly baked, expertly seasoned and indulgently iced, was worth the trip.  It was excellent.  And very big, which is always a plus.

After gorging on baked goods and crappy ham steak, we headed out, determined to make it to a large science fair presentation in Alienville, USA:

We made it.  read all about it, next time on, Five Weeks of Hot Dogs…