About a month ago, my mom was in the city for a meeting, or a haircut, or something like that. That evening, we had dinner together at Via Carota, my favorite Italian spot in the West Village. As we enjoyed the delicious Cacio e Pepe and Rigatoni Pomodoro, we talked about the basics: work, my new apartment, and how stunningly atrocious Sam Darnold is.
Then out of nowhere, she dropped a bomb.
Mom: “Dad’s back is so bad that the doctor won’t let him drive all the way cross country.”
Me: “So now what?”
Mom: “So he’ll still do most of the parts we had planned. Bourbon Trail with Greg and Matt, your leg of the trip with Brianne, etc. But he’ll have to do some flying and renting cars in between.”
Me: “But what about Kemba?”
Mom: “No Kemba.”
My heart dropped. Sure, I was excited to see two new states (New Mexico and Arizona). And Vegas and Santa Monica never get old. And Hank and Brianne are wonderful company. But man, those 14 total hours I spent in the car would’ve been a heck of a lot more fun with that energetic little fur ball.
But alas, it turned out to be an incredible trip. Some thoughts on each stop along the way:
Albuquerque: Don’t want to start on a negative note, but I gotta be honest: I wasn’t impressed. The two highlights may have
actually come within an hour of landing: walking out the same airport door as Walter White (we just finished rewatching Breaking Bad), and greeting Mr. 69+ on his actual B-Day.
But seriously, with ABQ, what you see is what you get. It’s shockingly brown, there’s nothing to do, and their famous red and green chilis aren’t even that spicy. Plus, Tractor Brewery had a sign that read “3 beers max per person”. I’m assuming they mean per hour?
Hank’s B-Day dinner at El Patio was quite delicious, though, and while they didn’t have cake, we did get a slice of flan with a candle in it. Welcome to New Mexico.
Grand Canyon: The 6-hour drive was long, but the Italian BMTs and Meatball Subs from Subway definitely softened the blow. Oh, and I volunteered my driving services for a whopping zero minutes.
Thursday night at Yavapai Tavern, I asked the bartender if she could switch a TV to the Knicks game, and she looked perplexed. I guess not many Arizonans are interested in a New York vs Dallas regular season NBA matchup. But she complied, our Knicks took down villainous Porzingis for the 2nd time, and Hot Frank Ntilikina sealed the game (shoutout to Gabe, his most loyal fan). Beagle Man and I screamed, Brianne pretended to care too, and everyone else in the bar had zero clue what we were celebrating.
As for Grand Canyon itself, holy freakin’ smokes. I sometimes find glorified sights and landmarks to be a tad overrated, and I have a horrible attention span. But we drove around for almost three hours, stopped at every single overlook, and the majestic views didn’t get old once.
As Hank mentioned in his last post, the hike we finished with was absolutely bonkers. And we had no idea what we were getting into. The blurb on the board at the top of the trail so eloquently described it as “steep, steep, steep”. It also could have said, “narrow, narrow, narrow”, or “if you accidentally trip on a branch, you’re dead”. Brianne’s done a Half Ironman and I’m one of the world’s most athletic, coordinated people, but Hank is OLD. We were slightly concerned for his life, but he went through it with total confidence. And we’re all still here.
Vegas: My happy place. Gambling is one of my very favorite things to do in the whole wide world, so naturally, I’m a Vegas fan. As John or EJ or any of the USC guys can attest, I always leave town with a few of the fresh, crisp $100 bills the casinos hand you after you have your way with the Sportsbooks and card tables.
Not this time.
First, Jaylen Brown missed a free throw with 5 seconds left to cost me my Celtics bet. Then we went to play Blackjack, and I knew it would be a nightmare before I even took my seat. As I told Brianne and Hank in the car, winning in Blackjack is all about positive vibes. Everyone at the table has to be on the same page, making the right moves, rooting for one another, knowing exactly what’s going on with the cards. We had none of that. Brianne had never played before, so she was going completely rogue. The guy to her left was also a rookie, and didn’t speak a lick of English. It went horribly from the first hand. We lost all our money in under an hour. I blame everyone but myself.
LA: Having spent 4 years at USC, with way, way, way more time outside than in class, I struggle to understand why anyone (including myself) lives anywhere but Santa Monica. Every day is perfectly sunny and gorgeous. You can go to the beach in January. Heck, NFL football even starts at 10 AM. We had another amazing dinner at Boa with my mom, EJ and Olivia, and spent Sunday hopping between the pool and the sports bar. Brianne and I even considered pushing our flight back to the red-eye so we could spend a few more hours in the sun before returning to our freezing, rainy, dog-poop-smelling New York City.
I swear, there’s no better place on Earth than Santa Monica. Well, maybe Montauk.
Hank gave me 1,000 words and I’m closing in on 950. Plus I should probably get back to my day job. But the Three Musketeers had a truly unforgettable trip.
And Kemba, I’ll see you on Thanksgiving.
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