day four
20 June 2008
Day 4: Tuesday, May 27 Maumelle, AR – Tucumcari, NM
Total Mileage: 694 miles
Having driven only 600+ miles the past two days, this morning we made a decision: no more fucking around.
And boy, we weren’t joking. Maybe it’s because I’m out of driving shape (and general physical shape, for that matter), but today was a true test – staring at the odometer, pouring on the miles, racing through Arkansas and then Oklahoma and then Texas and finally New Mexico. A four state run – and not a shitty four state run like PA-NJ-NY-CT, which you can pretty much walk - in one day. Holy shitballs.
The reason for this sense of urgency is that my brother needs to fly out of LA on Friday night to return to Philly for a bachelor party. And while originally we planned to arrive in LA on Friday (Dennis doesn’t have to fly out until 10:30pm), the more we thought about it, the more it might be nice to have a day to spend in LA without rushing to get him on a plane. So we changed our ETA from Friday and are now aiming for Thursday. Thus, four states and nearly 700 miles in one day. Considering professional truck drivers drive between 600-800 miles a day, 700 miles is not too bad for a bunch of pasty white guys who have seldom traveled west of West Philly.
Today we reached another important travel milestone: the comfortable silence. The first few days we felt the need to make small talk or listen to the radio or otherwise occupy ourselves with something other than driving or sitting. But no more. There was a 2.5 hour stretch that my dad drove while my brother slept in the backseat where he and I didn’t say a single word. Didn’t turn on the radio. Hell, I don’t even think I thought anything during this time. And this wasn’t road weariness or negative in any way; I was totally ok with it.
Because today was such a blur of miles and road, only two notable things to report:
1) 500+ miles in, just as night fell, we stopped for dinner in Amarillo, Texas at the famed Big Texan Steak Ranch. Conservatively two dozen of you guys wrote in recommending this as a near-mandatory stop along I-40, the road we’re taking for approximately 44,132 miles. But you needn’t tell me stop at something called the "Big Texan Steak Ranch", which was the inspiration for the restaurant in one of my all-time favorite movies, The Great Outdoors, staring the gone-too-soon John Candy.
(Actually, I’m not entirely sure the Big Texan was the inspiration for the restaurant in the movie, because in the film John Candy attempts to eat the old 96er, a 96oz steak, whereas the Big Texan’s steak is "merely" 72oz. So maybe there’s a place that offers a free, if eaten completely, 96oz steak. Whatever.)
Despite a month-long stint with vegetarianism undertaken only to prove friends wrong, I am a celebrated meateater who’s had many poems and songs (odes, really) written about his love of meat (seriously, google it). As the Town Car pulled into the parking lot, I felt confident about my chances, ready to dance.
That is, until we walked into the restaurant.
Just as you walk up to the area to be seated, there before you in a glass case sit a cellophane-wrapped plate with the 72oz steak on it. "Steak" is not really the word to describe it; "section" or "mass" or "shelf" is probably better. I’m 6’1" and about 210 pounds – not gigantic, but not small by any measure. This steak, the shelf of warm red meat, was larger than the mass that is my stomach. Honestly, if you "scalped" my stomach, shaved it down, covered it butter and grilled it, it would still be smaller than this steak.
(Is anyone else hard?)
So that was all it took for me to say "No thanks" and pass on the challenge. But as we were seated, I was given another reason to say no. If you want to try to eat the 72 ouncer, you have to sit by yourself at a raised table in the middle of the large restaurant, with a giant clock counting down from one hour (the time limit in which to eat the steak). If I could have attempted it quietly at my table, I possibly would have given it the old college try. But there was no way, after sitting in a car for nine hours, my fat ass was going to sit in the middle of the restaurant while everyone looked at the fat guy with the beard eating the steak. Good lord. Up until three years ago, when I finally became rich, I didn’t eat at all in front of women, and to this day I won’t touch a buffalo wing or go anywhere near a ham if a woman is around, because of self-esteem issues related to my weight and unkemptness. And you think I’m gonna eat a 4.5 pound slab of meat in front of a 100 people like the goddamn marshall of the fat chops parade? No thanks.
(Incidentally, the food was pretty solid. Unable to decide, I got a bbq combo with ribs, sausage and beef, whereas my dad and brother got steaks. Nothing spectacular, but reasonably priced, very filling, and I didn’t immediately shit myself. What more can you ask for in a restaurant in Texas?)
2) For all of you who wrote in to encourage us to stop at the restaurant, there’s one thing that none of you mentioned. After leaving Amarillo, heading west on I-40, there is nothing for a long, long time. After dinner, at which my brother and I had beers, my dad said he’d drive for another 30 minutes or so before stopping for the night. It took us another nearly two hours before we found a hotel, and by that time we had crossed state lines into New Mexico. It wasn’t a bad drive – the land was flat, the road well-lit, and there were many other cars around us – but we were surprised at the sheer desolation when we were seemingly coming across hotels every 20 minutes up until this very stretch of the drive.
So my advice: stay the night in Amarillo. Get drunk at the ranch. Possibly hit it up for breakfast the next day (the offer some sort of breakfast buffet that I can’t begin to contemplate, lest I repeatedly and continuously pee my pants, resulting in my death).
Tomorrow, another 600+ miles. Bring it on.
Total Mileage: 694 miles
Having driven only 600+ miles the past two days, this morning we made a decision: no more fucking around.
And boy, we weren’t joking. Maybe it’s because I’m out of driving shape (and general physical shape, for that matter), but today was a true test – staring at the odometer, pouring on the miles, racing through Arkansas and then Oklahoma and then Texas and finally New Mexico. A four state run – and not a shitty four state run like PA-NJ-NY-CT, which you can pretty much walk - in one day. Holy shitballs.
The reason for this sense of urgency is that my brother needs to fly out of LA on Friday night to return to Philly for a bachelor party. And while originally we planned to arrive in LA on Friday (Dennis doesn’t have to fly out until 10:30pm), the more we thought about it, the more it might be nice to have a day to spend in LA without rushing to get him on a plane. So we changed our ETA from Friday and are now aiming for Thursday. Thus, four states and nearly 700 miles in one day. Considering professional truck drivers drive between 600-800 miles a day, 700 miles is not too bad for a bunch of pasty white guys who have seldom traveled west of West Philly.
Today we reached another important travel milestone: the comfortable silence. The first few days we felt the need to make small talk or listen to the radio or otherwise occupy ourselves with something other than driving or sitting. But no more. There was a 2.5 hour stretch that my dad drove while my brother slept in the backseat where he and I didn’t say a single word. Didn’t turn on the radio. Hell, I don’t even think I thought anything during this time. And this wasn’t road weariness or negative in any way; I was totally ok with it.
Because today was such a blur of miles and road, only two notable things to report:
1) 500+ miles in, just as night fell, we stopped for dinner in Amarillo, Texas at the famed Big Texan Steak Ranch. Conservatively two dozen of you guys wrote in recommending this as a near-mandatory stop along I-40, the road we’re taking for approximately 44,132 miles. But you needn’t tell me stop at something called the "Big Texan Steak Ranch", which was the inspiration for the restaurant in one of my all-time favorite movies, The Great Outdoors, staring the gone-too-soon John Candy.
(Actually, I’m not entirely sure the Big Texan was the inspiration for the restaurant in the movie, because in the film John Candy attempts to eat the old 96er, a 96oz steak, whereas the Big Texan’s steak is "merely" 72oz. So maybe there’s a place that offers a free, if eaten completely, 96oz steak. Whatever.)
Despite a month-long stint with vegetarianism undertaken only to prove friends wrong, I am a celebrated meateater who’s had many poems and songs (odes, really) written about his love of meat (seriously, google it). As the Town Car pulled into the parking lot, I felt confident about my chances, ready to dance.
That is, until we walked into the restaurant.
Just as you walk up to the area to be seated, there before you in a glass case sit a cellophane-wrapped plate with the 72oz steak on it. "Steak" is not really the word to describe it; "section" or "mass" or "shelf" is probably better. I’m 6’1" and about 210 pounds – not gigantic, but not small by any measure. This steak, the shelf of warm red meat, was larger than the mass that is my stomach. Honestly, if you "scalped" my stomach, shaved it down, covered it butter and grilled it, it would still be smaller than this steak.
(Is anyone else hard?)
So that was all it took for me to say "No thanks" and pass on the challenge. But as we were seated, I was given another reason to say no. If you want to try to eat the 72 ouncer, you have to sit by yourself at a raised table in the middle of the large restaurant, with a giant clock counting down from one hour (the time limit in which to eat the steak). If I could have attempted it quietly at my table, I possibly would have given it the old college try. But there was no way, after sitting in a car for nine hours, my fat ass was going to sit in the middle of the restaurant while everyone looked at the fat guy with the beard eating the steak. Good lord. Up until three years ago, when I finally became rich, I didn’t eat at all in front of women, and to this day I won’t touch a buffalo wing or go anywhere near a ham if a woman is around, because of self-esteem issues related to my weight and unkemptness. And you think I’m gonna eat a 4.5 pound slab of meat in front of a 100 people like the goddamn marshall of the fat chops parade? No thanks.
(Incidentally, the food was pretty solid. Unable to decide, I got a bbq combo with ribs, sausage and beef, whereas my dad and brother got steaks. Nothing spectacular, but reasonably priced, very filling, and I didn’t immediately shit myself. What more can you ask for in a restaurant in Texas?)
2) For all of you who wrote in to encourage us to stop at the restaurant, there’s one thing that none of you mentioned. After leaving Amarillo, heading west on I-40, there is nothing for a long, long time. After dinner, at which my brother and I had beers, my dad said he’d drive for another 30 minutes or so before stopping for the night. It took us another nearly two hours before we found a hotel, and by that time we had crossed state lines into New Mexico. It wasn’t a bad drive – the land was flat, the road well-lit, and there were many other cars around us – but we were surprised at the sheer desolation when we were seemingly coming across hotels every 20 minutes up until this very stretch of the drive.
So my advice: stay the night in Amarillo. Get drunk at the ranch. Possibly hit it up for breakfast the next day (the offer some sort of breakfast buffet that I can’t begin to contemplate, lest I repeatedly and continuously pee my pants, resulting in my death).
Tomorrow, another 600+ miles. Bring it on.
