RoadDave

A bunch of little villages that share a license plate office.  That’s New Jersey.  A basket of uncoordinated planners, highways and business districts that run from strip mall ugly to breathtakingly rural with a smattering of really grotesque industrial strips.  Welcome to the Garden State. 

I was in Piscataway, a more or less normal ‘burb with no real center town, bisected by freeways and turnpikes.  Turnpikes are just freeways with no on ramps.  Folks just drive on from the right, for the sheer hell of it, simply because the center median is a honkin’ big concrete Jersey barrier that Sir Edmund Hilary couldn’t climb.  Oh, and the limit is 65 mph even with houses not more than 20 feet from the turnpike. 

Berkeley Heights, where the office is, is an over-planned suburban industrial community.  Everything is deliberately planned, right down to the trees and shrubs.  Jersey is also the international hq for companies like Dow Jones, Bristol Myers Squibb, IBM and so on.  Houses are American-opulent and set back from the roads on tree lined roads. 

The folks, just fine, nice people who have a mix of small town kind and friendly with a New York edge.  Imagine a Minnesotan with a snotty attitude.  There ya have it!

OK, so I’m remiss in writing.  Dallas was a good show.  But the atmosphere?  Hotter than need be.  100 deg F.  But a dry heat. 

Hotel was off in the middle of nowhere, near nothing but a drainage ditch.  Renting a car is good.  MacArthur Rd. is the retail hub of Irving TX.  I hit three barbecue joints in five days.  Coulters is the best.  Dickey’s is second and Red, Hot and Blue just sucks. The ‘cue is Memphis style by way of Portland Oregon, or to put it another way, nothing to do with Memphis either. 

The rest of Dallas was too hot to be in during the daylight hours, so in early am, I go to Dealey Plaza in downtown Dallas.  Texas Book Depository building, pure history all over.  With one exception.  The camera dies and nothing is open on a Sunday morning in downtown Dallas.  No extra batteries, so no pix, but the images are burned into the brain, so….

DFW Red Carpet Club?  The surliest people you’ve ever met.  Demanded to see ticket, Aeroplan card, passport and asked how long I intended to stay.  No smiles, no welcome, no politeness.  The rest of the whole state is friendly and polite as hospitable, except this one grumpy person.

Since I travel so much, I have decided to leave my mark in these hotel rooms I occupy while on the road.  Using the term Zen History, I’m leaving a trail in a very discreet and subtle way.  If you’re in a hotel, pull out the drawers in the night stand.  Turn them over.  If you find my initials there and the year, I’ve stayed in that room. 

The other giveaway is the pictures.  For years, where possible without causing destruction, I’ve inverted the wall art in hotels across the world.  If you find an upside down picture, check out the night table drawer bottoms.

There are other ways to contribute to Zen History.  For instance, in our kitchen, behind the fridge is a small section of unpainted wall.  As the kitchen is painted, I leave the date and my name.  Same with the wood crib and the deck.  Just a little date and name crumb of Zen History.  Who knows, somewhere, sometime a stranger will come across it and wonder, just who the hell that crazy bastard was.