Chapter 3: A Canadian, a Kiwi, a Belarussian, and a Irish Woman Walking Into a Bar...

Good morning Jackson!




It was a quick and easy morning, as you may be able to tell. With only a few hours of ground to cover here on day 3, we decided we would stop in Baton Rouge before going to New Orleans. We also were seeking a firing range, but were sadly unable to find it. We had a quick gas stop around the half way mark. And a dance as well.

The brief stop over with, and a short hour later, welcome to Baton Rogue. We didn't waste any time upon entering the city. It was straight to a parking spot and across the way to some form of display. On display was a few art installations and a good showing of military power in the form of a battleship and a jet plane.

We took a short walk around the section of board walk lining the Mississippi.

It wasn't long before our weary winter ravaged northern bodies started to wear out in the hot Louisiana sun. It was time for drinks.

It didn't take too long before finding our safe haven of the afternoon. Ah that feeling of walking into the first pub back in Louisiana and seeing the ash trays line the tables. What a pub this Happy's was, a very happy place indeed. Smoking indoors, strong drinks, complimentary (not to mention rather tasty) popcorn, and scantily clad waitress'. Just enough to keep this burgeoning alcoholic in good spirits (course the spirits didn't hurt anything either).

Not entirely sure about the nutritious part...

We stayed for a few pints, and a couple very strong margaritas, and it was off to fetch some food. Luckily we hadn't far to go, right across the street was a Cajun Mexican fusion restaurant.

Ah more margaritas. If only they were as good as they were across the street. Vile over salted frozen concoctions.

First up were the chicken wings. Crispy, tasty, but overly ordinary.

Next up were the pulled pork sliders. Soft fluffy bun, tender pork, bland flavour. Not impressed.

So far, heavy salt margarita, ordinary chicken wings, and bland sliders. Thank fuck I was drunk.

Next up, Crawfish Enchiladas. Finally a winner. Everything was very flavourfull. Nice and spicy and served with some nice hot sauces.

Chin-chin.

With the last drop of alcohol consumed we were out the door and back into the street. We had another wee walk around to see the last of the immediate sights.

And with that it was back on the road again. This time for the final stretch to our main destination, New Orleans.

Before long we had made it into town. We found our hostel with relative ease.

The India House Hostel.

We stepped in for registration, and to be assigned our rooms. We had little intent on staying very long. We also did not know just how incredible the hostel itself would be, and how hard it would be to get away from it.

We were brought to our room where we proceeded to unpack and settle in, claim beds, and the like. After a few minutes myself and Billy departed to look around the back patio area of the hostel. I also was looking for a lighter. The back yard was semi crowded, and it wasn't long till we were meeting people. I finally found someone smoking, and asked for a light. Not only was I given a light, but myself and Billy were also greeted by 2 cold tall ones by our new associates. We got to talking to the eclectic group of English, Americans, Australians, Irish, Canadians, and Finnish alike, and before long we had consumed several beers, whiskeys, and were on our way to a night on the town with them. We gathered the rest of our motley travelers, and set forth as a large collective.

Well, they certainly did make a charming couple didn't they?


Dylan

After the brief tram ride we found ourselves on Bourbon Street in the heart of the French Quarter. We meandered into several bars, drinks seldom far from hand, inside, outdoors, or otherwise. After a short time we wandered over to Frenchman St and went in for beers, tunes, and dancing. Sufficiently inebriated by this stage, making a fool of myself on the dance floor was far from difficult.


The blurry dark photos, strangely reminiscent of how I actually perceived things by this point. After a while, and several shots of spirits, we moved on. A large portion of the crowd split off to go back to Bourbon Street. Leaving myself, Anton, Billy, and Denise, to fade into the night. And my memory to fade into the annals of history.

With that, it was morning. As all good evenings end, abruptly.

A person of little relevance.


Stacey

Bel



Can you see a spaceman in a turtle shell? I can. Look closer. Here's a hint, he's hiding in plain sight.

Ever wonder what could be a bigger pain in the ass then a bad case of Hemorrhoids? Well here's a clue, it's not waiting for Billy to give me his damn photos (as big as a pain in the ass as that may be) so I can finish; Chapter 4: A Bigger Pain in the Ass then a Bad Case of Hemorrhoids.

Chapter 2: I've Got Those Hard Travellin Blues

With breakfast consumed, beer and 6$ sparkling wine in tow, it was back to the open road.

The gps was set. We finally worked our way out of Gatlinburg to the interstate. And with the faintest remainder of a buzz, it was time to consume yet again.





Ah the times that were had. Laughs abounded, the occasional punch thrown, a slew of empty bottles lining the floor, and the odd man out (passed out that is). But all good things must come to an end, as did our first 12 case. Clearly it was time to leave the interstate and seek a refill station (and not for gas either).

Now, well within the confines of Alabama, the deep south. We entered the small dingy gas station for our bevies. We grabbed a few giant cans of tequila cocktail, and another 12 pack. Whilst on our way out we couldn't help but notice a stand of take away fast food items. We decided to indulge. Whilst not usually one to trust food in a gas station, it looked too good to pass up. They had a large assortment of foods available (all fried of course), fried chicken, deep fried Shish Kebab, fried sausage, country fried steak, and the like. Myself and Billy ordered some fried chicken.


Mmmmm. Who the hell would have thought that what could possibly be some of the best fried chicken I've ever eaten, would have been purchased from a gas station! A fucking gas station! Far-fucking-out man.

And with that delicious meal in us, and good deal more booze, it was back to open road. We cruised down the interstate for another good few hours before seeing a sign for a scenic overlook.

We decided it was time to stop.

What a relaxing hillside. It was hugely refreshing to be outside the car, sittin down, havin a smoke and another tall tequila beverage. At least it was... until...

Is that you yelling surprise Bill?

Shit despite what you may argue mate, I'm fairly certain thats still considered rape.

Time for vengeance!

Ah fuckery what have I gotten myself into now...

Ah shit, I really did it that time...

Run! Fuckin' Run!

Hm, well such as Johnny Cash in the Cocaine Blues, I made a good run, but I ran too slow...

God damn that hurt.



Ya ya, alright no hard feelings.... ya rapist cunt.

And with that, it was back to the road... at least till we found a gas station for another 12 pack.

After a few hours, plenty of beers, and quite possibly another stop off for another 12 pack, it was little wonder that a lower Alabama piss break was imminent. With that in mind we pulled into the nearest rest stop. A very scenic rest area, lush trees, and no shortage of greenery.

After enjoying a ciggy or two a few bottles, and at least two or three piss breaks, it was back on the way.

After several hours of driving further, countless more beers, piss stops, beer stops, gas stops, smoke stops, spills in the car, pass outs and the like, we reached Jackson Mississippi.

Apparently, unannounced to all of us (or perhaps just most of us), Jackson is a dead city, nothing open even as early as 10pm. Not a pub, a pharmacy, convenience store or the like. We did at least manage to secure lodging for the evening. We unloaded the beer mobile, unpacked in our room, grabbed a few brewskies, and a litre of vodka, and it was to the streets! With not a soul on the street (unless you count the shavings of bacon driving around), it was nothing but myself, Anton, Billy, the booze, and good conversation. We progressed around the streets seeing bits of the town here and there, and guzzling vodka. We then progressed into a constant worsening state. Eventually we ended up infront of a historic building with cannon's and large church like bells on the lawn. A few plaks, several hedges.

After nearly finishing the vodka, Billy approached the bell. Returning with a look of dissappointment that it didn't work.

I took a gander over myself, reached in and slammed the clapper to the bell wall. Boy did that fucker work after all, a loud resonating clang echoed throughout the city. Well lads, time to call it a night I'd say.

After a small black out period towards the end of the evening, I awoke back in the hotel. All limbs still functioning, no missing appendages, no signs of being arrested, all the lads still around. We enjoyed a complimentary all you can eat hot breakfast, and had a chat with the hotel concierge. After breakfast, and of course a beer or two, it was back into the car, and on to Baton Rouge.

The moral?

1968, Johnny Cash "I'm goin' to Jackson"

2011, Tim "Let's get the fuck out of Jackson"

Stick around folks, next time we answer the age old question; "What happens when a Canadian, a Kiwi, a Belarussian, and an Irish woman walk into a bar?"

(Jackson pictures were taken courtesy of Denise, the morning after the shenanigans, whilst I was in bed sleeping off my hangover - or attempting to at least)

Chapter 1: The Open Road

It was a particularly bright Monday April Morning (I know this very well as I was quite hungover at the time and nearly blinded) when myself and 4 companions loaded our gear into a rental car.


Whilst we had some delays, particularly our Kiwi counterpart forgetting his passport and home, and us having to back track for it (yes, thats right, it had nothing to do with my being an hour late and still drunk). After all delays had passed, and remaining hold ups rectified, it was onward and upward, out of dreary rainy (and just the previous night - snowy) Toronto. Headed for the warm and sunny, hot and sticky, land of booze and debauchery; New Orleans. First stop? Tennessee.

We pulled the fuck outta dodge, and were on our way from Toronto with great speed. Tennessee being approximately 13 hours from Toronto, a late start, and a non stop rain storm made getting there at all within one day to be a very ambitious goal. A goal that would only become more ambitious when paired with volatile driving conditions, an obscene amount of rainfall, the occasional thunderstorm and frequent pit stops.

Eventually somewhere in West Virginia, we pulled away for supper. Nothing fancy, nothing fantastic, just some side of the interstate Pizza Hut. How ever even in its mediocrity, Pizza Hut can have some wonders left for the weary traveler. A few bottles of beer, and some cheap dirty fast food, have seldom been so welcomed. And with the bill wrapped up, and a fairly lengthy chat with our local southern waitress about life in the south (which sounded almost stereotypical), it was back on the old dusty.

Finally with some good weather - no rain and warm air - windows down and fully bellies, things were back on the up and up. This of course lasted about 20 minutes till the weather conditions well back to shit, with some of the worst rain we'd seen all day. Now also facing the inevitable darkness of nightfall to boot. However amusement was still to be had, and interesting sights were to be seen. Such as the town of Hookersville, seemingly comprised of nothing but 2 gentlemens clubs across the interstate from one another. Needless to say I haven't been awake nights in deep contemplation as to how the town was named.

Now with darkness surrounding us, and terenchal rains slapping down on top of us, a certain somber befell us. We all knew what must be done. It was time to get beer! And with great speed we were off to fill our bellies with cheap, stale, gas station beer (barring the driver of course). And with new found spirits and just crossing the border into Tennessee, it was happy days again.

About an hour and a half we finally made our destination in Tennessee.

We wasted no time unloading the nights spread on the table.

From left to right; 2 litres of absolute vodka, 1 litre of Jim Beam Black, 1 litre of Lambs Navy Rum 75% (150 proof). Needless to say, it was a sloppy night with little sleep, and dirty feelings of shame on a liquor clouded mind. Ah fuck it, nothin a jaunty jig can't fix.




Ah now thats better. Now to see the town of Gatlinburg, followed by a gas station for the proper cure (beer and sparklin wine anyone?).

With a brief breakfast at a ihop, it was to get booze and hit the road. Another fairly ambitious day, goal, Jackson Mississippi.

Next up, part 2: I've got those hard travellin blues.

Special thanks to Denise Hughes and Anton Smolski for use of there photos, as well as Billy if the fucker ever uploads them for use!