Tag Archives: travel

SHIFTING SANDS:My Much-needed Trip to Myrtle Beach Part 3

Posted on by John

Friday, May 3. I awake a little after 8 AM, because I love listening to a local radio morning show as this is one of the best ways to get a feel for the area. I can kind of simulate this on my phone with apps like OoTunes, although it’s not quite the same given that I just go in and select the city I want and find a station. And it can be hard to tell if the station is actually in Myrtle Beach and not, say, Wilmington North Carolina. Ah, sometimes I miss my good ol’ analog walkman. I suppose I need to poke around and see if I can find something that simulates that closely enough.

Anyhow, I find a station, Mix 97, that I think is local to Myrtle Beach. The only thing they really talking about was the latest celebrity gossip, but this probably stems from the fact that I didn’t find it till nearly 9. The earlier you catch the show, the better.

We head out of our hotel room just after 10 to one of our Myrtle Beach favorites, Hot Stacks. It’s an area chain of breakfast restaurants that, as far as I can tell, only operate in Myrtle Beach and North Myrtle Beach. On this trip, I go with the sausage omelet and plain grits, eschewing something they have called Trash Grits. I would get these grits on Saturday, and they were actually much better than the plain grits as they had sausage gravy and flecks of some kind of meat in them. I joke with my wife that if they’d shredded napkins and straw wrappers into the grits, we the customers couldn’t really be surprised. We have that weird sense of humor. Hot Stacks also has delicious coffee, nearly on par with that found at Waffle House.

After eating, I get to explore again with my GPS apps as my wife heads over to the Carolina Pottery to check out some arts supplies. She’s made quite a business making rag wreaths, wooden signs and the like in particular and selling them via Etsy and Her website. If you’re into that sort of thing, check it out. At this location, she finds some hard-to-locate ribbons.

After a short jaunt back to the room to get ready, we head down to the beach with my cousin and his wife for the best part of the trip. The sun is dealt out in just the right measure, with clouds thrown in so we don’t become too toasty. My cousin and I sit on the shore and chat about our similar fields of employment. He is also an assistive technology training instructor, as many of us blind folks fortunate enough to have good jobs are. I just hope our work is starting to give people the skills to open more doors, though the larger change must happen at a societal level, as still too many think non-working eyes means incapable of work.

Anyhow, our wives frolic in the water as the tides roll in. Mine says she is nearly knocked down by a big wave and decides to migrate inland. I join her briefly in the surprisingly warm surf, heard the news say it’s unusually warm which portends a bad hurricane season. Let us hope not.

We wrap up our time waterside in a deliciously warm hot tub. Only I, genius that I am, neglect to take off my shirt as I enter the water. This made for a fairly cold, drippy walk back to the room. Y’all, I’m not the sharpest tool in the shed.

Beach time is chill time, so we sprawl on the couch a bit while watching the news before heading out for supper. We join our other couple for dinner, tonight at Giant Crab. They mainly have a buffet, which is kinda pricey at $48 a plate. But it is also pretty good. I have two crab cakes, two servings of mashed potatoes, mac and cheese, and shrimp. As we eat, we all allow some of our unique marital inside language and jokes to come out. This is one of the joys of being with someone for a long time, the unusual way we come to understand the world and create our own world.

And finally, we head to my cousin’s room on the 16th floor, where we spend a little more time on their balcony and then inside of their much nicer suite. The balcony is up so high that the ocean is a little more muffled. And that cool breeze starts to get to me after a while, because yup, no long-sleeved shirt. But overall, the night and my trip were just the vacation I needed. They help to reset my perspective as I continue to try and help people broaden theirs.

SHIFTING SANDS: My Much-needed Trip to Myrtle Beach Part 2

Posted on by John

Isn’t it funny how much easier it to wake up wen one is planning to travel? Heck, I also find it hard to sleep, mostly because I am and will likely always be a big kid.

After Wednesday’s tire craziness, we had decided we would wake at 10 AM. I am up by 8. I make my way to my mancave, taking care to grab my hearing aid kit (if I forget it I could have a very long trip indeed as it dries out wax and other moisture) and start packing. I try to remember to get a little of everything, jeans, shors, button-down shirts. But the one thing I don’t get and should have is a long-sleeved shirt. Hey, I can’t remember everything.

Before hitting the road, we make a stop at that venerable Southern institution Bojangle’s. The sausage, egg, and cheese biscuit they give me is actually tender and well cooked, and I’ll admit that this can be hit or miss as sometimes they’re hard and not very fresh tasting. But my favorite, the seasoned fries, really hit the spot. I settle in and prepare for the roughly three hour trip.

A big reason I love travel is the ability to discover. I have three GPS apps, and they all give me slightly different information as we zip through small North Carolina towns. Good ol’ Ariadne, in addition to being the one that produces maps I can tour with my fingers, tells me the exact street addresses and even some of the neighborhoods, if they are labeled. BlindSquare makes it easy to see GPS coordinates and nearby restaurants. And the Goodmaps Explore app displays real-time information on changing points of interest as we move, to a degree that BlindSquare does not. It can almost be too much information, but it is also fascinating to really get a look at what we’re passing.

Not that we passed too much as we wound down I-40 and Johnston County, to I-95 and Cumberland and Robeson Counties. Just over the South Carolina line, after passing through a town called Taybor City (Columbus County) on the NC border, we kind of lose the direct, interstate route and are forced to navigate a series of backroads until we finally arrive at Myrtle Beach proper, in Hory County.

We arrive at the Sea Watch resort at nearly 1:30, having made good time. We enter the North Tower lobby and are jostled about by excited passersby as they to get ready to enjoy their journey. Seasoned traveler that I am, I have my credit and ID cards out and on the counter practically before the person checking us in asks for them. We are given room 712 in the South tower, which in itself is 16 stories.

I remember during our last trip out of North Carolina prior to this one, way back in January of 2020 (because of Covid) we walked through an endless hall in a Tampa boutique hotel called West Wing and had a ta-da experience upon entering an amazing, large room. This room, while fairly large, was… let’s just say a lot less ta-da-ish. My wife said it still appeared stuck in the 90s, with a dirty landline phone (ever seen one of those?) rusty hangers in the closet, and spaghetti sauce droppings in the kitchenette. The Sea Watch is really a collection of condos, or rooms that different people owned, so you get a lot of variability from property to property. But then as someone on my Facebook said “you ain’t going there for the room.” True enough, though of course one still likes to have a place that makes one feel safe and comfortable.

Anyhow, we shuck our “road clothes” and don waterwear, me putting on a pair of shorts for the first time this season. But we don’t remain oceanside too long, because even with our nice new beach chairs, snacks, and cold water, the heat soon wins. Well I am not really too hot, mostly because I’m never hot. But I knew my wife had to be getting toasty with the sun remaining out, and I know that even if I’m not feeling hot I still have to be careful of sunburn and heatstroke.

Our evening wraps up with what is now a regular pilgrimage to Paula Deen’s Family Kitchen, this time joined by my cousin and his wife. A lot of fellowship is had, with conversation having been improved by the kind hostess who saw to it that we were seated in our own section to accommodate my cousin’s and my hearing difficulties. While we chat, I scarf down some delicious meatloaf, the best fried okra I’ve ever tasted, and macaroni and cheese that was pretty decent (I’m a harsh macaroni critic). Oh, and the biscuits that arrive before the family-style entrees get there can nearly fill you by themselves, so eat with care. I don’t even need dessert after this meal.

And that makes up my Thursday. It is very much the kind of day I need, as I fully emerge from Winter’s lingering effects. And there is more where that comes from on Friday.

SHIFTING SANDS: My Much-needed Trip to Myrtle Beach Part 1

Posted on by John

We’d planned this vacation just after Christmas, as my mom, wife, my cousin, his wife, and I sat in our humble home on the southeast Raleigh. Full off of some delicious eating at Logans, a chain steakhouse, we enjoyed relative warmth inside, and contemplated where outside warmth might be had.

The idea was to take my always-hard-working mom down to the beach, as she doesn’t do a whole lot of traveling. We decided the first weekend of May, this weekend, would be a good one, as it is typically warm but the beach is not yet crowded. My cousin and his wife have a timeshare, so they booked in their property of choice, the Sea Watch Resort. I then booked a room for me and my wife in that same hotel. And I felt happier already, because having this trip to look forward to would make staying on the work grind easier. It’s always better when you feel you’re working toward something, right?

So time passed, and a week or so out my mom said she would be unable to make it due to something having come up. Also we had initially scheduled to remain out there from Thursday to Sunday, but my wife asked that I move our checkout day to Saturday so she could get us back in time to relax a little before returning to her teaching duties. This was all fine and good, and I was just happy we would get to go in some capacity.

well… sort of. Our story begins, inauspiciously, on Wednesday night with a nail. The first thing we needed to do was get the dog to my sister-in-law’s house so she could be looked after. The nice thing about our tiny Pomeranian, and I know I’ve written at least one entry about her but am assuming you won’t feel like trying to find it, is that she is easily taken care of. She only needs food and pee pads and she’s good to go, similar to a cat.

So we made the 30-minute ride across Wake County to drop our furry child off, chattering and feeling increasingly excited about the days of sun-splashed sprawling that awaited. Went inside and chatted, as the dog in residence, a biggermix of Pomeranian and some other breed, greeted our arrival. He’s older, but still hanging in there. Fortunately for us, we’d only stayed inside for about 20 minutes.

as I slid into the front seat and buckled in, my wife said she was hungry and we began the usual dance of trying to figure out where to get dinner. As she started the motor however, we heard the ominous beep that means the car is telling us something. Turns out the PSI in the back right tire was dropping fast. The other three held steady at 37, while that one had already plummeted to 25. Being the glass-half-empty person I am (I know I know, I’m really trying to work on that mentality) I feared the trip was gonna be swallowed before we even hit the highway. And worse, we were already inside of the 24-hours one has prior to arrival that the hotel reservation could be canceled. So I’d also be eating $200+. Great!

Off we went, slowly losing speed along the way as the pressure continued to drop. She swung by her dealership, already closed as it was 6:30. So she plugged in (ha, ha) a query for places to fix tires, and came across a Pep Boys that would stay open till just 8. Happily it was only a little over three miles away, so we practically limped over there as the pressure was down to 21 PSI.

“Can you help,” she asked the woman as we got there.

“We’ll take a look,” she replied (there are four cars ahead of you.”

So I collected my things and followed her inside, where the temperature was set to frigid and the air smelled so heavily of rubber that my head immediately hurt. I tried to read, found it hard to concentrate as we contemplated the possilibity that we’d be parting with a big chunk of change for new tires or significant repairs. 7 became 7:30 became 8:00, and the place emptied out. Finally, mercifully, they got to our ride. As luck would have it, we were the last customers to be seen, well after 8 as we had arrived early enough. They told us, a little before 9, that she had inded run over a rogue nail and the tire only required a patch. $25 and lot of relief, and we were good to go again! And with that, your friendly neighborhood pesimist learned a lesson again in how things can indeed work out in the end. More, hopefully, on the actual trip tomorrow. Or Monday? Sometime within the week!

The Tidalist: …And I Run Up 2000 Stairs

Posted on by John

Well that last is a hilarious exaggeration, but you’ll see what I mean in a bit. Yeah yeah yeah, it’s been a month since I last wrote in this thing. It has also been a month since that wonderful, relaxing trip. But I’m still going to capture the second half of it as best I feel like. After all, memory is fallible, maleable, and all-kinds-of-things-ible anyway, and all that really matters is the story.

If what I have of it serves, and even the bestselling author John Grisham confessed to being “too lazy” to go back and make sure his book series still fit together, I stopped on that Monday May 3. This was the only day we didn’t get in the pool, well other than that Thursday when it was far too cold to do so. What we did do on Monday evening was have some delicious spaghetti with homemade meatballs. This was the only non-breakfast meal they prepared in-house, because hey we’re on vacation!

Tuesday dawned as easy and relaxing as the rest, but it was the birthday woman’s big day. As it happened, it was also the day the temperature swelled well into the 80s. Did this stop me from going outside? Is water wet? So after happily warming myself on the porch, my wife and I made our way to the store to pick up some odds and ends for the night’s celebration. First, she moseyed along that crazy endless road of highway 12 that always makes me feel like we’re experiencing the kinds of space time dilation that the theory of relativity predicts. There wan’t a whole lot to see, though.

When it came time to cut the cake, one baked by her mom and re-frosted after the first frosting attempt had gone awry and tasted strangely for some unknown reason, we teleconferences with her sisters who were not able to attend. It was fun, and of course has become the norm during these pandemic times anyhow. Then those of us who were there had Sooey’s again, with me choosing their cheeseburger and somewhat bland fries (I wish I had tried the beer-battered onion rings). The burger was quite delicious, despite that.

After eating, we went back out and, after taking a casual stroll along the sea with our niece in tow, took another dip in the kiddie pool. This time, the water was near-scalding. It felt sauna-like for a while though, and even though by the time we exited I pretty much had to, I found myself feeling uncharacterstically chill.

This chill followed me into Wednesday, as I prepared for the day’s main event, a “discussion” about a possible position within my company. Sadly, kind of as I struggled to decide if it was the right move for me, that position has not worked out to date. But that’s ok, I still gained confidence from the smoothness of our conversation.

They had opted to rent a tent and have some company set it up by the ocean with chairs and the like, and while I had missed the morning’s fun prepping for the talk, my wife and I did have a picnic out there with “hotdogs by the sea”. It was pleasant just basking in the shade and listening to her describe the National Geographic-type scene of seabirds swooping down to pluck fish from the waves then soaring away with their still squirming prize.

And now we come to the stairs. I had already told her before we embarked that I wanted to climb the Currituck Lighthouse, because I couldn’t imagine what that would even feel like. The lighthouse has, I think, approximately 209 steps (remember that part I said about memory and fallibility?) But our 7-year-old niece, on seeing that, declared ‘I’m not going up those 2000 steps, y’all can do that on your own!” So my wife, brother-in law, two nephews and I went for the $10 climb, while her mom, sister and said niece stayed on the ground. Going up was the hard part, believe me! I was glad they were at least broken into sections of 7-10 steps apiece, and by that last landing I thought my heart would explode from my chest. We stepped out into a whipping wind after emerging from an indoor well, and after snapping a few queasy pictures and taking a look over the railing, my wife decided it was time to reverse course. I had worried about this part, but fortunately going down was a cynch.

A cool, rewarding hot fudge sundae from Dairy Queen and a Wendy’s burger that we had to drive 30 minutes to get made up the rest of that evening. If you do go out there, just be prepared for the near lack of name-brand restaurants.

And that basically made up the trip. Thursday was spent relaxing inside, as the temperature had dropped into the lower 60s and the drivers wanted to rest up for the long trek home the following day. I did take one last wind-chilled sit on a chez longer on the porch, gleaning what little sun I could and enjoying the roar of the ocean till I could take no more.

Hopefully more of those trips are in my future, and especially as we begin to crawl out of our shells again. The isolation had its pluses and minuses, but on the whole it was a very welcome experience.

Book Review: Wild, by Cheryl Strayed

Posted on by John

Note the change of my blog URL to blindtravel.net. Actually, it’s a full-feature WordPress site that I suspect will take on its own identity over time. I’m just glad I’ve gotten everything working!
I actually finished this book a week ago, but never got around to writing about it. As one who is stimulated by the idea of traveling and learning about the scenery though, I knew I wanted to read it ever since I heard the National Library Service narrator Jill Scott talking about it at the last convention of the American Counsel of the Blind.
The full title is Wild, from lost to found on the Pacific Coast Trail, by Cheryl Strayed. Even her last name, Strayed, was no happenstance. She says she chose it to reflect her wandering spirit and the attempts to find herself that were obviously a big reason why she took this trip.
The story starts with tales of life on a farm in Minnesota, getting used to a stepfather and trying to get along with her brother and sister. It progresses with she and her mother deciding to enroll in college together, though vowing to allow each other the space to develop freely, and then with her mother becoming inexplicably sick and discovering that she has advanced cancer. The conclusion of that revelation is fairly obvious, but I won’t give it away.
After these events unfolded, she felt that the only way she could get herself back together would be to take a long hike along the Pacific Crest Trail from about midway through California, up through Oregon, and ending at the Bridge of the Gods, which spans the Columbia River and connects Oregon to Washington. Along the way, she encounters a series of characters that challenged her thinking, resulted in new friendships, and on a couple of unfortunate occasions, caused her to fear for her safety.
I thoroughly enjoyed this book, and particularly the descriptions of what it took to trek through the snow, attempts to survive blistering walks through the sun, and other experiences the likes of which I can only imagine. I think she probably went a bit overboard with some things though, exposing the reader constantly to thoughts of sexual desire and other off-color things. However, I guess these were pretty central in her mind during that time, being alone for large stretches and having been quite a bit unprepared for the rigors this journey would exact on her body.
One of the ways she especially soothed herself was through music. I liked her talk of a “mixtape in my head,” as I definitely use this to get through most of my workdays. Some of the songs she mentioned were Texas Flood by Stevie Ray Vaughan, Box of Rain by Grateful Dead, and one called Red River Valley which I guess is some sort of folk song. I listened to all of these titles via YouTube, bringing the story a bit more to life for me.
I think this story has inspired me to someday attempt hiking our version of that trail, the Appalachian Trail. This runs from Georgia to somewhere in Maine I think, and I’d be interested in perhaps taking in at least a bit of it. I’m not sure how much of an outdoors person I am, but think that every type of travel in which I could engage could be beneficial. She definitely showed me that a lot of thought and preparation need to go into that sort of venture if one wants it to go as smoothly as possible. Heck, I suppose I’d be lucky not to be eaten by a bear.
Aside from the somewhat overboard talk of sex I mentioned earlier, there is also a pretty intense scene involving her and her brother’s attempts to put down their old horse. I’d say if you have a particularly hard time reading about harm to animals, just be aware of that. They do explain why this needed to be done though, regretting somewhat the exact course of action that was taken.
I’d still say I can recommend this book as a way to get out of the normal pattern of modern life. Do check it out.

DC On Air 3, Meetings and Marching Home

Posted on by John

Friday:

Today starts early, as I take a quick listen to more local programming and hit the showers by 7 AM. I’d thought about opting for late check-out, but decide that I may as well just drag my bags to the couple of places I’d be going. It’s not like they are particularly heavy.

I make my way down to the second floor and am checked out by a guy who then claims he doesn’t even work at the hotel. This makes me a little nervous, but I guess all is well as there don’t seem to have been any further ramifications. I’d located my bill inside of my room just prior to departure, and so had only to drop off the room key at the desk anyway.

Then downstairs to await the first of my two meetings with long-time twitter friends. She shows up at 8, and we walk the few steps outside to one in a small chain of French sandwich shops called Au Bon Pain.

I opt for a delicious cinnamon pastry, and a cup of French vanilla coffee. This brings me around as we make small talk, I enjoying the never-fading novelty of hearing one’s voice in person after months of following them exclusively online. Actually, I’d heard her once before via a podcast to which I often listen, but she sounds different to me even than in that recording.

She needs to head back to work, so after about a half hour we walk back to the hotel’s ground floor waiting area. I don’t really call it a lobby, since it doesn’t even have a restroom. The lobby is basically on the second floor. I speak to the woman who works behind the counter about this, and she tells me that the hotel had been opened only 5 years ago. I’m surprised they opted to construct it in this way.

While awaiting my next meeting at sometime around 11, I sit in the chair and listen to that woman have a number of conversations with other guests. I also send and receive messages on my iPhone, while a man who works at some sort of major tech company watches.

“How do you use that,” he asks. “Does it talk to you?”

I pull out the headset and let him hear VoiceOver.

“See, I’ve been trying to convince the folks at my company that we need to make sure our products are usable by, people… people like… can I say?..”

“Yes, you can say blind people,” I tell him. I kind of understand his hesitancy regarding that, given that it can be a challenge to not use words that might inadvertently offend. While I am all for making sure to speak of people in the best way possible, I know at least when it comes to me I usually accept that maybe someone isn’t fully aware of which phrases are appropriate. The intent, the knowledge that we might wish to use mainstream products and can benefit from them, is more important in my opinion.

Eventually he departs to run further errands, and I settle back in to read. My next person arrives at around 11:30, and we go back to the same restaurant as before. Only at this time of course, I choose for a more lunch-type item. The chicken sandwich, with what I think was an unusual kind of cheese, is pretty good and filling. She has a broccoli soup that she says does not taste good at all. I knew it would be interesting to talk to her, because of her love of travel and the kind of work she does in blogging and social media. She is also deaf, but could understand me pretty well. Given that both of our lesser ear is the right, it makes trying to find a workable configuration for conversation a little fun. I do thoroughly enjoy the chatter, though.

She resides in the DC area, and so knows the Metro system well. I thus ask her if she can take me back to Union Station, only a stop away, so that I can go ahead and await the Megabus there. We actually take an escalator up higher to hop into the subway car, which then makes its way underground as it approaches Union Station. This is my first time in the DC subway since 2000, and my first on a subway period since 07. The major urban transit nerd in me will always find this exciting.

Once we arrive, she suggests that I wait downstairs in the Amtrak lounge, because the seats are more comfortable and it has WiFi. But once she shows me where the Megabus will board, I opt to stay on that level and in the other waiting room she finds. I somewhat regret this, as the air smells heavily of pain, but in the end all is well.

I get in there at approximately 1:10, and don’t depart until nearly 3:20 once my bladder begins to rebel. I flag someone down who helps me find a restroom, then choose to sit on a bench outside, even closer to the roaring buses but free of the nose-numbing smell of that room. I inform someone else that I wanted to board the bus that leaves at 4:15, and so suddenly at 3:50 my bag just disappears from under my leg.

“Time to go,” that person then says.

Um, you could have warned me first, pal. I’m thinking someone is stealing my luggage!

Tweet Signpost: So long to our nation’s capital. It’s been real.

I press my nose to the window as my sightless eyes take one last look at the city and the GPS names off streets. We pass by the Verizon Center, Constitution Gardens, and the National Mall before making that bone-jarring bounce back onto the bridge, over the river, and away.

I talk to my seatmate for a few minutes, finding out that she will stay in Durham on Friday night then be picked up by friends for a fun weeklong trip to Wilmington. Then she informs me that she wishes to sleep, so I fall silent and pull out the entertainment boxes.

Not much of note happens for the rest of the trip home. We pull into Durham Station shortly after 9:30, pretty much on time. I am somewhat dismayed to learn that my cabbie hasn’t in fact shown up. She sends someone else after me, mainly so that person could get some money and experience in picking up loyal clients. Only that person decides it’d be nicer to get a big fare, securing a couple of Raleigh trips right off of that bus. So my usual cabbie hears about this, becomes somewhat upset, and makes her way back across town to get me. But by this point, I have gone ahead and hopped into the van that was to take my seatmate to her hotel, with us splitting the fare. I badly need to use the restroom, and the facilities inside of that bus station have been shut for the night. After procuring fast-food, as I know my refrigerator is all but empty, I finally, mercifully arrive home.

And that is the end of a fun trip to DC, during which some light networking especially within NPR may have occurred. One thing that organizing this did show me is that if one wants something enough and knows the right people, one can make it happen. This is a really important lesson for me to keep in mind at all times.

There is some degree of irony perhaps in my journey taking place just before the 50th anniversary of MLK’s March on Washington for Jobs and Freedom occurred. As I’ve pondered this over the last few days, I wonder if and to what extend persons with disabilities played a role in that march. I guess not all that much? I have heard of some powerful civil rights protest by individuals with disabilities, though, and just as with many minority groups in this country, much progress has been made but much remains to be done. We’re here though, our faces will be seen, and we will continue to push for more! Join me?

DC On Air 2: The Tours, NPR and Air and Space

Posted on by John

Thursday:

Up early, as is typical when I’m in a hotel. This is primarily because I enjoy browsing the local (if any can even still be called that) radio stations of a city to which I’ve traveled.

Only, this evil, new-aged machine decides pretty quickly that it has it in for me. I somehow get it turned on, but don’t know if I ever turn it back off. And, I can only really slip between four stations, likely all presets.

Tweet Signpost: I miss simple to operate clock radios. Hope I’ve not inadvertently set an alarm. Lol

Relenting on that frivolity, I shuck the thick, warm covers and stumble towards the shower. I don’t know what has run amok, but I somehow end up with water all over the bathroom floor! *sigh* I sure hope the rest of this day will not follow suit.

Speaking of, I slide into mine, make sure I have my room key in the pocket only after the door has slammed shut, (I should win an award for highest IQ), and head for the elevator.

Coffee, the elixir of life, starts streaming through my veins, and finally things begin to make some sense. I sit among a raucous crowd in the hotel’s second floor café and also punish a sausage, egg, and cheese biscuit. I decide, smartly as it turns out, to deposit the complementary bottle of orange juice into my UNC tote bag as I make for the door.

The cab ride is short and sweet. I kind of wish I’d braved the Metro system a little more though, as I surely could’ve saved some of that dough. I was concerned with being there on time however, because I’d made appointments for help from no doubt busy people.

Tweet Signpost: I have arrived at @NPR . Just waiting for someone to find me. Let the fun begin!

This is at 10:23, and the individual who would be taking me inside shows up promptly at 10:30. I am surprised when it turns out to be the person with whom I had been corresponding in order to put the tour details into place. She describes the types of things I would encounter, then takes me to the gift shop where I acquire a nice NPR travel mug and two CDs of popular NPR shows. I then ask her to take a picture of me with my iPhone.

Tweet Signpost: Me inside of the @NPR lobby in front of a sign panel (Photo)

This to me is one of the great things about having mainstream technology, something I can just hand to a sighted person and they’ll know what to do with. Photos don’t much matter to us blind folk, of course, but I know they can bring things to life for any pairs of eyes that look.

I wish I, with my faulty memory, could keep the happenings of the tour in order. If you would like to take it yourself and/or read a quick description of what one is supposed to see, check this entry. I should note that I am guided by a kind volunteer who has retired from her prior work and enjoys helping others as they go through the tour.

The building is seven floors, but we only get to see five. She says the top two don’t much contain anything of interest anyway. The voice that announces floors and direction in the elevator is that of none other than the legendary Susan Stamberg.

I enjoy sitting in the same chairs as the reporters do when in planning sessions for major shows like Morning Edition and All Things Considered. They show how stories are edited, noting that there is usually a fixed time that must be filled to the second, meaning that sometimes extended musical pieces will be used to make it all fit. I guess I feel a little better when listening now, because I often cringe involuntarily when I fear that a guest might be going on too long. I especially do this when the host says “Uh-huh?” in a way that says “Alright wrap up, please.” But, I’m just like that.

One of my favorite things to discover is to what extent NPR is going to ensure that its content is accessible. I think the tour guide says there will be an individual who can do live captioning with only a 3-second delay, for those who are hard of hearing. They also have a Braille display that is keeping time with the on-screen stories.

“Let him come up and feel this,” the guide says to the person with whom I am walking. “Can you read that?” he asks as I lightly touch the display.

“The…, suit,… It’s going too fast!” I reply. This draws laughter from the other members of our party.

And I think we’re among the lucky ones who actually do encounter an NPR host, as Weekend Edition Saturday’s Scott Simon pops out in a corridor just up ahead of us. Maybe some get to shake his hand, but I am too far back to do so. Still, it is interesting to hear him talk in person.

This largely wraps up what was for me a pretty exciting walk-through. If you’ve been following me for a long time, you know I’ve wanted to do this just as long as I’ve been blogging. My thanks to Erin McIntyre, volunteer Barbara, and the good folks of NPR Generation Listen for working with me to make that happen.

Tweet Signpost: Now the tour is over, and I’m just sitting in the lobby hoping a reporter walks by. Lol, we actually did run into @NPRScottSimon .

I sit here for a while longer drinking in the surroundings, until I am predictably approached by a security guard.

“No you aren’t in any trouble,” she says: “I just wanted to make sure you weren’t waiting for transportation or something.”

I accompany her into the café, where I buy a cheeseburger and am furnished with a cup of water. I know immediately that I won’t need a big dinner at night, as I’m still pretty full from the breakfast sandwich I’d had back at the hotel. They eat in DC!

The guard calls my next taxi, and once I arrive at my destination my iPhone decides it’d be a good idea to slip from my pocket. Imagine my panic when I touched that spot and felt nothing but flat fabric.

“Hey,” I asked no one: “y’all still see that cab?”

Fortunately for me, the driver had noticed it as he pulled off, and was already proffering the device without which I would’ve been very unhappy.

That crisis averted, I set off to do another thing I’d wanted for a while: visit Smithsonian’s Air and Space Museum. I kind of waited till the last minute to arrange this tour, having called on the Friday prior when they’d actually prefer that one do so two weeks in advance. Even so, a guide is found for me.

His name is Larry, and he notes that he has read for the organization now known as Learning Ally but then called Recordings for the Blind and Dyslexic. Not surprisingly, his main interest is in books about planets and intraplanetary (ok, I made that up but so?) aviation. I believe he also served in one of the military branches, though I cannot remember if he tells me which.

We make our way through the huge crowds of people gawking at giant, old aircraft mounted over our heads. He pulls out a little cart on which he places model versions of some of these machines for me to feel.

I get to check out the Wright Flyer, which I am surprised to discover is kind of rectangular with its length going sideways, if that makes any sense. It has a kind of mesh at the front, and propellers. I wonder how they got that thing off of the ground.

I also see miniature versions of the first jet aircraft, which look more sleek and aerodynamic. He informs me that people initially thought that two wings were necessary in order to achieve even lift, but in actuality this depends on the level of force the aircraft’s fuselage is able to endure. Once this was discovered, some chose to build only single-wing aircraft.

Next, we take a quick trip to Space exploration. He shows me a model of Apollo 11, with its spindly lunar lander, conical mother ship part whose official name escapes me at the moment, and the bottle-shaped service module that contains all of the life-giving supplies such as oxygen and water. I’ve heard these parts described, but still it is fascinating to get a feel of what they actually look like.

He is fascinated by how much I know about air and Space travel. Well what can I say: I’ve just been hooked from a young age.

Tweet Signpost: Back at the hotel, man what a day! Pondering what to do tonight. Sleep will wait till I’m home.

And not a whole lot happens after this point. As I always must do when traveling, I take about an hour and a half in my room to de-compress and allow my ears and hearing to recover. If I don’t do this, I will develop a headache from all of the strain, becoming incredibly stressed out eventually. So, I sit on the bed with my phone in hand, firing off tweet replies to everyone who has commented over the course of the day and lining up plans for the next day’s meetings with online friends.

Tweet Signpost: Milkshake Outdoors, and My Day in a Nutshell (Audio)

Tweet Signpost: Oh, and Another for Ambience, Cuz I talked Too Much Audio

One of my favorite things to do when in a different location is to capture some of the sounds. These are a blind man’s photos, after all. In the first piece of audio, you’ll note how crazily windy it is out at that table where I sit, sucking on a delicious sweet mango milkshake from an Indian restaurant right near the hotel. My original plan was to sit outside for a bit, then head in and see if I could find some ice cream. But I hadn’t realized that I’d chosen a restaurant’s table until I am approached by a server who asks if I want anything. It ends up being quite a nice experience.

After a quick conversation with a friend in Chapel Hill once I return to my room, tiredness rolls in like a tide. I drift off as my phone and the NPR app streams All Things Considered, feeling happy and full of anticipation of what is to come.

More tomorrow.

DC On Air 1: The Going

Posted on by John

Wednesday:

A light rain falls as I disembark from the Triangle Transit 700 which, ironically, arrives at the Durham Station transportation center on time. This is the first time all week, as on both Monday and Tuesday the bus got there so late that I had been unable to make my connection to the DATA Route 6 bus that takes me home. Today, I don’t even need it.

I kind of hang out at that immediate location from 4 PM until almost 5, knowing there are still a couple of hours to kill. Then the bladder places its call to the brain, and so I stand and make my way toward the Greyhound station to meet that need.

People are milling around, babies crying, teens may as well be. Meanwhile, I put my hearing aids into the beautiful t-coil setting that largely isolates all sound and settle in with my audio books to complete the wait.

I don’t think I’ve talked about it yet, but I’m reading The Twelve by Justin Cronan. In order to really read this one though, you have to have read The Passage first as it’s a sequel. Both novels, of epic length, start out in modern times and quickly advance to a somewhat post-apocalyptic future where “virals,” previously human figures that have been taken over by an awful virus, attack and destroy the fabric of civilization. These resulted from an experiment on prisoners that went very wrong. It’s good stuff, if quite disturbing.

So once 5:45 rolls around, I know it is time to start finding my way out to where the Megabus departs. I meet a nice individual who says he knows where I should go, and walk with him out to the back as we chat. The rain is still coming down, but sun also shines, which actually feels pretty good other than the fact that my clothes are getting wet.

I’d tried to memorize the confirmation number for my reservation, but apparently get it wrong. iPhone to the rescue, as I just pull up the email so the driver can have a look. Ah, I love no longer having to find a way to print this stuff out. Then, off we go.

Tweet Signpost:

And with that, my trip to DC is underway. Sitting upstairs, which is cool. Helpful pax showed me electrical outlet

I think this may be only the second time I’ve ever ridden on a double-decker bus. The ride is quite comfortable, and I’m surprised that I can feel a little less engine rumble up here. People do turn on their music and play it aloud, which I’m sure the rules stipulate should not be done. I guess the driver doesn’t particularly care, though.

Tweet Signpost:

And the first county on the other side of the NC/VA line is Mecklenburg. Copy cats! Also a town called Norlina right at border

Yep, one of the things I especially enjoy about this trip is really taking Ariadne GPS, an iPhone app that is customized for VoiceOver, for a spin. I have my destination hotel saved to its favorites, and so I watch the milage count down as we get closer and closer. It makes me feel like I’m headed to another planet.

We take on passengers in Richmond, stopping for only about 15 minutes. At this station, a woman boards who manages to hold up a very loud cell phone conversation for the duration of the trip. She speaks in what sounds like a mix of English and perhaps some African language, alternately stomping eratically and laughing hysterically. I don’t have a problem with this per se, but I’m willing to bet that some passengers do.

Tweet Signpost:

Yikes! Right into the heart of some heavy rain.

And right at that moment, I become glad I hadn’t opted to take Amtrak. Of course if I had, I would’ve had to leave earlier anyway, so that likely is a moot point. But I remember what happened to me as I attempted to reach Charlotte and my cousin’s wedding through a dounpour.

I watch as we bounce onto a bridge and the GPS reports “Potomac River”. I think that’s the Woodrow Wilson Bridge? It takes us from Arlington into DC, depositing us, I think, on SW 14th Street. I also note the towns of Lorton, Springfield, and Alexandria as we close in on the city.

At Union Station, I am assisted to the level to grab a taxi by a young woman who says she’s from Chapel Hill and about to complete her MSW at Howard. Impressive, I say.

Tweet Signpost:

Here In DC (Audio)

Hunger has nearly crippled me by this point, so as I state in that audio post, I call up a place called New York Pizza. I listen to the belly rumblings and order a 12-inch cheeseburger sub, when I would definitely have been fine with only 8 inches. I end up only able to consume half of it, depositing the rest into the can untouched. This is why I wish all hotel rooms had refrigeration.

I think I will stop here and continue with Thursday’s happenings tomorrow.

Sang With the Choir!

Posted on by John

As Fred Hammond’s Jesus Be A Fence All Around Me blares out of my speakers, piped in via the iPhone, I find myself reflecting on the days of singing on various church choirs. It still makes me somewhat sad that my ability to harmonize well was one of the first things to go as my hearing has continued to deteriorate, and especially since I had become so good at it. I haven’t therefore sang on a choir since probably 2001? Doing so gave me some of the most interesting experiences I’ve ever had, though.
It started with the children’s choir at Friendship Missionary Baptist Church in Charlotte, North Carolina. I can’t really remember if we were required to join by the parentals or if we just opted into it, but certainly all of my sisters and I were a part of the choir at that time. Rehearsals were on Saturday morning, and one could get quite exhausted working and re-working the same song until we had it.
One of the most intense songs I remember singing in those early days was a take on the Hallelujah course.
“O Lord, o Lord, how majestic is thy name in all the earth,
O Lord, o Lord, how majestic is thy name in all the earth”
Man, that piece was intense! Mostly because we had to get incredibly loud to be heard above the pounding musicians and general roar of the congregation as they got into it and stood to bounce in the aisles. By the time we got to the final, extended, “O Lord, my God,” I’d be practically on my knees and voiceless. But it was so exhilarating, too, because of the reaction that tune inspired.
We continued singing with the church even as we aged, doing so first at different locations in Charlotte, and then the pinnacle of at least my experience with that choir, our 1992 trip to New Rochelle New York to perform for one of that area’s churches.
Our hotel was actually in White Plains, and the first thing I remember about arrival there was their constant assurance that White Plains was pretty much just like Charlotte. That may be, but they sure didn’t have no grits! When I asked them for some, they acted as if I were speaking another language.
We of course also went to, and promptly got lost in, Manhattan for at least a couple of hours. My cousin and I, along with a few others, had decided we were zonked and had had enough by the time they finally located the ferry that would take people to the statue of liberty. An 81-year-old choir member who had known times of much more aggressive walking put us youngins to shame, though, and went on the tour with the rest.
Somehow, a New Yorker managed to commandeer a city bus that took us back close enough to our White Plains hotel to get a taxi, where a driver tried to take us around the way because “I need more money to tickle my hands!” Uh-uh, buddy.
On that epic trip, we also went to see the Broadway play Jelly’s Last Jam, and quite a few of us had our picture taken with Gregory Hines in front of the theater in which that play took place. It was great.
That was probably the most extravagant trip I’d gotten to take with that or any choir. Once my folks relocated, at least most of us, from Charlotte in 1994, I never did join the choir in our new church home of First Baptist Missionary in Southern Pines, North Carolina. In 1996, after some trickery by my resource teacher at Pinecrest High School that luered me into their auditions, I did get to experience a different kind of choral singing. Unlike our church choirs, this required me to learn to blend in and use what to me sounded more like an operatic tone. I’m certainly not saying that either way is better than the other, just that they’re different kinds of singing. I think it’s good for a musician to be exposed to such variation anyway, and would say that my chorus instructor at Pinecrest did more to bring out my voice than anyone I’d ever known.
People submitted to sing the major solo in our final concert my senior year, but being the shy, confidence-lacking person I was, I didn’t bother putting my name in that hat. Still, he gave me the biggest solo and worked with me every other day for 30-45 minutes to ensure that I learned it.
Singing in the harsh spotlight that I could actually feel shine down on me, I’d rarely felt the flood of happiness that came from achieving that goal. And that’s probably the main thing I gain from any sort of musical experience, a sense of pleasure and fulfillment equaled by nothing else.
Onto the University of North Carolina at Charlotte, where I participated on both types of choir at the same time. Now that’s some real fun.
The Unlimited Praise gospel choir traveled to Greensboro, Salisbury, and some points around Charlotte to sing at churches and such. Being a part of that choir gave me a community to belong to at a time when I really needed it.
And my cousin and I found out how valued our contributions to it were when we left due to a rapidly intensifying semester. They decided they wanted us to come with them for support at a competition in Rocky Mount, a town that makes one feel he is traveling back in time. We took an insane day trip that began in Charlotte at 4:29 AM and returned at 3 AM the following day. Hearing six different groups, including one from Long Island that stole the show, was great; but my favorite thing was the food. But isn’t that always the case?
In the University Chorale we never took long-range trips, because some knuckleheads were uncooperative the year before I got there. This left the instructor more inclined to just stay local.
We did, however, get to perform inside of a place called Oasis Temple. I’m not sure if that place has a religious background, but it’s very nice. I think we may have sang at a couple of other local churches as well.
I should probably find a church here in Durham, that is if I really want to experience that kind of connection. And if I do, I might still try and see if I can’t belt out a tune. I might have some issues with flatness or whatever, but hey I know some folk on choirs who are, um, tone deaf? But as long as they enjoy it, it’s all good! We shall see if any of that happens again for me in the near future. In any event, it was fun to reflect on. And as I close, the phone is playing Dottie Peoples, He’s an On-Time God, another foot stomper!

The Course, and Summer Travel After All?

Posted on by John

Man, what! A! day! A very good, and full one, but one on which I find myself quite exhausted.
First, I’m wondering if I should ask to be downgraded to a four-day workweek for the duration of this HTML class I’m taking. I have no idea how I’ll make it through Friday otherwise, as by the time class ends it’s very definitely my bedtime. I’ve already taken tomorrow, because I knew I’d need the adjustment time.
Speaking of the class, I think it’s going to be great. There are a mix of creative, intelligent, humorous people therein. This is the first such course that I’ve taken strictly online, and so for that it’ll be a new experience anyway.
Today, we mostly covered what would be required to complete the course. The most interesting aspect is that we must create a website based on a topic of our choosing. We all know how hard I struggle with making decisions on such things, well truthfully how hard I struggle with making decisions period. Ha, ha. So do you have ideas about what I should try to base my site on? Music? Sports? Disability issues? I don’t know, but I guess I’ll come up with something.
I think I get a pass on a solidly written post tonight, huh? I’m at least putting out something!
The final good news of the day is, it seems anyway, that I’m going to get to tour the NPR headquarters after all. We’re just working out the time that I’d go, and they’ve said they’ll be willing to accommodate me through the building with a guide.
I hope to visit Washington on the 22nd, well in all likelihood arriving on the 21st and crashing so I’ll awake in the morning refreshed and ready to go. That’s assuming any sleep can be had, as I’ll doubtless be as excited as a kid on Christmas.
I’ve been an NPR junkie since late in 2001, and seriously contemplated some way of working as part of that network for the last few years or so.
So tomorrow I’ll pour over travel websites to see if I can find a hotel close to Union Station, both because that’s where Megabus will arrive and because it’d also put me close enough to NPR to easily take a taxi if that’s what I end up doing. Wish me well. I think that would indeed be my summer’s last hurrah.
Ah, this season is winding up far too quickly, but it’s been a pretty good one overall. So tell me to stop complaining and look at all of the things that have gone right!
Back with something more coherent tomorrow, once my brain is functioning properly. I feel quite pleased, though.