Business…here’s the BSN piece on the Heisman race. The ESPN piece has not gone up. I’ll let you know when I know.
Day One of Bo and Kirk’s intrepid journey out of California was a pretty fun one. We even drove twenty miles off the freeway to have lunch at a casino in Laughlin, NV. A great buffet meal and twenty bucks blown at a blackjack table later, we were on our way to far far away.
Before you think we’re just degenerates that wanted an excuse to gamble, let me explain. We’re degenerate driving through Southeast California and Arizona.
And there ain’t a damn thing between Rancho Cucamonga–where Kirk lived and the setting for Next Friday–and Flagstaff. And I do mean nothing.

We did not see a restaurant where food wasn’t served in a bag and the natives have seen a black person until we got to Flagstaff. And if you’ve been to Arizona, you know those folks ain’t seen that many black people. Ain’t nothin’ on this road. You do see a lot of signs that say “watch for rocks.” In Durham, I’m more watchful of people that smoke rocks than the rocks themselves.
But that’s where we are. Kirk’s too high class for motels with numbers in their names, so we’re at the classy Radisson in Flagstaff. Got it for a good rate, but it’s classy. Best part–they’re not so classy that they make you pay for wireless. Considering my broadband addiction, that’s a big deal. And when I turned on my computer, I found out my mail program, Mozilla Thunderbird, had been on those Durham rocks. That was no fun to find out.
(And don’t take these lines about Durham to be a full representation of my new city. Durham’s a pretty cool spot. It’s got smokers and gang bangers, making it different from exactly zero cities in America. Well, except for maybe those with nothing but white people. Instead of rocks, they use meth. I personally think it’s better to smoke crack than use meth. Meth has drain cleaner in it. And while crack has baking soda, at least you can use baking soda both to keep your fridge from getting smelly and to make cookies and cakes.)
But here’s an interesting tidbit that you may not care about if you don’t know me fairly well. Three different times, I’ve made a cross country drive with a co-pilot without stopping. We would alternate roughly eight hour shifts, one getting lots of sleep while the other drove. It was never too big of a deal to me. In fact, I would make those drives and then immediately go handle some form of business. I can be foolish like that. I also have trouble sleeping on six of seven nights a week, but that’s an entirely different discussion.
Well, the plan for today was to get to Albuquerque. Only problem was that I couldn’t remember how far down the route Albuquerque was. I haven’t taken this route in three and a half years, so I couldn’t just dig into my memory, which was assaulted by years of graduate study in economics.
But we knew that we’d have a decision to make when we got to Flagstaff. Because cities are few and far between, we weren’t sure if we were going to find a city with a hotel that Kirk found suitable between Flagstaff and Albuquerque. So we decided as soon as we knew how far Albuquerque was from Flagstaff that we would ponder the next move.
Finally, we saw a sign saying how many miles we were from Albuquerque. Now, I don’t remember exactly how many miles were listed on the sign, but I know is said 330 miles separated Albuquerque from Flagstaff.
This was around 6:00p. Two or three years ago, I would have gotten into the zone, hunkered down and tried to get to Albuquerque by midnight. Today, I said one word.
Sheeeit.
To the Radisson we came. At the Radisson I am. And tomorrow, we hit the road again to survey all the nothingness the US has to offer. According to Mapquest, we are about twelve hours from Oklahoma City, so that’s tomorrow’s goal.
That’s actually interesting because it’ll split our drive into its two most interesting qualitative parts–nothingness and kuntree. My mother’s from OKC and took pride growing up that she grew up in the city, but I’m pretty sure she knows better than that now. Just because “City” is in the name doesn’t mean it’s a city. Hell, Kansas City’s in Missouri, if you get me drift.
(And family in OKC, I’ll call you when I get there if we have the energy.)
After OKC, we hit the following major “cities”–Little Rock, Ft. Smith, Memphis, Nashville, Knoxville, Asheville, Winston-Salem, Greensboro, and Durham. That whole stretch’s gonna smell like fried chicken and hot sauce.
Enjoy yourselves. And even if I don’t update here, the bidness blog will be updated daily. I get paid for that one. Like I’m about to starve because of a road trip.