Side of the road, somewhere in New Mexico

The following are journal entries from a one-way road trip, across the USA in 2015. Friend and fellow photographer, Emma and are about to trade in Canadian winters for the California coast.

The journey begins: Toronto

I barely slept two hours before waking to a nauseous feeling and non-existent morning light. 6:15am. Emma and I were about to depart on a 6,000km road trip of a lifetime.

Driving away from the city I call home, we pass a shelled out Toronto streetcar being hauled on the back of a transport truck. It's empty windows look ghostly with the cold rain pulling apart an ad for iRobot on its side. It's saying, you've got what you needed girls, there's nothing for you here right now. Ominous and comforting. We approach the USA border just as the guards change. A handsome officer calls our Gus Van Sant forward. He smiles, I pass the passports, we tell him where we're headed, and he makes fun of our rickety 97’ Dodge Caravan. "Stylin’ ride!" he grins, the gate opens, the rain parts. We're suddenly in the US and you can tell. The autumn leaves are glowing, the road is open, and we're on our way to California.

Ohio is pretty pretty

We arrive in Cincinnati, the Over-The-Rhine district to be specific, just as the golden hour sets in. Our Airbnb is a great little private room with sweet hosts and an adorable cat (Pickles) and pup (Sasha). Some roads remind us of an alternate San Fran, except with very old colonial style brownstones that are more eastern than west. We dart off to the Eagle, a great pub playing the Jays game where I get to embrace some local beers and bacon smoked mac-and-cheese. It's a super hip little hood, that is very broken up and the class divides are apparent. Reclaimed wood + neon signed bars serving tapas to young professionals in one storefront, and abandoned buildings with masses of street kids hanging outside by the next. Turn a corner and the eerie feeling sets in that we're definitely not in Kansas anymore. We wonder if we look as foreign as we feel.

Oct 23rd, Downtown Nashville

We love that we’re staying in East Nashville, but we want to see what all the hype is about downtown. I've been told by so many that I'll love it here and almost planned a bachelorette without visiting first. The streets feel empty until we hit Broadway. Then Nashville is revealed to us in all of its neon and country music glory. I understand immediately why bachelorettes are had here, it seems every one on the street is in one. From far it is impressive and exciting. We load our film and run down to the center of it all.

Getting closer was kind of like hearing a handsome man open his mouth at a party to the worst small talk of all time. The crowds were a welcome change to the sleepy towns of Ohio, but upon closer inspection we were just among hoards of tourists with matching Music City t-shirts and plastic cowboy hats.

We wandered a few streets out of the main strip to find some more authentic shops and inhabitants, but the city seemed to die down again. We were feeling worn from the road and the bustle of the city so we head back to our rental. For some reason, lighting candles, making tea, and watching American Horror Story felt more like road trip worthy activity. We soon fell asleep to the sound of crickets in the Tennessean moonlight.

Side Note: It feels unfair to write negative comments about a city only experienced so briefly. We head back into Nashville today with some locals and we are certain our experience will change.

Side Note #2: When I was a kid, insulting what someone was eating or about to eat was a really big deal. Even if we were unfamiliar with the cuisine or didn't believe that particular thing should be eaten, saying “gross” before someone was about to dig in, was a HELL NO. I feel the same about talking shit about cities.

Side Note #3: Getting unadulterated advice about the "pratfalls" of moving to the big and bad USA is becoming comical to us. With Emma moving to LA, she especially gets grilled - people just love to hate LA. Hey, that person you're in love with? I hated that person. That book you're halfway through? It's shit. You like this thing enough to change your life for it? Well, I wouldn't have done that. As frustrating as it can be, we feel more free after each mile we add to our journey. The "you should knows" are dissipating - for us it's only forward, and the road gives new perspectives.

GRAVEYARDS & LORE

We pull into the gorgeous neighborhood of Jackson in Louisville to find the Wiltshire Cafe and stunning Thomas Edison’ era style homes. Everyone has been incredibly friendly since we started our journey and this cafe was no exception. My cold brew coffee was passed to me in an icy brown beer bottle, and we were told to take a walk to Cave Hill Cemetery, just a few blocks away. Both of us are already in a supernatural state having the podcasts "Lore" and "World's Most Horrific Deaths" guide our ears along I-71. A theme is starting to emerge and we're running with it.

HOLY SH*T, The Shack Up Inn, MS

An hour and a bit down 51 South, we breach one of the poorest towns in the poorest state, Clarksdale, Mississippi. 695,000 people live under the poverty line in this state. The weather reflects this gloom in addition to our energy levels. The rain turns from grey to black and hearing our friend's ghost stories from the night earlier gets louder in our heads. Eerie can't even hold a candle next to the desolate, abandoned energy of this forgotten town. You know there's a flicker of light with the musical history, but then you remember it's the birthplace of the blues for a reason. Morgan Freeman has a bar here, but we couldn't bear to drag ourselves around anymore. It appears segregated, even though I am sure that can’t be right. The most harrowing part of Clarksdale reveals itself when we find out that in 2013 an openly gay man running for mayor was murdered by a 22-year old kid from a nearby town. It's too surreal. The radio blasts Trump support rallies, sermons, and country music. We turn off the radio but the voices seem to echo.

We pull about five 3-pt turns (thanks to non-existent power steering) in the scattered lot of the Shack Up Inn - a unique hotel on the old Hopson Cotton Farms. The compound houses different buildings that you can explore here. By the time we get to our trailer, it's completely dark outside with no sign of the rain subsiding. We crack the door open and an old tv is playing static and blues songs. I appreciate the sentiment, but it's the complete opposite of inviting. Old portraits and carvings are on the wall, and a dim red light beams from the covered porch. Let's just say I ran into town for two tall cans (50 cents a pop) of Rolling Rock and soon I was asleep waiting for a sunrise that technically never came.

That sounded morbid. Obviously I woke up, but it was 6am and exactly as dark as it was when we went to sleep. We hit the road for a grueling 5 and a half hour drive in torrential rain with 18-wheelers dousing our Gus every so often. Wind carried the car in drifts when we hit open plains. Regardless, he handled well. Arriving in Louisiana was a welcome change, and New Orleans was the biggest most beautiful rainbow waiting for us at the end of the storm.

But first, Memphis

Driving down to Memphis was beautiful and the autumn leaves continue to inspire. We see the landscape changing as the accent sets in heavier at each stop. A few hours pass and the "Birthplace of Rock n Roll," is on the horizon. Haunting old mills and factories with broken windows clump closer and closer until The National Civil Rights Museum appears. It's rainy and cold as Hurricane Patricia's outer wisps fizzle out from Mexico. We see a line emerge into the front courtyard and wait in the rain. It's not for a few minutes until we realize that the hotel Lorraine is actually the place where Martin Luther King was murdered in '68 and as we look up, it's the exact same, preserved building. A wreath of flowers hangs where he stood when he was shot. We are overcome with emotion and it doesn't go away.

HallelUJiAH louisiana!

The second we hit the Louisiana state line, the energy shifts again. We're still feeling the halloween vibe as we pass the swampy bogs and baldcypress trees but the heaviness dissipates. It's almost completely gone by the time we arrive at our destination - a stunning home in the heart of Tremé. We are now flanked by palm trees, colour on every wall, and music pouring from the streets. I see pride flags and my heart lifts.

We have one of the best dinners on the trip at the Three Muses on Frenchmen while a jovial man sings 1920's showtunes. There is a Canadian couple sitting next to us who just lived through a health scare and decided their money didn't belong in a bank.

The next day our eager feet take us into the Garden District. Holy mother of god, this neighbourhood was something out of Interview With the Vampire - literally! It was filmed here and in Lafayette Cemetery no. 1. Anne Rice staged her own funeral here once, attending it herself. All the tombs are above ground to avoid "watery graves" as the land is essentially on levees or high ground on the Mississippi Delta. The house where they filmed Coven is our next stop and it's just as creepy in person as on American Horror Story.

Westward, ho!

Austin is the perfect city to slowly prep for desert life. The music is just as gracious as in New Orleans, but we’ve traded in jazz for some authentic Texan country and rock and roll. Our last night we spend a couple of beers time at Ginny’s Little Longhorn. A true country bar with some serious locals. The no-crap-takin' bartender also looks like she both bakes a mean pie and gives the best hugs. The ages of our patrons are older and the men are all in cowboy hats. They dance and we stare.

A SWIMMING HOLE ADVENTURE: NSFW

It was hot in Austin yesterday and I couldn’t wait to get in some water. Our friend recommended the highly popular Barton Springs swimming hole and we made our way as soon as some much needed vintage action was had along South Congress.

The body of water that flows through Austin is a pretty shade of jade and I am so eager to hop in. When we arrive at the flat rock, a few people are already there. Most noticeably three kids definitely not from Austin. Swearing commences now!

“Hey you ginger redneck f**k!” One yells at the other. “Whur’s my purple!?”

“You shut yer goddamn mouth you stupid bitch, we’re trying’ to get back aginst this here current.” A girl in her underwear slips on the rocks and her body slides towards us. We try to look away but they’re splashing right in the middle of our view. A scrawny kid with a mop of red hair, looks severely burnt from the sun. He emerges from the creek, trying to keep up with his girlfriend.

They finally make it to the bank where we sit, and she plops down on the algae shore. The red-head slides on top of her, using her body as pillows while they continue to yell and scream at each other in an accent we recall from somewhere on our trip. He then starts sucking the river water out of her neck and spits it out in the water. The first kid is yelling again, asking where their pot is. I can’t look away from this strange couple sucking water out of their folds and spitting it back in the river. I’m so goddamn hot I tell myself the current is washing away the spit and I could jump in maybe behind them. It’s right when I’m thinking this that a massive bulldog jumps in the water in front of us and takes a massive shit.

So, the cops are here now, giving the kids warnings (or tickets?) for having pot. It’s at this point I see my chance to put my toes in the water. I walk down to the slope away from the scene of the body fluid crimes, and slowly put my feet in. I don’t see the thick layer of algae is also here and within seconds I am swept away by the current and am submerged in the water. It’s cold and refreshing and for a second I don’t care about the last hour of events. Until that is, the current takes me right to where the dog took his huge poo.

I stumble out and the cops ask how my swim was. They proceed to warn us about meth heads and heroin needles in the area. They said they’ve picked up 87 needles here on shore, and in the water this past month. It’s time to leave!

The next morning we wake up to another thunderstorm. I’ve never heard a storm so loud. Two tornadoes reported to have touched down just south of us and we decide to wait it out until it calms down. By 11am, it looks manageable and we hit the road anyways.

I won’t get into details, but in summary, the hurricane returned full force, and I drove white-knuckled for hours and hours. Without Emma’s steady guiding voice, I really don’t think we would have made it. Water splashed on the windshield in sheets.

It wasn’t until we hit Buchanan Lake that the clouds parted, and blue skies actually appeared. Our knuckles slowly relaxed and we were in clearer skies. Now it’s a different country all over again. We’re somewhere between Sonora and Sheffield. Cacti line the roads. Blue skies, with wisps of white clouds and it’s beautiful. We’ve listened to about 10 ghost and alien stories about the West Texan desert and Marfa is just around the corner.

Marfa, Finally.

Marfa is a strange place, in history, among friends, and in reality.

This tiny town of 1800-ish has been a hotbed for extra terrestrial sightings and artists alike for a few decades now.

In 1956 a little movie with James Dean and Liz Taylor (Giant) was filmed here/ in the hotel Paisano, which still stands. We opted for groovier lodging at El Cosmico just on the south side of highway 67, super close to the Chinati Foundation for you artist/ concrete block lovers. We checked in late to a checked out girl at the front desk. She pointed us in the direction of our glamp sahara tent, but that's about all she said. After 6ish hours on a hurricane addled road, we were craving a little more human interaction.

We unzip our tent which is in the furthest corner of the campground. It's much colder than we thought but the plush queen size bed is equipped with down comforters and pretty linens. I step back outside and take a deep breath in. It may be cold but the stars are clear and we're in a stunning desert.

Yes, we did see Prada Marfa (actually in the town of Valentine, about 30 miles west,) It’s fine.

Truth or Consequences, NM - Nov 1st

The second we get to Truth or Consequences we are in actual heaven. Another half-abandoned town but with the secret to Geronimo himself - hot springs! Hot Springs actually used to be the town name, but in the 50's Ralph Edwards, host of radio show "Truth or Consequences," said if an American town would change their name to his show's name, he would broadcast from there from then on. Now here we are, in the gorgeous little town in my favourite state so far. New Mexico's motto is "Land of Enchantment," and it couldn't be more accurate. The air is clear, and the desert sky is alive at every turn. We are in love and the Blackstone is incredible. King sized bed, a hot spring tub in the room, and it's huge. TV softly plays some new age synth and the decor is themed off Lucille Ball. My mom used to be obsessed with I Love Lucy, and thus I am reminded of her, making me feel a little melancholy - but I try to take it as a sign that things will heal. And speaking of, there is a spa room at the Blackstone with a geyser channeled straight into a gorgeous hottub and waterfall. We spend 45 minutes basking in peace, and healing our tired, rainsoaked souls in this place of magic.