Andy Travels

Flat Battery

An excerpt from An Ozzy Roadtrip ’06

The Players:  Roy, Jonny B, the DJ, and me

The location:  Rutherglen, Australia

Ain’t this a bitch.  Picturesque sunset.  Eight shades of pink and orange and red blanketing the sky.  Miles beyond miles of sexy, tangled grape vines sprawling in every direction.  A crisp breeze exciting a plethora of natural, exotic aromas.  And then there’s me, half cocked on two plus bottles of wine dragging a busted bike down the road cussing the Ozzy swindlers who pawned it off on me.  Gonna be dark soon, still got three or so miles to go, I keep knocking my shin on this stationary pedal, and probably gonna have to pay an extra day’s rent for of my impaired bicycle – up until now I thought being wine drunk and irritated were mutually exclusive…

…Only a few days into a two month long road trip, we had just left the Blue Mountains,

Home sweet home for 2+ months...All you need is wicked love!

the Beatles Van still had that new car smell, and the lone agenda item was to end up in Melbourne by the end of the week.  What to do, what to do – a question that would be answered with a help of a map, some local persuasion and sweet glass of red.  Rutherglen:  Ozzy wine country in the foothills between Sydney and Melbourne, Victorian heaven if you ask me.  Home sweet home of the Rutherglen Muscat and that delectable Tokay.  Rutherglen boasts all the tell-tale signs of a robust wine region – gorgeous valley, rolling hills, sun kissed grasslands, and an abundance of those happy grape vines destine to bring smiles to the faces of millions.

Pete and I had enjoyed a couple days in New Zealand’s Marlbarough vino region months earlier and discovered the bicycle as the choice vehicle for exploration around wine country.  Economical, somewhat safe, kinda legal, not to mention it’s just plain fun to ride around drunk on a bike – you can’t go wrong!  So after some brief haggling, directional guidance, and bicycle handling instruction the four of us were set loose in the land of vino on a mission to slurp up the local scene.

Action shot

There are 20+ wineries in the area and you’d really like to see them all, but that just isn’t realistic in a day – especially when you’re sporting a solid buzz after numero uno.  I’d like to think my wine knowledge it pretty good, but the truth of the matter is my inebriated pallet has a hard time distinguishing anything besides good and terrible – usually (but not always) leaning towards the good side of things.  That doesn’t change the fact that bullshitting with vineyard owners is one of my favorite past times.  Something about that grape scent in the air really makes you feel as if you know what you’re talking about.  We hit six or seven different spots in Rutherglen, but the vino descriptions at Cofield Wines were by far the most memorable –

Our Sangiovese blends sour cherry flavours to enhance a medium body with drying tannins.  Should be accompanied with sparkling conversation, the endearing smile of a loved one, and an intimate snuggle close a gentle fire…

Priceless!

We were all sticking together pretty well throughout the day, but after the first 3-4 stops

Soaking it all up Ozzy style

young DJ starting lagging a bit.  As it turns out, heavy drinking and exercise don’t always mix so well – neither do booze and time management.  We found ourselves six or seven miles outside of town with about 30 minutes before it was time to return the bikes…time to hurry.  Jonny, Pete and I raced ahead and DJ brought up the rear.

I had been cruising pretty good all day, but something was starting to feel a little off.  I mean I could be wine drunk but I think my bike is running a bit sluggish…wait a minute…yep that’s a flat tire…perfect!!  After some fruitless jostling, my fate became imminent and it was time to walk.  Jonny and Pete were probably back by now, hopefully the DJ as well – and here I am a drunk guy with a drunk bike.  It was at the height of my groveling when a rusty old man pulled over in his rusty old truck – ‘having some troubles mate?’ – I excitedly explained my plight and my new friend graciously remarked that my bike would fit in quite well with the twine reels and gardening tools in the bed of the truck – ‘Jumper on in’ – Oh sweet relief!

As we cruised back along the rolling country roads, I elaborated on my predicament, and

The Ozzy traveling crew, taking advantage of Rutherglen's wine country

excessively paid gratitude toward my benevolent chauffeur.  He was a sober, weathered, older gentleman who was happy to help out another human being in need, hell, he was headed that way any how.  With the windows down and dusk upon us, things were starting to look up again as another struggling biker came into view.  As we approached I noticed it was a recognizable figure.  Young DJ was bringing up the rear all right, still a mile or two out of town.

“That one of yours, mate?”

“Yeah, that’s actually my brother.”

“He gonna be all right?”

“Yeah, I think the wine may have just slowed him down a bit.”

“You got the flat tire mate – but looks like he may have himself a flat battery!”

“Ahhhahaha, I could kiss you for saying that!”

I managed to just think that last line except for the delighted chuckle.  I love the great stories that always seem to make there way out of wine country, especially the ones that forever allow you to give your brother a rash of shit!

Desert Domination

An excerpt from An American Road Trip 2004

The Players:  Sneaky Pete, Senor Meximelt, and myself

The Location:  The Grand Canyon

4/23/2009 – Desert Domination
Sitting in the desert as the sun descends into the horizon, the dry air blows chilly winds that accompany dusk.  The quiet beauty of the vast expanse pours a sense of nostalgia over me.  I’m taken back to this same desert, only its years before…

Inside the Grand Canyon shot provided by boncekimages.com

It’s July and the three of us – me, Sneaky Pete, and the Meximelt- have been blazing cross country in the baby blue Buick in search of some new adventures, a little leisure, and plenty of debauchery. There have only been a couple of setbacks thus far; namely the dirty run in Sneaky Pete’s eye had with an over-zealous bee and a near calamity with a pair of 8 ft. elk at 80 mph – otherwise we’re as right as rain and looking forward to the next leg of the trip.

The plan is simple:  knock around a bit at the Grand Canyon and end up in Vegas by nightfall.  After the mandatory 15 minutes of awe-stricken silence that accompanies your first gaze at the unbelievable beauty that is the Grand Canyon, we find the hike for us.  The stroll out to Plateau Point looked like a real winner and was accompanied by a couple of enticing precautions:  (1) Do not attempt to hike to Plateau Point in the summer; (2) Do not attempt to hike to Plateau Point without the appropriate dry weather equipment; (3) Do not attempt to hike to Plateau Point in a single day; (4) Only experienced desert hikers should attempt the hike to Plateau Point.  After all agreeing to enforce the Law of Quadruple Negatives, we get to walking.

The first three miles descend back and forth and back and forth and back and forth into the orange rocky ravine.  With temps reaching nearly 120 degrees Fahrenheit, you are first surprised by the absence of perspiration, only to realize you are being sucked dry as an overpowering parched sensation grabs hold.  That rush of heat that smacks you in the face when you open the oven door is the norm here and we drink at least a gallon of water at each of the three watering holes.  A fellow tracker informs us the uncompromising dryness of the air instantly evaporates your sweat – a phenomenon that is completely foreign to three southern boys accustom to the dripping humidity of Georgia.

That is one big Canyon

It takes a little longer than expected to reach the river view, but it is most certainly worth it.  A peaceful, almost humble feeling seems to settle over your psyche.  With the raging Colorado River doing its thing below and a few thousand years of God’s most spectacular art work surrounding you, it’s hard to resist the urge to frolic around like a five year old soaking it all in.

That euphoria drains quickly when reality finally presents itself – the hard part hasn’t even started yet.  Three miles back on the canyon floor and then three miles up, shit, this is gonna suck.  As the upward journey begins and delirium takes over, a group of mules passes on our right toting a church group of some sort – lucky bastards.  A dusty, stank-ridden tail brushes by my face adding insult to injury, and I have to fight the impulse to smack that ass’s ass out of spite.  Every part of my body is sore, tired, cramped, miserable, and yet…strangely exhilarated.  Nothing like complete and total physical exhaustion to let you know you are still alive.

I begin losing site of the exhaustion as my body’s autopilot clicks on allowing me to ponder some of the finer points of life – I call it my Happy Place.  A place where cartwheels and beach scenes are aplenty, the beer is cold and the women are tasty, the party always goes on and the good times seem to never end – “GEEAAAHHHH!!”  Just as I’m starting to enjoy myself, a god-awful, pain-ridden shriek tosses me out the front window of my Happy Place.  The Mexican’s body has finally decided to strike back with an extraordinary leg cramp.  As he frantically tries to stretch his rebelling limb, a group of Japanese tourists gathers around snapping pics of his undeniable anguish.  Pete and I, berated and bewildered ourselves, join the group and while we want to help can do nothing but stare blankly.  I stare at my moaning compadre desperately seeking any sort of relief, then at the amused tourists pointing and laughing and shooting, and then back at ole Meximelt now beside himself in pain, then finally over to Pete who joins me with a confused shrug and delighted chuckle.  The whole scene is nothing short of hysterical.  With only about 50 meters to go in the hike, we take a seat while our fallen amigo licks his wounds.  The setting sun has now given the once bright orange rocks a deep maroon hue, the blistering heat has subsided, our Japanese admirers have begun trailing off and I can’t fathom a more appropriate way to enjoy the finale of our hike – a good day indeed.

The Grand Canyon stop a success, it’s now on to live it up Vegas style.  Sneaky Pete’s turn to drive. Thank God.  Just minutes down the road and I’m out cold…