courtesy of DoD.  Photo by Master Sgt. Ken Hammond, U.S. Air Force.

We were surprised to find many exhibits throughout the corridors displaying the art and history of the military, whether it be memorabilia from the major wars, pictures of the oldest surviving veterans, or hand sewn quilts memorializing the attacks of 9/11,  created by the nation’s artists, citizens, and children. My Uncle explained how he was present in the C wing when the plane hit there, crashing through the walls and offices of rings E, D, and C before coming to a fiery stop.  His office was located on the third floor of the D ring, above the path of the plane.  He told us how that particular wing was being renovated and was half empty, resulting in drastically reduced fatalities as many workers had been removed to another location during the renovation.  The windows had recently been made shatterproof resistant, which prevented flying glass from injuring people, merely crumbling in the intense heat.  The walls and floors had been reinforced.  He described how the floor buckled but did not collapse for about 45 minutes.  And even in the midst of all this chaos, the most crucial defense operations were safely bunkered below ground, in full operation.  Though the Pentagon has, for many years, provided a means for members of all faiths to have services within its confines, it had never had a dedicated chapel.  In the rebuilding of the C wing, they constructed a monument and a small, quiet chapel at the site of the plane’s entry.  Being in this space was a very moving experience.  All of the names of the victims in the Pentagon and on American Airlines Flight 77 are etched into two marble tablets.  To read more about the 9/11 Memorial Chapel click here.  After some time, we headed outside to visit the newly finished 9/11 memorial.

Click here to read more about the memorial. 

In the evening, we met up with Uncle Charlie and my Aunt Janet, as well as with my cousin Gretchen and her family, for dinner.  They brought us to Old Town Alexandria for dinner, to a tavern and museum built ca. 1785, where George Washington had supped, and where Gretchen is the museum director.  We partook of George Washington’s favorite dish, Orange-glazed duckling with scalloped potatoes and corn pudding, complete with pewter dishware.  Then Gretchen took us next door to the museum portion for a personal tour of the estate.

After relishing George Washington’s favorite meal and dancing where he may have danced (I hear George Washington was quite the dancer), it was goodbye and off to bed for a short night’s rest before a long drive home. To visit Gadsby’s Tavern go here http://www.gadsbystavernrestaurant.com To visit the museum go here http://oha.alexandriava.gov/gadsby.

Just look at those chickens enjoying acres of free-ranging bliss – courtesy of Oaklyn Plantation, freerangechicken.com

In the early days of human development, the AMB performed within a small radius of their home den, exploiting well known landmarks for directions.  Early music ministers would say things like, “Go that way to big rock.  Then stop.  Then go to village past three trees.”  As the AMB became more nomadic, they began to develop an animal migrational instinct to find their way from their den to shows and back again as the seasons changed.  This was quite effective and allowed them to expand their fan base.  With time, they began to notice patterns in the sky and the trajectory of the sun, and the earliest form of Celestial, or Astro, navigation was developed, whereby one’s direction is determined by the location of the stars and major solar bodies in the sky.  However, this form of guidance was not without its drawbacks. Three former drummers, two bassists, and a kazoo player all lost their eyesight staring into the sun for direction.  Nights proved easier, but only on cloudless or partly cloudy nights. Typical astro-navigational conversation would go like this:

FEMALE PASSENGER: Take a right at the dipper.
MALE DRIVER: I know. Right at the Little Dipper.
FEMALE PASSENGER: No, it’s the Big Dipper…
MALE DRIVER: No, no, it’s the Little Dipper.
FEMALE PASSENGER: Wait, she said if you hit Capricorn you’ve gone too far.  You’d better turn around and head back towards Virgo.
MALE DRIVER: We just came from Virgo!  It must be around here somewhere.
FEMALE PASSENGER: Well, I know it’s not towards Venus.  That’s where I go to get my nails done. We’re lost.
MALE DRIVER:  We’re not lost.  I know where we’re going.
FEMALE PASSENGER:  Why can’t you just admit that we’re lost?  Oh, pull over and ask those three wise-looking men on camelback for directions.

This very crude system was much refined when, in 221 BC, a Chinese band member by the name of Ho Chi Moses, developed the first compass.  Now, instead of the confusion associated with saying “up and to the right,” they could say  “southeasterly in a northwest direction.”

The next revelation came with the advent of improved roadways and maps.  These new portable and affordable maps, along with well documented roads, allowed the AMB to travel in confidence with only a basic set of reading skills.  This was a very stable way of traveling.  In fact, this system has remained nearly unchanged until just this last century with the military’s invention of the Global Positioning Satellite.  Otherwise known as GPS, this system works by monitoring your position in real time via satellite, plotting the best route, and drawing it against pre-loaded maps.  A computer synthesized voice then articulates your directions for you.  It is also very good at pointing out your inadequacy in being able to follow directions, by having to constantly “recalculate” your route.  In spite of these constant blows to your self-esteem, this system has worked well by providing the surety of satellite location, on maps with which we are already familiar.  As a bonus, I can change my car indicator from a sedan to a tank to a pirate ship.

But now we have gone one step further with a system called On Star, wherein we have completely given up the ability to decide for ourselves a route to travel in favor of the suggestion of some faceless voice coming through our vehicle’s sound system.  In spite of the fact that we can’t see our location on a map, don’t have any control over our choice of route, are not sure if the faceless voice is located in America, or that the faceless voice is honest enough to even send us to our intended destination, we feel completely assured because the voice asks us if we need directions, and when we reply that we do, it informs us that it can help us with that.  Ahh, immediate gratification.  The process goes something like this:

On Star sound effect
ON STAR: Hello, Mr… Wahl-A-Ver (they always jumble the name).  Do you need directions this evening?
MR. WOL A VER: Yes.
ON STAR: I can help you with that.  What City and State?
MR. WOL A VER: Asheville North Carolina.
ON STAR:  Nashville North Carolina.
MR. WOL A VER: No, ASHeville North Carolina
ON STAR: Ok. Asheville North Carolina.  And the address?
MR. WOL A VER:  Hampton Inn on Main St.
ON STAR:  I’m looking that up right now.  I have the Hampton Inn on Main St in Asheville, NC.  Is there anything else I can help you with this evening?
MR. WOL A VER: Yes, can I get a large cheese pizza and a dozen spicy wings?

OK, I made that last part up.  But it would be great if they could dispatch a pizza delivery man to our side door.  Anyway, after they hang up, an automated voice comes on and announces that our directions will be downloaded to our vehicle momentarily.  From this point, on the automated voice will be our turn by turn guide.  It’s congenial enough, telling us “Your destination is in 546 miles.  Start out going east on I-40.”  However, much like the GPS, an automaton is only an automaton.  Everytime we need to stop for gas or “necessaries”, the voice tells us, “You have left the planned route.  Do you need directions to get back to the planned route.  Please say yes or no.”  It seems harmeless enough, even down right polite.  But it has to say this whole thing every single time!  And you can’t interrupt it.  It has total authority.  But here is the kicker.  If there is any amount of background noise, or if you don’t pronounce the “yes” or the “no” just so, it may not understand and will ask you to clarify.  Let’s take a real world example.  Our drummer, Javier, is from Puerto Rico.  He is bilingual, speaking both Spanish and English… but his English is… well… a little mumbly.  Like to the point where I have to translate for waitresses at the Cracker Barrel.  On this particular occasion Javi spoke up to tell the On Star voice that we would not need directions back to our planned route.

ON STAR: You have left the planned route.  Do you need directions to get back to the planned route?  Please say yes or no.
JAVIER: No (with his accent it sounds more like Nu)
ON STAR: (politely) Pardon?
JAVIER: Nu
ON STAR: Pardon?
JAVIER: NU!
ON STAR: …Slower please.
JAVIER: Nuuuuuu
ON STAR: Pardon?
JAVIER: NU!
ON STAR: (pause) …Slower please.

This four word dialogue lasted nearly 5 minutes.

ON STAR: Ok. You’re directions will continue when you return to the planned route.

Sure this provides some necessary comic relief at Javi’s expense, but the whole thing can become rather annoying.  After finally tiring of this voice you may decide to cancel the route altogether by pressing the phone button.  You are greeted by a sound effect and the voice saying “On star ready.”  You tell it “Cancel route.”  This is where it becomes like that friend who realizes they are annoying and that you don’t really want to hang out with them anymore, but all they really wanted was to be liked.  It says, and I am not making this up…

ON STAR:  Do you wish to cancel your route?  Say yes or no.
DRIVER: Yes.
ON STAR: (slowly and with a sigh)… Route canceled…

It’s that sighing bit that gets you!  You can hear the feeling of rejection in its voice.  For a moment I want to say, “I didn’t mean it that way.  Look, we can still be friends.”  But then I realize I am being totally moronic and that it’s just a computer voice.

So that’s how we roll, town to town, in a van and a truck guided by a monotonous computer voice that may or may not have our best interest at heart.  Oh man, I just missed the turn.

ON STAR: Make a safe and legal U-turn.

Actually, Annie jolted me to consciousness with a vigorous shaking just so I could grab this shot. Then I immediately fell back asleep. It’s hard work this traveling business. Anyway, Idaho just flew by!  By the time we slipped into Washington, the sun was setting and we still had many hours to go before reaching Vancouver, WA – like 6 – which in AMB travel time is slightly under one light year. We stopped for a warm dinner in Spokane before I took to driving the rest of the way, with Bill manning the helm of our faithful truck and navigating through the utter black of the moonless night.  Vancouver is right over the border from Oregon (which I quickly learned is pronounced OR-i-ghin, as opposed to or-i-GHON, as I grew up saying it) and the highway leading there crossed over just a few hours into our drive. Where it crosses, the road begins to follow the Columbia River which forms the border between Washington and Oregon. For most of the way we drove along the highway with the Columbia river to our right. There was an eeriness driving in the dark of the night with unseen black water along the edge of the road and occasional alien lights out over invisible structures. We finally pulled up to our hotel somewhere around 2 AM. The next morning was a beautiful, warm, and sunny day.

The changing of the guard in WA

The Bell Tower outside our hotel

We performed here in Vancouver and then it was 5 hours back east to Moses Lake, which we had passed the previous night. This time, with daylight on our side, I was eager to grab a few shots of our mysterious drive the night before. I was surprised to find that a large part of Oregon and Washington… is dessert!

Wait, dessert or desert… 2 esses for strawberry shortcake, one ess for sand.

Desert.  That’s more like it.  Not quite as tasty, though.

A little ways on, we came upon this orderly green oasis. These indigenous “tree farms” crop up in the middle of what would otherwise be a lifeless and barren open range, providing an important habitat for many native species of wildlife, including Turkey Vultures and the Rocky Mountain Wood Tick. It’s as natural as having outdoor swimming pools in Las Vegas.

Courtesy of irrigation

Arriving at Moses Lake, Zipporah indicated that Moses had just stepped out on an important mission from God and would not be back for several days, something about plagues and hardened hearts, but that we were welcome to enjoy his lake.

Peering through the branches at Moses Lake

As we left early the next morning, I realized I had left my headphones behind. But no worries. Our friend at the theater Fed-exed them to me later in the week for a small fortune.  So it was 3 hours back west to Everett, WA, just north of Seattle. This time, we drove along I90. These pictures were taken from a scenic overlook at Ginkgo State Park on the Columbia River. I want to say it was called Wild Horse Scenic Gorge, but I can’t seem to verify that on the internet. And if it’s not on the internet it must not be true.

The alleged Wild Horse Scenic Gorge

The alleged Wild Horse Scenic Gretchen

We played our final show in Washington and then it was on to Redding in Northern California. This was a return visit for us and we were warmly welcomed.  I like North California – the people, the terrain, the spirit.  We have many ideas about California as defined by L.A. or San Francisco, but California is so much greater than those small urban areas which receive all the attention. We were surprised to learn that there was a movement in North California (which tends to be more conservative) to secede from Southern California (which tends to be less conservative) in an effort to reverse the financial and moral hemorrhaging due to liberal ideologies.  This difference in philosophy was made very clear to us.  On our way through Northern California we pulled off to a small gas stop with an old wood-plank cabin feel to it.  The small building housed a little eatery, a squat, black, pot belly stove, some grizzled old-timers, and some right wing bumper stickers affixed to one wall, declaring such things as,

“If God didn’t want us to eat animals, why did he make them out of meat?” 

So TRUE!

and

“Guns kill people like spoons made Rosie O’Donnell fat.”

Point well made.

This stalwart, independent spirit is in stark contrast to the liberal, entitlement spirit we found in Sacramento.  Marriage “rights” proponents were protesting the passage of Proposition 8 while flaunting their sin on the sidewalks.  Citizens are not allowed to protect themselves by bearing arms. The environment is worshipped as god.  To the North California movement I say, “Fight on, brothers.”

We spent a few more days in Sacramento, then Bakersfield before completing our route through the Golden State.

We have traveled through the deserts of CA, NM, and AZ many, many times, but I still like to take pictures of the dry landscapes, rock formations, and looooong trains.

Contrary to popular belief, there is water in the desert… occasionally

Just an itty bitty part of a much longer procession

In Needles, AZ, in the Mojave Valley, we stopped for gas and asked an attendant where we could find some lunch. I suggested mexican since there exists a large mexican population.  And you have to really try to make bad mexican food, so it’s a pretty safe bet. The attendant suggested Roberto’s Taco Shop (1004 E Broadway St, Needles, CA 92363). We had second thoughts as we viewed the exterior, but were pleasantly surprised by the simple goodness of the meal. I would get into a full review but I have more ground to cover here. Suffice it to say that, should you be traveling through Needles and desire a bite to eat, Roberto’s is a fine choice. It was while we were waiting for our lunch that I called my mom. Asking what she was up to, fully expecting her to be at home in Massachusetts, she informed me that she was hiking at the Grand Canyon. Well, what a surprise! We were only 4 hours from the Grand Canyon and everyone had been looking for an excuse to visit. A short while later, as the sun was beginning to set, we pulled up to one of the greatest formations on the planet.

That’s not so grand!

A peachy sunset

Alex, being very hands-on, was not content to view the canyon from the top down

Jeremiah was not to be left out

One last picture of the tree line as we headed in for dinner with mom.

From here we went to Oklahoma City to spend the night with Bill’s folks before heading to Dallas to film a Christmas special for Daystar featuring the AMB with their Grandma Jane. Be sure to catch the cooking segment and Grandma Jane’s pecan pie. It is to die for; I tasted it and barely lived to tell the tale. I believe it is to be aired December 22nd, but you should call Daystar to make sure. For another look at this leg of our trip, visit http://anniemosesband.com/features/the-week-in-review-deluxe-extended-edition-111508/.

Next time, back on the East Coast.

But I digress. In the past 6 weeks we have done a fair share of traveling, over 9,000 miles in fact, through the Midwest, to the Pacific Northwest, down California, across Arizona and Texas, to North Carolina, up to Pennsylvania, and out to D.C. There is an irony to this amount of travel in that we experience, what I call, sedentary motion, whereby we traverse hundreds of miles in any given day while physically my muscles slowly turn to veal. It is also on long excursions such as these that one learns not to indulge in such fanciful dining experiences as the one listed above, lest one make the journey inordinately distressing. So, on these weary roads, with time on my hands, a constant eyeful of God’s unending canvas, and in an effort to maintain what little muscle mass I have left by repeatedly lifting a two pound camera to my eye, I have re-taken up photography. And I will post here several pictures of some of the more interesting sights we have seen along the way, possibly with pithy commentary. For a more detailed read about our time, please refer to the Week in Review (which is a much more timely and honest blog).

First off, I need to explain my style of photography. It is known, in more intellectual circles, as Drive-By Shooting. This is where our over-sized, aerodynamically-unstable tin box on skateboard wheels, hurtles precipitously along at the fastest possible speed allowed by the laws of physics, as I take pictures through a dingy glass window at vistas that remain in view for mere fractions of a second. The effect is that most of my pictures look like America through a time warp.

Besmudging America one picture at a time

Our first stops were in Iowa and Minnesota… of which I have no pictures. Oh, wait. Here we are. Corn.

Some of the Annie Moses Band disappearing into the vast reserves of Iowan corn fields

Future steaks gathered around a watering hole in Minnesota

Moving right along, we made our way through the prairies of South Dakota, making a beeline for one of the greatest works of American art and patriotism, Mt. Rushmore. Along the way we spotted a rogue band of injuns on the run from prairie settlers. This throws a wrench in my public school history classes.

Get ‘em boys

Anyway, finally arriving at our destination, we were thoroughly awed.

Awwwwwww…

As magnificent as this sculpture is, Alex felt that it just wasn’t quite complete, though he couldn’t put his finger on it.

The future Mount Rushmore

Let me get that for you…

I firmly believe our Government should be investing in more artistic statements like this – timeless, patriotic, awesome. Not the finger-picking, the sculpture! Eleven score and twelve years ago, our forefathers brought forth upon this continent, a new nation, conceived in liberty and dedicated to the proposition that the Annie Moses Band can worship and perform freely… The amazing thing about this – besides the fact that it is huge and carved from a sheer rock cliff by God-fearing American laborers wielding jackhammers while dangling precariously over the edge – is that most of the rock was carved the American way… with dynamite, or what we might call shock and awe. The AMB favorite is Teddy Roosevelt.

To learn more about Mt. Rushmore click here http://www.nps.gov/moru/historyculture/carving-history.htm

Love the mustache and spectacles

Skeedaddling from the visages of our dear departed leaders, we crossed into Big Sky country, or Texas. I mean, Montana. The landscape here is beautiful.

Beautiful – not a half bad photo either

We followed our trusty trailer rear into mountain passes…

Our trailer forging a path before us, like Pocahontas to Lewis and Clark.

and beheld, for the first time this season, SNOW! At over a mile above sea level, the evergreens were lightly dusted.

Behold, a light dusting of snow falleth on the evergreen

Fearing a shortage of diesel in these alpine expanses, we pulled over to a little mountain town for a quick fill-up and a short respite from the pallid cold. It was here at this gas station that I spotted the previously mentioned Elk Jerky. It is a favorite in these parts I suspect. I imagine elk run wild here like squirrels in Tennessee, stealing food from carefully placed bird-feeders, having to be chased out of garbage cans at night, and causing all manner of pesterence, so it would be a natural tendency to turn them into jerky. However, the main commerce of this town is not jerky making as one might expect, but is proudly displayed on a classy, antique-styled sign.

Not one part of the elk is wasted

It seems our unnamed town (unnamed only because I don’t take notice of such minute details as names of places) was settled near the summit of this mountain range. Continuing on, we found ourselves breaching the apex, and as we descended the other side, were privy to a Rockwell-esque view of a snowy mountain town below us.

I can almost smell the hot chocolate on the stove and the burning of the wood fireplaces

On that pleasant thought, I will leave you. Next time – Idaho, Washington, Oregon, and beyond.

I relate it to the recent Grammy Awards, when a particular rock group approached the stage to receive their award, and the members of said rock group were attired in a melange of casual wear, or what those in the know might call “rags.” Benjamin pointed out that the people with them wearing suits and tuxes were obviously the business people of the group, i.e., the manager, the producer, and the valet attendant. How did he know that those other people were clearly not in the band? Because of their look. Tuxes and suits just don’t say “cool rock band.” On the other hand, you take one look at the four scruffy-faced, greasy-haired, shabbily-dressed, and generally disheveled fellas on stage and you know, instantly, that they are “rockers” and they are cool. Likewise, you can take one look at our dusty truck, and know, instantly, that we are… tired and dirty. But COOL tired and COOL dirty.

Like I said, though. It wasn’t that our noble minister of transportation was dirty, per se, but that it began to deliver prophesy. At first it began with simple Holiday pleasantries.

Merry Christmas. Then, Merry Valentine’s Day, followed by Merry Easter (a little odd, I know, but one can’t expect a trailer to understand the commonly accepted usage of Merry versus Happy. It’s a miracle that it can form words at all). But then, spreading holiday cheer just didn’t seem to be enough. Notice the next line.

“Easter Now, Apocalypse Later.” I’m sensing a fiery sermon coming on. As to what it might say next is anyone’s guess.

“You shall be fuel for the fire. Your blood shall be in the midst of the land. You shall be no more remembered.” Ez 21:32

or worse,

“Free Merchandise Inside. Act Now!”

There’s something unappealing about driving around spewing damnation from the back of your trailer. Soon, all the other trucks are honking at you, and little children are crying. And you’re just trying to pick up the dry cleaning.

So it was off to the car wash. Actually, we can’t pull this thing through a normal car wash, No, we have to stop at the “TRUCK WASH,” out by the weigh scales, off remote exits of the highway where normal civilians dare not venture. Apparently there is only one truck wash in each timezone, and if you’re lucky enough to find it, you wait in line for several hours or several days, subsisting on Slim Jims and boiled peanuts, which are the only things available at truck stops. To pass the time we play games like “waiting patiently” and “tag”.

2:07 pm – Tag commenced

It’s a proud moment when the head worker, or “workerhead,” waves you into the inner sanctum. There, men in hazard gear proceed to power spray and soap up your vehicle, while you stand by on the side, trying to look knowledgeable by nodding your head in an approving manner. I actually watched as one worker power sprayed the fender of a truck clear off, while the driver stood there gently moving his head up and down in agreement.

Finally, the workerhead gives the signal and, like a proud new daddy, you are allowed to drive your glistening vehicle back onto the dusty roads, where dirt is immediately attracted to the still drying surface, thus ensuring the livelihood of the truck wash workers. It’s a beautiful cycle really. Someone should institute vehicular baptism. Cleansed once and for all.

Through all these varied terrains there is one thing that I continually see. And that is the back end of our trailer trawling behind the truck ahead of us. It’s like that garden gnome on the Travelocity commercials – always the same gnome, just different locations.

Driving through Eastern North Carolina

It’s in all my pictures. Like the guy who can’t take a picture without his thumb being in the way. It’s etched in every memory I have of our trips. They’ll say to me, “Remember that church out in San Diego?” And I think, “I remember the trailer on the way out.” I have spent many, many hours staring at it. I know all it’s scratches and scrapes. I know the way the trailer door buckles in slightly. I sometimes see faces in it.

Traveling through West Texas at sunrise

It’s become like the Star of Bethlehem to me. I follow it on good faith, unceasingly. When it takes a wrong turn, I take a wrong turn (note that the Star of Bethlehem never took a wrong turn). When it makes an illegal U-turn at a busy intersection, I usually wait until it is safe, then make an illegal U-turn (which the Star of Bethlehem would NEVER do).

Crossing California’s Mojave Desert

And like the Star of Bethlehem, it brings good news. It is a symbol of all that we do, everywhere we go. Of everything that it takes for us to perform, bringing music to you and glory to the Lord. From sea to shining sea.

Somewhere in the middle of a torrential downpour

But I digress. What I’ve found is that most people find a few things in their lives that bring them comfort each day, whether it is sitting down with the Bible in your favorite chair, or watching Fox News, or stroking your pet dog. But on the road, constancy like this can be a difficult thing to attain. What I began to notice was that the AMB had found two places of constant refuge throughout the United States.

I realized quickly that these two places have become their “homes away from home,” destinations they look towards eagerly, longingly, on our lengthy excursions. All of this was foreign to a Yankee like myself, who’s used to Dunkin’ Donuts and IHOP (that’s international fare), though I do admit, the fire burning at the Cracker Barrel is often a welcome sight. I firmly believe that if the Annie Moses Band were to stop frequenting the Cracker Barrel, multiple locations in multiple states would quickly find themselves bereft of business and stocks would plummet.

So it is that we stop, sometimes 6 or 7 times a day, at these two businesses, warming ourselves by the fire, filling our bellies with southern cuisine, treating ourselves to iced teas and frozen coffee drinks while stretched out over comfortably hip furnishings, checking our email. Here we find refuge from the confined capacities of our vehicles. If you frequent these places, we may just run into each other one day. If we do, I’ll have a tall medium roast, black.

Enjoy!

Scott

Do I look worried?