Road Coffee

After reading about "upside down" coffee in Israel, I declared to Candace that I would go there next winter to try it out for myself...and maybe coffee in Turkey because it's supposed to be really good. She suggested I write about my experiences with coffee around the world, and said people would read it. I got to thinking about it, and it sounded like a great idea, full of warmth and discovery, of new worlds and new beans....

This is not that story. This is a story of a long road filled with desperation and disappointment. Road coffee. Or coffee on the road. I'm not talking about your commute to work kind of coffee. Chances are if you find yourself stuck in traffic on your way to work without a good cup of coffee, it was because you were ill prepared and I can't sympathize with that. This is a story about a cross country road trip and one woman's desperate search for a decent cup of java (mine actually).

I just finished my drive from San Diego to Black Mountain, North Carolina and it took 4 days of driving for 10 hours at a time. I'm no coffee snob and will drink almost anything as long as it's caffeinated. I'm not however, a fan of energy drinks. Just give me good ol' coffee. I've drank the worst mud and the lightest tea-like coffee from so many places. I've dumped instant coffee in my mouth and taken a swig from a canteen of water. I can handle some pretty bad coffee, but only for so long.

After two whole days of drinking coffee from Love's and Shell, I was driving down highway 40 in the middle of Arkansas when I started thinking about the coffee I had in Ireland. Actually, there's this one cup in particular that was on my mind. There's a cafe at the Chester Beaty Museum at the Dublin Castle that had an amazing cup of coffee. I asked the chef behind the counter what brand of coffee they use. He gave me a funny look and said he roasts his own. Hmm. Was that a dumb question? Do all little cafes roast their own coffee? I don't know, in any case, he didn't sell it except for in a cup, hot and wonderful.

I also noticed that most places in Ireland did not drip brew. They would make coffee "Americano" style- an espresso with hot water added. No, coffee is not just watered down espresso. Watered down espresso is an Americano and it is entirely different than coffee. But I won't get into that. So I got to thinking that if I found a Starbucks at one of the little towns (har har har) then I could order an Americano and it should be something like what I had in Ireland, which would be fantastic next to all the gas station coffees I had consumed.

Ok, I'm not really all that enthralled with Starbucks. Don't get me wrong, Starbucks is a rock solid standby in the event that you can't find a nice little cafe that roasts their own coffee and has a name no one has ever heard of. But of course you're not going to find a Starbucks in most small Arkansas towns.

I found a small town called Clarksville that had several gas stations, a walmart and a McDonald's. They would surely have their own coffee shop. I drove past the gas stations and up the hill into town, scanning left and right while trying not to piss off the drivers behind me. I'm an excellent scanner when I know what to look for. It must come from years of speed reading. On my left I spotted a sign in a small strip mall: "Julie's Perk". What else could "Julie's Perk" mean beside a coffee shop? Don't go there. So I took a hard left in front of an oncoming van and into the parking lot.

I peeked in the window and it looked like a gift shop, but the sign said it sold gourmet coffee. When I went inside I was instantly greeted by a man with a very heavy southern accent asking if I was looking for something in particular. Just as I started to ask if they sold coffee, I noticed a small cup in his hand.

"Where did you get that? You sell brewed coffee?"
"Oh, well no. We have samples though if you'd like to try some."

I asked if there was a place in town that sells "made" coffee that doesn't come from a gas station. He said there used to be one across the street from the church but they closed down.

So I tried a sample of cinnamon coffee, which was way too cinnamon-y but it got me thinking. I had brought along my french press and could make coffee in my car...but where would I get the hot water? I could go to McDonald's and ask for a cup of hot water...or wait...I have a Jet Boil (if you don't know what that is, I can't help you) in my car, and about half a bottle of water...jeez, this was getting ridiculous. I decided to look at what they had anyway.

I chose a half pound of Mudslide and a half pound of double chocolate fudge. As I was checking out, he said "You come back if that tickles your fancy", and I wondered how far back in time I had traveled. I got back in my car and started thinking about how to make coffee with what I had. I was fairly certain my Jet Boil was in my flight bag which was buried underneath all my clothes. This was becoming far too much work, so I pulled into McDonalds and got a horrible mocha worth over a thousand calories.

As I approached the next town, I saw an ad for a hotel that read: "Turn left at the Starbucks". Ugh.

Further into Arkansas, a billboard along the freeway stated that you must use the rod on your children so they may be saved. It went on to read that you must be reborn of the body and the spirit. I wasn't in California anymore.

Then thinking back to my own childhood, it occurred to me that somewhere back in those woods in an old rickety house, a small child was getting beat with a piece of lumber in order to save his soul. I imagined the fear he was feeling on a daily basis and how he'd grow up to be a drug user, spouse abuser and in jail. This isn't your typical spank-your-children religion. This is a crazy, scary, hurt people if you think they're disobeying God sort of religion. I suddenly felt very unsafe. I've seen enough movies to think the cops in the town were all of the same belief anyway and if I got a flat on the side of the road it would probably be my last. I couldn't wait to get out of Arkansas. There is a very ugly side to religion that I would rather not come in contact with out on the road by myself.

As I crossed into Tennessee, it was getting dark and I could just see the towering buildings of Memphis. I needed gas, had to pee and was hungry. I decided Memphis would be a perfect stop. I really didn't think that one through. It was rush hour. I got off, got my gas, peed and got Subway...then tried to find the freeway on-ramp. In the dark. Man, signs are crappy in some parts of the country.

I finally figured it out, being they savvy city slicker I am, and landed myself in stop and go traffic. No big deal, at least I was on the right freeway. As one highway merged into the other, some one got on my butt close enough to kiss my bike that was attached to my spare tire. Everyone was merging, I was in the center lane with nowhere to go, driving about 45 miles per hour with some jerk just inches from my bumper. I slowed down to increase my distance from the person in front of me in case traffic stopped suddenly, which caused the guy behind me to lay on his horn and try to get around me, but there was no moving. No one was going anywhere other than with the flow. This caused me to have a road rage break down like I have not had in years. I began screaming profanities and flashed my brights at him as soon as he did get around me. Ugh...it pisses me off just thinking about it. But I figured, oh well, there he goes. You can't get all riled up with one bad driver.

Except they were all that bad. Mind you, we were now going the speed limit:70. And I was going about 72/73ish. People would get right up onto my bumper...and I mean right up in there. Los Angeles, move over, you've got some competition. So they'd get right up on me, pass and then get directly in front of me. Not more than 20ft in front of me. When there was an entire freeway with nobody there but us. This continued until I finally made it to Dickson...170 miles away. By the time I got to Dickson, my nerves were shot.

This morning began a new day out on the road (still in Tennessee unfortunately, home to the worse drivers in the world). Somewhere outside of Nashville I saw a billboard for Dueling Lumberjacks. Some sort of dinner-show. I kind of chuckled and wondered what sort of people went to see that. If I went, would I be entertained? I let the vision play in my head of two dueling lumberjacks, competing by cutting down small trees...and I realized it was my crew! I laughed out loud. People would pay good money to watch some hairy sweaty men see who can cut down a tree with the least amount of swings, and I see that all the time on fires when the guys get bored (I know you all were envisioning us working hard day in and day out with a raging fire chasing us up the hill. If you only knew...).

I was determined to find a Starbucks. There's no way there wasn't a Starbucks in the entire state of Tennessee. I was betting on Knoxville. But before I even got there, there it was! Like a beacon in the night! Except that it was daytime. A Starbucks sign (cue singing angels). I went inside with my awesome cloth sleeve (for coffee cups) that Debbie bought me (thank you Debbie!! I love it!) and ordered up a grande Americano, got back in my car, gassed up and took off. It was so disappointing. It was nothing like I had in Ireland. Totally lame. I tried that once when I came home from Italy. I had espresso at every coffee place I could find and none measured up. Just goes to show you.

As I drove up through the Smoky Mountains, I saw signs on the side of the road that read "Accident Investigation Site Ahead". What the hell? Looked like road workers, but jeez.

I finally made it to Black Mountain and went for a walk through the cute town. It's filled with shops (a couple coffee shops too!) and restaurants, very touristy. As I sat eating dinner in a Mexican Restaurant, I listened to a small group of people talking a couple tables over from me. I looked over and saw two guys and a girl who looked very much like putzes...ok, that was judgemental, but follow my train of thought here. It occurred to me that they could be from my new crew. I suddenly got that dreaded feeling of "What the hell was I thinking?" Here I am again in a strange town with strange people I may not like or get along with. Really Carrie? Ah jeez. But it's only 5 or 6 months and then I head back home to Montague. I feel like such a feather in the wind....har har.

Hopefully this town has a good cup o' java.