Day 1 – Dublin, Ireland
This year’s trip began with an experiment, conducted in two laboratories – Manchester Airport and O’Donoghue’s in Dublin. The result will surprise nobody, Guinness tastes better in Ireland than elsewhere.
Flew to Dublin in preparation for the flight to Chicago and onwards to Minneapolis the following day. Dublin was warm but rainy and windy, lively and musical. The nod in the direction of tourism was dealt with swiftly: The General Post Office, scene of the 1916 debacle and Yeats’ poetry; St. Stephen’s Green; Burke’s statue outside Trinity College; Joyce obviously. You almost expect plump Buck Mulligan himself to stroll round the corner, off to a drink with Behan, one which won’t end early.
After the final half of the experiment in O’Donoghue’s, conscious of the early start tomorrow, we find somewhere to eat. Sheehan’s provides excellent Irish food and atmosphere, stew, corned beef hash, boxtie, delicious buttered greens and several whiskeys. A cab back to the hotel and it’s across the Atlantic tomorrow.
A great advantage of flying to the USA from Dublin is that you can check in direct to the USA. The airport has American customs officials and it’s quick, all necessary security measures are taken and you’re through, all luggage en route to Minneapolis. (There’s a perceptible raise of the eyebrows on the deadpan official when we mention the scope of our tour. Minneapolis, via the Dakotas and all points south to Vegas is not a usual itinerary. But that was the point.)
Breakfast is a true airport breakfast, initially memorable only for the most watery scrambled eggs chemically possible to make. But it was saved by pints of plain bought in heavy, dark bottles which would’ve had Flann O’Brien purring and reaching for the pen.
The flight to O’Hare was 8 hours and made to seem extremely pleasant by the air stewardesses who kept on bringing miniature Jack Daniels and ice without being asked. They had obviously recognised a road trip in the offing and wanted to play their part. We landed at O’Hare early afternoon and had ample time to cleanse our palates with cold US IPA or ice-cream, take your pick.
Day 2 – Chicago IL to Minneapolis MN
We arrived in Minneapolis in the early evening, the weather was just a touch on the humid side of perfect. Downtown was gently bathed in a northern sunshine coming in at just the right angle. We checked into The Grand Hotel, which was grand, classy, with large rooms and a perfect bar in the corner of the huge atrium downstairs; but road trips don’t allow for nights in. And it was another of those nights which demanded “a quick check-in, a quick ablute, a quick drink in the hotel bar and off in search of the city.”
Minneapolis on a balmy Sunday evening was quiet with quite a few places closed – almost like Sundays were in the UK in the 1950s. Then we came across an “Ike’s”. Just what we needed, “Ike’s” made good Margaritas, correctedly vodka’d Bloody Marys, sold plenty of single malt whiskies with a “g” in their name and some solid local IPA. We ate enormous plates of US food: salmon, mash, salads, burgers, fries, you name it, – but truly, all good US food is comfort food and it made us comfortable. We strolled back to the Grand, under a sharp northern moon, ready for the facilities and a good night’s sleep. Tomorrow was the small matter of the 400 miles to Bismarck
Day 3 – Minnesota MN to Bismarck ND
We were on the road by 06:15, down the I94, miles of fields of maize, small lakes and the endless, unforgiving scenery of the American Midwest. An America which is vast, but unknown by foreigners – it is the American steppe, no wonder Khrushchev liked it and made the terrible mistake of trying to emulate it.
As ever, Denny’s was the oasis. Another perfect breakfast – and, to my delight, northern boys knew how to make grits. They were served with cubes of saltless butter and slid down a treat with the poached eggs and English muffins. It’s not the FEB, but en route to Bismarck it’s a great way to start the first day of the road trip.
A couple of hours later, more fields of maize, more lakes, and Fargo came to the rescue. Most places were closed, but we came across a good pizza joint. It was 11:00 and just opened, but for us jetlagged people it was fine. Soon locals came in, sun-glassed dudes driving low-slung convertibles with girls in tight jeans, unbrushed hair and faded denim jackets, maybe hoping to be recognised as somebody. Some chance. We had a slice of four seasons or two, small cubes of ice-cream served in large paper cups, the inevitable beer (coca cola for me!) and took our leave. It was small town, but still with that cinematic feel you only ever get in the US. Something just might happen.
We checked in to the Holiday Inn in Bismarck, North Dakota. It’s unlikely the great Prussian (after whom Bismarck is named), would have approved of the place; no Champagne or duck on the breakfast menu, no Bonaparte to humiliate, no Marxists to lock up. But it was yet another very comfortable US hotel with king size rooms, bathrooms you could live in and views out of the rooms across the great expanse that is the USA west of the Mississippi.
We had a problem with the rendezvous for the evening, one of our number deliberately failing to distinguish between the hotel lobby and the hotel bar two blocks away. But when you’ve chosen a green Macy’s and a pair of baggy, blue pinstripes for an evening on the town, what hope is there for the rest of us in more traditional road trip attire. the cab dropped us in downtown Bismarck and, days and miles away from Dublin, we hit, rather than kissed, the Blarney Stone.
All Irish bars in the US are essentially the same and this didn’t surprise. Plenty of hefty wood tables menus proffered as soon as you walk I; heritage photos on the wall, usually black and white; large bearded barmen who can look after business; attractive waitresses – this one seemed to know all the non-Americans in Bismarck, and is still expecting a post-card from the sharp dressed man. It was more comfort food (corned beef and mash) and a salad covered in “French dressing” which was more like tomato ketchup. I mentioned this to the waitress and the chef himself came out and argued that “French dressing” had evolved into his unique take – it all ended amicably.
The initial post-prandial was held in the Laughing Sun, two musicians on double bass and guitar. The music and the atmosphere were great. The “5 Flight @ $8.50” (large egg-cups of different beers) less so, but it was a great night.
The final pp was held in the hotel bar. By late evening it was stacked with that brand of chancers, reps, and characters out of “Better call Saul” that you only find in the US, and we hadn’t even reached New Mexico yet.
Day 4 – Bismarck ND to Mount Rushmore SD
President Lynden Johnson is, rightfully, remembered for the Vietnam war’s escalation out of Congressional control, the loss of control of the armed forces and his famous refusal to accept the 1968 Democratic nomination – even if it was going to be offered.
What he is less well remembered for is his “Great Society” legislation, which he was supremely competent at passing through Congress – better than most presidents at getting things done. It started a huge improvement in people’s lives (it’s a must read).
One minor aspect of this legislation is the highways – the interstates are now decent roads to drive on, thanks to LBJ. They have regular stops with clean rest rooms. On a road trip this is vital. These stops are sculpted with decent gardens and, often good views, which you wouldn’t necessarily see from the road. The restroom at Painted Canyon, in the Dakota Burning Hills – an area much liked by the first Roosevelt president – is a great example. A good restroom with a view may appeal even to those more effete E.M. Forster fans. And we continued on our passage to Montana, for breakfast.
And what a Montana breakfast! The Palace Café, Wibaux, was straight out of a Coen Brothers’ film. Two grizzled farmers in weathered denim and useful hats eyed us incredulously. “Why would 4 Englishmen be here at 7:00 in the morning? they had the choice, we didn’t.” “Biscuits and gravy”, stodgy lumps of muffin and bacon/cheese slurry, made me realise that grits were in a league of their own. But we had passed our own test, we’d had a meal in Montana and so left it happy roadtrippers.
The drive through the Dakotas was long – mainly through rolling farmlands – settled well over a century ago by the beneficiaries of the Homestead Act. Eventually we arrived at Keystone and its Econolodge, which had views over Mt. Rushmore. Keystone is very tourist: shops selling Mt. Rushmore T-Shirts; miniature Mt. Rushmore statuettes in a variety of colours but mainly red, white and blue; Mt. Rushmore baseball caps with rotatable strange reliefs of the famous four on the top. And all at premium prices, with no haggling.
The mountain itself is impressive, and impressively kitsch, but can someone tell me what Teddy Roosevelt is doing up there with Washington, Jefferson and Lincoln? Even his face looks a little embarrassed. I think if you look carefully, to the right of Lincoln as you look at him, there is the beginnings of another president. I wonder which one that would have been?
The vast majority of the tourists here are American families, looking up adoringly at their huge presidents, touring the west in their huge camper vans and wearing patriotic T-Shirts. The children collect material for the inevitable “What I did in the vacation” back to school essay, when their seemingly endless summer vacation actually ends.
After dark, looking like something transported from Vegas without the fountains, Mt. Rushmore is illuminated. Like I said, impressive kitsch, day and night. The thunder and lightning which ripped through the night at 1:00 am, was equally impressive.
Tomorrow on the road to Colorado, via Nebraska and Wyoming.
Day 5 – Mount Rushmore SD to Denver CO
It had rained hard most of the night and for a while the weather was fresh and the temperature dropped to as low as 50°. We crossed into Nebraska quickly and headed south, the scenery looking exactly like Springsteen’s eponymous record cover. Mean and moody, like the songs.
We stopped for a “fag-break” (explanation to US readers. Once, in a rather posh New England hotel, full of old ladies on a golfing holiday, one of our number announced loudly that he was going outside to have a good fag. Eyebrows were raised!) outside a real pioneer’s general store. There was one old lady behind the counter, and you just knew that somewhere near she had a variety of guns and a box of bullets and would ask questions later. It was a shop on its own, on a remote highway, and in places like this, gun-control is not a popular issue, no matter how eloquently Obama explains it. This shop sold everything – beer on tap, ice-cream, grits, bacon, coffee, cow-feed – a real general store. Outside there was an old garage with a huge oil drum turned into a barbecue, and the woodchips already alight. If only we could have stayed to taste the pork – another time maybe, if we could ever find that road again.
We crossed the state line into Wyoming and the temperature rose to 80°. We decided that Cheyenne was the perfect spot for lunch. By chance we came across the Wyoming Hotel, just as it began to rain again. The catfish with mash and gravy was pleasant, if overlarge. Across the way was the Eagle Bar, with a friendly barman who chatted, put some Beatles’ songs on the jukebox and bought us all a drink. There was a real eclectic selection of Americana on the walls and in various cabinets – old Fender guitars, neon signs, the ubiquitous Stars and Stripes, 19th century photographs of Indians and cavalry. And one flag from a Vietnam legacy group claiming “Our cause was just”. An interesting bar and worth the stop.
Arrived at the Comfort Hotel in Denver at 4:00pm. A friendly receptionist with a huge station wagon drove us to the Breckenridge Bar in the downtown ballpark area. It was a good drinking bar with good food and the highlight of the evening was doing the Road Trip Picture Quiz, with both teams showing their limitations (but as Clint said, “a man’s got to know his limitations”).
Day 6 – Denver CO to Glenwood Springs CO
The Comfort Hotel had certainly lived up to its name, even providing a decent breakfast. There were no grits, but at least there were UK-style alternatives to the US hotel staple of bagels and cream cheese.
Colorado is a bit like a gigantic, Switzerland with legal cannabis and a slightly more regulated banking system: there’s mountains, ski-slopes, great beauty, great expense, dental perfection and neighbours they could do without. The Rocky mountain scenery is spectacular, the last great continental watershed as the country moves west and slides slowly towards Vegas and Los Angeles. Great folds of geology, still covered in snow in July.
We stopped at a couple of what were called hotels en route (Aspen and Colorado Springs), but really they were imaginary feudal castles, built on a vast scale. It was like walking into one kind of American dream, an endless world of white-walled tyres and liveried flunkies, of health and bracing swims in the pools, of fresh salads and grilled fish, chilled Chablis, happy families dreaming of perfect futures. The Great Gatsby with mountains and without the ending. Luckily they also had a bar which sold beer, Bud Lite, so nowhere’s perfect.
The road today ended in Glenwood Springs after another magnificent crossing of the Rockies. We ate steaks and drank a couple of Knob Creeks at the Wyatt Earp tavern and called it a day, ready for Utah and a Friday night in Durango.
Day 7 – Glenwood Springs CO to Durango CO
On a beautiful sunny morning we headed west, in the direction of Utah. The mesas and peaks of Colorado shimmering in the early morning 80°heat, incredible to think that this area is one of the world’s premier ski resorts for months of the year.
We crossed the state line and headed south for Moab, as the mercury headed north for over 90°. (Another classic diner provided one of our number the chance to try biscuits and gravy, his judgement by now imbalanced by a surfeit of Margaritas over the past week. He had one forkful then went for a cigarette and a visit to the rest-room.)
The temperature inside the Arches National Park climbed to 103°and this did nothing to dispel the notion that we were on Mars. Unearthly outcrops, shaped and distorted by the ages and the weather, were like nothing we’d seen before. Just over an hour from the lush Eden of Colorado and you’re in a weird red desert with a huge blue sky. This is road-trip America at its best.
Durango was very twee and touristy – and in a way, road-trip America at its worst (but that’s a road trip and that’s my probably biased opinion). We found in the end a great restaurant, “The Brew”, which had a view of the mountains, no children, served delicious grilled cauliflower and cranberry (an “in” dish even with the Hoxton and Shoreditch Gilbert and George set) among other mains, and ice-cream and Knob Creek for afters. Could be worse. And we did see the 19th century steam train take off on its short journey through the mountains to Silverton. (Like all things to do with steam engines this attracted a vast crowd of anoraks, minus the anoraks in the 90°evening cool.)
Our hotel demanded IDs if you ordered alcohol, which we did, before calling it a day. The next morning would see us off to Albuquerque.
Day 8 – Durango CO to Albuquerque NM
This route took us ever south, and to Los Alamos. The once almost unknown and hidden school site was to become one of the famous names of history. Laboratory to some of the greatest physicists of the age, such as Oppenheimer, Fermi and Szilard. Stomping ground to Lieutenant-General Leslie Richard Groves, one of the greatest “can do” men of the century. It was, of course, at Los Alamos, that the nuclear age was realised and the course of not just the Second World War, but the course of human history was changed.
Los Alamos museum today is, in a most un-American way, tasteful, small and dignified. I think the scientists would like it this way. But among all the considered downplay there are enough photographs of the mighty destructive power of the atom to make you realise what went on here – men worked out how to set free the secrets of the universe, secret since the Big Bang. Thank god it happened in Los Alamos and not Tokyo or Berlin. Definitely a place to include on any road-trip in the South West.
Lunch was in Santa Fe – a small town full of art galleries (a lot of Georgia O’Keefe style) and a feel of ageing wealth, not unpleasant, slightly cloying – and the Mexican immigrants are waiting for their chance. The San Francisco bar was cooled and served much needed cold IPA, tortillas and guacamole.
It made me realise something. New Mexico should have been left to the Indians and their eco-friendly, adobe approach. Every building now has to have huge AC engines sticking out, and ice-makers on every floor. You walk from 100° sunshine into perfectly calibrated 67°shade and it hurts.
In Albuquerque we did a Breaking Bad homage. A woman gave us the finger at Walt’s house, the chicken place was closed, none of us had any dry cleaning and we didn’t need a lawyer, and who takes a hire-car to a car wash? Recommend it? Certainly. It’s a road-trip classic.
Finished off a long day with steak and beans, on a terrace bar watching the impressive lightning. A couple of shots of Knob Creek did the trick and it was back to the Econolodge and AC on full blast. The only worry, unspoken obviously, is that soon we’ll be in Vegas. (But don’t mention Vegas, I say.)
Day 9 – Albuquerque NM
Towards the end of a road-trip, with a couple of thousand miles under the belt, it’s a definite no-brainer to have a day off. To have a leisurely breakfast after a lie in and to go to a shopping outlet and buy a few pairs of jean. Yes, and then go to the nearest bar.
Things went perfectly to plan. The Econolodge provided a solid breakfast in the lobby – eggs, fried potatoes, sausages, salsa and tortillas. We went to a mall – huge, air-conditioned, filtered-muzak as is the modern anonymous way – found a Macy’s and bought the jeans.
Lunch was in the rather swish Bonefish Grill – fish and chips, cold beers or Margueritas. We discovered that Albuquerque is home to the University of New Mexico, and to cater to the needs of the large number of students there was a thriving microbrewery scene in the Nob Hill area. We dumped the car at the hotel and used Uber to summon a cab (all done very efficiently) and instructed the driver to take us there. We sat on the smokers’ terrace, the temperature was climbing, the mountain hawks circled on the thermals, Mr. Pinkman ducked into the suppliers opposite for a flat-bottomed conical flask and the beers tasted delicious. As quiet Sunday afternoons go, it doesn’t get much better than this (it certainly beats the Cotton Tree in the dog days of the 1970s).
The evening we spent in the opulent adobe of the Old Town. A storm threatened but, disappointingly, failed to deliver. The final meal of the rest day was an Indian special of smoked beans and Colorado rice, with a side of lime salad – all very nice.
Tomorrow we hit the i40, direction Arizona, through the deserts of the USA south-west.
Day 10 – Albuquerque NM to Twin Arrows AZ
The great Woody Guthrie sung of the “Freedom Highway”, from the redwood forests to the New York island – and we were on the case, or at least part of it. Albuquerque to Arizona, “take it easy, but take it”, as Woody said, and we took it. The road was long, westward with the sun in our mirrors and never a cloud to cast a shadow on our trip. This is an America far from Manhattan and its sushi-delis, Dixie and its terrible shadow, the Lakes and their proletarian attitude, Sunset Boulevard and its film-noir guilt and even Lincoln’s “Father of waters”. We are crossing the South-West and its spectacular desert and its cactus shimmer and its endless empty road.
Lunch was sitting in Bojo’s Sports Bar on the corner in Winslow, Arizona. It was a very American bar, all pennants, huge plates of anodyne food and Norman Rockwell could have painted it. The Indian medical centres off the main drag suggested a less happy vision of the European invasion of the lands to the south-west of the Mississippi. But Bojo’s did the job; kept us tanked up and able to make the next 200 miles or so to Twin Arrows.
Twin Arrows is an Indian Casino, and a very good one. The hospitality was perfect and the bar sold all strengths of alcohol, not always the case in Indian casinos. There was a $10 buffet with pretty much everything you could think of to eat, including chocolate ice-cream (a central ingredient to any road trip). The tables had a limit which was not too limiting. The rooms were large but you didn’t feel you were in an aircraft hangar, and the mirrors were only on the wall. This was a kind of calm before the titanic kitsch-storm which is Vegas, (Triple George honourably excepted).
Day 11 – Twin Arrows AZ to Las Vegas NV
This was another classic road trip day – all of the above in one day! (Less dedicated trippers might have done it in two or three.) The greatest work of nature on earth, the most famous road in rock and roll history, one of the proudest symbols of the New Deal and the most blatant monument to corrupt hedonism there is. (And it all began with some good grits in Denny’s.)
The South rim of the Grand Canyon provided spectacular views of the Colorado river miles below; silent, awestruck tourists snapped away. In a place like this there’s no need to say much.
By chance we found the fabled Route 66 and took our lunch at AA 66 in Williams, Arizona. This was a classic Hispanic/American diner which served local delicacies such as fried chicken steak with jalapeno margueritas or hickory roasted pulled pork with IPA. The temperature was rising towards 100° and we still had a massive drive to Vegas or we may have stayed longer.
The road went ever west, the mountainous desert scenery gold and brown, and eventually we reached the Hoover Dam. It was early evening and roasting and the prospects of a cold beer in Vegas looked ever better. The Dam, now named after a President associated with the abject failure of 1920s USA freewheeling capitalism, is sometimes seen as a mighty triumph to the interventionist policies of Ickes and FDR. In fact, it is another flawed attempt to solve the water problems of the south-west USA
Day 12 Las Vegas NV
We arrived in Vegas early evening, although in Vegas there is no time – only a low-lit continuum of ways of spending money. The check-in at The Flamingo was unusually slow, with over a hundred people all desperate to get on the floor. There is an amount of forced enjoyment in Vegas that is unpleasant: a gang of mid-Westerners screaming as their leader threw his dice in the craps alley and lost; watered-down Margueritas served in cheap, warm glasses. It is possible to be, as one of us remarked, “all Vegased out”. But this was the end of a mighty road trip, and it soon got better.
Dinner was in the “Outback” (not a Vegas recreation of the Antipodes complete with kangaroos and platypus, but there’s an idea), a restaurant which served crabcakes which Dave didn’t eat, despite having pined for them all holiday – he did say that the Margueritas passed muster.
The following morning/afternoon/night and the temperature was 100°, Vegans were strolling the Strip with cocktails in hand, determined on enjoying themselves. The escalator over the Strip minimised walking and the Mexicans assiduously handed out the cards advertising the brothels with their life-reaffirming possibilities (assuming all had gone well in the craps department).
We jumped into a cab and headed for the Old Town – as close to sanity as it gets in Vegas, and it isn’t very close. Triple George was perfect for lunch; steaks, clam chowder, pot-roast and plenty of decent IPA. The Old Town is Vegas without the insistency of the strip, more relaxed but still Vegas. Triple George is a stand out restaurant and bar, don’t go to Vegas and miss it.
Back to the hotel and a power-shower. Dutch hydrologists have ensured endless supplies of water in the desert.
The road trip ended ironically, with a walk down the Strip to New York. In the temperature it felt like a walk to New York. The burgers were simply the best I’ve ever eaten. The perfect end to a perfect Road Trip, a long, long way from Minneapolis and Bismarck.
A la prochaine!