Blog of Professional MTTer GAWA9

Hello world, first of all huge apologies for the delay, me and Gareth have been very busy both working and I had a trip to Hong Kong which was incredible but that’s another story for another day! Not much intro needed for this one, just a shout out to John who was a great lad as you will discover…

A Policeman A Pimp and a Weirdo Called Jeff, Part 7

We’d spent several days and nights in the USA now, some of them good, some of them not so good. The previous night wasn’t a great one, given that we didn’t meet many people despite the initial promise of a bar full of young people, and also the fact that we hadn’t made it the whole way to Chicago was a bit of a dampener. That was the plan for today though, visiting some Amish people en route of course. We’d noticed, while looking at our map of Michigan with Savanna in Roast & Toast, that Centreville (where James told us the Amish lived when we rang him from Dublin airport) was between Kalamazoo and the Indiana Toll Road which would take us to Chicago. Savanna didn’t believe that we intended to go there to meet Amish people, but I guess at that point she didn’t really know us that well. The truth was that we fully intended to go and visit them.

Our reason for wanting to visit the Amish was simple. We’d seen them on TV, in a documentary series called Living with the Amish and admired their way of life. Jono had become frankly obsessed by this series and everything about them, from their core values and friendliness to their buggies and hats.

Jono had grand plans of knocking on their doors and explaining that we’d come to visit them, and assumed that they’d be friendly and hospitable and invite us in for dinner. I wasn’t so sure, but was happy to drive to Centreville to see what would happen anyway. It was pretty conveniently placed along our route after all!

Before we left our hotel in Kalamazoo we asked the receptionist if there were any Wal-Marts nearby. We needed a few things, like phone chargers and in Jono’s case some clothes, and we’d heard that Wal-Mart sells literally everything. He showed us where to go, so we jumped in our truck and headed off.

I still wasn’t quite used to driving in the USA (or anywhere for that matter) and on the way to Wal-Mart I found myself driving in the overtaking lane of the dual carriageway for no good reason. As I realised my mistake and looked in the mirror before moving into the correct lane, I saw a worrying sight. Jono had noticed it too at the exact same time.

“There’s a cop car behind us by the way, just so you know.” He said.

It was too late though, he was sure to pull us over for the erratic driving if not for the lack of license plates, and sure enough the red and blue lights came on and the cop signalled for us to pull over.

“Here we go again,” I thought.

The conversation with this cop was virtually the same as with the previous ones outside Brutus. First of all he asked us why we had no license plates, and we responded that we had 15 days to get them and that we only got the truck a few days ago. He asked where we were going, where we’d come from, who owned the truck and how long we were staying for. So we told him – Wal-Mart, Ireland, it’s our truck, we’re here for 10 days. His attitude at this point seemed to be a mixture of anger and skepticism. He also asked to see my “international” driver’s license, so I handed him my UK one with a feigned air of confidence, along with all the documents relating to the purchase of the car. He told us to wait there while he went back to his car to look everything over. When he came back to us, just like the previous cops, his attitude had completely changed and he was happy and laughing. He gladly helped us with directions to Wal-Mart and wished us a pleasant onward journey. Of course the story would have been much better if the cop hadn’t ended up being so friendly, and we’d been arrested and had our truck impounded, but fortunately for us things worked out just perfectly again!

We soon found Wal-Mart, parked up and went inside. The place was absolutely massive. Groceries, Electronics, Books, Furniture, Gym Equipment, Restaurants, a Pharmacy… It had everything! We went to the electronics section to find an in-car phone charger then to the clothes section to get the things Jono needed, and I bought a hat to keep the low Winter sun out of my eyes while driving. We also went to the CD section to buy some music for the journey, since the truck radio didn’t work. After browsing for a few minutes we selected albums by Adele, Mumford & Sons and Eminem. In hindsight we should have bought more.

While queuing to pay for our items we started discussing the scale of this place, and of America in general, and the differences between here and home. There was so much we didn’t understand. Jono mentioned that he hadn’t seen any postboxes the whole time we’d been here, and I realised that I hadn’t either. Where were they?? The young girl in the queue in front us had clearly overheard us and was struggling to contain her laughter. Her mother was blushing, embarrassed at her daughter’s apparent rudeness towards our ignorance, but she maintained a straight face and tried not to make eye contact with us. Spurred on by their awkwardness we just continued our conversation. The mother clearly disapproved but the daughter was practically crying with laughter by the time they’d paid and left.

After a quick lunch in Wal-Mart’s Subway (where we struggled to order – everything was different to back home including several different meats and seemingly hundreds of cheeses), we went back to the the truck and got on our way. As we walked back through the car park we couldn’t help but notice the sheer number of pickup trucks parked there! At least two-thirds of the vehicles in that car park! We rarely see them at all in Ireland or the rest of Europe so it was very noticeable. Seems like when it comes to cars and houses and other such possessions, Americans always want to have the biggest one they can get!

On the road to Centreville Jono put the Eminem CD on and we started to listen to the first track. A lot of the song seemed to be censored, so we tried the next one. That was censored too. It turned out the whole CD was censored and every mention of drugs, weapons or swear words had been removed. As you can imagine, that made listening to Mr. Mathers’ raps a little difficult. Now we were just left with Adele and Mumford & Sons, who have about six good songs between them, so things soon got repetitive. Oh well, better than nothing. (And certainly better than listening to Jono singing songs with the wrong lyrics, which is all I had before we bought any CDs.)

GAWA9 arrives in Centreville!

Gareth arrives in Centreville!

We found Centreville relatively easily and took some photos by the sign on our way in. The town centre was small but busy with lots of traffic about and some shops and businesses. This clearly wasn’t where we were going to find the Amish though, so we continued to drive on through Centreville, through the residential suburban areas and into the countryside. At this point we had no clue where to go, so we just drove around the grid of roads and dirt tracks haphazardly, hoping to see a house that didn’t have any lights on or any cars outside, or maybe a typical Amish barn. We drove around for several miles and found nothing. James had told us that Centreville had the largest Amish community in Michigan with around 1500 living here, but we couldn’t find a single one, so when we came across a house with a sign saying “B&B” outside we decided to go in and ask for some help.

The couple who owned the B&B were working outside at the time and they watched intently as we drove up the long driveway to the house. This place was in the middle of nowhere so I’m not surprised they were a little shocked to see visitors. We got out and asked them if they could help us as we were a little lost. They smiled and introduced themselves as the Higgins family, saying they had a map they could show us and asking if we’d like to go inside for a drink. We followed them inside, and Jono looked at me, as if to say, “I told you American people would be like this…”

Mrs. Higgins put the kettle on while her husband made smalltalk with us and showed us the county map they had. Apparently he occasionally worked for some Amish families as a driver, bringing them long distances in his truck when it was impracticle for them to travel in their horse-drawn buggies. He therefore knew very well where they lived and he was able to show us on the map, but he said since it was a Sunday we were unlikely to see them. The Amish, being deeply religious people, would either be in church or having quiet time at home, rather than out and about running their businesses or working on the land. Apparently we’d picked a pretty poor day to come to Centreville, but we remained optimistic.

We finished our tea and thanked the lovely couple for their help and hospitality, having concluded that our best bet was to drive around the area Mr. Higgins had shown us to possibly see a buggy going to or from a church.

We drove towards Nottawa, via a famous wooden covered bridge, to the area we’d been shown on the map, and it wasn’t long before we spotted an Amish buggy on the road up ahead. With its distinctive black exterior and red reflective triangle on the back, we were sure this was what we’d been looking for!

We overtook them at a low speed so as not to scare the horse. “Pull over!” Jono shouted excitedly as soon as we’d gone by them. He wanted to take a photograph, so I pulled to the side of the road while he tried to find a disposable camera. We got a few photos, none of them very good. Those buggies are faster than they look.

Our best effort at pictures of the Amish

Satisfied that that was probably the closest encounter we’d get with any Amish people, we started to make our way towards the Indiana Toll Road and Chicago. On the way, however, we spotted a large house that had a few buggies outside and a sign saying that it was an Amish furniture factory, so we stopped to take a few photos of that too. It would have been nice to call in to the factory to visit the workers and see the furniture, but on a Sunday that was sadly an impossibility so we continued on our way. Our optimism had been in vain and we’d failed miserably on our quest to meet some Amish people.

We hit the road in search of the toll road and Chicago in the distance, but before we left St. Joseph County there was to be one more distraction. Driving through the country roads we came across a large house with 3 horses in the field, initially thinking we had one more shot at making Amish friends we slowed down, however, quickly and soulcrushingly, we noticed a car in the driveway. At this point however Jono had become fascinated with the horses so we pulled up next to the house and jumped out. Almost instantly the lady who lived there scurried out her house, rushing over to inquire if we needed any help, we looked at each other once again marveling at the overwhelming helpfulness of Americans before reassuring her we weren’t lost we simply pulled over to see her stunning horses. Here however, her mood instantly changed, upon hearing we’d voluntarily stopped outside her property for no good reason she informed us that “Folks don’t usually stop on her property”. Sensing her distaste we assured her we’d be gone in a few minutes, we were confused but no one was stopping Jono saying hello to these horses! She scurried back into her home, we assume to gather up her guns and watch us from the window. After a brief human-equine bonding session we hit the road once more, but I couldn’t resist revving the engine and beeping the horn to make her day even more surreal. We were probably the first people to park outside her house in years!

Jono and his new found St. Joseph County friend

Beautiful horse, not so beautiful Gareth

The drive to Chicago from that point was largely uneventful, just mile after mile of lorries and interstate. There was one unfortunate incident, when we arrived at what must have been the fourth or fifth toll booth we’d had to stop and pay at. Each time it was costing us around $1-$3 in coins to continue on our route, so by this point we were starting to run dangerously low on change. We pulled up to the barrier and this time the sign said we had to pay $4.40. I rolled down my window and started to feed quarters into the machine. A large luminescent sign in front of us showed how much of the balance was remaining. The number went down quite quickly at first as we kept feeding in quarters, down to $1.90 or so, then we started with the 10 cent pieces. Jono was watching as the sign counted down, ever slower, as we continued to search for coins in our wallets, pockets and the seats and floor of the truck. There were about 60 cents remaining to pay now and a queue was starting to form behind us, this was getting embarrassing since the sign was large and prominent enough for all the drivers behind us to see. One more dime, down to 50 cents! And another! 40 cents to go.

“Come on, we’ve got this, have you checked your coat pockets?” I asked Jono.

We double checked everywhere we could think of but it was becoming clear that we were completely out of coins. Our only option now was to press the emergency button and call an operator.

“Hey… I’m sorry – we’re out of money, but we only have another 40 cents to pay… maybe you could just let us off with that?” I asked, rather optimistically.

“Sorry sir, the balance is 40 cents, you’ll have to pay that. Do you have any other payment methods?” Came the cold reply from the female worker.

“Yeah we can pay the last 40 cents by card if you want?”

“You’ll have to pay the full $4.40 by card. Would you like to do that now?” She replied. Not wanting to waste more time, as the queue behind us was getting longer, we agreed to pay.

“What about the $4 we already paid, do we get that back?”

“You’ll have to write to the head office and explain what happened, they’ll give you the money back.”

We paid the $4.40 and she lifted the barrier for us to let us continue our journey, much to the relief of the drivers behind us. Jono still intends to write to the Indiana Toll Road head office to recuperate our lost $4.

Luckily that was the last toll booth we had to stop at before arriving within the city limits of Chicago.

Driving into Chicago was simply terrifying. I was way out of my depth, driving in the middle of about 14 lanes of traffic on the busiest road I’d ever seen. Everyone else seemed to know what they were doing as they nonchalantly flew past us at high speed swerving from one lane to the next. I was just intently concentrating on not crashing into anyone, my knuckles white from gripping the steering wheel so hard. We kept driving until we could cross enough lanes of traffic that we could exit the highway and get into the actual city centre, which took longer than we’d hoped due to the high concentration of maniacs on the road.

We’d been warned that Chicago was difficult to drive in, when we were chatting with the locals in the Climax bar. They told us that any time they go they just find a parking lot somewhere on the outskirts then take taxis everywhere after that. After hearing this we decided we should probably do that too, but so far we hadn’t had a chance, so we just kept going.

The city centre itself was full of bright lights, tall buildings and people walking around between the bars, restaurants and theatres. The roads here were also incredibly busy, with buses and taxis seeming to own the road and everyone else trying to compete with them for space. It wouldn’t have been so bad if we’d had a rear-view mirror, or a back window we could actually see out of when we wanted to change lanes, but as it was in our ancient truck we were playing a bit of a guessing game. Luckily we avoided any blind-spot trouble and made it through the city to an area that seemed pretty central, with hotels, bars and parking lots. The parking lot we ended up parking in was beside a hotel called Hotel 71, so obviously that’s where we booked for the night. We’d been travelling all day and driving in Chicago for over an hour, so weren’t up for carrying our bags around and going value hunting now. It didn’t turn out to be overly expensive anyway, and our room had an amazing view of the city – the hotel was right in the centre, beside the river and just opposite Trump tower.

Hotel 71, our home in Chicago

We didn’t have much time to appreciate the view though. On our way to Chicago we’d been talking, trying to think of people we knew who were from here or nearby who we could contact. Neither of us had family or friends here, and we couldn’t think of any poker players who were from Chicago. We’d almost given up on the idea, when eventually we remembered an American guy called John who we’d met in Belfast several months before when he was travelling through Europe. He’d been visiting Belfast for a few nights and had met our friend one morning when they were both in the queue to buy a burrito. They exchanged numbers and he came out with us that night, where he proved himself to be an absolute hero, so we’d have been happy to meet him again!

We weren’t 100% sure if he was from Chicago, but when we arrived in the hotel lobby we used the computer there to send him a message on Facebook just to check anyway, leaving my number and telling him to call us if he was around. We were hoping he’d eventually get that message and maybe contact us over the next few days, not really expecting to hear from him any time soon. We were pretty surpised then when on the way from the computers to the room my phone rang and it was John, saying he’d cancelled all his plans and was coming to meet us right now! Confirmed hero!

We met him in the hotel lobby a short time later and headed straight for a bar. It was getting late, but he knew the area quite well and was sure we could have a decent night. He even said he’d be able to show us some of the tourist sights of Chicago between bars if we planned it right.

The first bar we arrived at was an English pub called the Elephant & Castle. It was pretty quiet and seemed to be the kind of place where business people would go for a quiet drink after work, so not a great place for a Sunday night. John assured us that he’d only brought us here as it was the closest place to our hotel and he was keen for a quick pint, and that there were better places nearby that we could go to next.

He said he’d buy the first drinks, so we looked at the beers on offer and ordered three pints of the most intriguing looking one – the one with an old style black telephone as a tap. We asked John what the story behind that was and he didn’t know, so he asked the barman, who told us that it was a locally brewed beer called “312,” which is the telephone area code for that part of Chicago, hence the phone for a tap.

Americans seem to put a lot more effort into their taps than we do, throughout the trip we saw an extravagant number nine, a hanging man and some geese head but I think this black phone was our favourite (From Google Images)

We stayed there and chatted for a while, catching up with John and asking him questions about Chicago. He told us a lot, including the reason it’s called the “Windy City,” (apparently nothing to do with the weather, just an old nickname given to the city because of the politicians of the time talking a load of gas!), the fact that they dye the river green every St. Patrick’s Day, and that you can easily recognise the Chicago accent because it sounds like someone impersonating a duck. Smart man.

On the way to the next bar John brought us past a massive statue of Marilyn Monroe, and Tribune Tower, the building of the Chicago Tribune, which is the main newspaper of the city. That building is really interesting because the front of it has blocks from a lot of different structures worldwide built into it, including the Taj Mahal, the Palace of Westminster, the Parthenon, the Berlin Wall, Notre Dame, the Great Wall of China, the Pyramids, and lots of others, with inscriptions saying where each is from. After browsing the wall and taking some photos we carried on.

We soon made it to the next bar, the Rock Bottom Brewery. John proved his heroic status once again when, outside, a middle-aged drunk woman started following us and asking if she could join us and if we’d buy her a drink. Our natural reaction was to ignore her and move on, but John stopped to talk to her, smiled and politely explained the situation, saying we wouldn’t buy her a drink but she could come into the bar with us, but that we would just be talking to eachother because we didn’t know her so it might be awkward. She came in and took the stool beside John at the bar, where he just turned his back to her and ordered three more beers.

This place was a bar & grill as well as being a brewery where they brewed their own beers. It also had hooks under the bar where you could hang your coat, which was something we’d never seen before, Americans have thought of everything!

We had several rounds here, trying a few different locally brewed delicacies. After a while John suggested we move on to another bar, so we headed across the road to a place I don’t remember the name of – I guess the beers were starting to take their toll by this point.

On our way there we were approached by a group of young guys, who asked us if we knew of any liquor stores nearby. Again, we’d normally just apologise, say we didn’t know anywhere, and move on, but John is a much better person than us, so he stepped up and started checking the map on his phone and having banter with the lads!

“Guess you’re all underage huh?” He asked them. They confirmed that all but one of them was, so if they could find a liquor store he’d be able to buy everything for them. “Aah great plan guys! Ok, look at this map, there’s a place just a few blocks from here in that direction, and if that’s closed there’s another one just round the corner from there! Good luck!”

They thanked him profusely and wished us a good night on our pub crawl. “Hope you get laid tonight!” they shouted as they walked away. “You too!” John shouted back.

When we got to the next place there were a few empty tables, but we pulled up some chairs at a table directly beside two girls. John is an amazing grinder when it comes to drinking and talking to girls, and he got straight on it, intorducing himself and us to them. Their names were Michelle and Phoebe and they were, in their words, “Fresh 21!” and excited to go drinking properly for the first time, so they agreed to join us on our pub crawl.

They seemed like fun girls so we had a bit of banter with them and got a few more drinks in, when suddenly Jono’s jaw dropped at something he’d seen across the room.

“Hey look over there… Is that the guy we saw in Kalamazoo last night..? Tebow?” he asked with a puzzled look on his face.

“Seems unlikely. We’re over a hundred miles from Kalamazoo, what are the chances he’d have been in the same bar as us last night and now end up in the same bar as us tonight over a hundred miles away?” I’d barely finished my sentence when the man in question walked right past us and I saw for myself that it was indeed the same guy! I had to go and speak to him just to confirm it.

“Hey… Excuse me, sorry to interrupt!” (He was there with a girl.) “But were you in Kalamazoo last night, in the Wild Bull?”

He was astonished but confirmed that he was there. He said he was a student in Kalamazoo but that he’s originally from Chicago so now he was back home for the holidays.

Us and Kalamazoo Tebow!

“Ah that’s amazing! Such a coincidence that we noticed you there and now we’re both here! And you were the girl who was with him last night too, right?” I asked.

She seemed confused, apparently she’d never been to Kalamazoo in her life. Oops! Tebow just looked at me and laughed, shook my hand and said goodbye, before exiting the bar with his soon-to-be ex-girlfriend.

We stayed there for one more drink, then decided to head across the road to a sports bar where the girls had agreed they’d try a pint of Guinness. We got there and Jono bought the round, ordering beers for the three of us and two pints of Guinness for the girls. I can remember the first time I tried Guinness, and the facial expression I pulled as I took the first sip and pushed the pint away in disgust. It is quite an acquired taste, so we were looking forward to seeing these “fresh 21-year-old” girls trying it for the first time. Michelle took a sip of hers and the reaction was as expected, pure disgust. She refused to drink any more despite us adamantly telling her that it gets better as you go on. She couldn’t be swayed though, and Jono was forced to finish it for her. Phoebe, on the other hand, was great! Although clearly unimpressed by the first sip, she bravely continued undeterred and evenutally finished it off, surmising, “It’s alright. Tastes like sausages.”

Guinness- who will no doubt be delighted with the "Like sausages" review...

All of us were pretty drunk by this stage, laughing and chatting away. At one point Phoebe claimed that she was Irish since her great grandmother came from Ireland. That didn’t go down well, but might go some way to explaining how she managed to sink her pint of Guinness while Michelle couldn’t.

We were happy to keep drinking and continue with the pub crawl but the girls had had enough and decided to call it a night. Typical Americans, going out for a “proper” night of drinking and ending up at home in bed by 1. We were pretty tired after our day of travelling so decided we should probably head back to the hotel too. After the next round, of course.

After we’d finished the three of us started walking back to the hotel. John began to drunkenly apologise for it being a bit of a quiet night and before we could stop him to tell him we’d had a great night of seeing Chicago, metting fun girls and drinking with an absolute hero, he suggested a plan for the next day to make up for it, involving heading to an area of Chicago called Wrigleyville. He said it was basically a long street lined with busy bars and restaurants, in the North of the city, about 10 minutes away by tram, where we were sure to meet a lot of people and have a great time. Sounded good to us! The three of us headed to the hotel room, where John decided to sleep on the floor so he wouldn’t have to waste time travelling back into town to meet us in the morning. Genius.

Recently emailed the local Petoskey newspaper regarding part 5 and will be emailing the Climax Crescent (which we bought a copy of!) so hello if you’re reading this. Onto part 6!

A Policeman A Pimp and a Weirdo Called Jeff, Part 6

Before going to Chicago, we decided that we had to go to Harbor Springs to visit a place we’d seen on the map we’d been given – Tom’s Mom’s Cookie Shop. It was about 15 miles in the opposite direction, but since we have a friend back home called Tom, who often gets abuse because his mother is allegedely quite hot, we had to go there and take some photos! We got to Harbor Springs and drove around the quaint town until we found the cookie shop. The staff there were visibly confused at our presence. To be fair, we had just arrived and taken several photos of the outside of their shop, then gone inside and ordered two cookies before taking more photos of the inside. I tried to explain to the cashier that we’d come because we have a friend called Tom, but that just seemed to make her more confused. I didn’t mention that we were visiting from Ireland. Maybe I just forgot, or maybe the hospitality of the Petoskey folk had led us into a sense of arrogance, thinking everyone around here already knew our tale.

Tom's Mom's Cookies, Harbor Springs

Gareth outside, no doubt being watched by the confused staff!

Once we’d finished there we headed for Chicago. Jono, assuming his role as Navigator again, checked the map and told me we’d need to find the road number 131 then head South on that towards Grand Rapids.

We did exactly that, passing several interesting places on the way – Boyne Falls (where Savanna is originally from), Antrim (which is the name of the county we live in back home) and Cadillac (where there’s an intriguing sign advising drivers not to pick up hitchhikers as they may be inmates escaping from the local prison).

It was plain sailing the whole way to Grand Rapids, apart from one impromptu stop after a worryingly loud bang emanated from the back of the truck while we were speeding down the 131 somwhere in the hills between Boyne Falls and Cadillac. We pulled to the side of the road to get out and check that everything was alright – it sounded a lot like a tyre had exploded. We checked each tyre and looked underneath the truck to see if we could spot anything untoward, but everything seemed fine, which was lucky because we were in the absolute middle of nowhere. If we’d broken down here we would have been in trouble. We got back on our way and ignored any future bangs, determining that it was probably just air bursting through a gap in the back window that was causing the noise.

While we were driving we amused ourselves by talking about the events of the night before. We’d met some great people and thouroughly disgraced ourselves. There was no way we’d have been able to stay another day in Petoskey – it was too likely that we’d bump into someone we’d met the night before who we’d embarrassed ourselves in front of. Petoskey had been a wonderful host but it had reached it’s threshold for coping with our madness, we’ll give it a year or two to rest up and be back for more!

We arrived in Grand Rapids some time later and decided to stop for lunch. The place kind of reminded us of Detroit, but it had a lot more people about and a few less boarded up shop fronts and burnt out houses, although it still seemed a bit run down. It wasn’t long before we found an Italian restaurant and tried to park outside, although that didn’t go well – I tried to reverse into a parking space outside the restaurant, but misjudging the length of the truck, I accidentally dinged the side of the car in the next space. Oh well, we didn’t really want Italian food anyway! We immediately sped out of the area and tried to find somewhere else to eat. (I doubt I did any damage anyway, as there was no paint on the truck bumper when we checked and we weren’t moving very quickly at the time since we were trying to park.)

We found a place called Wendy’s, which we’d heard of. It’s a bit like Burger King, except the burgers are square instead of round and it tastes absolutely terrible. We had a hugely unsatisfying meal there then got back on the road.

It was already dark by this stage and we’d already been travelling for over 4 hours. We weren’t even close to Chicago yet. Driving down the 131 I was getting blinded by the headlights of the vehicles driving the other direction and it was exacerbating my already hungover headache. Everyone seems to drive with their full beam headlights on at night in America. It also didn’t help that the grime covered windscreen of the truck just became an opaque aurora of dirt and bright light everytime someone’s headlights shone onto it. We couldn’t continue like this, Chicago was at least another 4 hours away, so we agreed to find somewhere to stop overnight and we’d continue our journey the next day. Jono got to work scouring the map for somewhere to stop, deciding that we’d go to the place with the most hilarious name we could find between Grand Rapids and Chicago – and there were some good ones. “Colon” was an early contender, but he kept looking. “Paw Paw” was a decent one too, as were “Breedsville” and “Kalamazoo.” As we drove he kept looking, then suddenly he shouted,

“Oh, wow! CLIMAX!”

He couldn’t stop laughing and I was finding it hard to believe that there was actually a place with such an audacious name. He showed it to me on the map and it appeared to be nicely on our way between our current location and Chicago, only about 15 miles off the main road, very convenient! We were definitely stopping there for the night!

The jokes practically made themselves. “We’ll spend a whole night in Climax,” and “We’re pretty close to reaching Climax” are a couple of obvious ones. We had no idea how big it would be, or if it would have a hotel for us to stay in, but we were determined to find out. Jono told me the route we needed to take, and when we saw a big sign on the motorway saying “CLIMAX – 1 mile” we started to get pretty excited.

We took the exit and within 20 metres were immediately plunged into complete darkness and country roads. The lights on the truck allowed us to see about 2 car lengths in front of the vehicle, that’s all we had. We slowly made our way along the narrow roads, desperately looking for any signs, but found no help. Driving around in what seemed to be circles, we wondered how it could be so difficult to find the place, when it was big enough to warrant its own sign on the motorway, it surely couldn’t just be a village with a couple of houses that we were likely to miss. After driving around aimlessly for about half an hour we eventually saw a tiny sign at the end of a T-junction saying “Village of Climax” with an arrow, so we knew we were getting to the right area! A short distance down that road there was a much bigger sign saying “Welcome to Climax” – we’d made it! We drove into the town, which is basically a crossroads with a few houses, some shops and a bar called The Harvester. We weren’t sure if it was open but there seemed to be some lights on inside, so we decided to park and try to go in.

To say our entrance to this bar came as a complete shock to everyone inside is a massive understatement. This was clearly a local bar for local people, and they rarely got visitors from outside Climax never mind outside the continent, especially in December. We took a seat at the bar and looked around. The bar itself was L-shaped and there were 5 people sitting at it. On the longer side of the “L” there was an older lady, two to our left, and a middle-aged lady, on our direct left. To our direct right was a large blatantly drunken man, and diagonally across from us at the other side of the bar on the shorter side of the “L” was a married couple. There was also one bartender working, a young Ukrainian girl called Julia who Jono instantly fell in love with. She was the first to speak to us as she offered us a drink.

We ordered a beer for Jono and a soft drink for me, and asked her where we were. “You’re in Climax!” she said with a wry smile. This was good news, at least we’d found the right place, even if our map was too inaccurate to have been able to show us the exact route. We explained what we were doing here, as all the other patrons listened in, and asked if there were any hotels nearby. They all thought for a bit, then concluded that there were in fact no hotels within about a 15 mile radius – we’d have to to go Kalamazoo to find the nearest one. Julia set to work drawing a map for us on the back of one of their menus, with a detailed description of the route, while we had a few drinks and chatted with the people around us.

I got into a conversation with the large man on our right.. He was a likeable fellow who regaled us with stories about his time in Europe when he was in the Army. One of his stories was set in Amsterdam. Or was it Copenhagen? Even he didn’t seem to know, as he drunkenly told us the same story twice but just changed the location. We also spoke briefly to the middle-aged lady on our direct left. She had dreams of travelling to Ireland with her daughter and staying in a castle, so we told her a bit about Dublin and gave her some advice. In the end she phoned all her children and got them to come to the bar to meet us!

The married couple across the bar from us were called Brian and Sue. They were a laid back couple who had a lot of questions about Ireland and were happy to listen to our stories. Everyone was amazed that we’d flown to Detroit and bought a truck, and now we were in Climax on our way to Chicago, having been all the way up to Petoskey. They’d never heard of such madness in their lives.

Julia had finished drawing the map and she’d also included the address of a bar and the numbers of a few taxi companies. Brian, sensing that Jono was infatuated, suggested that Julia give us her phone number as well, in case we got lost, but unfortunately she wasn’t having that. We appreciated the effort though Brian!

The Harvester menu

And on the back, thanks to the help of Julia and others, our map to hotels and bars!

After a quick photo with everyone, and buying a Climax t-shirt from Julia, we said goodbye and left to find a hotel in Kalamazoo using the directions we’d just been given. As we were leaving we watched as the large drunken man stumbled out of the back door of the bar straight into his car and drove off. This was completely unbelievable to us, given how blatantly drunk he was. I suppose drink driving isn’t as much of a problem out there as it is back home though, since there’s barely anything around to crash into in the middle of nowhere.

It was disappointing not to have been able to spend a full night in Climax; the people there were extremely helpful and entertaining, but we vowed to return some day.

Us and the locals in The Harvester, Climax

The Climax Crescent local newspaper

With Jono as navigator and me driving once again, we found Kalamazoo pretty quickly, thanks to the directions Julia had given us. We pulled into a hotel, the Econo Lodge, and went inside to book a room. As the receptionist was processing our details, she made small talk and asked us what we were doing in Michigan, so we told her the whole story and that we’d just come from Climax as it was the funniest place name we could find. She laughed and said there were a lot of funny place names in Michigan – places like “Christmas,” “Paradise,” and, out to the East, a place called “Hell.”

“Oh yeah, I think we’ve been there – Detroit?” I said. She didn’t get it. We sighed and went to our room.

Econolodge Kalamazoo

It was about 11pm, perfect time to head out into the town and find a bar, we thought. We ordered a taxi and it took us downtown to a place called the Wild Bull, which is a Texas themed saloon with a mechanical bull as the centrepiece – something we’d never seen in a bar before! The place was absolutely packed full of young American college students – apparently we’d stumbled in on their graduation celebrations, great! Drinks were cheap and people were having fun, so we settled in and tried to join in the festivities. Every so often someone would take their chances with the mechanical bull – some with more success than others. Sometimes it would be a drunk guy who had a good technique that was clearly practised over many hours, sometimes it was just a group of over-zealous girls all getting on it together for a laugh, all while the crowds watched and cheered. Overall for us it was a pure spectacle of American enthusiasm!

We just sat and watched, drinking our pints of Guinness and having a loud conversation. We were hoping someone would hear our accents and be intrigued, but that didn’t happen. The people in this bar all seemed to be in strict groups, and it seemed nobody was willing to talk to anyone outside of their clique. We walked around trying to mingle, and did briefly speak to a few people, but overall the atmosphere was more angry than friendly. Back home, people tend to go to bars to socialise and have fun, while drinking. Here they seemed to be out solely to get drunk and talk to the people they knew.

As we got more and more tipsy the conversation turned into us discussing whether or not we’d have a go on the bull while we were here. Although I tried to convince him, Jono wasn’t up for it in the end, saying he was too “physically inept” for the challenge. His motive was to get me on the bull, despite me being just as physically inept as he is, so that I’d be the one embarrassing myself while he stood and took photos. I couldn’t pass up the opportunity, when am I ever going to have a chance to do something like this again? So I filled in the waiver form and jumped on.

The bull has different levels of difficulty, and the operator, sensing that I was a complete novice from the way I clumsily jumped on and the way I was sitting, kept it on the lowest setting for the first couple of minutes. I imagine this setting is the one he most commonly uses for six-year-old girls, nevertheless it was proving quite a challenge for me to stay on, even though I was using the arm-swinging balancing techniques I’d seen the veterans using earlier. As soon as he moved it up to the 8-year-old girl setting I came flying off and landed face first in the foam mattresses. Jono got a few photos and a group of girls in the corner had been laughing and cheering me on, so I’ll take that as a success!

Gareth elegantly straddles the bull

And begins to look a little nervy...

And jogs back to his pint with typical American enthusiasm, immediately declaring that it "Wasn't as easy as it looked"

Obviously we went straight from there over to introduce ourselves to the enthusiastic bunch. They were all pretty drunk but at least they were happy to meet us. While we were standing with them at the bar a man who was the spitting image of Denver Broncos quarterback, Tim Tebow, walked in. People were going mad, shaking his hand and getting photos with him in the charateristic Tebow praying position. Girls were flocking around him, and he was milking it. We just looked on, bewildered.

It was nearing closing time and the group we’d been chatting to were heading to a party, but it became apparent that we wouldn’t be invited. We’d been talking to the boyfriend of one of the girls, and he’d suggested that we go with them. His girlfriend wasn’t so welcoming though when she heard about his plans, and not intending to cause a rift between them we just left to head back to the hotel and get some food.

The only place still open by the time we got to the hotel was a 24-hour McDonald’s next door, so we had little choice but to go there for food. When we approached the door we noticed an employee standing outside having a cigarette. Her name was Nicole, and she informed us that only the Drive-Thru was open at this time so we wouldn’t get served without a car. We drunkenly tried to persuade her to let us go inside, but despite being clearly charmed by us she was sorry to tell us that she didn’t have the authority to allow that. Obviously our only option at that point was to get into our invisible car and “drive” round to the Drive-Thru area! Jono, sensing this would be his only opportunity to drive on the trip, took the invisible wheel and I took the invisible passenger seat. When we got to the hatch, Jono rolled down his invisible window and placed his order. The woman inside looked at us like we were insane and refused to serve us, despite our persistent arguing. She said it wasn’t allowed, for her safety as well as ours. We could see how our safety might be in jeapordy by standing in the Drive-Thru lane, a risk we were willing to take. How her safety was affected is still a mystery to us. We realised we were fighting a losing battle with this pedant, so walked back round to the front to wait for someone in a car so we could pay them to get food for us. A willing accomplice drove up within about 30 seconds, and we were smugly eating burgers in plain view of Miss Jobsworth within a matter of minutes. Nicole couldn’t withhold her laughter, and she even came back outside to congratulate us on our ingenuity and provide us with napkins and ketchup sachets!

It had been a long day, starting in Petoskey over 200 miles away with crippling hangovers and a desire to get to Chicago. We’d failed to make it all the way, but we’d still managed to have a decent night out in Kalamazoo and we’d met some very nice people in Climax, so it didn’t feel like too much of a failure. We had plenty of time here after all, there were no solid plans and there was certainly no rush, our flight home wasn’t for another 6 days. We went to bed, planning to make it to Chicago the next day, via Michigan’s largest Amish community in Centreville, naturally…

Gonna start part 5 with a big thanks from both of us to everybody we met in Petoskey, the home of this part of the tale.

A Policeman A Pimp and a Weirdo Called Jeff, Part 5

Petoskey is like all the typical small, clean, picturesque American cities we see in all the films, where children play in the streets, people are friendly and respectful and nothing bad ever happens. It’s a wonderful place to go if you’re into things like farmer’s markets, pottery demonstrations, walking tours and enjoying the beautiful scenery around northern Lake Michigan.

This, almost by definition, meant it was not the kind of place where two Irish guys in their early twenties could expect to have a good time.

We were pretty determined though, so we got into the truck and drove from the hotel to the city centre in the hope of finding a good bar.

We parked and went for a walk around to see if we could find somewhere to have a drink and meet some people. It was about midday on a Friday so we assumed the bars would be open – they’re certainly open in Ireland at that time of the day. We walked down the street and passed a few places, none of which had any sign of life inside. We’d later realise that bars don’t tend to open until mid-afternoon and that drinking during the day is somewhat frowned upon in America. At this point we changed our plans and decided to try to find an electronics store where we might be able to buy some chargers for our phones, so we could try to contact Savanna again. We were randomly walking around the city, when completely by chance I noticed a place called “Roast & Toast” down one of the streets. This made me stop in my tracks because I recognised the name. I asked Jono, isn’t that the place where Savanna works? He replied that it was the same company but she worked in another branch, in the hospital. We decided it would be a good idea to go in there for a cup of tea anyway and to ask someone where we could go for chargers.

Roast and Toast Cafe, Petoskey

It was pretty busy inside which was encouraging. So far we’d only seen empty bars, quiet shops and the odd car driving around, so it was nice to actually see some people and some activity. We ordered our teas and asked the waiter if he knew of any electronics stores nearby. He was very friendly and chatted to us for a few minutes, asking where we were from and what we were doing there etc. We didn’t mention that we were there looking for Savanna. He told us about a Radio Shack just around the corner and gave us our teas before we went to find a table.

We’d been sitting there for about 5 minutes, discussing what we should do next and for the rest of the day, when a girl apprehensively walked over. I didn’t recognise her, but Jono did – it was Savanna! She looked completely shocked. We invited her to take a seat, and she did, somewhat reluctantly. Jono and Savanna had never met in real life before. As far as I know they just met online on ChatRoulette or something and continued talking on Skype after their initial meeting. I think they’d been chatting online for a couple of months before this point. I’m sure they never expected to meet in real life any time soon and certainly not in these circumstances, so she had every right to be confused and worried. We asked her if she believed that we were actually here now. She laughed. Her hands were visibly shaking and her voice was hoarse, but she eventually settled down and we were able to have a conversation. She explained that she’d gotten extremely drunk at the house party in Brutus the night before and had passed out on a sofa by the time we arrived, and that her friends hadn’t seen us parked outside. She said we should have knocked the door and gone in (I knew it!), but we explained why we thought that wouldn’t have been a good idea. While she was sitting with us two of her friends arrived, a girl called Teila and her boyfriend, Matt. They’d been at the same party the night before and were amazed at our story and that we’d been parked outside while they were there. The five of us sat there chatting for about 45 minutes but Matt and Teila had to leave and Savanna had to start work at 1pm. She was only there to cover a shift for someone, otherwise she’d never have been in that particular branch of Roast & Toast on that day. It was also a complete coincidence that she realised we were there – the waiter, being a great lad, had told her that there were two nice Irish guys sitting across the café and suggested that she go over and introduce herself. He had no idea that we were only in Petoskey to find her. With no phones and no internet we may never have met her and instead may have just driven on to another part of the state or country, but by a compounding of several coincidences here we were!

Savanna and her friends had told us there were five pubs in the city centre, and had shown us where they were on our map. We decided we’d go on a pub crawl and visit them all, meeting her later that night when she finished her shift. Maybe we’d even visit each one more than once – there were only five after all. First we had to find a hotel for one more night here, so we got back into the truck and drove to one right in the city centre called the Perry. Once we’d checked in, we headed down the street to the first stop on our pub crawl, the City Bar & Grill.

City Park and Grill, stop one of our pub crawl, having planned to get photos outside of them all we managed a total of one before the debauchery began...

We went inside and took a seat at the bar. The place seemed nice but was empty apart from a family having lunch and four or five members of staff. The barman, Ashley, took our order, and noticing our accents asked us where we were from.

“Oh wow, my favourite person in the world is from Northern Ireland!” he said.

It turned out Ashley was a massive fan of survival expert Bear Grylls. He told us he’d recently bought himself a replica of Bear Grylls’ knife as an early Christmas present, and was a bit of an extreme survival enthusiast himself. We joked that Bear’s cameraman deserved the real praise, since he does all the same things as Bear does but doesn’t get any of the credit, and confirmed that if there was ever a nuclear holocaust or something the last three people on Earth would probably be Ashley the barman, Bear Grylls, and his cameraman.

“Your first round is on me guys, it’s great to meet people from the same country as Bear Grylls!” he said. We thought this was a little bit strange but we were willing to accept the free beers!

We chatted with Ashley a bit more while drinking our pints. He was a remarkably friendly and interesting person. Every time one of our glasses was almost empty Ashley would casually take it away and fill it up without breaking eye contact or conversation, so we ended up drinking way more than we intended. Everything was just going on a tab (which Ashley informed us he’d named “IRA” in the computerised till) and we’d just pay at the end, which seems to be the norm in America.

After several pints of Hangin’ Frank (a beer specifically brewed for this pub, named after a former owner who hung himself in the basement – his ghost is rumoured to haunt the building to this day), we decided to leave and continue our pub crawl. Next on the list was the Noggin Room.

The two of us getting a pint in in the Noggin Room, the trophy glasses can just about be seen hanging from the roof

The Noggin Room is a cosy place with a small bar and only a couple of tables, situated in the basement of the hotel we’d checked into earlier. There are hundreds of glass mugs hanging from the walls and ceiling, each one with a name and date engraved into it. We’d later enquire about these and find out that they’re a trophy you get if you try one of each beer they stock, which we assumed to be an easy task since they only had 6 or 7 on tap, but in fact there are over 120 different beers to try. We took a seat at the bar beside a group of about 7 guys and 1 girl who were all the same age as us or a little older. (Excuse me if the trip report becomes a little hazy after this point, my memory of some parts of this night has become a bit jaded.)

As far as I know, we have a few beers here and then inevitably end up trying to talk to the girl in the group beside us who we would come to know as Mary Bea, a local artist who introduced us to everybody around us (No huge surprise that everyone seems to know everyone in Petoskey!). I remember Jono discussing the emerging Belfast art scene with her which came as a slight surprise given we know nothing about it! It turns out they are a group of joggers who decided it was too cold to run today so they just went to the pub instead. That’s the kind of attitude we admire, so we ended up befriending them all and getting a table, continuing to drink and having banter. They were all a little older than us and weren’t really up for having a mad night, only planning to have a few quiet drinks. One of the guys worked as soccer coach in the local high school and they were all planning to go there to watch a basketball game, and they invited us to go with them. We thought going to see a high school basketball game would be a great experience, so we agreed, as long as we could go to a liquor store and buy some alcohol to bring with us! They were initially reluctant to let us do that, given that it’s illegal to bring alcohol into the grounds of a high school, but we talked them round and another guy called Todd agreed to take us to a liquor store in his car. Apparently Todd used to be a bit of a loose cannon back in the day, but now he’d settled down quite a bit. We were happy to have rekindled an old flame in him and got him back into his old ways! We settled our tab at the bar which was surprisingly only $9 depsite the fact we’d had about 5 beers each there. Jono questioned the barman, but he just told us to be quiet about it, they were on him – more free beer! We left him a large tip to say thanks.

Jono and the lovely Mary Bea

Todd brought us to the liqour store where we bought a large bottle of vodka and some water bottles. Emptying the useless water from the bottles and replacing it with delicious vodka, we were ready to meet the others at the game!

We got to the high school basketball court and the stands were full to capacity. I don’t remember if we had to buy tickets or if we got in for free. Jono and I looked around and saw a section where a large group of high school kids were vigourously cheering on their team, so we decided to go and join them, vodka bottles in hand, rather than stand in the boring section with the adults. We quickly became honourary Petoskey High School supporters due to our alcohol-enhanced enthusiasm! If we hadn’t been spotted trying to give vodka to the kids we may have even been allowed to stay until the end of the game – The soccer coach had seen our antics though and realised that his job may be in jeopardy if we disgraced him any further, so we were quickly ushered out of the school, drunkenly laughing and cheering.

Next thing I remember is being in a place called the Mitchell Street Pub, back in the city centre. It was pretty busy, and incidentally this would have been one of the next stops on our pub crawl, but that plan was long forgotten. We must have been brought here by Todd or another member of the jogging group, as they were all here too. Jono and the joggers occupied one end of the bar while I entertained myself by walking around and talking to literally every other person in there. I have no idea what I talked to them about, but judging by the photos we got they seemed to have been thoroughly enjoying my company. Jono ended up deep in conversation with one of the joggers and found out that he had a pregnant fiancée at home. Concluding that this was the man’s last night of freedom before his son or daughter was born (which wasn’t the case, she wasn’t due to give birth for another month or so), Jono decided that it was time for them to go wild and get a few Tequilas in! From what I’ve been told, the man’s fiancée phoned him at one point to ask why he wasn’t home yet. He told her they’d all gone to the pub and met two Irish guys and that they were drinking with us. Jono then spoke to her on the phone and told her she should come to the pub and meet us, which she did, depsite being heavily pregnant. It was becoming pretty obvious that this town didn’t see visitors from Ireland very often, people were very excited (and confused) to see us. Hopefully this gleaming report will inspire more people from here to visit – you’ll be treated to some of the finest hospitality you can find and plenty of free beer, so give Petoskey a go! Tequilas were flowing at this point and it was still before 11pm, the night had potential for us to turn from local attractions to foreign disgraces but we were on a roll and everyone seemed to be enjoying our story, as always in America everyone’s morale was sky high so it was easy for them to get into the spirit of things and soon everyone in the bar seemed to be celebrating our new friend’s last night of freedom.

The next thing I remember after being in Mitchell Street is being back in the hotel room with Savanna, Teila and Matt. I vaguely remember being in Teila’s car and asking her if she’d let me drive, thank goodness she didn’t. Jono tells me that they’d all come to Mitchell Street to pick us up after Savanna had finished her shift. They’ve since told us that the scene in the pub when they arrived was amazing. It was more full than they’d ever seen it and we seemed to be friends with every single person in there! We tried to buy them drinks but they’re all under 21 so they refused, as did the barman. Apparently it’s a pretty serious offense to buy alcohol for a minor over there. Anyway, Jono tells me they then drove us to a liquor store and we bought a large bottle of rum, some vodka and some mixers and brought it to the hotel. I can just about remember being in the room with everyone, drinking and asking Matt how he’d managed to pull a girl as attractive as Tiela, and begging him to teach me his methods. Repeadedly. Must have been embarrassing for the lad but at least Savanna and Teila were laughing. The night went on, not that I remember any of it, and after a brief session in the bathroom inexplicably shouting at myself and looking at my reddened face in the mirror, Jono thought it would be wise to put me into bed and I quickly passed out.

When I woke up the next morning Matt and Teila were gone but Savanna was still there. Empty bottles and glasses from the night before were strewn across the floor. One of the trophy glass mugs from the Noggin Room was on the bedside table – damn, must have stolen one when we were in there!

Savanna had work that day so she left a short time later, but not before trying to persuade Jono to stay in Petoskey for just one more night. He wasn’t having it though. We’d had two nights in Petoskey now, there was nothing more here for us – Our plan was to to go Chicago, having been advised by several people in the pubs that it was a great city and we’d have a lot of fun there.

More hungover than I’d ever been in my life, I slowly got out of bed and had a shower. Moving was difficult, my head was banging, although I wasn’t tired at all. Apparently we’d arrived at the hotel at about 10pm the night before and I was asleep by 11! Jono felt even worse given that he’d spent more of the night awake than sleeping. The two of us made our way down to the restaurant and enjoyed a really good breakfast, in a room with a great view of the calm Lake Michigan. We’d brought the Noggin Room mug with us so we could bring it back down to the bar, it was pretty embarrassing to have it on the table at breakfast since the waitresses would obviously know where it was from. I stealthily returned it to the empty basement bar after breakfast and we checked out, planning to go to Roast & Toast to see Savanna one last time before we would drive on to Chicago.

Savanna was on a break when we arrived (another complete coincidence – my phone was dead at the time but she had just text me to let me know she was on a break, we wouldn’t get that message until a couple of days later when we were hundreds of miles away). Matt and Teila were there too. We each got a cup of tea while they told us all the hilarious and embarrassing stories from the night before. When we finished up and Savanna had to start work again, we left and got back into the truck.

As we drove off, a very worrying thought hit me – Had we paid Ashley for our drinks in the City Bar & Grill, the ones on the IRA tab? Neither of us could remember paying, and we didn’t want to leave Ashley in a bad situation after he’d been so good to us. We had to go back and check.

When we got there we saw a couple of people we’d evidently met the night before. They were laughing and asked us if we’d enjoyed the basketball game. We had no idea who these people were but we thanked them and told them we’d had a great night!

Ashley was standing behind the bar and was visibly happy to see us again. We explained that we weren’t staying, we’d just come back to make sure we’d paid him for all the drinks. Thankfully he told us that we had.

“Thanks so much for coming back to check though! Enjoy the rest of your trip!” he said as we shook his hand and left.

With that, we were ready to leave Petoskey. We were sad to leave, as we’d met so many great people and had a really good night, but we had been told that Chicago was the place to be, with its tall buildings, thriving nightlife and millions of people – way better than Detroit. We checked the map and saw that it was about 360 miles away, which we estimated would take about 8 hours, assuming no problems with the truck. Better get started then!

Some extra assorted pics from our day out in Petoskey:

This picture, of which I have zero recollection for some unknown reason is we believe of a friend we must have made while buying vodka for the basketball

Gareth and Petoskey friend in a rather cramped car from basketball back to pubs!

This man who has come to be known as the mysterious Petoskey man looks slightly bemused at being photographed, we believe he must have been in the last liquor store and we only hope we befriended him before taking a random snapshot..

Part 4! Cheers for all the comments messages and stuff so far hope people continue to enjoy, had a couple people say it makes them wanna do something similar so do it!

The truck turned out to be remarkably easy to drive. I was worried about having to change gears with my right hand instead of my left (the truck had manual transmission) but it came naturally after a few miles. Driving on the other side of the road was fine too after a while, bar one mis-step as we drove out of the Mexican restaurant into three lanes of oncoming traffic. Jono panicked and practically grabbed the wheel from the passenger side to get us onto the right side of the road. Sometimes it made a lot of noise when going from first gear into second, and when driving above about 70mph a loud banging noise occasionally came from the back somewhere, but other than that is was smooth! We got onto the I-75 and made our way North, passing such places as Flint, Saginaw and Gaylord. Jono doesn’t have a driving license so I had to do all the driving on the trip. His job was Navigator, and on this stretch of road that just meant counting down the exits as we passed them, since all we were doing was travelling about 260 miles on the same road. Once we passed Gaylord we decided to try to turn our phones on and call Jono’s friend from Petoskey, Savanna. His phone had just about enough battery left to get her number typed into mine, which luckily had enough battery left to make a couple of calls.

She answered pretty quickly and Jono began speaking to her. From what I could hear of the conversation, it went something like this;

“Savanna! It’s Jono!”

“Who?”

“Jono. Irish Jono. Jono.”

“Oh Jooooonnnnnoooooo. What’s up?”

“Well. I’m in Michigan.”

“What?”

“Yeah I’m in Michigan with my friend and we’re driving a truck up to Petoskey to see you. We just passed Gaylord.”

“No you aren’t.”

“We are. There’s a sign… Exit 301, Wolverine. We’re here.”

“No you aren’t.”

“Well… We are! Where are you?”

“I’m drunk, at a party at my friend’s house in Brutus.”

“Right, let’s go there then! What’s the address?”

That’s a condensed version. The real conversation had a lot more “Yes we are, we just passed this road sign,” followed by a drunken “No you’re not,” or “I don’t believe you,” but you get the idea. She rang us back a few minutes later after asking her friend for his address. We debated whether or not we should try to find the house. Would we have any chance of finding it? Possibly. Would it be wise to just randomly show up at the house of a random guy in the middle of nowhere? Probably not. But we did it anyway.

Jono checked the map and told me to take the exit at Indian River, head towards Oden, then take a right at some point to get to Brutus. Seemed easy, but we obviously overestimated our ability to navigate through the American countryside in the dark and ice. I was still getting used to controlling the truck, and having driven over 200 miles on a virtually straight interstate I’d been lulled into a false sense of security. Having to actually slow down and go round corners became surprisingly difficult. At one point, when coming off at the exit at Indian River, we almost drove straight into the barrier at the edge of the road at about 50mph because the curve of the road was unexpectedly severe. It also didn’t help that the headlights on the truck were inhibited by about 15 years of dirt on the glass covers. As if that wasn’t terrifying enough, as we approached the crossroads at the end of the exit and tried to brake we found it to be a lot more difficult to stop than we had anticipated and almost slid into the path of a truck coming speeding towards us from the right. This was partly caused by the brakes being a bit shoddy and partly by the road being very icy. We got stopped just in time, lucky escape, and stayed stopped there for a minute to catch our breath.

On the road to Oden we took several wrong turns. At one point while waiting to pull out from a side road we realised it was a police car that we were giving way to. It slowed right down as it drove in front of us, but then continued and turned to the right down the next road. According to the signs the road they took was also the way we needed to go, and sure enough as we turned onto it their car was parked about 20 metres ahead on the right. I drove past slowly, trying not to make any mistakes on the icy road. As soon as we’d gotten past them they pulled out behind us and the red and blue lights started flashing. I’d only been driving for three months and had certainly never been pulled over by the police before so my heart was racing as I pulled to the side of the road and stopped.

One cop came to Jono’s window and one to mine. I was so flustered I forgot to wind the window down so for a few seconds he was just standing there looking at me angrily through the glass. The winder for the window on Jono’s side had actually fallen off half way up the I-75, it was hilarious at the time but now it was proving to be an inconvenience. He found it on the floor and eventually managed to get his window wound down as well.

The cop talking to Jono just smiled and asked him if we were lost. He informed him that yes we were quite lost indeed. They proceeded to have a nice conversation about where we’d come from and where we were going. My cop, however, wasn’t so friendly.

“Where’s your license plate?” He snapped. We didn’t have front or back license plates because it takes time to register new ones when you buy a new car, and we’d been told by John in Schumaker’s that everyone has 15 days to put them on so we’d be better off not getting any since we’d only have it for a week. I told the cop we didn’t have any because we just bought the truck today and we had 15 days. He asked where I was from, then asked to see my International Driver’s License. I have a UK license and didn’t have any idea if that would satisfy him, but handed it to him anyway. He inspected it for a minute then asked what I was working as. I told him what I do back home but he seemed confused and said, “No, I mean what do you work as here?”

“Eh? Nothing. We’re only here for 10 days.”

“You’re here for 10 days and you bought a truck? How much did you pay for it?”

“$1000.”

He laughed with disbelief.

John from Schumaker’s had given us an envelope with photocopies of all the contracts, insurance and other documents to show that it was our truck and everything was legit. I handed it to him.

He took it and told us to wait as they went back to their car to have a look at everything.

When he came back a few minutes later his attitude had totally changed. He handed the envelope back to me, laughing, and the two of them happily gave us directions to Brutus. They wished us a pleasant journey, got back into their car and let us drive off before overtaking us and going on their way.

Finding the house where Savanna was partying turned out to be amazingly easy. We followed the directions the cops had given us, arrived in Brutus, saw a sign with the name of the road Savanna had given us, and drove along that for about a mile until we saw a mailbox with the house number on it. We drove up the driveway and parked at the front of the house between two other cars. There was a light on in one of the upstairs rooms which was promising at 2am, we were pretty sure we had the right house. I turned my phone on again and Jono called Savanna. No answer. He tried again. No answer again.

While we sat in the truck discussing what we should do next, two people appeared in the window of the upstairs room where the light was on, appeared to look out at us, then quickly ducked. The light went off. Not sure what was going on, we briefly considered going to knock the door, but concluded that that wouldn’t be a good idea in case it was the wrong house, or even if it was the right house and Savanna and her friends had gotten freaked out at us being there. We flashed the headlights a few times in an attempt to get someone’s attention in case they just hadn’t seen us. Nothing happened. I wanted to go to the door – we didn’t come all the way here to just leave, but Jono was dead set against that for the aforementioned reasons. He was worried that everyone in America has a gun and that if it was the wrong house we’d get shot. I gave in, and we left.

It’s one road all the way from there to Petoskey 15 miles away, so we decided we’d just head there, find a hotel for the night and maybe try to contact Savanna the next day.

Feeling somewhat confused and dejected, we arrived in Petoskey and drove into the car park of the first hotel we saw. It was about 2am by this point and we had to ring the doorbell to get in. The softly-spoken hotel owner seemed happy to see us even though we’d clearly just woken him, and he gave us a room for the night as well as some brochures of local businesses and a map of Petoskey. Jono lay in his bed looking at all the paraphernalia. Every so often he’d find something “interesting” on the map and excitedly suggest that we visit it the next day. The Gaylord Discovery Centre… Tom’s Mom’s Cookie Shop… The Lighthouses of Michigan! After half an hour of this we were pretty excited about the following day in Petoskey. Savanna had ditched us but maybe we didn’t need her, this place seemed full of potential..

Petoskey Treasure Map!

 

Petoskey Map showing location of our hotel (Bay Winds)

Bay Winds Hotel card, General Manager Adam Janiskee was hugely friendly and welcoming despite our 2am arrival without a reservation!

A Policeman A Pimp and a Weirdo Called Jeff, Part 3

We woke up the next morning 24 floors above Detroit feeling hungover and regretful. Everything before this point had basically been one extremely long drunken day and this was the first point at which we were both completely sober. The realisation that we were actually here started to kick in and I honestly started to feel a bit sick. I remembered that I’d planned to do several different things over the coming days back home, none of which would be possible now – including meeting my cousin who was visiting from Australia, getting a much needed haircut, and seeing a good friend for the last time before she flew back to Spain forever. Beer is a terrible thing. Nothing we could do about any of that now though. Our mission was clear – get a car and get out of this place.

We had no other plans for the day. All we wanted to do was find a car rental place. We got to work straight away, asking the girl who was serving breakfast if she knew if there were any nearby. We ended up having a pretty long chat with her as we told her the story so far while she made us omelettes and waffles. She loved it. No help though as she could only tell us where there used to be one, not where there was one now. We finished our breakfast and planned to head out to the hotel lobby to ask the concierge. The waitress brought us our bill and we remembered that we’d been given vouchers for two free breakfasts when we checked in. When she came back to collect it we apologised and told her we had the vouchers. She just smiled and told us not to worry, someone had already taken care of it for us. We looked around the room to see if someone would gesture to let us know it was them, but no-one did. It was completely amazing to us that someone would do this for us. Finally something to give us a bit of hope that there was some good in Detroit! We still have no idea who the generous breakfast buyer was, but if they ever read this, thank you very much! Another typical example of American people being incredibly friendly towards foreign visitors.

The hotel concierge told us there might be a place in the Renaissance Center and showed us on a map where that was, so we made our way there. Walking down the street in Detroit was an experience – Seeing the steam rising through the manholes from the sewers. We’d only seen things like that in American movies etc, never in real life, and it was the small things like this that really made it hit home that we were in America. Also seeing people standing around on every street corner looking shifty, can only assume they were drug dealers or something. Luckily the walk to the Renaissance Center was a relatively short one.

The Renaissance Center is a diamond in the rough of Detroit. The tall towers looked spectacular from the outside. Inside in the lobby there were new cars on display behind funky rippled glass. It was a hub of activity with a lot of businesspeople, banks, shops and restaurants, and a police guard on the door. We made our way to the Hertz desk, where we found nothing but a few leaflets and a notice with a phone number on it. Our phones were off as we hadn’t remembered to pack chargers. Even if we had, they wouldn’t have worked without an American converter for the plug. Luckily at that exact moment another police guard was making his way past us and was looking at us curiously. He approached us and asked if we wanted to use his phone. Yet more great American hospitality! I accepted and called the number on the notice only to be informed that they didn’t have any cars. Seems like a flaw in the overall business plan of a car rental company. The police guard introduced himself as Henry, and asked us what we needed. We told him we were trying to either rent or buy a car, today, so we could continue our travels. He immediately starts rhyming off the names of a few car rental places on Gratiot Avenue, and along with a friend of his, begins checking Craigslist on his phone to see if there are any cheap cars for sale in the area. His friend even offers to sell us his BMW, but sadly it was a little outside our price range. Henry phones the other rental places for us to check if they have anything available. They say they do, so he tells us which bus to get and where from in order to get out to them on Gratiot. He also finds a couple of cars for sale on Craigslist in the same area as the rental places, and writes down the addresses and phone numbers of the sellers for us – such a great helpful lad!

Detroit's Renaissance Center from Google Images

As we make our way to the bus stop we realise we might need some cash if we end up buying a car off Craigslist, so we try to find an atm. We enter the Renaissance Center again, this time through a different door, which turned out to be a fire escape only. The police guard from the front door saw us doing this and strolled over.

“You guys back again so soon?” He asked. We hadn’t really taken too much notice of him on the way in earlier and had assumed he didn’t take any of us, so this was a strange comment. We tried to just smile and move on, but he was persistent, and asked us what we were looking for. We told him we just needed an atm, and in the ensuing conversation end up telling him that we’re planning to take a bus along Gratiot to rent a car.

“I live just up by there, and I’m finishing in about 20 minutes, I can give you guys a lift if you want?” He says. Normally it would be stupid to accept a proposition like this from a complete stranger, but he was a policeman and seemed trustworthy, and we were pretty apprehensive about having to take a bus, so we accepted. He told us his name was Bryan, and said we should meet him in the foodcourt in about half an hour. He also gave us some tokens for the Detroit People Mover, a monorail that goes around the downtown area. “I like to help people. That’s the problem with this country – too many people are just concerned with me, me, me, my, my, my. Nobody’s looking out for anybody else, it’s disgusting. I like to help people out when I can.” We politely agreed, even though everyone we’d met so far had been exceedingly helpful and friendly to us, and thanked him for the tokens. He showed us where to get on and we left, agreeing to meet him later.

After one lap on the People Mover, from which we saw Comerica Park and Ford Field, the only things we’d heard of in Detroit prior to coming, we went back into the Renaissance Center and found a shop selling disposable cameras. We bought two, then found an atm and withdrew $800 before going to the foodcourt to meet Bryan again. While we’re waiting we spot a sign above one of the fast food restaurants that says “Freshly Brewed Tea” so we go and order some. The girl serving us hands us two plastic cups and directs us to an area with a few different drinks fountains. To our absolute despair we realise that the tea we’d ordered would actually be iced tea. Nightmare, nobody likes iced tea, it’s unnatural. Why would they advertise tea then give us iced tea? Terrible. We eventually get over this nightmarish blunder, and Bryan arrives at the entrance to the foodcourt. We make our way to his car and he tells us more about himself. Apparently he and his wife look after stray dogs, and his dream is to one day build a dog shelter so he can take care of even more. He tells us he just likes to help people and animals and does whatever he can. He never expects anything in return, he just hopes that the people he helps will pass it on to someone else and that therefore the world will become a better place for humanity – paying it forward.

Comerica Park and Ford Field from Wikipedia

While we’re driving along Gratiot he starts to teach me how to drive an automatic car, since it seems that’s all anyone drives there and I’ve only ever driven a manual. He also teaches me some rules of the road including speed limits and the fact that it’s legal to turn right at a red light if it’s safe to do so, something I’d never have found out for myself

Driving along this road was pretty scary. Apparently Detroit used to be a thriving place, when it had the major car manufacturers there and business was booming. Then in the 1970′s there was an oil crisis which devastated the American automotive industry, as Japan was able to produce more fuel-efficient vehicles. This left many people unemployed and as a result crime rates increased and the population dropped leaving a shell of the former city. I’m glad we were with a policeman and not on the bus like we’d originally planned. It was desolate – driving past areas like 8 Mile with its burned out houses, boarded up shops, hopeless looking people standing around. It was like that for about a ten mile stretch of this road, and we were only seeing a small part of the city. We really needed to get a car and get out of Detroit.

Typical example of a burned out abandoned house in Detroit from Google Images

Bryan drove us to two rental places, neither of which would let us rent a car. They both really wanted to help us, but company policy stated that we’d need a credit card since there was history of foreigners renting a car using a debit card then taking the car and closing their bank accounts. Neither of us had a credit card. We offered to leave a cash deposit, or pay extra insurance, anything to try to get them to change their mind. Bryan argued with them and really tried to plead our case for us using his position as an authority figure, but company policy was company policy, we couldn’t rent a car. Our only hope now was the place Henry had looked up on Craigslist, a place called Schumaker’s a few more miles down Gratiot, who had advertised a car for sale.

Bryan didn’t know where the place was exactly, but we eventually found it, parked up and went inside. As Jono and Bryan talked to the receptionist there I went to the bathroom. When I came back they were nowhere to be seen. The receptionist pointed me towards a small building just outside the main building and said they’d gone in there. I walked up to the door and Jono was standing just inside looking very excited.

“Gareth! You have to see this!” He shouted gleefully. The three of us and the car salesman walked outside, through the rows of parked cars right to the back where an obviously old and run-down red pickup truck was parked in the middle of the pathway, not in the rows with the others.

“Look at this! We have to get this!” he laughed. I had to agree. This was just about the most authentic American vehicle we could have hoped for. There was even a print on the back window with a picture of a deer and the words “Give ‘em the shaft” underneath. The car salesman, John, took me out for a test drive in it, telling me it had just arrived in today and the previous owner had been using it without problems right up until today. He assured me that it wouldn’t let us down, depsite being over 16 years old and having almost 200,000 miles on the clock. We drove back into the parking lot and Jono looked at me for some sign of approval. “Seems good, let’s get it!” I say, to his delight, and we go inside to complete the deal.

Our truck outside Schumakers Motors

John took all my details, photocopied my license and got me to sign a few contracts. He then phoned an insurance company and told them all my details – name, date of birth, driving license number, it seemed to be going well. Until they asked for my address. I could hear John telling it to them, then clarifying that it was in Belfast, United Kingdom. This seemed to be causing difficulties with the person on the other end of the line. John told them he’d call them back, and hung up.

“You can’t get insurance without an American address guys. Where are you staying here? Is there anyone you know here whose address you could use..?”

We didn’t know anyone here. Except Savanna, but we couldn’t really call her because the plan was to surprise her. Jono had even gone to such lengths as to block her from viewing his facebook statuses in the hotel that morning so she wouldn’t find out we were here. We were stumped. After trying all day and finally getting so close, it looked like we wouldn’t be getting a car after all.

“You could use my address if you want.”

Bryan had been quietly sitting to the side waiting for us. Heroically, he stepped up one more time, helpful as ever, and let us use his address to buy insurance. Such a great man! With that, we completed the purchase and were ready to drive.

Pics of Car taken in Petoskey by daylight:

1995 Chevrolet S10!

Give 'em the Shaft!

John must have thought all his Christmasses had come at once. Two guys had just arrived in his shop and asked for the worst car he had and agreed to pay $1000 for it, the same day it arrives in his lot. We were happy too though. By this stage it was about 6pm and we’d spent the whole day on this task and we’d finally succeeded. So much appreciation has to go to Bryan though, I can’t even imagine how useless we would have been on our own. I just hope we can repay him some day. Until then we’ll just keep trying to pay it forward. The next American tourists we see in Belfast will be treated to endless beers! Now that we actually had a vehicle morale was at an all time high. We followed Bryan to a Mexican restaurant, where we said our goodbyes and exchanged email addresses. After a quick dinner there the real road trip began. We were on our way to Petoskey!

Keys, map and Mexican sauces prior to heading North

Cheers for all the feedback, got way more views than expected which is pretty cool Part 2 even involves us actually in America! Some pics we scanned in last night included in this one, Gareth was a sensible lad and didn’t lose all his stuff! Again feedback much appreciated as there’s plenty more to come…

A Policeman, A Pimp and a Weirdo Called Jeff, Part 2

NY To Detroit Boarding Pass

When we arrived in JFK airport 7 hours later we were both tired and my hangover was starting to kick in – I’d slept a bit on the flight as I’d binked a window seat. Jono couldn’t sleep so he just enjoyed the complimentary beers, no hangovers when you’re constantly drunk! I think we were both running on pure adrenaline at this point. We follow the signs to the gate where our next flight would be departing from and realise that we have about 45 minutes before we need to do anything. Seems like a perfect length of time to find a bar and get a few more pints in!

We get to the bar and I take a seat between one quite old lady and one who I’d say was about 15 years older than me, while Jono went to the restroom. I order 2 pints and the guy snap asks me for ID. I know you need to be over 21 to order alcohol in America but surely I look old enough, I thought. I’d later find out that they literally ask everyone for ID in that bar. The lady who was about 15 years older than me had to show hers next time she ordered, as did the one on the other side of me who must have been in her sixties at least. You can never be too careful!

Jono returned, taking a seat between me and the old lady, and we enjoyed our beers. He got talking to her, as he does in these situations, and it turns out she was third generation Irish – her grandmother had moved to the USA from Ireland. We were prepared for American people claiming to be Irish and we were ready to harshly inform them that they were in fact not Irish, no matter how many people in their family or friends were from there, had visited, or had ever sipped a Guinness. They were American if they were born here. We couldn’t bring ourselves to give that speech to this lady though, she was too nice. She told us how our story reminded her of her own grandmother’s – leaving Ireland for America on a whim with no plans, and told us several stories about her. Her main point was that in life you always have to be willing to embrace and adapt to new situations. We didn’t plan to stay as long as her grandmother had, or to start a family or anything (although there is a chance that this may have happened, Jono…), but we were happy to hear that she admired our bravery and sense of adventure. We said our goodbyes when we’d finished our beers and went to board our flight to Detroit.

Many people we met on the trip after this point asked us why we didn’t just stay in New York. “You flew into JFK?” They’d ask, “Why didn’t you just stay there?! Why Detroit?” We didn’t really have an answer. We booked it when we were drunk. In hindsight, maybe staying in New York would have been much better.

But alas, that’s not what happened, and an hour and a half later we arrived in Detroit.

Trying to find public transport from Detroit Metro Airport to the city centre turned out to be a problem. After following what we assumed to be the correct signs for a little while, we came to a melée of escalators, staircases and doors to the outside with no more signs around to help us. We stood there looking lost for about 2 seconds before we were approached by the first of many enthusiastically helpful Americans of the trip. Jono had told me that people here would be like this, and it would be instantly proven, as she happily informed us that there wouldn’t be any buses or trains and showed us where we could get a taxi to the city centre.

Since we had no clue where we were going we just jumped in the first taxi we saw and asked the driver to take us to “an area with a lot of hotels and bars.”

“Sounds like Greektown to me,” he says, and we were on our way to the city.

Greektown Casino Hotel Card

At first Greektown looked promising – plenty of people about, bright lights, bars, a casino. Morale was high. We were excited to get out and explore, but also hungry, so we went straight from the taxi into a bar/restaurant called Shotz. Turns out they’re not shy about portion size in America – Jono ordered the wings and I ordered the nachos, each dish could easily have fed a small family. Also worth mentioning that the waitress in this place was one of the hottest girls we saw on the trip, but we didn’t get photos because drunk people don’t pack cameras, sorry. (We’d buy 2 disposable cameras the next day so photos from the rest of the trip will come.) We chatted with her a bit, asked her about Detroit, things to do, hotels etc. She was quite helpful but didn’t fill us with too much hope that we’d have things to entertain ourselves with for 10 days here. We thanked her for her advice and paid our bill.

Paying for things in America is a confusing process as we’d discovered in the bar in JFK. They give you a bill and you give them your card. They return with your card, a pen and a new bill with a space where you’re supposed to write in a tip amount. This was confusing for us because we assumed they’d take the money off the card when they go away with it the first time. How are they supposed to take the tip as well, now that they’ve returned your card? Even now, when the process has been explained to us and we’ve paid many bills this way, we still find it pretty perplexing.

After we paid we checked into the hotel that the waitress recommended and went straight to the room where Jono connected his laptop to the wifi and had the Skype conversation from Part 1. Spurred on by that, and the awe-inspiring view of the city at night from our 24^th floor window, we decided to go and visit some bars immediately.

We’d been given two $10 free bet vouchers for the casino when we checked in, so we planned to take them to the roulette table and see if we could spin up enough money to pay for our night out. Combining our vouchers and letting it ride on red for a few spins seemed like a good plan, and we thought that if we were lucky enough to get to $80 that would be more than enough. The croupier was reluctant to let us do this though, as each voucher only counts as a $10 bet and the minimum wager on even money was $15. No way we were going to fall for that old scam and wager our own money. We argued that our bet was $20 but she wasn’t having it, and went to ask her boss. We were pretty apprehensive at causing the game to be stopped for the other 6 or 7 punters around the table, but some of them seemed to be on our side, shouting at the croupier to just let it slide. The boss comes over, we give him some of our Irish charm, and he lets it go…

“31, Black.”

We make a swift exit away from the angry degenerates whose game we’d slowed and head for the bars.

This was when we’d first realise for ourselves what a terrible place Detroit is. On the short walk between the casino and the first bar we were approached by 3 different homeless beggars, each with a different made-up story about how they weren’t homeless, they were just collecting money for a charity or just needed money for a bus. We truthfully told them that we literally had no US$ cash on us since we’d just arrived (at which point the one “collecting for charity” told us she also accepted Canadian Dollars and Euros, gotta admire the hustle).

We walked down the street looking for somewhere with a bit of atmosphere, but every place we walked past seemed to be empty or about to close for the night. We eventually came across an Irish bar called The Old Shillelagh which had about 4 people in it. As this was the busiest place we’d seen so far so we decided to go in for a drink. The only thing Irish about the place seemed to be the name, the owner had obviously never been in an authentic Irish Pub before, judging by the plain and drab interior. We had a few beers there, having banter with the bar staff and trying the local beers. After a few drinks we decided to try to find somewhere else with a bit more life.

The Old Shillelagh taken from Google Images

“You’ll be back! You won’t find anywhere busier round here to drink!” were the words of the girl behind the bar as we left. She was right. We walked around looking for places, but all we could find was a strip club (that we didn’t go into – there were some seriously scary looking people standing outside) and one German bar, which to be fair was actually ok despite being virtually empty as well. The barman there loved our story, and in an effort to help us showed us the palm of his hand. Pointing to his thumb he says “You’re here, right?” We just looked at him. “You guys have seen this before, yeah?”

We had no idea what he was doing. He was amazed that we hadn’t seen it, and explained that the state of Michigan actually looks a lot like the palm of your right hand. Detroit is down at the base of your thumb and Petoskey, which is where we’d decided to try to get to as Jono knows a girl from there, is at the top of your ring finger. Amazing! We had our own personal maps of Michigan with us this whole time and we never knew. He told us there are buses that will go that general direction, but if we really wanted to travel that kind of distance we’d be better getting a car.

We spent the rest of the night wondering how we could get a car. Would we be able to rent one, considering I’m only 23 and I’ve only had my license for 3 months? Probably not. And in that case, could we possibly buy a cheap second-hand one to use for 8 days?

We went back to the Old Shillelagh, to the delight of the bar staff who’d told us we’d be back, had a few more beers and began, at least in our drunken eyes, to befriend the staff. Thinking they were hugely enjoying our company we suggested (quite loudly) that they remained open and we’d regale them with tales from across the pond. Apparently we weren’t quite as brilliantly charming as we thought, our requests were shot down by the lovely barmaid and the cigar smoking bouncer so it was off to bed. It was decided – The next morning we’d go to a car rental place and see if it was possible for us to rent a car. If not, we’d just have to buy the cheapest car we could get. There were no other options.

No way were staying in Detroit.

Hi all, deleted my old poker entries to allow this to be friendly to poker players and non poker players alike to document my recent trip to America with Gareth.  Below is part one as written by Gareth, we’ll be releasing more and more when we can, any input is great as we’re still writing up the really juicy parts of the trip and we really want this to be something both we can be proud of and that inspires others to take an opportunity and go do something crazy

GAWA9: any1 from detroit itc?

Katie: no detroit

Katie: do u need help with SS or something jono?

GAWA9: nah

GAWA9: went to pub last night

GAWA9: now im in detroit lol

Katie: wait

Katie: wat

GAWA9: yh geniuinely

GAWA9: 24 floors up in a detroit hotel

Katie: wait

Katie: like u went to a bar

Katie: got drunk

jig: (wave)

Katie: and ended up in the USA?

GAWA9: played some pool had some pints and now im here lol

GAWA9: yeh

GAWA9: woke up on the flight to new york

GAWA9: then changed there and came here

Katie: wat LOL

GAWA9: anyway if anyone could message me pub suggestions here sometime that would be amazing

GAWA9: but gonna head out and see whats happenin here for now

Katie: omg

Katie: woooowwwwwwww

GAWA9: !

GAWA9: (h)

Katie: i mean

Katie: this has to be level of some sort

Katie: like maybe you arent actually in Detroit

Katie: maybe they are just telling you that

GAWA9: well theres no buildings this high in ireland

GAWA9:

Katie: LOL

Katie: OMGGGGG

Katie: sick brag about bringing your passport to pub

Katie:

jig: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YSp2KGMQEk8

GAWA9: best part was i lost my passport

GAWA9: wasnt gonna go pub cuz of that

GAWA9: then tim said yeh its dead here theyre bein relaxed

GAWA9: so i went anyway

GAWA9: got drunk

GAWA9: came home and taxi’d to my mums house to find it

Katie: wait so wheres Tim

GAWA9: hes still at home

Katie: so who did you come with

GAWA9: here with my other mate

Katie: lol

Katie: and you dont remember like the airport?

Katie: and security?

GAWA9: yeh i vaguely do

Katie: or paying for your ticket?

Katie: LOL

GAWA9: i phoned my mum at like 9am

GAWA9: to tell her where i was goin

Katie: i mean you have no lugage

GAWA9: and i was in departures

GAWA9: no clothes sigh

Katie: and you dont remember talking to her?

GAWA9: will buy some tomo np

Katie: omg

Katie: this is like sick epic chat right now

jig: LOL

jig: this story sounds hilarious

Katie: im posting a few of these quotes in mttc

Katie: ok with you jono?

GAWA9: actually would be a huge favour to me if you could post them and also say i need tips on what to do round detroit/michigan

GAWA9: dont knwo the first thing about it

GAWA9: just booked one night in a hotel after few pints in the city here

GAWA9: anyway im gonna head out and make some friends with this accent of mine

jig: there all nice rich people, detroit is one of the few thriving citys of america

jig: thats such a cool story tho if not leveling

Katie: im totally posting this LOL

Katie: its tooo funny not to

GAWA9:

GAWA9: right im off to the bars

jig: if i ever get superballer just get wasted and go to airport and wakeup in like russia or something

dthorne04: is this real life

This Skype chat from the hotel was the first contact with people from our daily lives that was made after we got to Detroit. The reaction of complete disbelief and awe was one that would be repeated many times as more people heard the story. I guess getting drunk in a pub in Belfast and booking flights to Detroit leaving in 3 hours time isn’t something normal people do very often. This is the story of the events leading up to the journey, and what happened when we got to the USA with 10 days until our return flight. We call it;

A Policeman, a Pimp, and a Weirdo called Jeff

It was a sweat right from the start as we didn’t know where Jono’s passport was. We’d been out to the pub, gotten back to the apartment and drunkenly started chatting to people on Skype and ChatRoulette on the laptop. In the heat of the moment when Jono’s friend from Michigan unexpectedly went offline, we opened SkyScanner and Jono decides that if it’s cheaper to fly to Detroit and back than it is to fix his broken desktop that he uses for working, then we’ll go. We put the details into SkyScanner and it shows us a route that’s about half the price of a new desktop. We look at eachother each wondering if the other was seriously considering doing this. Neither flinches, in fact we were almost playing a weird game of “flight chicken” to see if the other would back down first and say they didn’t want to go. We were both too drunk and too foolish for that so it was decided, we had to go. This is where the sweat begins. The flight to NYC leaves in 6 hours from Dublin and Jono’s passport is missing. We search his whole apartment to no avail, so we call a taxi and go to his mum’s house.

The taxi driver turns out to be an absolute hero called Tony. He loves the idea and continues to egg us on. We’re still drunk at this point, desperately hoping Jono’s passport is in his mum’s house so we can get the flights booked. It took about 5 minutes to wake up his mum (it was 5am) and when she finially did let him in it took him an age to return the door again. When he did he was holding his passport in his hand and he practically sprinted back to the taxi. A quick stop at my house to pick up my passport and some clothes and then back to Jono’s to get the flights booked! Tony gives us his card before we go in. He knows we’re going to need a taxi to Dublin (about 100 miles from Belfast – there are buses and trains, but none of them would get us there in time to check -in).

We arrive in Dublin about an hour and a half later. Flights are booked and ESTA forms have been completed (Thanks to Doke for helping with those). We approach the boarding pass collection desk, still drunk as Tony the taxi driver let us drink a few tins of Heineken in his car, great lad. The guy there has no record of our booking on his computer, it’s problem. We explain to him that we booked the flights less than 90 minutes ago and that’s probably what’s causing difficulties. He looks at us as if we’d lost our minds and for the first time on the trip we started to consider that maybe we actually had.

When we finially make it through that (the guy went away and came back a few minutes later having found our booking in his system) and airport security, we had to rush to the USA Immigration section and get through that in time to make our flight. The guy I spoke to seemed bemused but remained serious at all times.

He asked me where I was going.

“Detroit,” I told him.

“And where are you staying in Detroit, sir?”

“The Mariott hotel.” I said, confidently. We hadn’t booked anything, but had anticipated that we might be asked this question so we had a consistent answer ready.

“The Mariott? Do you have the address?”

Uh oh. No idea. “Errr no.. we’re just going to find it when we get there.. get in a taxi…”

He didn’t like that answer. “Do you know how many Mariotts there are in Detoit..?” He interrupted.

I didn’t answer his rhetorical question. He seemed angry now. He went on to ask me how much money I had.

“Err, no cash.. I was just planning to use my debit card when I arrived..”

He didn’t like that answer either. I think he’s starting to figure out that we’re not like the hundreds of other people he interviews every day and that we hadn’t planned this at all.

“And what do you do for a living?”

I’d been dreading this question, but Jono assured me it would be fine since online poker isn’t available in America so we’d have to come back if we wanted to continue our jobs.

He seemed satisfied in the end and eventually let me though, about 5 minutes after I’d seen Jono stroll through, he must have had a much less inquizitive interviewer. I think they just want to test you to see if you’re nervous or suspicious in any way, and we were able to easily give honest (if idiotic) answers to all their questions so they had to let us go. Bar one stop after that where we were “randomly” selected for further searching, (Sure was random. She looked at my passport, told me I’d been randomly selected. Looked at Jono’s – Oh, he’s been randomly selected as well. Right.) we were almost ready to board the flight to New York JFK. We had a few minutes to spare though, so obviously we went to a bar to get a couple more pints in. Jono paid for them at the till using his debit card, and actually left it on the desk before he walked over to the table with a pint in each hand. We vaguely hear them call his name over the tannoy and he has to go back to the security place to collect it. Suffice to say it would have been disastrous if we arrived in America to find we’d lost that. We make a few calls from the bar – Jono phones his mum to apologise for waking her and to explain what was going on, then calls our friend James. We ask him to Google the address of a Mariott in Detroit in case we get asked that again when we arrive, and also to search for the location of some Amish people anywhere near where we were going. He quickly provided both, saying the Mariott is on Renaissance Drive and the Amish live in Centreville. We thank him, finish our pints and head for the plane.