Bizarre scenes on the road

Writing about the Carolina Panthers the past two weeks meant being on the road most of Christmas Eve and all of New Year’s Eve. Christmas Eve was I-85, New Year’s Eve the Olde Absinthe House and the French Quarter.

I-85 was more bizarre.

Bourbon Street was what it was supposed to be. I don’t like Bourbon Street. Bourbon Street is tourists walking and drinking. But the Olde Absinthe House is a great bar even though it’s on Bourbon, so what can you do?

Down the street came thousands of revelers, men and women in masks, women in outrageous outfits and enough Notre Dame fans (the Fighting Irish play in the Sugar Bowl) to make you want to genuflect. There was dancing in the streets, and the obligatory offers of beads for a glance at body parts.

As if to remind us we were in New Orleans, a wholesome looking woman of about 40 would walk out one of the bar’s open doors to the street. Whomever accompanied her would bend over and grab a post for support, and the woman would lightly spank him (or her) while her friends filmed the scene with a video recorder. Then she’d return to the bar. She started spanking friends and then moved to strangers, each of whom volunteered. (I merely observed. That’s what reporters do.)

The longer the night went, the more crowded and charged and full of police officers the streets became. When I got off the elevator Monday morning in my hotel on the edge of the Quarter to grab a cab to the airport, the festivities had yet to end.

New Year’s Eve in New Orleans was supposed to be odd. I-85 was not.

I-85 was crowded when we left the Georgia Dome about 7 p.m. Christmas Eve. But by the time we hit South Carolina, traffic had thinned.

Yet we moved slowly because several drivers in the left lane moved slightly above or at or below the speed limit. Other nights, you can flash your bright lights and hope the driver realizes he or she single-handedly is undoing the freeway system.

But we sensed the offending drivers did not get out much. And it’s tough to justify hitting your brights on Christmas Eve.

Almost every business we passed was closed, but not unlike using the stars on a night so long ago, we had lights to guide us. Our lights were provided by Waffle House.

At about 9:15, we stopped at a convenience store off the freeway in South Carolina. There was no town, at least none that we could see, just a store. I picked up the traditional Christmas Eve feast of a bottle of water and power bar made of chocolate, nuts and cardboard.

As we pulled out of the parking lot, we noticed another store. It had crazy or insane in the title – you know, Crazy Zack’s or something like that. Crazy Zack’s Fireworks was so full of light and energy it looked like, well, the Fourth of July over there. The red OPEN light blinked, and I swear there were cars in the lot.

To me, this was more bizarre than anything I saw on Bourbon Street. Why would a store selling fireworks be open at 9:15 on Christmas Eve? Do little kids in this part of the state send Santa a letter asking for toys, world peace and a cherry bomb?

Maybe Zack isn’t so crazy. Most of the kids I know love firecrackers. Tell me they wouldn’t make great stocking stuffers. Hang the stocking next to the fireplace, throw in a log, crank up the heat, and I guarantee Christmas comes early, as does the fire department.

Comments

[lee]

what a pointless blurb....I want my 2 minutes back.

[JDUB]

Who cares about this guys road trip? Quit complaining, your a writer you cry baby. What do you expect? Why don't you go write about something more depressing over seas than "have" to write about the Panthers...what a job...and your complaining about it.