Red Line Sunset

I get a rare chance to relive the past.  

 

  Pirate Press            September 2023  

The John Grisham of Russian Readership*

No matter how long I live, I don't think I'll ever fully understand (or anticipate) the curve balls that life tends to throw at us. 

CASE IN POINT: Earlier this Summer, I spotted my old 2006 Saturn Ion Red Line at a nearby gas station. I watched it come and go and had that familiar twinge of regret, wondering if selling it three years ago was a mistake? I recounted the experience to my wife, underscoring how surreal it felt to hear it speed away from the ears of a bystander instead of the ears of the owner. Yet, it somehow sounded buzzy and not at all like the deep, baritone growl that I remembered. I've heard of viewing memories through rose colored glasses but I wondered if that also applies to ears as well as eyes? Like, do things even sound different than how you recall them?

 

And if I could do it all over again would I still sell it?

 

I last chronicled my Red Line in 2017, when it rolled over 100,000 miles. In 2020, I ditched it after I bought the Fusion, justifying the sale by pointing out how many items needed replacing and how that would have handily exceed the value of the car. Essentially, I'd be investing way more into it than it was worth, so I took the pragmatic approach and sold it. In short order, it needed: a new transmission, new clutch and new tires, or roughly $5000 in parts and labor for a vehicle with a book value of $2000. And given that it still had all original parts, I knew that eventually the a/c compressor, starter, fuel pump and water pump would fail.

 

But, I wasn't reunited with the Red Line by mere happenstance. No, it was an otherwise, ordinary Saturday and Amanda and I were headed to Ocean Springs to pick up some special Adidas for Victoria's Perkette Training Camp. We'd encountered one of those odd, afternoon thunder storms where it was raining and sunny at the same time. During that strange weather occurrence, I've often heard people remark that "The Devil's beating his wife." Now, having the inquisitive (and some might say warped) mind that I do, I naturally was curious about the origins of that expression. Typically, aged aphorisms are usually somewhat logical but I couldn't wrap my head around that one so I went looking for the genesis of the declaration I've been hearing all my life.

Upon further research, I found out that it can actually be traced back to Greek mythology circa 700 B.C. Not surprisingly, even that far back the phrase originated due to a woman's jealousy, proving that couples have been fighting ever since Eve got us kicked out of Eden. According to the fable, Zeus tricked Hera into believing he was marrying someone else and in a fit of jealousy she created a heavy downpour on the wedding day. However, Hera soon discovered the ruse and quickly turned her tears into laughter, creating the clash of rain and sunshine.

 

It's little wonder that other cultures around the world have adopted similar stories to explain the unusual phenomenon with people in Spain referring to it as "The Witches are combing their hair." In Estonia, it's described as "Orphans' Tears", where the sun is the grandmother drying those tears. And in Germany they proclaim it as "A Feast Day in Hell." Finally, Hawaii calls it "Ghost Rain" which sounds like an Anime anthology.

 

But, I digress. 

However, my point being that the pavement was wet from this sunshower when a vehicle approached an intersection in front of us. Apparently confused, they stopped, pulled out, and then stopped again with me barreling down on them at 60+ mph. I hit the brakes and felt the ABS kick in, but it made little difference on the slick pavement. 

 

There was a split-second realization that we were going to hit them, but as funny as it sounds, I wasn't concerned for my safety. I never doubted that the Fusion wouldn't protect us as were were wearing our seat belts and were surrounded by air bags. No, I was angry because I knew the insurance company would total the Fusion and I wouldn't get anything even remotely close to its value for the pittance of a payout I'd receive. 

However, the story doesn't end there.

At the proverbial last second, the stationary vehicle abruptly accelerated and just managed to move out of our way as we narrowly missed it. Disaster averted, I exhaled and reflected on how lucky we were. But a few miles down the road, the battery light suddenly came on and it seemed we'd exchanged one automotive problem for another. 

 

In the 12-month ownership report of the Fusion I discussed replacing the battery, so I knew it was barely two years old and shouldn't be having any issues. Despite that, we got off at an exit and I doubled-back to the nearest AutoZone to have it checked. Unfortunately, they weren't much help as the employee insisted that I had to turn the vehicle off and I refused given that I knew I might not get it started again. Ironically, their portable jump-box wasn't charged either so I left without a complete diagnosis. 

On the drive back home, the Fusion's condition deteriorated rapidly with an array of dashboard lights that strobed frighteningly at me. I tried to keep my eyes on the road, but I distinctly remember both the "ABS" and "Traction Control" symbols as well as some others I'd never seen before (and didn't recognize). Acceleration became more erratic and it wouldn't shift out of fourth gear resulting in a deafening drone of 4500 rpm at 60 mph. Of course, my Sport model does have the manual "SelectShift" option, but I was concerned that trying to physically upshift or downshift might cause further damage and the last thing I wanted was to have to pay for a new transmission, too.

So while the whole car was essentially uncooperative, mercifully the A/C continued to work as it was a sweltering 90-degree day and would have made for an (even more) unpleasant ride home.

 

Sure enough, it refused to start after I parked it, so I just left it in the garage. And that's when I called my brother-in-law, fully aware of all the begging/cajoling/pleading that would be required to borrow back my Saturn after a 36-month absence. Truthfully, slinking back to the Red Line made me feel like a deadbeat husband who had abandoned it after being seduced by a flashier, newer model. 

 

But my pride had a price, and it clearly didn't involve paying nearly $100 daily to rent an under-powered Nissan Versa from Enterprise! Unbelievably, that's what the average post-Covid rental price is now versus the $35 per day I spent on a Hyundai Accent in 2017. 

 

Truthfully, I was excited to get back behind the wheel of the Red Line and relive some of those great memories. Unfortunately, I didn't fully grasp just how much time had actually passed and it was heartbreaking to say the least. For the 10 years in my possession, it was always garaged but the past 3 years of it sitting outside in the unforgiving elements had really taken a heavy toll. The previously shiny black exterior pieces were now bleached a dull gray and even the famous Red Line insignia was so faded it wasn't even an actual red line anymore. But, worst of all was a freak hail storm a month earlier that had pock-marked the Saturn's hood, roof and trunk with marble-sized dents. 

Inside, it wasn't much better as the foot wells were caked with mud and grime, and it looked as though it hadn't been cleaned since I handed over the keys in 2020. There were a couple pairs of cheap sunglasses in the back seat, random change and coins in the cup holders, and even the desiccated remains of a tiny tree frog who had become a permanent passenger. During my time with the Red Line, the deceased amphibian stowaway became such an enduring fixture that I simply nicknamed it "Kermit" (although I didn't want to be guilty of assuming it's gender).

 

But the most pleasant surprise was the Recaro seats, which regardless of the considerable wear still remained as snug and comfortable as I remembered. Likewise for the special Italian leather shifter boot and emergency brake boot that I'd custom-ordered and installed— both looked almost brand new despite over 10 years of daily abuse.

 

On the downside, there were constant, annoying reminders that this vehicle was designed two decades ago by the lack of now-common features such as an outside temperature gauge or a backup camera. To that end, a rear camera would be particularly helpful since the high-mounted rear wing does such a great job of blocking nearly half the view out the back window. 

 

Similarly, the clutch creaked and was heavy, and fifth gear had pulled an Elvis and permanently exited the room. So, that only left four forward gears and one very uncooperative reverse gear. It takes steely nerves to endure the cacophony and vibrations of the engine at 80 mph on the highway. But aside from that, the only other mechanical casualty was the original a/c compressor which finally succumbed last summer. Thankfully, he replaced it with a new unit that wasn't as effective as the OEM part but still managed to get the job done. 

 

Likewise for the generic tires, which were a poor substitute for the B.F. Goodrich G-Force I used. They didn't look good or grip well, but did provide an acceptable barrier between myself and the asphalt, which I suppose is all that really mattered. 

 

Admittedly, the best thing about the Red Line was the light weight (2,800 lbs.) and 300+ hp four-cylinder so I was eager to experience that again. Yet after a brief third gear pull from 60 to 90 mph, I was underwhelmed and wondered if my memories of that too had been unduly influenced by nostalgia? Or had time and wear simply dulled the performance that I remember? 

 

However, I convinced myself that while it was loud, crude and rode like an ox cart, at the end of the day it was still free so I should be content with that. And while I try to limit using the A/C in the Fusion to only when absolutely necessary, I never missed an opportunity to run it full blast in the Saturn.  

 

But a few days into my time with it, it suddenly began acting up one morning. In fact, it was bucking and surging so badly that I thought I might have accidentally left the emergency brake on. And then the "Check Engine" light started glowing menacingly at me so I knew something serious had happened. My mind instantly snapped to the cruel irony that my brother-in-law had neglected this car for three years and it waited to break right when I borrowed it back!

 

Unfortunately, the situation failed to improve over the next few days as the misfiring continued. Even worse, it was taking a terrible toll on the fuel economy, dragging it down to an abhorrent 13 MPG and costing me $20 per day in gas. Suddenly, it was as if I was driving the Ferrari again, but without any of the redeeming qualities like the gorgeous Italian bodywork or razor-sharp acceleration. So, in a desperate attempt to temporarily appease it's petulant nature, I threw a 16 oz. bottle of VP Racing Madditive at it, but even the high-octane elixir failed to change it's angry disposition. 

 

 

By this point, I wanted to believe that all the Fusion needed was a new battery since it would be so much simpler and cheaper to fix. But numerous trips to have the battery tested and charged confirmed my worst fears and they all pointed towards needing a new alternator. Of course, a failed alternator at just 65K seemed ridiculous but it followed my bad luck and validated the existence of Murphy's Law. 

 

 

Naturally, the alternator's expense was a concern but the major problem was the labor required to remove and replace it, as it's the meristem of the entire car's electrical structure. Once again, my maxim of always buying the largest and most powerful motor available came back to haunt me as the 3.5-liter V6 is crammed sideways in the engine bay and nothing is easy to access. After the AutoZone rep confirmed it was the alternator, he simply shook his head and admitted he didn't even know how someone could reach it to change it. Obviously, that didn't boost my confidence in the matter but it had to be done regardless. 

 

A call to the local Ford dealer revealed that they wanted $450 for the alternator, but Rock Auto once again came through with the lowest price, saving me $200 on the exact same Motorcraft part. I ordered it on Sunday and by Thursday it had arrived. My brother-in-law, Clint, whom I borrowed the Red Line from, volunteered to swap it for me and I certainly wasn't going to refuse his charitable act. 

 

 

 

He determined that the alternator was best accessed from underneath and with the front passenger tire removed, so the Fusion went up on jack stands. My modest selection of assorted tools sufficed until he got down to actually trying to remove the alternator and he ran into a small 5mm stud holding it in place. Now, I don't know if any of my dear readers have ever used such a tiny wrench before, but it was literally impossible to find one. I checked all the auto parts and hardware stores and they each stopped at 6mm, just shy of what I needed. We even raided every tool stash (parents, friends, etc.) we could think of to no avail. I told Clint that locating that wrench was harder than finding an honest politician, but he finally managed to prevail with a minuscule socket set. However, to fully take out the alternator required dropping the entire engine cradle. And that necessitated just the opposite of the mini tools we had been working with, which was a massive 21mm deep well socket. Naturally, I had a 19mm that I used on the Fusion's lug nuts, but of course it was too small by the narrowest of margins. Fortunately, Advance Auto had one in stock so I bought it, knowing full well I'd probably never use it again in my life.

 

Upon hearing of our distress, Amanda's friend Tammy ordered me a 5mm wrench off Amazon. Even with Prime shipping it came in too late to use, but I now have one if the need ever arises again. (Which it better not!)

And to keep things interesting, the new alternator proved to be just as difficult to put back on as it was to take off. It took 30 minutes of Rubik's Cube-like manipulation to get it squeezed back into place from under the car. But once that was done, the bottom retaining bolt absolutely refused to screw back in, protesting as if it was hitting up against an invisible object. After 30 more minutes of finagling with it, Clint was about to give up when it suddenly slide right into place like there had never been any obstruction. (BELOW: If it's this hard to see the new alternator, you can imagine how difficult it was to change it!)

 

 

Out of an abundance of caution, and before he reattached the plastic wheel well and under-body cover, he wanted me to try and start it just to make sure that everything worked. I climbed inside, turned the key and after a couple cycles the engine caught and roared to life. I was ecstatic, but Clint was furiously motioning for me to kill the engine. Somewhat perplexed, I nonetheless obeyed but wondered if he'd sensed something wrong and that was why he was so desperate for me to shut it off?

 

I quickly hopped out and walked around to the front of the Fusion only to witness an enormous black oil spill splattered all over my pristine garage floor. Now, I'm the type of person who can't stand a single drop of stray motor oil on my driveway, so the sight of this nearly sent me into catatonic shock. The day before, Clint had removed the oil filter for easier access to the alternator and had simply forgotten to screw it back on before I started it. I frantically checked the dipstick and was relieved to see a tiny amount of oil on the lowest marker indicating we had just narrowly avoided an engine meltdown. Even so, the Fusion had lost nearly two-thirds of it's oil capacity and it took three full quarts the following day to bring it back up to its normal operating range. 

 

But while the Fusion was finally back on the road, all my attempts at resuscitating the Saturn had proven fruitless. I felt terrible returning it to Clint in its ailing condition— especially after all he'd just done for me— but I also didn't want to spend several hundred dollars on a car that wasn't mine, particularly with no guarantee that it would fix it.  

 

He shrugged it off and claimed that with the high mileage, it was probably just an ignition coil or spark plug that needed replacing, so I felt relieved that he wasn't overly concerned about it. 

 

The next morning, I dutifully trekked to our local auto parts store and picked up the aforementioned three quarts of cheap motor oil. I felt this would be enough to fill the crankcase and get me to Mobile where I could buy a gallon of Mobil 1 to properly change the Fusion's oil. However, I quickly discovered that "cheap oil" should be an oxymoron in that even the least-expensive 5w-20 was now $6 per quart. Heck, it wasn't that long along that I could get premium Royal Purple for $7 per quart but apparently those pre-Covid prices are now as extinct as the dinosaurs that generated it. 

 

The following day, I set up a cookout and invited Clint as appreciation for all the hard work on the Fusion. But when he arrived he informed me that neither new plugs nor fresh ignition coils corrected the misfire and he suspected it might be a blown head gasket. I really hated hearing that and felt responsible, but he said he was just going to sell it AS-IS and not worry about trying to fix it (even if he did throw me under the bus in the Craigslist ad.)

 

 

But the bad news didn't end there, as when Amanda's sister went to leave she suddenly noticed that something had shattered the entire rear window of her 2019 Buick Enclave. There was a tiny hole in the center of the glass where the object had struck it, and the rest had spidered and splintered all over the driveway. Although there was no way to determine exactly what happened, my neighbor had been mowing past it earlier and kids often race by on their four-wheelers so either could have been the culprit that slung up the offending projectile. We definitely had an encounter with an Unidentified Flying Object (UFO) but it wasn't extraterrestrial as far as I can tell. 

 

So, if you've made it to this point in the article I guess you're asking what's the big ecumenical precept I learned from all of this?

 

I suppose it's to simply live life without any regrets. Few of us are ever given a chance to relive a significant decision like I made by selling the Red Line which I'd owned for ten years. As humans, we're plagued and tormented by the daily choices we make and too often we second-guess ourselves with needless recriminations. I'm fortunate to see that getting rid of the Saturn was the right thing to do. That being said, I'm fully aware that serendipity rarely shines on us in such a favorable fashion and I was extremely lucky.   

 

The other painful life lesson is things will invariably break with no warning or reason as the Fusion and Saturn both did. But with the Fusion's third birthday coming up in October, I certainly hope this is the last mechanical malady for a long, long time!  

 

IT LIVES AGAIN!!! (E.T. not included)

                

*My BFF thought it was cool that Pirate Press was so well-received "behind the Iron Curtain" and that with it's popularity I could be like John Grisham in Russia. I laughed and told him I'd be sure to take credit for that in my next article! 

 

World Star

 Embarrassing Myself Across The Globe. 

 

Pirate Press               July 2023

Back in 1990 when I cranked out the first Pirate Press I never imagined that (for better or worse) one day people from all over the earth would be reading it.

It was always meant as a small, private newsletter just for my closest friends—those who affectionately knew me as a nerd that loved cars, computers and female porn stars. 

Thirty-three years later, I like to think I'm still the same nerd but Pirate Press has certainly outgrown that tiny computer lab at South Alabama where it was created. In fact, the campus has expanded so much now that I doubt I could even find it again.

Recently, I peeked at the Google analytics of my blog for the first time and was astonished to see visits from literally every country in the world. In fact, some geographic locations were so small that, like my hometown, were simply filed under "Other" or "Unknown Region". 

Naturally, I was tremendously humbled that my silly ramblings were reaching the remotest parts of the world but I was even more shocked to have not [yet] received any hate mail or death threats. Surprisingly, the unsolicited comments that have been left are all positive (See Below). 

Of course, my biggest readership (33%) comes from the U.S., but constituting second place is Russia with 14% and could potentially indicate that Anna Kournikova is a fan. I felt that maybe sheer population and land mass might explain the order of viewership but that formula didn't compute with minuscule France coming in third highest. Likewise, Canada which is second to only Russia in total area, placed a lowly seventh behind China, Germany and the Ukraine. It also seems as if the kangaroos are not admirers since enormous Australia was second to last with less than 1%. That's disappointing as I've always relished authentic experiences from The Land Down Under like Crocodile Dundee and eating at Outback Steakhouse. Finally, a chunk the size of Europe was simply labeled "Other" (like a gender-confused individual) leaving me to only speculate at the possible locations.

The statistics for my page views are similarly skewed since up until 2018 I was mostly emailing my articles. It was only after I quit the bank from which account I was sending out Pirate Press that I began posting the stories and backdating them to fit the timeline. Even so, it shows the most active day in the history of my blog to be June 30th 2016 when it received 506 unique page views. This is quite puzzling as I always release new issues on the first of the month so this activity on the final day of the month makes no sense. Furthermore, Music City Madness, the article released on June 1st 2016 didn't even record it's most views until over two years later on Halloween 2018. 

And although my favorite article is probably Cat Scratch Fever from 2020, my all-time most viewed one is an evaluation of an Aeroforce Interceptor Scan Gauge from June 2012. It has shown amazing relevance and longevity with spikes in views during 2013, 2015 and 2016. It also enjoyed a renewed interest as late as Fall 2021 with it pulling in the most views in five years. Not surprisingly, my least viewed article is also the oldest, a six-month review of Windows 7. It generated no views from 2013-2015 but then saw a spurt of activity in the summer of 2016 and 2018. As of this writing in June 2023, it was last viewed on May 31, 2021. Of course, that's understandable as not many people are interested in reading about a 14 year-old operating system.    

I've also found the computers used to be nearly as fascinating as the countries they originate from. Obviously, Windows dominates the market share with roughly 73% and Linux trails behind at 17%. Following that, it's just a handful of random mobile operating systems such as iPhone and Android, and it's amusing to imagine someone perusing my pages whist perched on a toilet somewhere. But most humorous is the single reader who's still using Windows NT, an OS that first debuted in 1993! Obviously, it must be from some third-world country, but sadly the analytics don't tell me where.

Likewise, the web browsers employed are similarly intriguing with Chrome taking the top spot at 32%. However, Firefox edged (no pun intended) out the win over IE by the slimmest of margins—just 400 page views (30% to 29%). Safari was a distant fourth with only 5% and Opera was even further back in fifth at 2%. But unbelievably, 27 readers were still using Netscape, my favorite browser from the 1990s. And a bunch of alternative browsers I've never even heard of rounded out the bottom with names like NS8, Maxthon, Iron, Konqueror, Dragon, YaBrowser and Trident.  

As promised, here's three 100% honest, completely unfabricated reader comments I've received over the years that shall, in the sole pursuit of journalistic integrity, remain totally anonymous: 

"The writing in Pirate Press gets right to the point and is sharper than a Stingray barb!"

 — S. Irwin, The Great Barrier Reef (Australia)

"Pirate Press is hotter and more exciting than a Thermobaric Rocket striking a Ukraine schoolhouse!" 

— V. Putin, The Kremlin (Moscow)

"The articles are breathtaking and always feature an explosive ending!"

— S. Rush,  Oceangate Titan (North Atlantic Sea Floor)

Finally, it's quite heartwarming and enlightening to see such positive feedback from my extended reader base all over the world. And thanks to the advances in technology over the past couple decades, it's now possible for my trivial musings to offend people everywhere!

   

 

Tragic Kingdom

Suicidal Drivers, Devil Worship and Food Poisoning at the Happiest Place on Earth.

 

  Pirate Press             May 2023  

Celebrating 33 Years In Publication

For better or worse, 2023 was the fourth and final year Victoria would attend UDA's National Dance Competition at Disney World. It also meant it was our last time with her as a high-school student which, quite frankly, was heart-breaking. However, she didn't share the same sentimentality, as over the five days we were there we barely saw her outside her two dance routines at ESPN's Wide World of Sports arena. Not coincidentally, the other times we saw her was when she wanted food, money, or both. Otherwise, she was with her coach and teammates living her best life ordering (among other things) a $40 Filet Mignon at Chef de France, a $65 buffet at The Crystal Palace and gigantic 31-ounce (Trenta) Starbucks drinks, all of which she happily charged to my account.

 

But, the week before as we were preparing to go to Disney, Amanda noticed a rattling and lack of cooling from the Santa Fe's air conditioner. A quick diagnosis revealed that two of the coolant hoses had mysteriously ruptured and would require replacement. But that wasn't the bad news; No, the bad news was that to replace the hoses and recharge the system was going to cost $900. And the worst news was that due to the global supply-chain shortage, the parts were back-ordered. 

 

Having last driven my green Saturn SC2 for two summers without air-conditioning, I was fully prepared for the trip to Disney sans A/C, but my daughter and wife (obviously) felt otherwise. Victoria cheerfully volunteered her new car, but being a sport compact it was short on luggage space and I didn't want to put the 1,200 miles of wear-and-tear on it. I just recently paid for her Forte's first oil change at the dealer and it was a $100 affair. Excluding the Ferrari, it's the most I've ever paid for an oil change, but is mandatory given Kia's new policy that synthetic oil must be used to maintain the factory warranty. Sadly, it's a shameless cash grab by the manufacturer, but unfortunately there's little resistance to be had from us if we want to keep the automotive coverage intact.

 

That left the Fusion as our sole means of transportation to Orlando. Naturally, I was fine with it, but warned Amanda and Victoria that they were essentially trading luggage space for air-conditioning. At 16.5 cubic feet, the Fusion's overall trunk volume actually matches that of some full-size BMW and Mercedes sedans, but a factory amp and deep rear speakers create a very low ceiling. Hence, there would be no piling of suitcases on top of each other, as is our preferred method in the spacious Santa Fe. Instead, I cautioned Victoria that some luggage might have to ride beside her in the back seat. Fortunately, after some creative Tetris-style stacking at 4 a.m., I managed to squeeze everything in the trunk right before we left.

 

Shortly thereafter, we departed in a convoy with five other vehicles behind us. One of the dance moms, whom I'll call Trixie, had quite the heavy foot reputation and openly bragged about it prior to leaving. Not one to publicly boast about my driving mastery, I privately told Amanda that we'd soon find out just how skillful Trixie really was. 

 

All agreed, a 555-mile trip to Lake Buena Vista is a marathon slog, not a quick sprint, entangled by three massively busy interchanges— Interstate 10, Interstate 75 and Florida's infamous Turnpike. So it was going to take patience, persistence, endurance (and a little bit of luck) to maintain the quickest pace over that enormous distance which would admittedly be complicated by compulsory stops for food, fuel and, of course, bathroom breaks.

 

Given the early hour, it was still dark, rainy and foggy, a terrible trifecta when you have a 7+ hour haul ahead of you and five bloodthirsty constituents behind you, each eager for the infamy and bragging rights of being the leader. 

However, while they were all piloting heavy, ponderous SUVs, the Fusion was a Formula One car in comparison— light, agile and quick. Some of the thirsty V8s may have made slightly more power on paper, but there was no denying that the Fusion had the best overall power-to-weight ratio. It also averaged 25 mpg, an impressive feat given that the speedometer rarely fell below 85 mph and the parasitic A/C ran for the duration of the trip. Incidentally, the EPA Highway rating for the 2.5-liter 4 cylinder Fusion is only 29 mpg, so I was fine sacrificing 4 mpg for an extra 90 horsepower!

 

 

Observing the Navy Seal's mantra of "Slow is Smooth, Smooth is Fast" I drove with surgeon-like precision and gradually saw their headlights diminish behind me. Our first stop was the new Buc-ee's travel center in Robertsdale, Alabama, just a stone's throw from the Florida state line. Not only were we the first to arrive, but we were one of the first customers in the whole parking lot. While Buc-ee's is insanely popular during the summer months and on holidays, apparently it's not so busy on a random February morning at 6 a.m. 

 

About 10 minutes later, the rest of our caravan pulled in and the banter quickly switched to the fast getaway I made with rhetorical jokes of "Where's Chip?" and responses of "He's already made it to Disney!" I modestly laughed but it was clear that a new pecking order had been established. Likewise, I was determined to maintain that pole position, so we were also the first to leave for our next destination— Tallahassee, which was 3 long hours away.

 

Unfortunately, I was accompanied by three dashboard alerts that served no other purpose than to annoy me for the lengthy trip. I've long maintained that today's sophisticated cars are burdened with a lot of useless sensors, and with the Fusion being the most modern I've owned, it's clearly the worst. It started with a "Tire Pressure Sensor Fault" that at first glance alarmed me because I thought a tire was going flat, something that would immediately cannibalize our precious lead. But thankfully, it turned out to be a problem with the actual sensor and not the tire itself. However, the Fusion's Tire Pressure Monitoring System is perhaps the most useless in existence since it only informs of a problem if the air pressure drops below 25 percent of the recommended PSI. In other words, it knows the amount of air in each tire, but there's no way to access that information for preventive maintenance; I still have to periodically check it. 

 

The other two equipment warnings, a "Cross Traffic System Fault" and a "Check Rear Park Aid" were both traced to—Believe It or Not!— a blown speaker. Yes, I've heard of some stupid causes for equipment malfunctions but this one definitely takes the cake! 

 

As mentioned earlier, the Fusion is my first car to be encumbered by a phalanx of safety features that would make Ralph Nader proud. And apparently they're all tied to a tiny speaker the size of a quarter under the rear shelf in the trunk. Well, for whatever reason, this speaker died and the system freaked out because it couldn't issue any audible alerts when the car is in reverse or a vehicle is in my blind spot. So, like a nagging Jewish Mother it reminded me every few seconds that those two devices weren't working by broadcasting a different, yet still aggravating chime. 

 

 

 

After our trip, I changed the part myself and was stunned at what the procedure costs at the Ford stealership. One Fusion owner paid $150 for the part and $500 labor to install it. As you can see above, the OEM part was $15 off Amazon and it literally took me five minutes to replace it. However, I've read horror stories about replacing the speaker in the Hybrid model due to the EV battery being stored in the same area. Thankfully, I avoided both the Fusion Hybrid and All-Wheel-Drive Sport version due to the added weight and complexity, and it sure has saved me a lot of money and headaches.     

 

When Amanda and Victoria volunteered me to drive the Fusion, I was initially excited because it meant the 15-hour round trip would be covered under the watchful eye of my Escort radar detector. However, this elation was short-lived as Amanda became increasingly annoyed by the constant K-Band false alarms generated by the blind spot monitoring systems on other vehicles. Typically, it's not a big deal for me as I rarely come across them on my daily, rural commute. But in more prosperous areas with a preponderance of new cars like we encountered, there was almost always some vehicle triggering it. In fact, it got so bad that I just eventually shut it off as it was virtually useless. So, for the remainder of the trip going down and back, I had to depend solely on Waze to warn me where the radar traps were.

 

And as we made it to the Florida Turnpike, I began to see the Toll Booths I despise so much. Granted, taking the Turnpike shaves nearly an hour off our trip but I still resent having to pay for a highway system that was originally free when it was built in 1957. Perhaps taking lessons from Disney on how to monetize everything, the Florida legislature passed a bill in 1990 allowing revenue to be collected for the first time. $123 million was seized from motorists that year and it has grown to a staggering $956 million in 2016, the most recent financial year on record. Given the post-Covid surge in travel, I'm sure annual income has eclipsed the Billion dollar mark now, but they're still seeking more ways to boost their corporate coffers. Hence, the creation of a "Toll Plaza", their clever euphemism for literal highway robbery. Merriam-Webster defines a Plaza as "an open area usually located near urban buildings and often featuring walkways, trees and shrubs, places to sit, and sometimes shops" which Florida's Toll Plazas are clearly not. Instead, they're now completely automated and manned by dozens of closed-circuit, high-definition cameras that aside from license plate recording can be used for a variety of insidious injustices like illegal face recognition and vehicle tracking. 

 

After a 2019 trip to Dallas in which I accidentally used portions of a Toll Road, I was sent several fines in the mail totaling more than $20. Of course, it was the principle and not the insignificant monetary amount that had me so angry. After all, if I was going to illegally use a Toll Road I would driven it for the entire distance, not just a couple miles. But disputing it was a dead end, so I began researching the best ways to foil Toll cameras when traveling. I considered using a car dealership temporary tag or a fancy license plate cover that obscures it from certain angles but both of those could land me in legal hot water if I was pulled over. The best suggestion came from a member on the Ferrari forum who suggested simply mounting a bike rack. I admitted that it was a good idea but pointed out that it would take years of Tolls before I'd ever break even after buying a brand new bike rack. And while I was irate and vindictive, I simply wasn't that patient. Ironically, the perfect solution was provided by the same organization which seeks to enforce those nasty tolls: The Highway Patrol. That's right, when Amanda and I renewed our drivers licenses in 2020, they no longer allowed us to list our post office box and instead insisted we use our physical address. It was fine by me, and since we have no mail box at our house, all correspondence with that address gets rejected and returned to the sender. For that reason, we haven't gotten a single Toll charge in three years despite going through multiple ones each time we visit Disney or anywhere else. In short, if the citation can't be delivered, we legally can't be held liable for it!         

But, after completing 7 hours of intense driving (and proudly still maintaining first place) an incident occurred just a few miles from our destination that I doubt any of us will ever forget. I always feel like once we finally get off the terrible Turnpike that the worst is behind us, but this time I was clearly premature in that assumption. We were on State Road 536 and traffic was fairly heavy. I was in the left lane, giving cursory glances to the vehicles behind me when I noticed the red Civic. The crimson paint was striking and stood out in a sea of otherwise bland sedans and minivans. And like me, it seemed to be ensnared in the congestion. As a vehicle pulled alongside, I noticed the Civic draw right up to my rear bumper in an effort to prevent them from squeezing in between us. Clearly, the young, female driver was very impatient and getting more and more agitated and frustrated by the slow pace of the traffic. And after driving 500 miles that day, I was too, but realized there was nothing I could do about it. Yet thirty seconds later, the Civic suddenly bolted out from behind me and flew into the other lane. As it raced by, I noticed it was a garden-variety, 10th-gen model, mostly likely built in 2015 or 2016. I briefly wondered where she was going, as there was a car directly in front of me and one in her lane also.

 

Without warning, she violently swerved over, attempting to fit her 12-foot car into a six-foot space. I literally had to stomp on the brakes to prevent her from slamming into us. And even then, I still don't know how her rear bumper didn't hit my front fender. In the intervening time since that incident, I've replayed her action hundreds of times in my head and still cannot rationalize her motive. She knew there wasn't enough room, but was so hell-bent on getting one car-length ahead that she willfully jeopardized the lives of me, my wife and my daughter. I laid on the horn for a good 10-15 seconds as it was all I could do to relay my anger and disbelief at what she had just done. Traffic parted in front of her and she attempted to flee, but I flat-footed the throttle and reeled her anemic 143hp Honda right back in. I continued to blast the horn and flash my high beams, just inches from her back bumper at speeds up to 90mph, zigzagging in and out of traffic. Eventually, I was able to swing alongside at which point I flipped her off multiple times and cursed her at the top of my lungs. Quite frankly, she's lucky she didn't stop as I wanted to physically beat some sense into her. Incidents like that, I reminded Amanda, are why I don't carry a firearm because I'd be too tempted to use it.

After that frightening episode, Amanda and Victoria were visibly shaken so I lightened the mood by stating that thanks to the kamikaze bitch, we made it the last few miles to Disney even faster than ever before! This broke the ice, and gave Victoria an opportunity to throw in her own little insult: She commented that the girl's stupidity didn't surprise her since she was a "Swifty" (i.e. a Taylor Swift fan) a detail I completely missed during the whole altercation. Not surprisingly, a couple weeks later I read an article about the most dangerous states to travel, and Florida was ranked third in the nation, right behind California and Texas. It stated that the Sunshine State experienced 2,762 traffic fatalities in the first nine months of 2022, and authorities cited "impatient and aggressive drivers" as the primary cause. 

 

Disney's new "Inclusive Employee Policy" also allows for some *colorful* characters that poor Walt would never have imagined in even his most terrifying nightmares, and I don't mean the ones that dress up and pose for photos with the kids. No, this individual was standing outside the Beach Club resort when we were trying to find our way to the Cape May Cafe. We were running late for our reservation, so I decided to ask this employee for directions. Of course, it was dark and from behind it looked like a tall woman in a sailor's dress with long blonde hair. But as it turned around, there was no mistaking that it was a man with a very deep voice. I've literally never been that shocked in my life and, as a result, was completely speechless. In fact, my brain was so bamboozled by this unexpected visage that I temporarily couldn't form thoughts or words. Fortunately, Amanda stepped in and asked for directions while I was completely flabbergasted. I stammered a "thank you" as we were walking off because the employee had been so nice, but I had not been prepared to see something so different than what I anticipated. Let's just say he wasn't Jessica Rabbit!           

        

After dinner, Amanda and I made our way to Disney Springs to check out the activities since it's absolutely spectacular at night. While walking down by The Landing, she suddenly grabbed my arm and pulled me with her into a line of around 50 people. I asked what she was doing and she promptly informed me that the wait for this place was normally EIGHT hours, but that she just heard it was down to 45 minutes! She explained that it was a world-famous bakery named Gideon's and their specialty was hand-made cookies that weigh almost a half-pound! 

 

From the outside, it was a rather unassuming brick building but it's what was on the inside that shocked me. In our 2021 visit to Disney, I expressed my frustration and anger over attractions like "Splash Mountain" being cancelled because of perceived racist overtones.  So, I was appalled to discover the satanic imagery present. Perhaps I'm overreacting, but portraits of vampire children with blood dripping from their fangs and a demonic goat figure seems hardly appropriate for a bakery! Granted, they were crafted in a very non-threatening, cartoon style, but it's still disturbing nonetheless. And why is no one offended by it? I'm not a conspiracy nut, but it's almost as if there's a dark cabal controlling the media and entertainment industry. From Meghan Thee Stallion's, "Sweetest Pie" to Sam's Smith's "Unholy" Grammy performance, there's certainly seems to be a lot of recent satanic glorification. This also comes on the heels of Panera Bread's recent announcement to begin using palm-scanning technology to order and pay for meals. So, does that mean the Mark of the Beast is coming or is it already here?

 

 Are these demonic images really necessary to sell cookies?

 

The next morning, we arose at 5 a.m. just so we could make "Rope Drop" at Epcot. Typically, having to awaken that early on vacation is a cardinal sin, but was necessary so we could try Disney's newest ride, "Guardians of the Galaxy: Cosmic Rewind." For the initiated, "Rope Drop" means getting to the park before it opens and waiting in line behind the entrance rope until it is released and everyone can flood in. It's a Pro Move for sure, as only the most hardcore patrons have the necessary discipline to pull it off. The only other time we've actually made Rope Drop was at Hollywood Studios in 2020 to be some of the first to ride "Rise of Resistance."

 

"Guardians" just opened at the end of May last year, so we missed it when we went in January. Understandably, as the first Marvel ride at Disney World, the first roller coaster at Epcot, and with a projected cost of $500 million, it's a huge deal— both literally and figuratively. 

 

But more so than any other thrill ride, it is making people violently sick. We spoke to two friends who went last Summer and both confirmed that it made them ill. And these are longtime Disney vets who have ridden all the big coasters like Expedition Everest and Space Mountain. 

 

However, what seems to be the catalyst is that it's Disney's first backwards-launched roller coaster and that the seats spin a full 360-degrees while the participants are experiencing steep climbs and sudden drops at up to 60 mph. If that sounds like a recipe for a Vomit Comet, it certainly is and cast members even hand out barf bags prior to boarding. 

 

But before we could be guinea pigs for nearly 3 G-Forces of gravitational punishment, we needed to snag two seats. And like "Rise of the Resistance", this meant playing the Virtual Que lottery and hoping that we'd roll seven instead of snake eyes!

 

So, right before the allotted time, Amanda and I began furiously refreshing the Disney App on our phones. I was slightly quicker and got two passes for Group 26, one of the earliest reservations. Even so, the projected wait time until it was boarding was almost five hours! 

 

But, despite getting to Epcot for Rope Drop, there was still a deluge of people (all apparently with the same plan as us.) So, given our delayed spot on "Guardians", Amanda suggested we walk to France and take a spin on "Ratatouille", the new ride based on Pixar's 2007 film.  We had ridden it for the first time last year right after it had opened and it has proven immensely popular. In fact, by the time we got to the French Pavilion, I checked the App and there was already a 90 minute wait! Admittedly, we could have bypassed that with Amanda's DAS credentials, but our wait time for "Guardians" was already dropping so quickly that we decided to start making our way back. 

 

Located in Future World East, "Cosmic Rewind" is the first "Other-World" exhibit at Epcot and is in good company with "Mission Space", "Space Ship Earth" & "Test Track."

 

 

A Xandarian Starblaster ship greets visitors outside the Cosmic Rewind attraction.

Of course, there's some flimsy back story about going back in time to save the earth, but the real excitement begins when you are strapped in and the coaster shoots backward. I understand the concept of having a shuttle that spins around for a full 360-degree view, but in reality it's more jarring than enjoyable because it happens so violently and quickly. I measured 12 instances over 2G with the longest lasting 3.52 seconds and this is similar to what astronauts experience in the Space Shuttle at lift-off.

 

 

Afterwards, I told Amanda that they should rename it "Cosmic Washing Machine" because we had been flung around so much that it's what it felt like (minus the water, of course.) I knew I wouldn't get sick and thankfully Amanda didn't either, but I can certainly see how it would be too much for most people.

Enduring Cosmic Rewind's violent spin cycle!  

 

Enjoying the 80-foot drop on Expedition Everest.

Mine Train is the top ride at Magic Kingdom with wait times up to 2 hours.

We visited Magic Kingdom the following morning and everything was great until lunch. That's when we dined at Columbia Harbor House, located in Liberty Square. I love the Lobster Roll and had been looking forward to it since the restaurant closed down for Covid in early 2020 and only just recently reopened. 

 

For theme-park fare, the $17 Lobster Roll isn't too bad and I like that I can get something besides a hamburger for lunch. It was good, even if a fair bit of the lobster was the cheaper, shredded variety. But the real treat was the "Happy Haunts Milk Shake". A holdover from Halloween due to it's extreme popularity (and Haunted Mansion's close proximity) it's a Blackberry Milk Shake that's topped with a Purple Chocolate-Glazed Doughnut and covered with Black Sprinkles. Fortunately, no ghosts were harmed in the making of it and it was incredibly delicious!

 

 

About two hours later we were getting on Pirates of the Caribbean when I first started to feel strange. At first, I just thought I had some gas on my stomach, but I simply wrote it off as a result of all the theme park food. However, it returned a few minutes later but this time the malaise was much more intense and spread over my entire body. I suddenly felt so bad that I wondered if I was experiencing a heart attack, but none of the tell-tale signs of myocardia were present: my chest didn't hurt, there was no tingling in my left arm, etc. Despite that, the extreme discomfort seemed to be washing over me in waves. I tried breathing exercises, and even walking around, but it only got worse.

 

That's when Amanda noticed how pale and sweaty I was and asked if I was okay. I told her I just needed to sit down for a minute and I literally dropped to the ground. Unfortunately, I was concerned that if I said anything to a cast member, they might send me to the hospital via an ambulance rather than risk the public stigma of me dying on one of the rides. We also had dinner reservations coming up, so Amanda volunteered to stay while I went back to the hotel room. 

 

It's a grueling hike from Adventureland, down the crowded Main Street, and out to the distant bus parking when healthy, but I don't even remember how I got back to my bed at All-Star Sports. I just remember that I had massive chills and couldn't stop shaking. But despite the lethargy and fatigue, I didn't want to miss UDA's private party at Hollywood Studios later that night from 9pm-1am. It was going to be my only time to ride Aerosmith's Rock N Roller Coaster as Disney was closing it down indefinitely. Although there is no official reason for the "refurbishment" (their words, not mine) a popular fan theory is that it's because of the recent lawsuit surrounding Steven Tyler's sexual assault of a 16 year-old girl. Whatever the case may be, I certainly hope that it doesn't get re-themed like Rock N Roller Coaster did at Disneyland Paris and turned into a Marvel Avenger's ride.     

 

 

Several days later, I conveniently wanted to blame the Lobster Roll, but the emergence of two fever blisters signaled that what I had was probably viral. Likewise, Amanda saw a forum posting on a Disney Fan site whereby many people had complained of coming down with Norovirus shortly before we arrived. Regardless, with a daily attendance of 38,000 visitors from all over the world, Magic Kingdom is likely the most disease-ridden park on Earth.

 

The next morning, we packed our bags, but Victoria wouldn't let us leave Orlando until we stopped by the largest White Castle on earth. Personally, I've always felt that White Castle was the Yankee version of Krystal, similar to how Hardee's and Carl's Jr. are actually the same entity. As such, I wasn't enthused about going because: (1) My stomach was still on strike and (2) I've never cared for Krystal. 

 

However, on the drive there Victoria piqued my interest when she rattled off some useless trivia such as the little know fact that White Castle is actually America's original hamburger chain and that it's been around for over 100 years! With the ubiquity of the Golden Arches, I always thought that McDonald's was the oldest fast food establishment, but White Castle actually preceded it by more than thirty years. Furthermore, in 2014 Time Magazine even named their Original Slider as the most influential burger of all time.

 

We purposely got there around 11:00, hoping to beat the lunch rush, but it was busy anyway. And given my digestive distress, I simply ordered their 1921 burger which is an homage to their very first one. It was $1.99 and came fully dressed with caramelized onions, cheddar cheese, Roma tomatoes, lettuce and pickles. Seeing that I was expecting it to closely approximate a limp, greasy Krystal, I was pleasantly surprised— the bun was fresh, the beef patty was juicy, and the vegetables were cool and crisp. Granted, I wouldn't eat them regularly even if they were available in Mississippi, but it was nice to finally be able to try one and see what the fuss was about!   

 

  

So, maybe I shouldn't be sad that this was our last trip to Disney in the foreseeable future. After all, Disney has the absolute worst ROI (Return on Investment) of any entertainment product that I can imagine. For park admission, lodging and food, the average worked out to $1000 per day for the three of us and is five-times what our first trip with Victoria cost us in 2009! Granted, there's a handful of new rides but it's certainly not 500% better in my humble estimation.

 

And then there's the inhospitable weather, which fluctuated between scorching during the day and freezing at night. We're talking schizophrenic temperature shifts of low 50s to high 80s, which meant each day you could either choose to dress warm or cool, but not both. Combine that with the 16-hours of drive time and the relentless crowds, and I always feel like I need a vacation from that "vacation" when I get home. Until Disney is actually able to put the "Magic" back into Magic Kingdom, I don't want to come back!

 

 

A View to a Thrill

Visiting Mississippi's very own Grand Canyon

 

 

  Pirate Press (he/him)        Spring 2023  

~Sustainably Sourced Since 1990~

 

For the past decade, I've been fascinated by reports of a beautiful, natural arroyo located just two hours north of me. In fact, it's so striking that viewers have taken to simply substituting the sobriquet of "Mississippi's Little Grand Canyon" for it.

 

The problem has been that it's not close to anything, so justifying a trip just to see it has been out of the question. But thankfully, that all changed during the first week of November when Victoria needed to attend a pre-college dance camp at Perkinston campus. Suddenly, I had a viable excuse for driving the rest of the way to Red Bluff!

Of course, we needed some early morning fuel for the long road trip. So, Amanda and I first headed to Hattiesburg where she wanted to try the new Stuffed Cheesecake Pancakes at Cracker Barrel. Granted, I'm not a big fan of Cracker Barrel and I reminded her that the last time we had eaten breakfast there was in St. Augustine during Spring Break 2003. But despite the nearly 20 year absence, she assured me I wouldn't regret it. 

 

Right off the bat, she ordered a seasonal Cinnamon Roll Latte which looked so sweet even Willy Wonka wouldn't touch it with a 10-foot candy cane. It was an extra-large espresso mixed with Cinnamon Roll-flavoring, chocolate syrup and whipped cream. Unfortunately, our waitress was not a good advocate for it as she was missing several of her teeth. But that didn't dissuade a couple seated at the table next to us from asking what it was so they could also try it. Funny enough, I ordered the healthiest thing on the drink menu—a glass of orange juice—but it was never delivered to me so I just stuck to water for the entire meal.

 

It was also amusing imagining the marketing pitch as the Cracker Barrel execs sat around brainstorming how they could possibly make their pancakes even more unhealthy. I assume that there was a cerebral stalemate until someone suggested the absurdity of cheesecake filling. However, I'm also of the mindset that if it's worth doing, it's worth overdoing, so I was all-in on the pancakes which additionally get doused in powered sugar and then drowned in strawberry syrup before a couple token strawberry slices are tossed on top in a fleeting gesture to make it appear quasi-nutritious. Likewise for the new Impossible Sausage, Cracker Barrel's first plant-based protein option. If you're ordering cheesecake-stuffed pancakes, I don't think you're overly concerned about the traditional bacon or sausage that comes with it. To me, it makes as much sense as buying an extra-large pizza with a diet Coke.

 

I usually make pancakes on Sunday mornings, so I feel I have a little experience when it comes to cooking them. Given that, I do have to applaud Cracker Barrel for cooking recipe-perfect pancakes that were golden brown with just the right fluffy texture. However, the cheesecake filling was disappointing as it was too thin and runny, akin to a burst egg yolk. I had envisioned a denser texture like a real cheesecake or even filling that had the smooth consistency of ricotta. Despite that, I promptly polished them off, even though it's not something I'd order again.

 

<Click To Enlarge Photos> 

Leaving Hattiesburg, we still had an hour's drive west before we would officially reach our destination (which was smack dab in the middle of nowhere.) And driving in such a remote area, where cell service was spotty and pine trees outnumbered people, I was glad that I had stayed on top of the Santa Fe's service. Unbelievably, we were coming up on eight years of ownership and 142,000 miles with Elsa, the nickname my daughter picked out for our Hyundai due to the Frost White paint and that annoying Disney movie, Frozen. 

As some readers my recall, our original engine bit the dust at 70,000 miles due to oil starvation from a manufacturing defect. It took three months, but Hyundai ultimately returned our Santa Fe with a completely rebuilt engine. So, with the same mileage on our new engine as before, I was eager to see how it was holding up. After all, an oil analysis would have detected the excessive wear and prevented us from breaking down in Atlanta. Naturally, I was a little apprehensive about what the report would reveal, but I wanted to know if we could keep the Hyundai a while longer or needed to trade it in immediately.  

 

Thankfully, the oil analysis was encouraging, with no signs of abnormal wear or any other troubling signs. Given that glowing report, I told Amanda we should shoot for 200,000 miles on the odometer. That would equate to 130,000 miles on the new engine which I feel is more than attainable given how well today's vehicles are built. After all, I have a friend who purchased a 2012 Mustang GT with 200,000 miles on it and he routinely drives it 16 hours to Nashville and back with no issues whatsoever. Of course, I don't have that much confidence in a vehicle, but I think it's admirable that he does.

 

Another step in the Santa Fe's upkeep was changing the spark plugs recently, which turned out to be a major affair. The owner's manual recommends swapping them out every 45K since the turbocharged 2.0-liter is much harder on plugs than a naturally-aspirated one. I get that, and we observed it the first time to keep the warranty intact by having the dealer perform it. However, with the engine officially out of the standard warranty at 100K, I was a little lax in changing them. So, when our Hyundai went in last month for a recall, the dealer wasted no time in hitting us up to replace them. Granted, with almost double the recommended mileage on them (90K) I knew they needed to be changed, so I asked the service advisor what it would cost? When he replied $310, I'm glad I was sitting down because otherwise I might have seriously injured myself. But after I demanded a price breakdown of the parts and labor, he defended the exorbitant amount by stating it was because it was a six-cylinder and required six spark plugs. This infuriated me because it was an outright lie, and as the person who checked the car into service, he knew as well as I did that it was really just a four-cylinder. Despite that, the price quoted worked out to roughly $50 per plug and $100 labor!

 

Of course, I declined the exorbitant service and decided to do it myself. Even better, I found the OEM plugs on Rock Auto and they were just $10 apiece, literally a 4-for-1 deal over the stealership. 

 

Changing them wasn't a big deal as I already had a spark plug socket, and the ignition coils were the most time consuming item. In these modern times, I really miss the ease and convenience of good old-fashioned spark plug wires. But ignition coils are more durable than traditional plug wires, so I suppose it's a trade-off.

 

Naturally, the plugs looked great for having almost 100K on them and it underscores how conservative the factory's maintenance intervals are. Regardless, I was just thrilled that it would be the last time I'd have to change them.  

And just when it seemed we couldn't get any more lost, we had arrived at Red Bluff, the locals' name for the area where Mississippi's own Grand Canyon resides. Now, the actual land is privately owned, but there doesn't seem to be any enforcement of that. In fact, there was even a nicely paved parking area that turned out to be from the previous highway before the erosion forced it to be moved. Additionally, a vacant Honda Civic was already there, indicating that there were people ahead of us which I took as a good omen. I reasoned that if the land owner suddenly snapped and began using trespassers for target practice, at least we'd have a warning! 

 

The entrance down the original Highway 587 is actually blocked off by an old, rusty guardrail, but it has been delightfully decorated with all types of colorful graffiti.

 

I briefly entertained the idea of simply hopping over the weathered balustrade, until I noticed a convenient and well-worn dirt path that years of visitors had etched out. 

Walking down the deserted highway was a very surreal experience as I really felt isolated from everything. It's all too easy to let your mind wander and imagine you've been transported to some post-apocalyptic world.

 

Owning to a height roughly 400 feet above sea level, the final ascent is quite a cardio-intensive activity with the road appearing to simply end by dropping off into eternity.

 

 

Reaching the summit is an initial letdown, as the vista flattens out and appears painfully ordinary. Only two brightly vandalized posts are the singular forewarning that this area of the Pine Belt holds anything special. 

Fortunately, Mother Nature was on her best behavior and the visibility was virtually limitless. A cerulean blue sky stretched from horizon to horizon and provided a perfect foil for the kaleidoscopic topography I'd soon witness.  

 

Of course, I'm here thanks to the Pearl River, a 444-mile watercouse that begins in Philadelphia, Mississippi and follows the Intracoastal Waterway before finally emptying into the Gulf of Mexico. But climate-related events like Hurricane Katrina in 2005 have gradually shifted the river's course, creating the accelerated erosion responsible for Red Bluff's Grand Canyon. 

Pictures (and words) fail to properly capture the awe-inspiring color, shape and scope of the crater that is continually widening and growing due to natural desedimentation from the Pearl River floodplain.

 

But standing on the precipice and gazing out is truly a breathtaking spectacle. It's both scary and stunning as the natural wonder dazzles the eyes but the 200-ft drop induces a constant warning of vertigo.  

Depending on the side and position of the sun, the canyon takes on chameleonic characteristics. My wife blamed my growling stomach when I proclaimed that one side looked like the most beautifully carved slab of prime rib roast I'd ever seen. She said it take longer than 15 mins in the wilderness to start having hallucinations and seeing mirages. But, I defended my position stating that like a Rorschach Test, it was open to personal interpretation.

 

On the opposite side, it looked like digging into the world's largest tub of Neapolitan ice cream- heavy chunks of strawberry, mixed with sandy streaks of vanilla and chocolate. 

 

Walking further down, we witnessed the collapsed Highway 587 firsthand— I've hit some nasty potholes in my time, but this is undoubtedly the mother of them all! I imagine this is what the Highway to Hell looks like, but with lots of fire and Sam Kinison. 😈

 

The opposite side even had some brave climbers tackling the 50-degree angled cliffs. And although I wasn't willing to get dirty, I've heard that further down is wreckage that leads to the remnants of a 1901 train crash. 

Right before we left, Amanda and I both heard some strange growling noises emanating from the woods behind us. She was clearly concerned, but I said that maybe it was just "Cocaine Bear".  Certainly, it was the perfect setting for such a thing and it did hasten our exit. Then I teased Amanda that if it was a crazed grizzly, I didn't have to outrun it. I'd only have to run faster than her, a statement which she did not find amusing, even if it was true.  

 

Despite that, we made it out safely and even passed a family of four walking in. Whether they became  brunch for the unseen creature in the forest is not known, but we certainly enjoyed the panoramic view of Mississippi's Grand Canyon.

Bizarrely, the area also enjoys the distinction of being possibly the only place in the world to actually benefit from climate change as continued erosion will only expand the natural wonder even more.

 

Normally, it's a 110-minute haul from Hurley and I personally wouldn't recommend that jaunt just to visit Red Bluff. But if you're going to be passing through the area, it's definitely worth a detour. In fact, Cosmopolitan named it as the Most Beautiful Place in Mississippi and even crowned it as "Instagram Gold." 

 

But if you do go, please just remember one rule: Don't Feed The Bears! These don't prevent forest fires or wear a tie and swipe your picnic basket. 🙂