(New and Improved, with 30% Less West-Coast Smugness!)
The 2011 Chase began, unlike the previous year in which John and I lollygagged around comfy Boulder for days before plunging into the true tornado alley, with a mad dash from DIA directly into the fray of actual chasing. We pushed our pseudo-eco SUV to the limit eastward on HW 70, watching the last Starbucks and any sign of elevation change quickly fade into the rearview.
Let it be clear, I do not chase soley for the thrill of finding tornadoes, or the inspiring comraderie of fellow chasers, but.... for the food. Yes, the food. Living ones life in the snobby gastronomic enclave known as the Bay Area, land of quiche and non-fat everything, one rarely gets to experience what the rest of real America gets to partake in each day. I go forth, unafraid.
Day one began with John and I dashing through the OAK airport. Despite having obtained our primo "A" boarding pass on SWA, we arrived just in time to see the "clueless at internet skills" C-listers filing onto the gantry. Undaunted, we pushed past Mr and Mrs C-56 and 57 hoping to salvage at least a scrap of what was left of the overhead bins. While our carry-ons did secure a decent berth, we were relegated both literally and figuratively to the back of the bus. Unfettered access to the lui.
With our Peets tall French Roast and warm pecan sticky buns still residing happily behind the counter at Terminal 2, we made do with Conoco blend light, and a stale yet "complimentary" health bar. For the record, my bar did provide kudos on my new Nike cap.
Tornadoes were a brewin, and we had little time for such nonsense as nutrition. Around 4PM we interrupted our race to the red and purple echos to treat ourselves to a 12-inch Subway veggie sandwich, with bacon! John mentioned that his didn't exactly measure 12 inches, but that was TMI in my book.
After dancing the evening away in central Kansas with storms who had shot their wad hours before our arrival, John and I limped "home" after 10 PM, into the best Salina had to offer (okay, the Marriot was booked). The Ramada Inn! Once the place of kings. The place which looked down its nose at Holiday Inn and HJs, Ramada has seen better days. The place reeked of the 70s. It was huge and eerily half vacant, like a very nice dungeon, but with less-worn carpet. Think Abu Ghraib with a coffee bar.
But alas, an all-night English Pub was inside this cavernous lobby. Open till midnight! Cool! English food....in Salina. What could go wrong? As we sidled up to one of the many empty tables next to the 8-foot projection screen TV, we were met, eventually, by someone resembling a waitress. "What can I get y'all?" We both agreed menus would be nice start. She gave us a confused look, not unlike that of the common house plant "We stop servin dinner a while ago, but ya can still get some of our famous appertizers. Perhaps we had misread the hotel sign, and had unknowingly stumbled into the RamadaN Inn.
After hearing her rattle off such delicacies as buffalo wings, cheese sticks and something which sounded suspiciously like it started with the word raccoon, we decided to locate ourselves a proper restaurant. The wait staff proved quite unhelpful in this endeavor. After cruising most of Crawford Street we had to settle on the only place open at these ungodly hours - Taco Bell. After not eating much for nearly 8 hours we both found the "Fiesta" taco salad quite a treat. "Yo quiero Taco Bell".
No comments:
Post a Comment