Go West Young (wo)Man, Go West!

It's 1pm on Wednesday and here I am, sitting shotgun in Tamara Natasha, a big cheshire cat smile spread across my face. The past 24 hours have been a rush of ridiculous fun and I feel compelled to share the details immediately.

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We pulled into Nashville just as the sun retired for the night, checked into our choice accommodation at the Music City Hostel, and selected that night's outfits from our dresser (also known as a car trunk, or perhaps a boot). As Laura busied herself posting the events of the past few days, I contacted an old high school comrade to meet up with us in our quest to take downtown by ze great storm. On the agenda, the only thing on our agenda mind you: line dancing. And dancing in (something that may possibly be described as) a line we did! Tim, Laura and I twitched, twisted and twirled our way around The Wild Horse Saloon to our ho-down hearts content, and then some. A gold star for our efforts, for sure. (Only a few times did I misstep due to an uncontrollable fit of laughter. Okay, maybe a few more than few. Between the expressions of Laura's seriousness and Tim's bafflement, what do you expect from me?!) Before departing the saloon as the last patrons of the establishment, we showed our appreciation for all that is Nashvegas by serenading the staff and house band with a genuine rock-out Journey jam, requested by none other than our very own Ms. Mueller. (Are we surprised? C'mon now.)

Around the corner and up a few blocks, we were then wooed by the melodies of the Chris Weaver Band from the upper deck of The Stage. I ask, "Hey Laura, how would you describe the sound of this C. Weaver?" Not missing a beat, Laura replies. "Sexy." A few self-written titles later, Mr. Weaver shouts from the stage, "Are there any requests out there?" Poised on her barstool perch, Laura exclaims, "JOURNEY!!!" (Again, are we surprised?!) As if there weren't another soul in the room, Chris and Laura made that cosmic connection… somewhere in the niiiiiiiiiigggghhhttttt, followed by stellar guitar solos. Yes, our dear blog-a-ma-bobbers, for the second time this night, Tim and I found ourselves laughing in disbelief as we scrambled to meet our third amigo, already rocking out to C. Weaver's Journey cover on the dance floor. (Do us a favor and check out the guys who made our night that much more grand: www.chrisweaverband.com)

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How else should we greet the wintry morning air of Nashville than by a brisk jog around the block, practicing our right hooks and upper jabs against the snowflakes? (Yes, we understand that it's winter, obviously. But it wasn't until just now as the radio announcer stated that Florida is the only state, of the 50 United States of America, to not have snow on the ground did we stop to consider the possibility of a mass conspiracy. What?! Think about it! Even Hawaii has snow! Hmph. What is wrong with this picture? Nothing, absolutely nothing. We have brand new snow tires and a few more tupperware containers of Mama Mueller's leftovers. So, Florida, enjoy your snow-less state of being. We are just fine out here on the road, rocking out to our friends' cds, watching the snowflakes dodge Tamara Natasha's windshield wipers.)

So a Brit, two Ozzies, and a Kiwi are sitting across the table… This was breakfast at Cafe Coco. The Kiwi and Brit were our bunk mates at the hostel and introduced us to the two Ozzies as we walked up the street toward breakfast. Tim met up with us again, giving me a second chance to completely forget to document our reunion with a click of the camera. At least we have his nothing-to-do-with-nashville-country-but-still-an-amazing-mix cd to indie-rock out to.

And now, parked in the parking lot of the wrong Waffle House in Bowling Green, Kentucky, we wait for our next host to find us. A scavenger hunt, of sorts? Turns out that he meant the other Waffle House on this street.

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(Cue Leiha sitting shotgun, again, 24 hours later… GAH!!! I'M LOVING THIS!!!)

So after Heath, our friend from 'The Core', found us at Waffle House he quickly proposed 2 options for how we could spend our afternoon, of which only the second needs to be mentioned. Option #2: a boat tour of the Lost River Cave. Excuse me?! This girl doesn't need to think twice! (thankfully, my partner-in-everything-road-trip agreed) Boat.Cave.Adventure. Yes, please! (Hands down, this may end up being one of my favorite experiences of this entire trip.)

In snapshots:

• being escorted over the Lost River, past the blue/green pool and down into the mouth of the cave to board our metal monster of a boat.
• ducking, crouching on the bottom of our boat beast in order to avoid grazing our heads on the underside of the cave ceiling.
• listening to our expert tour guide and picking his brain on everything/anything that entered my mind re:developing on and around the cave
• being proposed to on the steps of the 30s era night club stage, out of business but still nestled in the entrance of the cave… :)

(www.lostrivercave.com)

While we were still glowing from the surprises of the afternoon, Heath treated Laura and I to dinner at The Farm Boy. If you ever wondered what a small town Kentucky restaurant boasts for the 'daily' specials, you'll have to visit Morgantown and be pleasantly surprised yourself. The corn nuggets actually have kernels of corn in them, and the chicken livers taste better with barbecue sauce. (Laura insists that you try the fried apples.) After masticating our orders of everything fried and hearty, we grabbed our overnight bags from our dresser and met Mr. & Mrs. Ray who say, "it isn't an empty nest until they move their stuff out of the basement." Trust me on this one, the reason for this quote is something you must see for yourself (think 3D scrapbook, perhaps?).

So here we are, car cruising out of Kentucky, gearing up to capture our next welcoming state signs of Indiana and Illinois. We're en route to cross the mighty Mississippi, pass through the gateway to the west and be at my cousin Lisa's in Independence, Missouri by sunset. Hey, Harry Truman! We're coming on over!

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