Wichita Falls hosted us last night. Now, Wichita Falls does not have a Ritz Carlton. There’s no Four Seasons (tragically). You can’t even find an Omni in town. So look at these images: Where did we stay? Who built this fabulous lobby? Check the fluffy bedding: This is a Holiday Inn Express. Wow. And believe […]
Our journey began the next morning at seven a.m. and took us through the verdant hills of Southern Colorado and long stretches of New Mexico. Long, straight, and flat: roads made for big Cadillacs. By mid afternoon we’d reached Amarillo. Tooling down Route 66 we came upon what must be the saddest site of all
I awoke this morning found my Cadillac amongst a sea of Buicks. I’ve always bee rather partial to Buicks. I got my drivers license in Buick Electra Estate Wagon (with genuine simulated walnut vinyl veneer). I very clearly remember the day when my father brought home his very first Buick company car, which was a
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Lake Moses had been a pleasant place to stay for the evening and boasted many retro hotels/motel signs. As we continued east both Kim and I marveled at the stunning landscape. There are few towns but many blushed forests, arid buttes, and rolling potato fields. Soon we came upon the tiny mining community of Wallace,
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This morning I awoke bright and early. I had to leave Sutherlin by 7 a.m. so I would reach the Seattle airport in time to pick up Kim Morgan, my cousin. Checking out, I talked to the same clerk who’d checked me in the evening prior, Larisa Sparrowhawk. Larisa had stayed up all night reading
California is a big place, especially when you are driving from LA to Seattle. Granted, it’s beautiful–it just stretches on forever. For some reason I thought of San Francisco as being the northernmost California city. Nope. I had another seven hours in northern California yet to travel. Once in Oregon, it soon became apparent that
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No, I have not wrapped the Brougham around a tree. The drive simply became so intense that I’ve not had a moment to update the blog. My apologies. Felt right at home tooling around the Hills. While waiting on media interviews in Hollywood, I decided to knock out some of the more pedestrian aspects of
This marks my first time to Vegas, so before I left town I drove the big Cadillac up the strip. After all, what could go better in Vegas than the car that Frank Sinatra drove in 1957-1958? As I motored down Las Vegas Boulevard, I hummed “All or nothing at all,” which seems to be
The phone rang at 8 o’clock. It was the fire marshal–they were threatening to tow the Brougham from its designated parking spot. Evidently the place where “Jimmy,” the hotel’s night watchman, had positioned me the night before was something trivial like a fire lane. I briefly considered telling the fire marshall that the car should
If you followed my Twitter log yesterday, you know that the day started early. I left the tramps at the Hampton Inn and headed to the nearest gas station to top off the tank and check the coolant level. Rushing to get out of Amarillo early, I stupidly locked the keys in the car. As
