Providence, RI through New Haven, CT

Nick: 10:00 am. Game time. The Kentucky Fried Chicken Restaurant was open for business, and didn’t drive to all the way to Rhode Island to wimp out at the last minute.

Brian: Providence, RI and Omaha, MO are the only places you can get the Double-Down.

Nick: Actually, I almost did wimp out at the last minute. I mean, really. Who would actually want to eat one? Well, I’ll tell you that after my first bite into the Colonel’s succulent creation, I think every man, woman and child across our great nation will be clamoring for them. The Double-Down may not be the most nutritious way to start your day. It might not be the easiest thing in the world to eat. But damn it, you have to respect a sandwich with the moxie to cast away buns forever and plunge into a bold new world of extra crispy goodness.

Brian: Fact: The Double-Down is 1,300 calories. Fact: KFC was ill-prepared for five people consecutively ordering Double-Down: they ran out of fried chicken after the third one. Theory: A human can only consume one Double-Down in their lifetime; the second one results in an instant death by cardiac implosion. Not to be confused with cardiac arrest, cardiac implosion is when your own heart becomes self-aware (typically as the result of a traumatic experience e.g. consuming two Double-Downs) and commits suicide after realizing it’s unloved. It is rare to engage in an activity with the foreknowledge that you will never do it again. It allows you to tackle the task with a certain meditative zeal, a calmness born from surety of action. You see your life in two distinct phases: before (pre-Double-Down), and after (Enlightenment). Never again.

Nick: So I’m pretty sure that was poetry. Well done. After the heaviest breakfast ever, we parted ways with Craig, Rachel, and Nick and set off to find a replica of Stonehenge that had apparently been constructed in someone’s back yard not far from New Haven, Connecticut, which was to be our next destination.

Brian: At this point we didn’t have a place to stay for the night. However, quite a few people have told us about this website couchsurfing.org, which is a database people who are willing to provide a roof for travelers like ourselves. We logged on at a local coffee shop on the CT/RI border and sent out about a dozen requests to people in New Haven. Then hit the road.

Nick: An aside: When will the whole world have wireless Intermet? We went to three coffee places, and none had access to the cyber-world. Come on people.

Brian: Between the coffee shop and Faux-henge we decided take a bathroom break and pulled over at a park. The weather was awful so naturally an hour-long walk along the beach was in order. It was a pleasant bit of midday exercise, and two eventful occurrences… occurred. One: Nick predicted a man fishing with his son would hook a bird, and he did. Two: We discovered a new passion.

Nick: It’s a little thing we like to call slam poetry. Brian says that already exists, but I think not. Actually, we were first inspired by some Craigslist post with some major style. We’re going to start displaying some of our best slam poems from the trek on a regular basis. To give you a taste, an appetizer if you will, here is “Ode to a Greek”:

Hey
What if
What if
What if
You Guys YOU GUYS youguys
I just keyed the



U n I v e r s e

Brian: You’re welcome.

Nick: After the beach, it was off to Stonehenge. It was a little tricky to find, owing to the fact that we didn’t have an address this time-

Brian: Sorry Lucy.

Nick: -but at this point, we’re pretty good at finding monuments that aren’t meant to be found. This Stonehenge was also like a previous monument whose Latin name would be Gigantus Native-Americanus Maximus Stupidus in that it was a bit on the disappointing side. Nevertheless, we had a new adventure to pursue in the form of a reply to our couch surfing request for that night in New Haven. After several back-and-forth phone conversations with our potential host, we finally arrived at the house that was to be our sanctuary for the night. Our respite from the wearying road, as it were. Such was our hope. The following account chronicles the night neither of us shall soon forget.

Brian: The quirky female, moniker “Dooz”, greeted us in the yard with a statement about her dogs. “They are really nice. They might bite you. But the purple one will bite you. But they’re fine.” We entered the domicile and were met with an odor faintly reminiscent of Moxie and cat poop. The floor looked never vacuumed, and there were stacks of books and VHS tapes, which created pathways to the various rooms of the house. The wallpaper, yes wallpaper, was in tatters, and every surface was covered in a layer of dust. The cat was friendly.

Nick: We had discussed an escape plan in the event that our host had a meth lab or something, but we weren’t really prepared for this. But. We had no place to stay, and Her Dooziness seemed pretty nice. We shrugged, deposited our effects in the bedroom, and headed off to Ihop to get to know our new Freegan friend a little better.

Brian: I attempted to use the bathroom before we left, but had to leave immediately upon entry as a pot of Jenkum was brewing in the toilet. Look it up, if you dare. The waitress at Ihop easily surpassed our standard of weirdness. Imagine, if you will, a glitchy Stepford wife that asks the same question, two or three times in a single conversation. In a monotone voice. With a smile with which the eyes refuse to participate. “Is there anything I can get you? Is that all you need? Is there anything I can get you?” Weird.

Nick: All’s well that ends well. We stayed up until 2 am playing Hearts with Dooz and her father, a city councilman by trade. The sleep was peaceful and we left at around 7:45 am, thanking a sleeping Dooz for her hospitality on the way out.

Brian: Next time we use Couchsurfing, hopefully we can afford to be a little more selective. Song of the day: “Ode to a Greek” by us. Thanks for reading. NB out.