I was going to call this series, “When bad things happen to good ballparks,” but the trip was bigger than the ballparks alone. Those cities never knew what hit them…

Part One of a four-part series explores the beginnings of just such a trip. Along with three friends, I traveled from Tampa to Boston and back via Cleveland. Eleven games in about 18 days and more shenanigans than you can shake a stick at.

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On a warm Florida Summer day in 2005, on Interstate 75 somewhere between Tampa and Gainesville, the first real sports debate of the long-awaited baseball road trip began. And it wasn’t even about baseball.
“Everyone knows who David Beckham is,” I said. “Unless they live under a freaking rock.”
“No, they do not,” rebutted Andy.
Bryce (who drinks Windex) and I argued with Andy for about thirty minutes. He was David Beckham, he had a movie made about him and was the most well-known athlete in the world. And it was 2005.
The questions was, ‘What percentage of the population in the United States had any idea who he was?’
Through Hernando County, Sumter county, probably other counties, and Ocala, we argued. Andy said less than half. Bryce and I argued that more than half knew who he was.
Having lived in Florida for about two years by then, I knew this was the wrong place for a field test. As we pulled into the McDonald’s off the Interstate, it was apparent that my side of the argument was about to fall flat.
“David who?,” asked the confused and busy McDonald’s employee.
And we were off.

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Even in Alaska, I couldn't help but wear some Dodgers gear.

Between February and May of 2005, I spent what were probably the longest and generally lonliest three months of my life in and around the village of Aniak, Alaska — population (according to Wikipedia) –  of 572.

During my time working in towns like Kalskag, Chuathbaluk, Stony River, Red Devil, Crooked Creek, and other unnamed places, I experienced the best of the Mid-Kuskokwim river.

I rode a snow-machine (snowmobile) to work most days, flew in bush planes, and slept on cots in schools. In many villages, the schools were the only places with running water. Some villages only had 15 or 20 people total.

Living there for an extended period of time seems glamorous or adventurous now — it’s something that people are usually intrigued by. At least it’s something they act intrigued by.

But being in a bubble like a remote bush village for three months isn’t easy. In fact, it’s the kind of place where a person could have a mental breakdown. I became consciously aware of this possibility about three weeks into my 15 weeks in Alaskan wilderness, and in order to avoid such a breakdown, I decided that I needed something to look forward to upon my arrival back in the “lower 48.” That something turned into an East-Coast baseball road trip.

Pregame at the Trop. So lively and rested... Left to Right: Andy, BWDW, Owen

In Alaska, I lived without a lot of things. A half-gallon of milk was $10 at the store. Fresh fruit was nonexistent. One thing I did have was access to email at my work. I fired-off emails to friends from home. I was only 24, so I was still close with many of my high school and college buddies.

Three people responded. Andy Stevens, Bryce, and Bryce.

“Two Bryces?,” you may ask. Yes. Two Bryces. Dos.

For purposes of knowing which Bryce was which, we tagged the Bryce I went to high school with as “Bryce who drinks Windex” (BWDW). The Bryce I went to college with was famously dubbed “Bitter Bryce” (Bitter B, or BB). One more Bryce and the space-time continuum could have been in jeopardy. More on the names for the Bryces later.

Andy and BWDW agreed to fly from California the day after the 4th of July. From July 5th through 24th, we would be on the road — for better or for worse. We would catch up with Bitter B later in the trip.
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Caryn, Jay, and Cody were freinds of mine in Florida. They weren't too sure about Bryce Who Drinks Windex. Given later evidence, I don't know if anyone could blame them...

“I had a job at Tropicana, but they fired me because I couldn’t concentrate.”

As we drove up to Tropicana Field, BWDW couldn’t help himself.

In 2005, the Rays’ stars were Carl Crawford and Rocco Baldelli. They didn’t have much else. Unfortunately for them, the crowds they drew weren’t much bigger than the talent they put out on the field.

Baseball in Tampa Bay is an odd experience. I attended about eight games at the ‘Trop during my time in Florida. Indoor baseball is one of the weirdest experiences a Californian can have. The indoor version of America’s pastime is only available anymore in a handful of places. Of these, Tropicana Field is the only one left that still sports an artificial playing surface.

No wind. No sun. No elements at all. Just a cool, constant 72 degrees. I guess people will do anything to get out of the humid summer days in Florida.

Notes about our visit to 2005 Tropicana Field:

Parking at Tropicana Field was $18. Maybe the Rays’ ownership was taking their cue from a Parking Lot owner named Frank McCourt at the time. Or maybe it just cost too much. I did enjoy how much we were allowed to move around. The first Rays game was also the only game we went to with other people. I think Bryce impressed them as clearly indicated by the look on Cody’s face in the picture above.

This game also marked Bryce’s first of many in the same pair of board shorts (more on that later). Keeping to the “shorts” theme, Andy destroyed a pair of his own when his pocket got caught on the Tropicana Field seat he was sitting in. A loud “Riiiiiiiip!” signified his shorts’ impending exit from the suitcase and into the garbage can.

BWDW loosened up about the third inning and after about four or five (or nine) drinks.

At the end of the first game, we were collectively down a pair of shorts and a small amount of dignity (I’m looking at you, Bryce), but our spirits were high and the collective will was strong.

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The thing about a baseball road trip up the entire East coast, is that driving up the entire East coast TAKES LONGER THAN YOU THINK.

Google Maps lists the drive from Tampa to Atlanta as over 7 hours. It didn’t seem like any less than that and after that first day of driving, I knew that the biggest obstacle to overcome on the road trip would be the time on the road.

On that first travel day, we took our positions in my white 2003 GMC Sierra extended cab truck, and these positions became routine over the next few days. Andy sat in the passenger seat with a map and a caffienated beverage, and Bryce was more or less conscious in the back seat as I drove. It was my truck and yeah, I’m a little nervous when other people ride along as I captain.

Arriving in Atlanta (“the dirty-dirty,” as Bryce was quick to point out), we spent our first hotel night at the Super 8 on Peachtree Street In Atlanta. And if you end up on Peachtree Street, let’s just say this, something is probably wrong.

The Braves game was fun. The Brewers were in town and the game was a close one. I remember three distinct things about Turner Field:

1) The Olympic influence — Turner Field was the center of the 1996 Olympic Summer Games in Atlanta and driving up to the stadium, you could see the influence of the Olympics on the architecture, parking lots, and even the stadium.

2) The Coke Bottles — above the left field wall, high atop the stadium, there is an area where kids can play on a mini field. It was a really interesting view of the game from up there. Upon closer examination of the towering Coke bottles in the area, I could see they were made of baseballs painted to match the colors of a Coke bottle. Coke is so big in Atlanta that Pepsi basically doesn’t exist there, and the huge Coke bottle in Turner Field is a reflection of that.

3) The game — On a hot, muggy, summer night in Atlanta, the game came down to the bottom of the ninth inning. The circumstances are still hazy, but I know that the Braves had a walk-off hit to end the game.

Andy had grown up a Braves fan, watching them on TBS, and I felt good that the Braves got him a win in his first trip to Turner Field.

The most memorable moment in Atlanta, though, came in the taxi on the way back to the Super 8. And, like many memorable moments, it came thanks to Bryce (Who drinks Windex).

Apparently there was a Christian Women’s convention downtown. For whatever reason our cab took us back near many of the big hotels and right up along side the convention center. Bryce was in the middle, but somehow managed to quickly roll the window down to spit his game.

There were no pictures of the "Motel 8" (which, incidentally, isn't a hotel that exists), so you'll have to be satisfied with this upper-deck view of Turner Field.

“Motel 8! Room 206! Roll 10 deep!” was all he managed to blurt out before our cab pulled away.

Incidentally, they didn’t “Roll ten deep.” Much to Bryce’s chagrin, they actually rolled zero deep. Apparently, the combination of the Super 8 and a guy as dapper and classy as BWDW somehow did not attract the attendees at the Christian women’s convention… Go figure.

Still to come: our adventure continues to Richmond, Virginia, The Paper Moon, Sweaty Red Sox fans, Swamp-Ass, and the Capitol Hill Shenanigans.

Photo gallery of Alaska and the first few days of the Trip.

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