Atlanta
25 May 2015
The once grand Georgian Terrace Hotel, opposite the Fox Theatre in Atlanta, was showing its age a little, although signs apologised for any inconvenience caused by renovations. The grand two-bedroom suite in which we found ourselves, though, was well appointed and comfortable. Pterodactyl's wife had conjured it from the Internet. Her accommodation search capacities were — deservedly — highly recommended. Even better than the grandness, for a pair of mildly stingy Aussies, was the price tag. Pterodactyl's wife has been promoted to the status of 'legend'.
It was to be our base for a day or two while we sorted out some jet lag and prepared ourselves for our next adventure: riding to the inaugural CB1100Forum.com rally near Robbinsville, North Carolina. I felt a certain satisfaction in having made it. In early 2014, I had a tentative plan to spend my 60th birthday in New York City, a place I'd never been. Actually, I still haven't. When the rally was first mooted, the timing was such that I'd wondered if I could attend. I mentioned it casually to Pterodactyl one day and the next thing I knew we were booking bikes and accommodation at the Iron Horse Motorcycle Lodge. The NYC trip had gone pear-shaped for other reasons, but here we were in Atlanta.
As I stumbled round in the morning, I made my first local discovery of differences between Australia and America: there are no facilities for a bloke easily to make a cup of tea. I was slightly bemused; in every Australian motel, no matter how ordinary, you'll find a kettle and a couple of tea bags. Here there was a nifty gizmo for making coffee, but nothing in which to boil water. I was too tired to figure it.
By the time we got downstairs breakfast was done and dusted in the hotel dining room and croissants in the attached coffee shop didn't seem substantial enough. We went in search of a café. It was Memorial Day and most places were closed, so that turned out to be tricky, but we found the Broadway Diner over the road. This establishment, proudly advertising itself as being open for 24 hours each day, had a sign in small print apologising for no longer being open 24 hours. I was not surprised: there was one other person in the place.
Later we walked the deserted streets of downtown Atlanta, hoping to find some activity. Other than a feminist rally in Woodruff Park, and the odd beggar, there was not a great deal happening. A man walking past said, "Y'all looking for something to do? Won't find anything much on Memorial Day." It didn't matter; we'd had a walk which is one of the prescriptions for getting over jet lag and a desultory afternoon in the hotel further helped to repair our depleted beings.
The Publik Draft House being closed, we took beer and dinner on the terrace at the hotel overlooking the historic Fox Theatre. Sadly, perhaps, there was nothing on there, but the future offered a veritable explosion of blasts from the past — the B52s, Culture Club, Anthony Bourdain and the legendary Brian Wilson. While Sesame Street Live mightn't rank as a must see, some of the other acts made it a pity not to be staying longer. As we ate it rained and thundered, perhaps not a good omen for a motorcycle ride.
