Americana trips my trigger.  From Mount Rushmore to the Grand Canyon, I love touristy crap.  I will go miles out of my way to see the world’s largest ball of twine.  Road trips are not road trips unless you get hopelessly sidetracked.   That’s why I was so excited to visit Philadelphia, a town rich in East Coast swagger and all things red, white and blue.

Philly, along with New Orleans, is the last big American city I have yet to visit.  One problem … I have an aversion going to major metropolitan areas unless I have a local tour guide to show me the ropes.  1) because I hate to get lost and 2) I hate to miss out on local flavor.

Fortunately, my old roommate Mike is a native of Philadelphia.  We’ve been talking about coming here to his old stomping grounds for over two years, and we finally picked an amicable weekend.  I was borderline giddy getting off the plane.  Since I travel for work, it’s a rarity when I can investigate a new city.

I had the entire day mapped out.  At the top of the list was the Liberty Bell.   Such a no-brainer.   The Bell is located in the middle of Independence Mall … a place that has stayed virtually untouched since the late 1700’s.  Oh sure, it got spruced up in 1976 at the height of bicentennial fever, but that was 35+ years ago.  I knew we were getting close to the Bell when I spotted EuroTrash running amuck and Asian tourists taking pictures of every cobblestone on every street corner.  Surly park rangers stood by bored as people shuffled by … and some, like me, who stopped to take my picture.  In my mind, if I don’t have a photo that documents me being there, it simply did not happen.

“Mike, hurry up and take my picture,” I pleaded.  “Quick — before that Japanese guy sets up his tripod and tries to get the entire cast of ‘Miss Saigon’ in his shot.”  Mike doesn’t like to be rushed in any way, shape or form.  He marches to the beat of his own drum and God help the person who tries to hurry him along.  Eventually, he clicked a picture that was to my liking.  I immediately turned and said, “Okay, now let’s go get a cheesesteak.”

These were words Mike understood.

Pat’s World Famous Cheesesteaks and the Liberty Bell are MILES apart.  Such a pity too.  It would have been nice to have a picture of me EATING a cheesesteak in FRONT of the bell.  Alas … no.  So we immediately started hoofing it.  42 minutes later I was ready to find some Cheese Whiz and just eat my shoe.  But then, like a mirage in the desert, I saw Pat’s (and across the street, its rival Geno’s).  I followed Mike’s lead and ordered the same thing he did.   It was bliss.  I attacked the sandwich like a python.  I unhinged my jaw and swallowed it whole.  Mike was quick to point out that in my haste, I spilled grease all the way down the front of my shirt.  (Note the picture.)  I didn’t care.  I was in greasy carb heaven.  I guzzled down two root beers to wash it down.

I needed the fuel to recharge my batteries.  Next up on the hit parade was to run up the steps of the Art Museum, a’ la Rocky Balboa.  Well, maybe not run.  My belly was extremely full.  I think a leisure stroll was more the ticket.  More on that in my next blog.