Indy 500 Honeymoon

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Original Poster:

6,471 posts

185 months

Sunday 6th August 2017
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Mrs Chev and I got married in May and, against all the odds, I persuaded her that we should cruise the Deep South watching motor racing, going to gigs, and over-indulging in BBQ food and beer. As if by some miracle, she agreed!

Part one doesn't really feature any racing but it does introduce our wheels for the trip and gave us the opportunity to savour live music - our other great passion in life. Part two will feature more cars.



Part one:

It wasn’t the easiest sell in the world but I think the promise of some NASCAR swung it: against all the odds, I’d secured an Indy 500 honeymoon. While the Maldives or Bora Bora might be more traditional, there’s nothing like the prospect of 40 snarling stock cars to convince your bride-to-be of the merits of a US road trip to celebrate permanent legal union.



Our starting point is Atlanta, the capital of Georgia – a buzzing Southern town with a history of extreme commerce and one of the most important cities in the civil rights movement during the last century.

The hospitality is superb from the moment we arrive at our hotel. Apparently a British accent goes a long way in these parts but being conscientious and polite is a way of life in this part of the world. The effervescent lady working the late shift on our hotel bar implores every guest to, “have a blessed day, y’all.” It’s disconcerting at first, but this is the bible belt and the gesture is sincere. Her banter is strong too.



We set a relaxed schedule for day one, electing not to take the car but instead to just explore the city on foot. Our first destination is the Martin Luther King, Jr. Historic Site; a couple of blocks dedicated to the life of the civil rights movement’s most noted peaceful proponent, who spent much of his life in Atlanta.

The skyline of midtown and downtown looms over much of the city but the Martin Luther King, Jr. Historic Site is in a peaceful, mostly residential, neighbourhood with kids playing basketball and residents of all ages quietly going about their business. In spite of this, the area is imbued with a soft, almost reverential tone. While the site might be named after King, it does much to promote peace and civil rights generally.




The National Centre for Civil and Human Rights lays bare the best and worst of humanity. From slavery to defiance, it provides a stark reminder for privileged Middle England how far the Western world has progressed in the last 60 years. The centre is free to enter but welcomes donations. It’s moving but essential. The Ebenezer Baptist Church where Kings Jr. and Snr. were pastors sits to one side of the museum, and further up is King’s boyhood home.






We keep on walking, exploring Inman Park and up to Krog Street Market, a hipster street food joint based out of an old industrial unit. It’s similar in concept to PapirØen in Copenhagen, if a little slicker in execution. It’s hard to resist delving into the outrageous selection of cask beers, even though it’s barely lunchtime. But what else are holidays for?





This pretty much sets the tone for our day in Atlanta and we waste no time in sampling a few dive bars and burger joints in the company of a fellow local mosher we befriend in Little Five Points, Atlanta’s equivalent to Camden; albeit with a grittier edge. We quickly learn to heed the advice issued to us by our hosts in one bar: a glass of water with every beer. It’s so hot and sticky here that hydration is of paramount importance during drinking. It always pays to sit at the bar and get to know one’s hosts.






Atlanta is super-cool and we could easily have stopped another few days but this is a road trip and we need to get rollin’.

We had identified that a trip around the Deep South would require a properly American car – six cylinders being the bare minimum and eight preferred. Our number one target is the Dodge Challenger: an awesome throwback to the land Donald Trump remembers, with eight offbeat cylinders, hemispherical heads and an earnest devotion to turning fuel into noise. We managed to snare the last one in the rental lot. At a price.

It doesn’t take long to escape Atlanta’s urban sprawl and we are soon cruising the archetypical roads we’ve seen in Smokey and the Bandit: two carriages ways a mile wide, separated by a broad, inviting strip of grass. I have to fight the urge to launch from the asphalt and tear across the grass while evading Smokey.




Our first target is Senoia, Georgia, about an hour south of Atlanta. This little homestead has become famous as a location for TV and movie filming – and today is best known as the home of The Walking Dead. In preparation for the trip, I’ve spent many hours watching Andrew Lincoln slay zombies while deploying a semi-convincing southern accent.

Senoia is small town and it feels it. The streets are hushed, the buildings unspoilt and there’s no litter anywhere. The locals evidently take pride in their environment. They also drive everywhere in golf buggies. The little electric bolides sit outside every house and they appear from all directions loaded with children, pets and provisions, like mopeds in Thailand. I query our tour guide and she appears bemused that I have to ask: the golf buggy is simply the best way to get around. Well, amen to that.






The Walking Dead tour is pretty cool. It transpires that the fictional town of Alexandria is an existent town in Senoia. All the buildings are real, many of them occupied and all behind a battered hoarding line, as seen in the show. Something of a surprise is a barbecue joint on the main strip which features a tribute to Top Gear USA presenter, Rutledge Wood. Now a NASCAR commentator, it transpires that Wood is a hometown boy and his family owns Katie Lou’s, which serves a wicked mac n cheese.




As with all good road trips, we’ve enlivened proceedings with a little jeopardy. We have tickets for a must-see gig in Nashville this evening. We’re tight on time but a clear run should get us there in time for the second band at least. We make good running and the roads are clear. There is more of the same, with broad, open highways disappearing on for miles. The terrain is green and lush, with coniferous trees lining much of the route. Small towns appear and disappear. I’m pleased to note that the margins are less cluttered with ephemera than we experienced in Texas three years ago. There are only so many different burger chains you can patronise, after all.



The advertising we do find is alien and fascinating. As we skirt the border with Alabama, we find a vast proliferation of fireworks shops – one proclaiming to be the largest in the world. I’ve no idea whether this bold claim has been independently verified but it looks bloody massive.



Compared to the quiet dignity of a British ecclesiastical building, it takes some acclimatising to the rather more forward approach that the church adopts in this part of the world. Vast roadside signs implore the motorist to visit each church in turn – or remind one of the good work of Jesus. Barely a handful of miles will pass without a star spangled banner proudly waving in the breeze. The trucks are suitably vast, with towering, shiny stack exhausts exiting high above the cabs.






As with everything in North America, the highway and its periphery are huge. Giant railway bridges periodically bisect our path – lumpen steel structures suitable for heavy goods wagons travelling long distances. Periodically, we pass painlessly through monstrous rock formations, where the scars of dynamite explosions are still exposed on each face. It’s clear to see where deep holes have been drilled before the rock was blown apart to permit the easiest possible passage for the road. While it may feel natural and unobtrusive, there has clearly been a huge amount of civil engineering work undertaken to make the road flow so easily.




As we make our way through Tennessee and into the outskirts of Nashville, the peripheral signs become more plentiful. There are several opportunities to visit whiskey distilleries and some of Broadway’s famous honky tonk bars are advertising up to 20 miles outside of town. It’s a good way of increasing the tension: will we make first band?

Our hotel would be a pretty unprepossessing place, were it not for a dramatic lobby, with chains of spherical light fittings reaching 20 storeys into the rafters. Glass-fronted elevators whisk occupants to their rooms in a journey I can only imagine is ten times better under the influence of hallucinogenic drugs.





By now we realise we’re definitely running late for the gig and walk as fast as our ageing legs will permit to the Ryman Auditorium. The Ryman is a red brick tabernacle dating back to the late-19th century and is one of Nashville’s most famed live music venues – quite an accolade for Music City. Tonight is the first time the Ryman has played host to metal bands: Mastodon is in town. It’s only once we’ve bought our $9 pints of craft beer that a helpful staff member is able to get through to us that we’ve traversed a time zone. Instead of being 15 minutes late for the gig, we’re actually 45 minutes early. In fact, I believe this is the first time in my life when I’ve ever actually been early for anything.

It gives us time to explore the venue and check out the merch. The Ryman is a shell-shaped theatre, all seated, with the balcony seating gently tiered and constructed from beautifully wrought timber pews. Directly opposite the stage, behind the balcony, is a set of tall stained-glass windows through which the early evening light bathes the congregation. It makes a notable change from our usual dingy pub gig venues.




First on is Russian Circles, a band which has managed to escape the shackles of a crowded post-metal genre. They’re equal parts dense brutality and ethereal ambience. It’s a mega show and drummer Dave Turncrantz is out of this world – a blur of technicality and ferocity. They close with a wall of noise; perhaps the most pummelling sonic abuse the Ryman has suffered in its 125 years.

Second on the storied stage is Eagles of Death Metal. Attracting headlines for all the wrong reasons when its show at the Bataclan in Paris was chosen for a terror attack, the band’s name is misleading. This is really a bluesy rock band and supremely pro. Singer Jesse Hughes is a ball of energy, an ordained pastor and his stage persona bears this out. The music isn’t totally my bag but it’s perfectly executed and there’s evidence of a crowd which clearly hangs on every word. Sometimes you need to step back and remember where you are.

And so; with another $9 beer tearing its way through my beleaguered bank balance, Mastodon takes to the stage.

This is a band at the very top of its game and blessed with a back catalogue bulging with killer hooks, outrageous time signatures and an ability to drop the deadliest chugs with no prior warning. It’s an incendiary mix and they juggernaut their way through a greatest hits set, dropping hit after hit with barely a pause for breath. They open with Sultan’s Curse, the first track from latest album Emperor of Sand, taking in highlights from that record including the stand-out Show Yourself. They plunge through each record picking out the biggest riffs before closing with an epic triumvirate of Mother Puncher, Circle of Cisquatch and finally the mighty March of the Fire Ants, bringing the house down with it. It’s a display of pure power, mastery of melody and terrifying technicality. Best metal band in the world? Don’t doubt it.



With the opening riff from March of the Fire Ants still swirling in the memory, drummer Brann Dailor delivers a heart-felt epilogue. His grandparents had played the Ryman Auditorium in the 1950s and he was clearly moved looking up to the same stained glass windows as they had, 60 years earlier. The first metal show at the Ryman was a triumph.

Nashville first came to my attention during the TV comedy Master of None, when Dev takes his new belle Rachel on a one-day date to Music City. This is the home of country music and it wears its heart on its sleeve. The downtown district bursts with high-rise blocks, including the AT&T tower, nicknamed The Batman Building due to its resemblance to Batman’s mask. It looms over the entire state of Tennessee as its tallest building.




The city is heaving with construction activity and it’s fascinating to observe how things are done on the other side of the pond. The speed of construction is hugely impressive, with crazy back-propping to progress multiple floors of high-rise buildings. I’d hate to be undertaking the temporary works calculations on those. Elsewhere, it’s evident that health and safety is not up to the standards of the UK industry but this is a place where things get done.

By far the most impressive structure is Music City Centre. This is an enormous exhibition space sprawling over two full blocks and stretching high into the sky; large enough that a main road actually passes through it. Imagine dropping the Birmingham NEC into the middle of a busy city and cladding it in a flowing, trippy façade.



We take a recommendation and dine at Martin’s BBQ – a bustling, traditional barbecue house which smells divine and serves the best brisket I’ve ever eaten. This kind of food might be a hipster staple in the UK, but here in the South, it’s a way of life and the proliferation of awesome eats is one of the highlights of the trip.



We need a decent meal as our next stop is Broadway. This legendary neon strip is home to Nashville’s honky tonk bars. It’s as brash as it sounds, with live music in every joint but less forced and tacky than Bourbon Street in New Orleans. This is still the real deal.



We settle at the bar in Nudie’s – home of the longest bar in Nashville; allegedly. As we have to squint to see its conclusion, it’s hard to disagree. There’s a band in full flow and for the two hours we stay, they don’t let up. It’s a mix of blues, rock and country – mostly covers and plenty of songs we know but many that we don’t. The guitarist makes frequent requests for tequila shots – at one stage being furnished with a huge shot by a very enthusiastic and apparently devoted middle-aged lady who hollers in response. We don’t stick around long enough to witness the conclusion of that burgeoning relationship.

Despite having no background in country music, it’s impossible not to get caught up in the whole atmosphere. People in cowboy boots dance in front of the stage and the guitarist intersperses his tequila shots with waltzes along the bar and, as a backdrop, Nudie’s own white Cadillac hangs from the wall behind the stage.



Of course, this is just the warm-up act for the main event: we’re off to see hardcore’s craziest live band. Every Time I Die are playing a tiny dive bar called The End. Upon arrival in the early evening, it’s still sweltering but the beer is cheaper than most places and the venue is packed. The band is completely off the hook – as you would expect. The tiny venue has people hanging from every available rafter, with crowd surfers from beginning to end. As a static observer, it’s hellishly intense and sweaty; one cannot imagine how tough it must have been on stage. This is a special band, with massive, catchy, heavy songs played with unerring conviction. A totally different gig to Mastodon the night before but no less vital.




Every Time I Die is the soundtrack to close our time in Nashville – it’s been short but sweet. We’ve got to get over the border and into North Carolina. Boogity boogity boogity – let’s go racing! Charlotte Motor Speedway beckons.

Dinoboy

2,494 posts

216 months

Monday 7th August 2017
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Great write up, look forward to the next instalment smile

coopedup

3,741 posts

138 months

Tuesday 8th August 2017
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A really superb bit of writing there, funny and engaging from the off, really looking forward to more.

MikeT66

2,680 posts

123 months

Wednesday 9th August 2017
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Superb read - thank you for taking the time to post. Looking forward to reading a bit more - this would be a dream holiday for me!

chevronb37

Original Poster:

6,471 posts

185 months

Wednesday 9th August 2017
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Massive thanks for reading and for commentating, guys - really appreciate it. I'm reasonably well progressed with part two so will try to get it online this week. Strong NASCAR content incoming!!

K50 DEL

9,227 posts

227 months

Friday 11th August 2017
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I've never heard of any of the bands but it's lovely to see some great photos of an area I last toured through in the early 00's
My trip to the Ryman was much more "normal" - I went to the Grand Ole Opry there but Nudies escaped me, I'm a huge country fan so went for Tootsie's Orchid Lounge instead. The Gaylord Opryland Resort was also worth a visit

Did you tour Coca-Cola, CNN and the Georgia Dome whilst in Atlanta? all 3 are well worth seeing.

Looking forward to the next instalment.

chevronb37

Original Poster:

6,471 posts

185 months

Sunday 13th August 2017
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Part two:

In the interests of true road tripping, we have again introduced a little jeopardy to a serious day’s motoring. We have tickets for NASCAR’s third-tier Camping World Truck Series at Charlotte Motor Speedway. Not only does this mean six hours of driving, but we have no time zone straddling to aid our progress.

We treat the multi-storey hotel car park as an opportunity to warm up the Challenger and it’s impossible not to giggle as the big ole brute rocks on its springs from the torque – virtually from idle. The noise is outrageous for a production sedan.

It’s unusual to tap a destination into a sat nav and find oneself with no directions for a full 200 miles but the I-40 East will convey us for almost 300 miles – right into the Smoky Mountains. Bearing in mind our location, vehicle and the extent of driving ahead of us, it feels right to deploy some real driving music: Credence Clear Water Revival. Now we’re in business.



We pause for breakfast in Gordonsville, a little hick town in the middle of nowhere. Waffle House is a chain we see everywhere but other than its eponymous wares, we know nothing about it. We find a scene straight out of a movie. As usual, we sit at the bar in order to survey the scene and get to know our hosts. We are shown to our elevated seats by a friendly lady, comfortably into her 60s, whom the chef calls ‘Miss Judy’. He and another lady run the kitchen with an iron grip, though from the moment we arrive we have no clue what is happening. Food flies from all directions, apparently cooked with little regard for order and yet each cover is delivered as one at the appropriate moment. It’s akin to witnessing witchcraft first-hand.



Waffle House is far from glamorous but the filter coffee isn’t bad and the waffles are pretty damn good. The clientele is mixed but just to our right is a chap who could’ve passed for the Marlboro Man in retirement: Cowboy hat, packet of cigarettes to one side and moustache drooping into his coffee. I don’t imagine they get many folk from the UK passing through but we’re afforded remarkable anonymity compared to many places on our trip. An honest, cholesterol-ridden breakfast to kick-start the day; you couldn’t ask for much more and all for barely $5 apiece.



The scenery is evocative and lush but not hugely memorable. The Tennessee countryside is densely wooded with mature tree disappearing to the horizon, our broad highway carving a gentle path through the middle. It’s impossible not to wonder at the sheer number of trees and ponder a solution to the sustainable harvesting of timber.



We pass more ludicrous signs including the inviting ‘Love Shack’ and a huge advert for a Gun Show; two tickets, please...




A pause for barbecue food brings forth more mac n cheese and some exceptional ribs. Each BBQ joint seems to produce one stand-out meat and at Sweet P’s in Knoxville, the ribs win hands down. The restaurant is on the water and we take a breather for half an hour to chill out before saddling back up to maintain our progress towards North Carolina and our third state in four days.




The scenery improves dramatically as we reach the foothills of the Appalachian mountain range. The mountains stretch 1,500 miles from Newfoundland in Canada all the way to Alabama so we really only traverse a short section. Most stunning is the Great Smoky Mountains National Park. The vistas become broader, longer and taller; giant rigs are dwarfed by looming mountain peaks and tufts of mist hang in the trees whimsically.





This is hugely dramatic motoring and the majesty of the surroundings is belied to some extent by the normality of the road: still, wide and flowing, with the occasional advert for a burger outlet and scores of burst tyres littering the hard shoulder. It really is one of the most stunning roads I’ve ever driven – even if there are no dabs of oppo, blipped downchanges or bursts of acceleration. We simply make casual, easy progress with blues rock on the stereo and the thrill of a constantly-evolving horizon to lure us deeper into North Carolina.

We arrive at Charlotte in time to grab our tickets, drop off our bags and take the 20 minute drive over to the Speedway. We miss qualifying for the Saturday’s All-Star Race but we’re comfortably in time for the truck event on Friday evening. Another poke in the eye for our road trip jeopardy.

North Carolina and the area around Charlotte is the home of stock car racing in the US. While casual European observers (and I count myself among them) might consider Talladega and Daytona to be the archetypal NASCAR circuits, the teams and the drivers are almost all based within half an hour of Charlotte Motor Speedway. This is NASCAR’s church. That said, it’s something of a surprise to find a card promoting The Apostolic Restoration Church bundled in with our programme. That is a first for me at a motor sport event.

It’s hard to know quite where to start when describing a NASCAR event as most European frames of reference are inadequate. Certainly my last experience of stock car racing on an oval – ASCAR at Rockingham (Corby) – sells the spectacle woefully short.

Charlotte Motor Speedway is a huge facility. As well as the high-banked 1.5 mile paved oval, the place boasts a short-track dirt oval and a four-wide NHRA drag strip. And, yes, they do host four-wide top fuel dragsters and funny cars on the strip. That will definitely be a feature of our next trip.

Friday night oval racing is a tradition in North America – from midgets on dirt to 200mph bump-drafting around Daytona. This is how families see in the weekend. As traditional as the attendance itself; is the right to bear beer. It may not technically be drafted into the Constitution but the NASCAR fan’s right to haul a big ass cooler of beer into his or her chosen venue is the kind of issue over which men start civil wars. This stuff is serious in these parts.

The crowd is a little thin tonight; for a venue which can hold up to 120,000 people, anything less than half-full feels a bit ghostly. We adopt our perch on the bleachers and find ourselves high above the front stretch, a little ahead of the point at which the drivers are turning left into turn one. At this stage it’s still light but dusk is descending and by the time the safety car peels off into the pits to unleash the pack, the drivers are running under floodlights and the skies are black.



The most striking aspect of the start is, perhaps unsurprisingly, the noise. It’s the first time I’ve ever felt compelled to wear earplugs at a race meeting. The cumulative effect of 40 raging stock cars is a savage assault on the eardrums. This is a pretty physical sport to watch, with the pack pushing a draft across your face every 30 seconds.

The race belongs to one man only: Kyle Busch has joined the grid as an interloper and he is peerless all evening. He is challenged but not to the extent that the result ever looks in doubt. Christopher Bell is an early challenger but he drops way back down the field as the result of an unscheduled pitstop. Somehow he claws his way back into contention by the end.



The race is run to a relatively straightforward format but there are a couple of stages at which the order remains the same but everything resets with a trip to the pits. With the entire circuit visible from our seats, it’s not difficult to follow the race but most of the cars and their pilots aren’t familiar so it doesn’t feel totally intuitive to watch. The sheer visceral thrill of the cars at speed is comfortably enough to hold your interest though.







There are a couple of spins and the odd bit of contact but those expecting a demolition derby must have gone home disappointed. The spread of talent through the field is pretty broad and the difference in speed between Busch and the tail-enders is far more pronounced than we would find the following day for the Cup race.






When the chequered flag drops, it’s close across the line but the ever-controversial Busch has added another victory to his bulging CV and celebrates with a bag of donuts which fills the Speedway with smoke. Friday night in Charlotte has proven pretty awesome – and this is merely the warm-up act.



We hit the circuit at lunchtime the next day to fully explore and soak up everything the event has to offer. The temperature is outrageous – pure, dry, energy-sapping heat and we have to run between the shady spots.



Really gaudy merch is a massive guilty pleasure of mine and there are acres of stalls selling naff t-shirts, caps, bleacher mats, mugs, keyrings, beer coolers...you name it. It’s all completely fantastic and I can’t stop myself from buying a Dale Earnhardt Jr. t-shirt, almost half of the material given over to a giant image of his #88 Chevy. We also manage to snare a NASCAR cooler – perfect for keeping our beers just a degree or two below the sweltering ambient temperature.




The place is rammed today and the police are in full attendance with rows of state trooper cars parked up and the thousands of cars being directed with absolute authority. In spite of the sheer volume of traffic, everything is pretty orderly. It sure beats the usual ineffectual teenager in a hi vis vest you find at most big events in Europe.



There is a real buzz in the air and All-Star Race kicks off a week of racing in Charlotte, with World of Outlaws sprint cars on the dirt track the following week, before the big Coca Cola 600 points-paying NASCAR event next weekend. The crowd is vast and devoted with event t-shirts on display from the previous 30 years. It’s very evident that Dale Earnhardt Jr. is the darling of the home crowd. He lives locally and his race team is based just half an hour from the track. This is his farewell tour and the sport ponders how it will grow in his absence. It’s very apparent that there will be a void left when he hangs up his helmet.

We have passes to walk pit road and several of the cars are already lined up outside their pit boxes (no garages facing into the pit lane here) and it’s fascinating to survey how the stock car teams go about their racing.





The cars are simple and yet completely alien in many respects. The hulking tube frames look agricultural but the engines are jewels: nowhere near the size you’d expect, the ancillaries are all kept well out of harm’s way and the blocks are implausibly low and tight up to the firewall. Think 90s Super Tourer and you wouldn’t be far off in terms of engine location, only these monsters pack an 800bhp punch.




The cabins are stark and look positively vintage. The steering wheels retain a centre cushioned pad – ya’know, just in case. Compared to the European approach of carbon fibre everything, it feels strange seeing steel and aluminium everywhere. Even my old Lotus road car has Kevlar seats and yet Ricky Stenhouse Jr. makes do with a leather-lined metal throne.



While it’s easy to scoff at the relative lack of sophistication, it’s clear that these machines have evolved to be perfectly fit for their intended purpose. And they’re obviously extremely highly-developed, even if that doesn’t mean carbon fibre monocoques and hybrid powertrains. The upper surfaces of the cars are littered with passive flaps. These are designed to rise in the event that the car spins – simply through the process of the air hitting the leading edge of the flap, helping to prevent the car from becoming airborne. This is clever stuff and, being entirely passive, they require no complex control systems or electronics.



Of equal fascination are the mechanics’ kit boxes. Each team has a rack of equipment facing out into pit road. Forget your F1 / LMP1 reboot protocol, here the guys set to work on injured cars using hack saws and acres of duct tape. Fitness for purpose once again...




We are free to roam the front stretch and it brings home quite home enormous the place is. The grass between pit road and the front stretch feels as large as a decent-sized dairy farm, while the grandstands tower high above us, the steepness of the banking is only apparent when you stand at the top and consider the turn-in speed of the Cup cars. *Gulp*.






Hundreds of fans have written little notes and dedications on the start line but the ultimate has to be the simple: “Kyle Busch has a punchable face.” I suppose he does.



The All-Star Race is a non-championship Cup round which carries a huge prize purse. You won’t help your title ambitions by winning, but you will help your retirement plans. The series’ 16 most successful drivers are granted automatic entry, with a qualifying session and multi-stage heat race to decide the other four spots in the 20-car All-Star Race, with the participants competing for a $1 million prize for the overall win.

This all seems pretty complicated, especially as I’m not hugely familiar with all of the drivers out there. Everyone knows Jimmie Johnson and his incredible achievements but, for example, I know almost nothing about Mexican sensation Daniel Suarez. The locals, though, are evidently well-informed and hold dear their favourite drivers while rarely missing a chance to malign those out-of-favour.

The three-stage heat race – the Monster Energy Open – gave places in the All-Star Race to Clint Bowyer, Ryan Blaney and Daniel Suarez. Chase Elliott won the popular vote to become the final entrant in the grand final.








The All-Star Race itself comprises 70 laps – effectively three 20-lap heats for all 20 runners, with the top-10 going through to a 10 lap dash to the flag.

The early running is all about Kyle Larson. The youngster aboard the #42 Chip Ganassi Chevrolet has the legs on the entire field and probably has about a tenth per lap on his rivals. He wins the opening two stages of the race comfortably and looks a shoo-in for the big dollar prize.



The Cup cars are notably faster than the previous evening’s trucks. Average lap speed is up by a full 10 mph and the leaders are lapping at 188mph. One on-board reveals that Larson is sweeping into turn one at 197mph, just beneath our feet. This is serious stuff and the cars are visibly on a knife-edge, showers of sparks firing from the sills if they take to the apron with full tanks and visibly squirming throughout. Forget any preconceptions are mashing the throttle and simply turning left: these guys are properly brave and awesomely skilled.



Charlotte is designated a superspeedway, although it’s much shorter than the likes of Daytona, Talladega or Indy. In spite of that, it is not a restrictor plate track so the drivers have full power with which to range themselves. The banks are really very steep and there’s something properly emotive about the sight and sound of the pack pummelling through the first corner, the roof of the car as visible to us as the side. I have a lump in my throat.



The racing is surprisingly clean and I’m relieved we don’t witness any significant incidents. There are occasional spins but nothing serious. At one stage during the Monster Energy Open, Erik Jones spews oil over the surface, causing a brief cessation of racing. While oil on European road courses is handled by an orange-clad marshal and a bucket of cement dust, things over here are – naturally – on a bigger scale. A pick-up truck drenches the affected Tarmac with cement dust before a squadron of pick-ups uses rear-mounted jet engines to blast the cement from the surface. It’s noisy and dusty but certainly effective: a proper operation. The only time I’d previously seen the jet blowers in action was when Champ Car visited Rockingham and the track surface was weeping groundwater.






The assembled crowds are not shy in their enthusiasm for their favourite drivers. Top of the list is local hero Dale Earnhardt Jr. 2017 will be his last as a full-time, top-flight driver and he doesn’t look like a force to be reckoned with all weekend. His #88 Chevy is decorated in a garish yellow and orange livery which looks fantastic under the evening floodlights. You’d certainly never lose it in a car park.



NASCAR currently faces a major challenge in terms of maintaining fan interest once the series’ most popular driver retires. Of the younger challengers, #24, Chase Elliott, is evidently the fan favourite. I never quite ascertain what gives him the X-factor but he receives rapturous cheers on virtually every lap. Equally, the fans are not afraid to give their less favoured drivers hell. One angry supporter near to us shouts “you suck” every single lap at Kyle Busch. Mercifully for Busch, his 850bhp V8 will just about have drowned out the hostile jibes.



This is pretty tribal stuff and evidently highly traditional. Much like the long-standing Australian Holden vs. Ford war, the battle lines were drawn long ago and there is a sense of generational entrenchment around a family’s favoured driver or manufacturer. Every single attendee is displaying some kind of loyalty towards his or her preferred pilot. Hats, shirts, jackets, coolers, big gulp cups...you name it, they’ll be wearing it in support of their hero.

With all that said, though, Toyota appeared to be well-respected and perhaps the Japanese company’s establishment as a major employer in the US has served it well. Manufacturers like Dodge and Plymouth have been and gone in stock car circles so Toyota’s dedication is to be applauded and it appears to have been accepted into the scene.








The final 10-lap bout is a thriller. All the runners bar Brad Keslowski pit under yellow before forming up for the rolling start. Larson suffers a slow stop and we’re treated to the sight of him going four-wide down pit road in the company of Jimmie Johnson, Kyle Busch and Denny Hamlin. This sets up a monster showdown over the final fifteen miles.



As the track goes green, Friday’s winner Busch dives under Keslowski to snatch the lead. Keslowski’s Ford makes contact with Larson which slots Jimmie Johnson into second while Busch scarpers. Keslowski is out of it, almost nerfing Hamlin into the wall. That enables Kurt Busch to grab fourth.

Kyle Busch in special Caramel M&Ms livery repeats his Friday victory while Larson overhauls Johnson on the final tour for second. From the stands, he looked the quickest guy all evening so he’ll be ruing that slow stop. Busch, meanwhile wears can’t wipe the grin from his ‘punchable’ face. Another set of raucous donuts fills the air with thick, white smoke and fireworks launch from behind the back stretch. Never let it be said that the Americans miss an opportunity for a little pomp and ceremony.






As we file out of the venue, we follow a chap wearing a t-shirt proudly proclaiming the slogan: “Trump: Finally someone with balls”. We’ve been treated to the national anthem, prayers, star spangled banners, tributes to the military and any number of references to America’s status as the greatest country in the world.

This isn’t motor racing as we know it in Europe. Not only is the spectacle of 40 raging stock cars utterly alien (though equally intoxicating and bewitching) but the sentiment, the patriotism and the passion of the fans requires some adjustment. It’s as far as you might find from the Goodwood garden party vibes but it’s a historically rich and hugely significant branch of our sport and I’d urge everyone with petrol in their veins to attend at least one event. You won’t forget the wall of noise as the pack charges past you at 200mph and the experience of attending a race in the bible belt is unlike anything else.





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Original Poster:

6,471 posts

185 months

Sunday 13th August 2017
quotequote all
K50 DEL said:
I've never heard of any of the bands but it's lovely to see some great photos of an area I last toured through in the early 00's
My trip to the Ryman was much more "normal" - I went to the Grand Ole Opry there but Nudies escaped me, I'm a huge country fan so went for Tootsie's Orchid Lounge instead. The Gaylord Opryland Resort was also worth a visit

Did you tour Coca-Cola, CNN and the Georgia Dome whilst in Atlanta? all 3 are well worth seeing.

Looking forward to the next instalment.
We have so much stuff left to do in both Atlanta and Nashville. We didn't get chance to try any of those places! Because we were bound by the gigs and the racing, we skipped around a little to get to the events. I think next time we go to the States we'll fly into Atlanta again and stop over another couple of nights to explore some more. Really cool city though. We also didn't get time to do any of the Tennessee distilleries so we'll certainly explore those on another trip too. Just got to save up a little!

Mr Tidy

22,065 posts

126 months

Monday 14th August 2017
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Fantastic write-up OP. :thumbup"

Thanks to a very generous mate I went to the 1991 Daytona 500 with a seat in the Winston Tower - but it was much more exciting down by the fence (although they wouldn't let you stay there, so I just walked very slowly)!

NASCAR in the south is hugely popular, and I could see why!

It makes BTCC look like some girls fighting over a handbag.

rog007

5,748 posts

223 months

Monday 14th August 2017
quotequote all
Great write up and certainly you'll be able to read that back over years to come and reminisce with your new wife.

Brought back fantastic memories as I'd done something similar with a group of friends a number of years ago; wonderful country and experience, but the scrapes we got in to! biggrin


MikeT66

2,680 posts

123 months

Thursday 17th August 2017
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Brilliant - really enjoyed that.


Matt Harper

6,613 posts

200 months

Thursday 17th August 2017
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Indy 500?

RWJ

251 posts

180 months

Monday 21st August 2017
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Most enjoyable read. Thank you.

You mentioned the NHRA Four-Wide Nationals at the Z-Max Dragway over the road from Charlotte Speedway. I was there this past April and highly recommend it -- 40,000 bhp off the line all in one go. From your comments about first-time ear defenders and jet track dryers, I'm guessing you haven't been to the drags. If not, do go -- come to Santa Pod next month, for a start.

I also took a tour of the Bristol Motor Speedway complex just over the border in Tennessee, little more than a morning's drive from Charlotte. The entire place was deserted except for me and half a dozen other random folk and our Speedway minivan driver/tour guide. The site includesThunder Valley Dragway, perhaps the world's most spectacularly located dragstrip, squeezed in between high mountain walls on either side. I've never been to a race there but the sound must be phenomenal.

The Speedway itself is one of the most imposing structures I've ever seen, a high-banked 1/2-mile track inside a 160,000-seater stadium -- like Wembley on steroids. We got taken everywhere, starting in Bruton Smith's luxury private suite high above the track, then on to the stadium floor itself, including bombing around the steep banking as fast as the minivan would go. Highly recommended visit, well worth a special trip if you are anywhere in the region.

paulguitar

23,104 posts

112 months

Monday 21st August 2017
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Brilliant work OP, really enjoyed it. I would love to go to a NASCAR race, closest I have got is a visit to an empty Daytona on a Wednesday.

coopedup

3,741 posts

138 months

Tuesday 22nd August 2017
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Yet another great read, many thanks OP.

chevronb37

Original Poster:

6,471 posts

185 months

Tuesday 22nd August 2017
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Thanks for all the positi comments and stories from your own adventures, guys - loving getting more ideas from everyone. There really are scores of other places and events I want to visit in the States. We passed quite close to Bristol and there was a Late Model event taking place while we were there but Mrs Chev put her foot down – probably quite rightly as I did manage to squeeze three race meetings into one honeymoon!

I’ve only been to a couple of drag events – the Euros at Santa Pod and a smaller event at Texas Raceway where I ended up competing against the strip owner in my rental car! The last time I saw the blowers in action was the Champ Car race at Rockingham in 2001 when they were desperately trying to dry the track after groundwater was causing ‘weeping’ through the track surface. Very impressed seeing them in action clearing an oil spill though.

I’m a good chunk through part three which deals a little more with the Challenger. It’ll be another month or so before the Indy 500 account is up. It takes hours to research, write and proof read 3,000 words and unfortunately I have to prioritise my day job and commissioned features over my own self-indulgence.

Gary29

4,131 posts

98 months

Wednesday 23rd August 2017
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What a great read! I'm so jealous! Planning on doing something similar when I get married (2019 hopefully)

RWJ

251 posts

180 months

Wednesday 23rd August 2017
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Interesting to see this past weekend's X-Finiti race from Bristol on MotorsportTV last night when I had been wandering around in there just 16 weeks ago. Shame they are no longer showing NASCAR Cup and NHRA.

Looking forward to the next instalment of Indy 500 Honeymoon.

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Original Poster:

6,471 posts

185 months

Saturday 16th September 2017
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I've finally finished the latest installment of our road trip. There's a bit of an assessment of the Challenger, some great roads, a museum and some tiny birds. Such a great week!

Part three:

With our ears still ringing and our livers having taken quite a battering, it’s time to continue north. Mrs Motorcardiaries doesn’t share quite the same enthusiasm as me for car museums and niche automotive diversions but she has granted me the opportunity to take a pilgrimage to Penske’s headquarters in Mooresville, about half an hour outside Charlotte.



While this does mean missing the Hendrick team’s museum and the NASCAR Hall of Fame, marriage – so I am told – is all about compromise so I accept the decision with good grace and sulk for barely an hour in response.

Sadly Penske’s shop is all shut up as it’s Sunday morning but we’re able to drive up to the door, finding a huge, and hugely impressive, facility. All of Penske’s US race operations are based here. That means IndyCar, NASCAR and whichever sports car campaign is prevailing at the time. Soon the team will be returning to endurance racing with Honda / Acura. Maybe the cars are in the shop when we visit...

Tucked away in a rural corner of a fairly nondescript town, we do at least get the chance to use the Challenger for some photos. I just wish we had a blue Camaro to pay tribute to the great Penske hero Mark Donohue who cleared up aboard a Sunoco Camaro in the Trans Am between 1967 and 1969. Maybe one day we’ll come back in a more appropriate muscle car.


I’m amused to find Penske has a mailbox – much like a normal residential abode, only this one is resplendent in corporate black and red. There being little to divert us here, we move on and stop at Dale Earnhardt Jr.’s base, JR Motorsport. This is the home of his marketing and business activities, as well as the race shop which prepares his Xfinity Series stock cars. Sadly the place is even more deserted than Penske so we miss the chance to purchase more items of gaudy merch or have our photo taken with the wax effigy of Jr.




Sunday in this part of the world is pretty quiet so we press on towards our destination and home for the next few days: Asheville. But not before we’ve passed a humorous road sign depicting a traditional farmer on a tractor. We’re not sure if it’s deliberately self-deprecating or simply an accurate representation of agricultural life in the North Carolina area. Either way, it raises a chuckle in the Challenger. We pick up provisions from a local Walmart, including a bag of Caramel M&Ms – as per Kyle Busch’s All-Star Race winning livery. They’re pretty tasty but not quite as good as the peanut butter equivalents. If I reveal a diabetes diagnosis in a future blog then please be assured that NASCAR marketing is entirely to blame.





We skirt Lake Norman and stop for a bite on the shoreline which is stunning. Most of our short (by the standards of this trip, at least) journey features densely forested vistas which roll to the horizon. This splendour is rather interrupted when we run into serious rain; but you don’t get giant green trees without a little precipitation, right? We just wish it could’ve done all its precipitating a few days earlier.

This pretty torrential rain is a feature of our stay in Asheville. While it’s never cold, it does rather take the edge of a truly stunning part of the world; though it does offer a transcendent, ever-changing horizon to enjoy. At least that’s how I try to cheer up a despondent Mrs Motorcardiaries.




Our base for the next few days is the only truly extravagant hotel of our stay: the Omni Grove Park Inn. It’s a massive resort set high above Asheville with its own verdant golf course offering a foreground view, with the Blue Ridge Parkway in the distance. The hotel is evidently fairly historic by American standards and I never quite shake the notion that it’s a little too plush for a couple of old moshers like us. That said, we’re treated well. The food and drink is superb and there’s enough latitude among the dining options to permit us to eat at a vaguely bearable price point.

Asheville appeared on my radar after a friend moved there from Virginia. A little research revealed a bustling university town described as being like a small Austin with a hipster vibe. Live music abounds and the town has become legendary for its beer-brewing scene, with over 40 breweries in the locale at the time of our visit. We have a go at visiting as many as possible.

The coolest end of town is South Slopes where the greatest congregation of breweries is to be found. It helps to head out relatively early as most places stop serving between 10pm and 11pm – the result of a very virtuous ‘gentlemen’s agreement’ between the various brewers to help customers savour the beer, rather than seeking dizzying inebriation. With most of the hoppy concoctions starting at 6%, it’s not hard to understand why this agreement was proposed.

Each brewery has a different vibe but we become particularly fond of Burial. As usual we prop ourselves up at the bar and chat to the serving staff, who are only too keen to fill us in on the local scene and their awesome home brews. All of these places brew within sight of the bar and it lends them an authentic odour. One brewer urges me to take a behind the scenes tour. By this time, his potent concoctions have taken their toll but I try to appear vaguely lucid while we discuss the challenges of protecting floor slabs from the corrosive liquids which are part of the brewing process. At least I think that’s what we discussed.



Whatever, we enjoy a fabulous time exploring Asheville’s lively and friendly drinking scene. We develop a serious addition to sour, a type of beer brewed with fruit to give it a distinct citrus tang. It sounds horrendous but it’s horribly addictive and we export a few cans back to Blighty to enjoy at our leisure. Mrs Motorcardiaries is so infatuated that she drinks half of her allocation before we’ve even left the States.

I’m conscious that we’re a week into this special trip and I’ve barely made mention of our badass wheels. In fact I’ve spent more time discussing craft beer than I have our big grey Challenger. Asheville offers us the opportunity to drive it off the interstate and onto some winding mountain roads.

The huge Blue Ridge Parkway runs for 469 miles through Virginia and North Carolina. Unfortunately time constraints are such that we only explore a short section but it’s a truly spectacular road – and one which genuinely bears comparison with the best I’ve found in Europe and Australia.




The speed limit is low but that’s not a massive problem on a rainy day in a chunky muscle car. The road is serpentine in its writhes and twists. For much of our drive we traverse a high ridge which means spectacular views periodically reveal themselves as the topography and vegetation permit. Our elevation means that any views which do reveal themselves are invariably breath-taking. As our drive proceeds, the weather closes in and the clouds thicken. This serves only to enhance the atmosphere and the clouds hurtle along the valley creating an evolving landscape every time we stop.






The Challenger is, erm, challenged on this kind of road. Heavy braking into tight bends and agile flicks through piff-paffs do not play to its strengths. That said; it’s an entertaining companion, even on roads more suited to a mid-engined flyweight.

The chassis is nicely rear-wheel driven and reacts well when you start to press on a little; the back squatting under load. The traction is strong and it’s actually more convincing the harder you drive it. Even so, it feels miles off a European mid-sized saloon and a Giulia or 3-series would run rings around it dynamically.

In spite of those reservations, it remains one of the most captivating cars I’ve ever driven. Over the whole trip we would cover 1,800 miles and it was never less than awesome fun. A reactive eight-speed gearbox helps and it launches off the line with serious conviction, banging up through the gears with ceremonial fireworks on every up-change. The noise is outrageous for a big sedan – bold, brassy and resonant. It might lack the dense thunder of a NASCAR but in confined underground car parks, it’s hilarious lighting up the rear tyres in a demonic sonic assault.



The Challenger’s sheer charisma and bombastic drivetrain are enough to out-weight the bland interior and mediocre dynamics. This is a true blue muscle car and the perfect counterpoint to anything on the holiday rental market back in Europe. I’m an addict.



From Asheville we head pretty much due west into Kentucky, our next destination being Mammoth Cave – a location with convenient access to the National Corvette Museum. In my mind’s eye, Kentucky is a flat mid-western state with little to offer (excuse me, Kentucky residents) beyond endless agriculture cast across flat plains. The area adjoining North Carolina couldn’t be further from this vision.




The vast arboreal vistas of previous days continue apace. The roads are truly stunning: wide dual carriageways which stretch to distant horizons. The sun casts dramatic rays through patchy clouds, lending everywhere a slightly ethereal, divine atmosphere. Once again, these aren’t driver’s roads in the ‘dab of oppo out of the hairpins’ sense – these are highways on a scale we can’t comprehend in Europe. I take a few check measures and realise that often we have a full five miles of macadam stretching to a vanishing point on the horizon. Vultures circle above, gliding on thermal currents without any apparent effort. It’s quite staggering.









Mammoth Cave is really something – a UNESCO World Heritage Site and home of the longest cave system known to man. Of course, we don’t bother with in any that geological stuff, we’re here for cars – though once we arrive I’m gutted we can’t explore the area a little more as it is fascinating. We are staying overnight in a charming bed and breakfast – such a novelty in the US, where soulless chain hotels proliferate.

The B&B sits within a hilly, wooded area and the surrounding roads are fantastic: smooth, well-sighted and blessed without another vehicle in sight. This would be the perfect area to exercise one’s Lotus or Caterham early on a Sunday morning, though I doubt one could do so inconspicuously.



The greatest privilege of the B&B reveals itself on Friday morning over breakfast: scores of tiny hummingbirds swarm (flock?) around feeders adjacent to the owners’ stoop. Apparently little bothered by our presence, they feed voraciously, buzzing one another out of the way as they do so. Their remarkable proximity enables us to take some striking photos using a telephoto lens. We sit in rapture with our morning coffee for what feels like hours. These remarkable miniature birds are worth the trip all by themselves.









Eventually we have to drag ourselves away from our avian friends and (rather counter-intuitively given our general bearing) head south to Bowling Green. The drive finally reveals the flat mid-western farming territory I’d always imagined. Near Brownsville we spot a couple of nodding donkeys so assume they are pumping oil but this looks to be very much on a domestic scale. I wonder whether they could be used to distribute potable water. Either way, they’re an atmospheric addition and not typical of life in rural Yorkshire.



The agricultural land is as flat as one might imagine, with grain silos and other farming ephemera dotting the landscape. The farmhouses are a long way from the quaint stone cottages of ole England. Towering neo-classical dwellings, replete with ostentatious pillars, modest they are not.








The National Corvette Museum sits close to the factory where every one of America’s sports cars is produced, though it is an independent facility not owned by GM. It serves to celebrate every aspect of the Corvette and its pivotal role in American automotive society as the aspirational motor of choice for domestic gearheads.

Naturally, it veers occasionally into pastiche (check out the signs for the lavatories) but one might equally accuse the great technical museums as Speyer and Sinsheim of the same crime. It’s part of the charm of visiting museums in different countries – each one is representative of its own automotive culture.




The collection of cars is deeply impressive and charts the history of the model from its earliest C1 roadster through to the latest C7. Each visitor is offered the opportunity to sit in a C7 and it’s a genuinely lovely environment with supportive seats, an ergonomic interior and tactile controls. I’m impressed.

The car’s history is charted through its evolution including important examples of each model including the former Nürburgring lap record holder – a vision of extreme yellow which lapped the North Loop faster than a Ferrari Enzo. Elsewhere are celebrity-owned cars, unusual prototypes and a host of Indy 500 pace cars.








While there is none of the recent Pratt & Miller GT contenders on display, the model’s racing history is given due reverence, from parochial club races up to Le Mans class success. It’s impossible to conceive these days of a GT class at Le Mans without a brace of thumping yellow Corvettes hassling the European grandees.




A large gallery is given over to modified ‘Vettes and there is a great selection from a number of different tuners, some familiar but others new. Highlight of the display is a trio of Greenwood-modified examples. While a couple of the outlandish race cars have graced Goodwood in recent years, I’m never previously seen a road car – let alone three. The turbocharged, wide-body coupes are just as outrageous as the racers, with wonderfully period graphics and flared arches to make a 911 RSR blush with inadequacy.





Also in the same gallery is a Callaway Corvette Sledgehammer – once among the very fastest road cars in the world. As a child I could quote its performance figures verbatim, though sadly creeping middle age has dulled those synapses somewhat. This is another first, though – as I suspect barely a single Sledgehammer left North America and I’ve certainly never seen one in the flesh before. It’s actually quite an elegant device by the standards of this company and it could pass for a genuine GM product with the right marketing. I wanted one when I was 10 years old and I still want one now.



The National Corvette Museum made global headlines in 2014 when a cavernous sinkhole opened up under its famous dome, swallowing a handful of cars in the process. The museum hasn’t sought to hide this history and the dome features a taped line on the ground to illustrate the extent of the void. It’s hard not to conclude how fortunate it was that the sink hole opened up overnight and that nobody was hurt.



The event severely damaged several important Corvettes, a couple of them way beyond repair. Today they sit on a plinth as a display in their own right, a rather sad sight though the collateral damage could have been so much worse. As a museum feature, this is a quite fascinating, macabre – and certainly unique – display.




We have just long enough to pose for a cheeky photo with Dodge’s finest outside a totemic demonstration of GM’s achievements before we plough north. Finally we are on the last leg of our pilgrimage to Indianapolis and the greatest spectacle in racing. Unsurprisingly, I’m a little giddy.



Links:

http://www.jrmracing.com/default.aspx

http://www.teampenske.com/about/index.cfm?cid=1419...

https://www.omnihotels.com/hotels/asheville-grove-...

http://www.corvettemuseum.org

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Original Poster:

6,471 posts

185 months

Saturday 16th September 2017
quotequote all
Gary29 said:
What a great read! I'm so jealous! Planning on doing something similar when I get married (2019 hopefully)
Thanks, Gary - I really appreciate you taking the time to have a read. Good luck with you own honeymoon plans and if I can help with any advice, my contact details on on my website. Good luck!