The following post is the 6th in a series recapping a recent road trip I took with my two sons. Part 1 can be accessed by clicking here. All posts in this series can be accessed from this site’s home page.

My experience with college campuses…campii?…whatever, is not extensive. Following high school, I attended Eastern Arizona College, a small community college in the town of Thatcher, Arizona. EAC is not large. It does not pretend to be large. If anything, it celebrates and thrives on its general lack of largeness. There is no college scene, per se, unless you count the library or the occasional trip to the local Sodalicious. Everything in Thatcher is shuttered by 9:30 p.m. except the local convenience store, and the lobby to the post office. In other words, Thatcher does not have the feel of a typical college town.

Not to say I didn’t have fun. EAC was great. But as far as a typical college life experience? It was pretty tame. Which in retrospect, for a teetotaling Mormon wishing to remain a teetotaling Mormon through the whole college experience, tame was probably the best option for me.

Following EAC, I moved to the big city and attended the main campus of Arizona State University. Now, in light of the previous paragraph, I know what some of you are thinking. Isn’t ASU like one of the top party schools in America. The answer is no. Not anymore. That designation now belongs to the U of A. But in the ’90s when I attended? Yes, that would be true. However, I got married before I ever attended one class in Tempe and I lived off campus, only venturing in for classes and the occasional football game. Again, not the normal campus experience. Plus, very little about the ASU campus is historic. Same with EAC.

Now I share all of this only to set the stage for our last morning in New Orleans. The entire stated reason we had embarked on this trip was to engage in an official campus tour of Tulane University. Braden was super excited. And to be honest, my emotions weren’t far behind. This was something I had never done. How could it not be cool?

And you know what? It was. Really cool! From the tree covered drive down St. Charles Avenue to the stately historic building that greeted us at the entrance to the campus, it was just…awesome!

Now, we did learn something very valuable very quickly when it comes to future campus visits. In my mind, a campus visit was something that would qualify as a big deal. Big deals generally require some amount of dressing up. Apparently, campus visits are not all that big of a deal because even in our jeans and polo shirt combos, my sons and I were the most dressed up of anyone there, including the tour guides. But in retrospect, I should have expected this. They want these kids to come here. It’s July in New Orleans. Why on earth wouldn’t everyone dress down and enjoy the experience?

Surprisingly to me, Tulane campus was not that big. Especially compared with what I had experienced at ASU. I could be mistaken, but I believe the entirety of Tulane might fit inside ASU Stadium. But that is what made it kind of cool. Okay, cool isn’t the right word because by 10 in the morning, it was freaking hot. When they would actually take us into buildings likes the library, the wellness complex or the business school, I could practically hear my sweat glands sighing with relief. They hadn’t been worked out this hard…maybe ever.

But overall, it was great. As we walked along the sidewalks, I couldn’t help thinking that this felt like a college campus in a way that I had never experienced. And Braden was totally awestruck. I think for the first time he was actually realizing he could go to a place like this. Whether he will or not? Doesn’t matter. He knows it’s a possibility and that’s enough.

Following the tour, we slipped into the bookstore and got some mementos of our visit and we even found Kate a souvenir. Which, admittedly would not have looked very good on Logan.

Then we headed back toward our point of entry. As we neared the main building, we were met by a nice lady who either lives nearby and uses the campus walkways for exercise…or is a ghost. Not sure which. But anyway, she met us by the “Bead Tree”. The Bead Tree is a campus tradition that totally makes sense if you’ve ever been to New Orleans. The legend goes that if, as a freshman, you throw a string of beads into the tree and they stay, you will have success and finish your undergrad degree within four years. The nice lady informed us that the tradition can be altered and if you throw a string of beads into the tree and they stay, you will have four years of good luck. There were some beads on the ground and she handed them to Braden. He tossed them up and…good news, things will apparently go his way through his 20th birthday. Then…the ghost lady walked away and we headed back out to our car so we could get on the road and begin our long trek home.

It was hard to pass through the outskirts of New Orleans. Our time there had been truly memorable and it’s always hard to see a good time come to an end. It’s even harder when you know how much driving you have ahead of you without the promise of an adventure waiting for you at the end. Nevertheless, we cranked up Willie and moved along.

The string of events that occurred once we reached Baton Rouge had to be the most frustrating of our trip mainly because we were up against the clock and just couldn’t seem to get anywhere. First off, we pulled off the freeway to get gas and get a bathroom for Logan only to find that the promised gas station/freeway town was four miles away. Then, when we did find the “gas station”, it turned out to be two gas pumps in front of a grocery store that no one in their right mind would ever buy produce from. If you don’t understand, well…be glad you’ve never been in a grocery store like that. Anyway, I wasn’t going to get gas there, but Logan was desperate so we sent him in. He claimed it was possibly his most disgusting/frightening bathroom stop ever. He had to go into the back storage area and find a barely marked door in a dimly lit corner. I felt bad for him until I remembered the old AJ Bayless in Safford where my mom used to shop growing up. Upon reflection, his bathroom and that bathroom sounded exactly the same. Unrelated to anything, that AJ Bayless bathroom is where I learned the concept of a dirty limerick. Anyway, the other problem was that time was movin’ on. Logan finally emerged, shuddering. We rushed him into the car, queued up Willie and took a back road to Baton Rouge where a Chipotle was supposedly waiting for us.

Except we couldn’t find it. Braden’s GPS swore it was there, but we’d already had the Shipley Donut experience so our trust level in him wasn’t exactly brimming. Nevertheless, we finally did find it, ate, changed, got gas and somehow managed to put Baton Rouge into our rearview mirror just 1 1/2 hours after we’d arrived. It felt like twenty.

I could describe the convenience/cigar store we stopped at just inside the Texas border, but I’ll let these pictures do the talking.

Suffice it to say, I know as a general rule I try to get my boot, crucifix and John Wayne portrait shopping done at roadside gas stations so this store totally spoke to me.

It was coming up on dinner time when we hit Houston, but our Chipotle stop had been later in the day and was still with us, so we decided to skip dinner and just go with a box of…you guessed it, Shipley Donuts. Rest assured we found a different location not associated with downtown. They were good. But then again, they’re donuts. It’s pretty hard to mess up a donut.

The night before, we had decided to be adventurous and return home through Austin rather than San Antonio. This meant getting off the I-10, which turned out to be one of the prettiest drives I’ve ever experienced. Rolling green hills and plenty of trees made for a nice change. It was a little disconcerting that the speed limit remained 75 mph despite houses now being less than 50 feet from the road, but hey, it’s Texas. And…I’m sure there’s some macho allegory that ultimately teaches us that Texas is superior to all in there somewhere.

Unfortunately, we weren’t able to see much of Austin because darkness was settling in as we hit town. The one thing I did take away from our Austin experience is that whoever their city planner was, I hope he hangs in effigy somewhere in the downtown complex. I mean, seriously, that was the most convoluted set of roads I’ve ever experienced in my life. And I’ve been to England…and Tucson.

As a final event for our trip, we decided to take in Ant Man and the Wasp since it was opening night. After another adventure on the streets of Austin that I’m fairly certain actually took us through several people’s backyards, we made it from our hotel to the theater. Great flick. The Ant Man movies are by far the funniest of the Marvel library and yes, I’ve seen the Guardian movies.

There isn’t much to report about our final day of travel. It consisted of waking up early, getting on the road and driving. And driving. Stopping for gas and a bathroom, and driving. It was enjoyable enough except, it gets hard to keep everyone’s attention after five days together and so Braden drifted into his own music and Logan slept a lot. But it was good. When we finally made it to El Paso, we knew we’d broken the back of the trip and it felt good to be almost home. We’d definitely missed the women in our lives.

However, one last thing that brought us all together was that over the course of several trips, we had now driven the entire length of the 1-10 freeway from California to Florida with the exception of the small stretch between Lordsburg and the turn off just before Willcox. We decided there was no time like the present so pulled a Thelma and Louise/Kramer and the car salesman, and watched the Lordsburg exit fly by as we embarked on one final adventure. Turns out it wasn’t that adventurous, but, we are now numbered among the very few (other than truckers) who can claim to have driven the entire 1-10. I feel very proud.

To wrap things up, I couldn’t have asked for a better time with my boys. I am so glad Braden talked me into it. We’re already planning another one for next year, although the fact that it is planned already takes some of the fun out of it. Nevertheless, the men of the Ryan Rapier family will always look back on the summer of 2018 and smile. And maybe even start humming an old Willie Nelson song that will forever be attached to those fabulous memories.

The following is part 5 of a series recapping a cross-country road trip I recently took with my sons. To see part 1, click here. All other episodes in this epic saga can be found at this site’s home page. If cross-country road trip sagas are not for you, slip away quietly right now and no one will ever even know you were here.

There is something almost life-changing about waking up in the morning when your body feels like it’s ready and not to the hideous sound of a man-made alarm. I’ve had this epiphany on several different occasions throughout my life (my first day home after my LDS mission where 6:30 a.m. was the ironclad rule, or the first time as an adult I ever took the day after Christmas off) but as I awoke in my hotel bed in New Orleans on the morning of July 4th, 2018, it was brought home to me in a powerful way all over again. For the first time all week, there was no rush. And it felt amazing.

Amazing that is, until I rolled over and I was immediately confronted by the reality of what happens to a 45-year old body that sleeps in a foreign bed after having driven over 1,100 miles in 48 hours. It only took an instant for the euphoria of not having to be on the road again by 6 a.m. to be replaced by near hysteria as I wondered if I would ever walk upright again in this lifetime.

Thankfully, a nice hot shower and a few stretches fixed everything (well, everything except being 45) and I was ready to face the day. Much like me, I could tell my boys were equally thrilled with the prospect of having little on the schedule and being able to ease into our day. At no point did anyone protest the tortoise-like pace we’d adopted. There was no rush, there was no agenda. We were true natives of the Big Easy, happy to accept whatever came our way…

…As long as everybody got there butts in gear before the maid service came along. Good crap, we were going to waste the entire day if we didn’t get a move on.

Yep, my laid back approach to vacationing lasted all of…I don’t know, 45 minutes? Then I was back to being my old, “gotta make time, gotta make time” self. I’ll admit, I was kinda happy to see that guy. I’d started to miss him. My kids? Well, I think they’d have been fine if he’d stayed home completely. But, they rolled with it and by 9 a.m. we were back on the street, ready to go.

As far as plans go, this was again a new concept for me. We didn’t have many. The only things we knew for certain were that we wanted to go to a movie at 12:30 (we’d scouted out the theater the night before thus the specificity on the time) and watch the fireworks at 8:30 that night. That was pretty much it on the docket. So, for our morning adventure we decided to take in a little self-guided tour of the Garden District.

For those unacquainted with New Orleans, the Garden District isn’t really anything other than a fancy neighborhood of houses that are really big, really ornate and really old. Think antebellum, old south…zip a dee do dah style homes and you’re getting a pretty good picture. Also, several of these homes are owned by very famous people and yet, you can pretty much walk right up the front gate and be 20 feet or so from their front door. For instance, Archie Manning’s house (father of Peyton and Eli) has no gate on the driveway and his car was parked just a few feet off the main sidewalk. If I were a Patriot’s fan, I could have had Braden kick his bumper and then ran like heck and there wouldn’t have been much he could do about it. Except throw Braden in jail I suppose, but then that’s why I would have had Braden do it in the first place. Plausible deniability. Anyway, along with famous houses, the area also includes the well known Lafayette Cemetery.

So, after a ride on the historical street car (a ride we found extra exciting due to our love of the Disney movie, The Princess and the Frog) we spent two hours wandering around the Garden District. We had a pseudo breakfast (large pastry) at a cafe in an old historic building called The Rink, strolled through the graves at a cemetery and visited some pretty cool houses. Highlights included:

• The pastries. That little coffee shop that didn’t look like much from the outside had some pretty dang amazing pastries. The water we got to go with them? Eh. But it was free so how much room do we actually have to complain?
• Lafayette Cemetery. Apparently it is a really bad idea to bury people underground in New Orleans because the ground is so wet. I didn’t know this was possible, but I am told that bodies and caskets can work their way back to the surface with ground that waterlogged. It’s not like Arizona where the ground is so hard that when we bury someone, we have to worry about whether issues might arise at resurrection time. Anyway, the above ground graves and mausoleums were pretty cool.
• Sidewalks. Only in a town like New Orleans would famous people who have paid millions for their home put up with sidewalks like these. But here, stately trees that are hundreds of years old get preferential treatment and if that means a millionaire has to get out their all terrain hiking equipment to get to their front door. So be it.

• Jefferson Davis’ death home. I don’t know why, but historical places are so much more interesting to me when I can place a historical figure in them. And knowing that we were standing outside the place where the president of the Confederacy died was like…huh, pretty cool. It’s the same feeling I get in the French Quarter when I see the plaque stating that people had stood on the balcony above to shout support for Andrew Jackson as he rode by following the Battle of New Orleans.

• Famous people’s houses. As mentioned, we saw the family home of Peyton and Eli Manning. We also happened to stop by John Goodman’s house and Sandra Bullock’s house. As near as we could tell, they were not home. Or at least they were not out working in their garden when we happened by. And why should they be? It was July in New Orleans. Hot and unbelievably humid! I’m sure that’s why they didn’t come out and say hi. We also happened by Anne Rice’s old home, but I’m not a big enough fan to have bothered with a picture.

Home of Archie and Olivia Manning

John Goodman’s Home

Sandra Bullock’s Home (Not very visible from the street, by design)

Sandra Bullock’s home was one of the last we visited and so, having decided that we’d had enough of the majesty and beauty of the Garden District (not to mention sweltering heat with 893% humidity) we decided to commemorate the moment by going back downtown and taking in the movie Ocean’s 8, starring…Sandra Bullock. It seemed only fitting.

The movie was pretty good, but the one comment I’ll make about the whole experience was that I had never been to a theater before that had no concession stand. They just handed us menus on our way into the theater and that was it. I think I might have warmed to the concept better if the old couple in front of us hadn’t decided to enjoy a full seven course meal with after dinner wine, all served over the course of our feature presentation. Because of that alone, the “menu with a call button in a movie theater” idea gets a big thumbs down from me.

After the movie, there’s not a lot to report other than we wandered around the French Quarter and The Riverwalk for a couple of hours trying to decide what it was exactly we wanted to do. This is one moment when I wanted to desperately strangle both of my boys for nothing more than being teenagers.

“What do you want to do?”

“I don’t know. Whatever.”

“Would you like to (Fill in the blank)?”

“Not really.”

“Then what would you like to do?”

“I don’t know.”

This stimulating conversation repeated on an endless loop while we aimlessly walked and it led to two different outcomes. One, we ended up having beignets for lunch and two, we found ourselves outside and no where near shelter when an afternoon monsoon appeared from nowhere and pounded us with a vengeance. Beignets? Awesome! Walking around soaking wet on the streets of New Orleans with heat and humidity at levels that would kill most small canine breeds? Not as awesome. We headed back to the hotel for a rest and a much needed change of clothes.

That night, we decided to get crazy and go to the hole in the wall diner next to our hotel (there really aren’t any diners in New Orleans that aren’t of the hole in the wall variety) and try proper Cajun cooking. At least Logan and I decided this. Braden had a hamburger.

Logan and I on the other hand had gumbo, a shrimp po’ boy, fried green tomatoes, and my personal favorite, alligator. Okay, it’s my personal favorite in that I get to tell people I ate alligator. But in actuality, I probably wouldn’t rush out and have it again. But the rest of it was exquisite. And Braden liked his hamburger as well, in case you were wondering.

Finally, the hour we had traveled half way across the country for arrived. It was time to go get our place along the river for the fireworks. Having never been here before, we decided to leave two hours early and wait. As it turned out, that was probably a tad excessive. But, we ended up with a great spot.

With nothing to do for two hours, we took turns going into the Riverwalk mall behind us to cool off and do something other than stand along a railing by the Mississippi River. What we discovered is that Cafe Dumond had a satellite cafe here. We decided it couldn’t hurt to top off our highly rich dinner with another round of beignets. This leads to a question we should have asked ourselves before making this decision. That question being: how many beignets are too many beignets to consume in a 24 hour period. So that you are aware, the answer is 9. I will elaborate no further other than to say that this answer may also hinge on whether or not you have eaten alligator in that same 24 hour period.

Finally, the sun set and we prepared for the fireworks to begin. It was kind of fun. In the half hour leading up to the fireworks we made friends with a couple who were originally from Jamaica but now lived in New York. They were really nice and friendly and it was neat for my boys to be in a setting where they could literally be chatting with people from all over the world.

And the fireworks themselves? Holy Cow!!! Pictures or videos can’t begin to do them justice. Let’s just say it was definitely worth all of the effort we had made to see them. However, I did want to get one final picture of our vantage point from a different perspective.

Once the fireworks ended, it didn’t take long for brutal exhaustion to come crashing down on us. There would be no partying late into the night for the Rapier boys. We were done. Slowly, along with several hundred of our new best friends, we trudged the streets back to our hotel with the promise of a soft bed providing the only incentive to keep going. And sadly, with our Tulane visit scheduled for the next morning, the luxury of easing into our day was not an option we could look forward to again.

The sixth and final chapter in the Rapier Guys Road Trip series will appear later this week.

The following is the fourth installment in a series of posts detailing my recent road trip with my sons. For part 1 of this series, click here. All installments can be found on the homepage.

There’s an aspect of traveling that I utterly despise. It’s that horrific game of chicken one has to play of knowing when to pull off the freeway for gas or food while traveling through an unfamiliar city. If you pull off too soon, you can find yourself in a maze of twisted traffic filled with street options that promise to take you anywhere you could possibly want to go except back to the freeway. On the other hand, if you wait too long, you can find yourself with no options at all except maybe a truck stop with toilets that stopped flushing two visitors before you and food options that suggest expiration dates are for suckers. This seems to be what happens to me every time I try to get out of Las Vegas headed for St. George. Of course, it may just be that there is actually no good place to stop on the north side of Las Vegas and I really should just accept my fate and try that Steak and Lobster buffet being offered for $9.99.

Anyway, as the sun rose over San Antonio and day two of our father/son road trip got underway, Logan, Braden and I found ourselves tense with anticipation as our latest dalliance with this game of chance played out. As light began to streak through the mildly overcast sky, it was clear we hadn’t pulled over too soon. But the jury was definitely still out on whether we had waited too long. Making matters worse, this stretch of I10 between San Antonio to Houston (and we would discover, all the way to New Orleans) is much more like the I10 stretch between Tucson and Phoenix than we had experienced the day before. Dozens of semis surrounded us on the road making it difficult to spot signs advertising food and gas options at the upcoming exit.

Finally, with swaths of wide open spaces taking the place of city, we decided not to press our luck any further. As it turned out, we could have done better. But boy, could we have done a lot worse. Yes, we had to eat smashed croissant sandwiches from a Burger King smashed into the corner of a large “Travel Stop”. But the entire place was remarkably clean and I felt no need to seek out a tetanus shot upon our departure.

The drive to Houston was pretty unremarkable. It was basically a continuation of what we had experienced the day before. The only real mishap was that Logan misread the itinerary and thought Houston was only about two hours away. Thus, as his bladder began to fill beyond capacity, he held off saying anything because surely we would hit Houston at any time, right? By the time we finally did, he was not looking so good.

Needing a stop myself, I recalled someone telling me about Shipley Donuts and how they should not be missed. In a moment I would come to regret many times over the next hour, I thought to myself, “Why not kill two birds with one stone and stop for a bathroom break and a donut?”

I asked Braden to find the closest Shipley Donuts and get us there. He decided to direct us to the closest Shipley Donuts in a place he really wanted to go. Downtown-smack in the middle of everything-Houston. This decision required us to find a parking spot in a maze of one way streets because the Shipley Donuts was not visible from the street. And there were no available parking spots (I should say, visible parking spots because we found out later there were plenty of parking spots right next to where we were trying to get to, we just couldn’t see them) near our desired location. So, we ended up parking on a side street about three full city blocks from Shipley Donuts. The pained look on Logan’s face was quickly transforming from discomfort to panic.

After walking for several blocks in my traveling clothes (basketball shorts, t-shirt, and orange slip-ons that don’t stay on my feet very well) we finally found the block where Shipley Donuts was located…

…except it wasn’t. There was no Shipley Donuts anywhere. Apple had led us to a high rise building with a weird little grocery store in it, but no donuts. And even worse, no bathroom.

Now things were getting desperate. We quickly started back the way we had come because I remembered an open air mall we had passed that would surely have a bathroom. Problem was, I got confused on exactly where we were and couldn’t find it. Logan was walking with a slight Quasimodo gait by this point and things were looking grim.

Eventually, we found the open air mall and…it was not so much a mall as an open air collection of restaurants and wine shops. Most of which were not open at this time of day. AAAAAHHHHHHHH! Finally, I found a tobacco shop that was open and asked about a bathroom in the complex. I was directed to the third floor. We got to the third floor, found the hallway where the bathrooms are located and were greeted by this sign:

BATHROOMS ARE CURRENTLY UNAVAILABLE AT THIS TIME

Down the hallway, I could see the bathroom doors. At this point, I basically said screw it, and we all headed toward the off-limit bathroom anyway. Thankfully, they weren’t locked, we accomplished what we needed to accomplish and decided we wanted nothing more than to get out of Houston. And so we did, sadly without any donuts.

As we piled back into the van, I looked once more at my front two tires. I had known for several weeks that we would probably need to replace them soon. Unfortunately, when you plan a trip in less time than it takes some people to blow their nose, you don’t always address every issue you might need to before you leave. Bottom line, I felt like I couldn’t push my luck any more. As we drove out of Houston, I had Braden look up Discount Tires between us and New Orleans. There was one in Baton Rouge. And with that, we had decided upon our next destination.

By the way, as we got back on the freeway headed out of Downtown Houston, Willie Nelson made his second aural appearance of the day.

As we crossed into Louisiana, it started to rain. It wasn’t too bad, but it was constant. And with semis as far as the eye could see and constant road construction leading to very narrow traffic lanes, it led to some very white knuckle moments. Finally, we rolled into the outskirts of Baton Rouge and…severe traffic.

I have been in many traffic jams in my life, but this one provided something new. A bridge that you cross to get into Baton Rouge is unique. Unique in the fact that it looks like it was formed on the hump of camel. I’ve never in my life driven over a bridge that steep. What made it truly scary was that we happened upon this bridge in the midst of stop and go traffic in the rain. I seriously began to worry about my van stalling and rolling backwards, or the guy in front me stalling and rolling backwards. Basically, all stalling and rolling backwards scenarios played out in my mind in that short three minutes we were stuck on the Baton Rouge Bridge.

Nevertheless, we got through to the other side and eventually found ourselves on the other side of Baton Rouge at our Discount Tire. And interestingly enough, it was located in a suburb of Baton Rouge called, Gonzalez. I don’t know why I found that slightly humorous, but I did. I would expect a town name like that in Arizona, but it caught me off guard in Creole country. I guess I would have expected it to be Gonzaleaux. Anyway, we got the van checked in and headed out to lunch at a Jimmy Johns nearby.

While at Jimmy Johns, the rain intensified to Noah like proportions. Which meant that in order to get back to Discount Tire, we had to run through it and get soaked. Which we did. What I found funny was that Braden had taken to heart the instruction that one should not get close to any standing water in this part of the country and told me it was completely on me if he got attacked by a ‘gator during our dash back across a parking lot, small field and construction site.

Back on the road, it was only about an hour or so later that we finally reached our destination. NEW ORLEANS!!!

Without incident we drove by the Super Dome, found our hotel, checked in and then headed out to the Quarter. I showed the boys the small little hotel I had stayed in for a night just off of Bourbon Street called The Prince Conti. They were justifiably horrified.  We saw a street band performing on Bourbon Street. They got to see the incredible salesmanship/con job of a street shoe shiner (something I had already witnessed in Chicago but thought they would enjoy so I let it play out). We walked around Jackson Square. And of course, we stopped at Cafe Dumond and had beignets. Observing Braden’s face as we ate them, I had the sneaking suspicion that maybe this one moment was the real reason we had driven halfway across the country. Forget Tulane, forget the fireworks, it was really all about the beignets.

Finally, as a closer for the day, we walked next door to Cafe Dumond and climbed up the stairs to an overlook of the Mississippi River. I’m sorry, but for an Arizona kid who is told that the Gila is supposed to be a river, the Mississippi is just something beyond description. We sat down and just watched it go by for several minutes, not one of us expressing any desire to do anything else. It was pretty cool.

For the rest of the evening, we walked around a bit more, explored the Riverwalk, and then eventually decided we were tired and we should probably go to bed. But for me, we could have turned around and driven home right then and the entire trip would have been worth it after our trip to Cafe Dumond and the time we spent watching the river. It was peaceful, and it was a memory with my sons I will never forget. And it certainly is a better memory to end the day on than the bonding moment we shared later that night when a random guy on the street called me a skinhead white piece of…you know, because I wouldn’t buy his homemade rap CD. Gotta love NOLA!

Episode 5 of The Rapier Guys Road Trip will appear later this week.