Don't Go To a Coke Museum

I am on the road to Atlanta, and not just any road, but the interstate. The whole way there. I have not heard the best things about Atlanta so if it's shit I want to find out sooner than later. I am meeting Kris from New Orleans at a hostel there, and I may be able to meet up with a motorcyclist acquaintance of mine. It's I-20 the whole way there, and it shouldn't take too long, but I naturally run into a traffic jam for what must be an hour. This is another time I wish I could split lanes like in California but instead I wait and inch forward with the rest of the public. Eventually, the jam dissipates, just like that, no accident to explain it, no construction, we just go. But not for long, because a mile down the road there is another jam, and I have to sit in the sun on a road I don't like being on to get to a city I hadn't planned on visiting. This jam does not last as long, and at the end of it there actually is an accident, so as much as I hope no one died, I feel like I was held up for a good reason. Over a rise in the road, the skyline of Atlanta looms up all of a sudden and I drive past the Six Flags theme park towards downtown. I miss the exit I want to be on, onto an interchange that would put me on I-75 and into downtown, so I have to turn around at the next exit, and as I am waiting to make the turn, there are little black kids in football uniforms at the stoplight, wandering through the lanes of cars like it was their neighborhood park, asking for money for their football teams. Seems sort of dangerous, especially compared to hanging around outside of grocery stores in New Hampshire looking for change for Little League teams. Different cities, different methods I suppose.
I find the hostel relatively easy, but there is a code to get in the door, and when someone lets me in, there is no one at the desk. This hostel seems to have only certain hours when one can check in which is entirely new to me but whatever. I bring my bags inside and park my bike out back and get some food across the street and then take out a book and wait. Kris shows up before the office personnel does, and tells me how miserable the World of Coca-cola is, and I can't say I am surprised after I learn that it's an entire museum devoted to the soft drink. I bring my stuff up to her room and jump in the shower. I always feel dirty after riding. Tonight there is a massive Dave Matthews concert in a park just a few blocks from the hostel that she is going to. I don't particularly like their music, nor feel like finding a scalper to give a hundred bucks too, so I just walk down there with her and witness the rivers of people pouring into the park before I turn back and take a quick stroll through part of downtown Atlanta, past some very beautiful hotels and the Fox Theatre. I get dinner at the same place I got lunch at, a Cuban sandwich shop across from the hostel which is superb. The sandwiches are so good I even like the mustard on them, and I think that is the first time I have ever eaten mustard and not threw a hissy fit about it. At the hostel, I meet a guy named Eric who is working towards becoming a commercial pilot, is already working for an airline, and just flies around to places when he isn't working. He just came from Tel Aviv, where he spent about an hour in the airport before flying back, just because he had nothing else to do. We shoot the shit for awhile in between reading our respective books. When Kris gets back from the concert, only slightly more impressed by it than the Coke museum due to the overwhelmingly large crowd, long distance away from the stage, and high amount of guys pissing everywhere and people being generally wasted, we organize a somewhat entertaining game of Scrabble which I dominate, followed by a few rounds of Scattergories which turn out to be a lot more exciting.
After buying some breakfast food at the nearby Publix, plus some fried chicken for a homeless guy that claimed to have not eaten in two days, we find the guy who was telling Kris about the Braves game scheduled for today. Terry is a Canadian who is living in Mexico and came up just for the Dave Matthews concert, so he and Kris, being an Australian which is like the Southern Hemisphere's version of Canadians, have something in common as she came to Atlanta just for the concert as well. The game is at one PM and we walk down to the subway station and ride the few stops to pick up the shuttle to Turner Field. We even get a ride on a little golf cart thing through this mall place packed with souvenir stands that regular suckers have to walk through to get to the shuttle. Out front of the ticket booth, a young couple offers us two tickets for free, so we buy a third one between us in the same section and head on in. The seats are next to the couple who couldn't find anyone to go with them, and Terry buys them some beers at their suggestion, but they aren't the kind they like, so we drink them, and the two take off before we can finish them and go get some more. We are right down on the first base line, just past the infield, and it has been awhile since I have been to a baseball game. The Braves get off to a quick start, getting a few runs on the board, but over the course of the game, the Nationals slowly come back and then go ahead. Terry is way into the chop even though he wants the Nationals to win. I figure the Braves would win in the end but they don't. We get to see about four home runs and soak up some sun and drink some beers and spend a Sunday in a generally American sort of way, so it's fun anyway. Sitting in the sun though, for some reason, is exhausting in a way that I haven't felt after a ten hour day of hard labor in the summertime, so by the time the game is over we all are beat. At the hostel, Terry disappears and Kris takes a nap and I shower and look up movie times because we still have the evening to fill up and I want to see Shoot 'Em Up. Kris and I drive up to a classy mall for the late show and see one of the most ridiculously spectacular violence-filled movies I have ever seen. Paul Giamatti is great as a despicable hitman, and what any movie with The Ace of Spades on the soundtrack is good by me.