Birmingham, Alabama. Things to do, places to visit.

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Birmingham
deep south, part 2. Fall 2008.

In an angry moment outside of Birmingham I decided that the superhighways I was traveling on were bullshit and I would refrain from traveling on them for the duration of the trip. I stopped at an exit right outside of Birmingham to roll a couple of joints and get some water. My first stopping place was a little too family oriented so I split and tucked behind an R.V. It seemed like as good of a spot as any– a dog barked as I pulled up but the dog barking didn’t disturb the person sleeping in the R.V., and in a little time, I no longer bothered the dog.

About half-way through the process a black Tahoe pulled up quick in the tight space between me and the R.V. A guy with gold teeth and gold rimmed sunglasses popped out of the window.
“What chu got over der man?”
“Just a little something for the road.”

He pulled out a plastic bag about the size of a golf ball filled with white glimmering crystals and dangled it from the window.
“Yo, you like rock cocaine?”
“Naw man, I’m trying to clear my head right now.”
He illustrated with his finger the size of the crystals.
“Man, look at da size of dem crissals!”

I agreed, the crystals were large, but I held the firm stance that I wasn’t going to buy crack from this gentleman with gold teeth at a rest stop outside of Birmingham–regardless of how persuasive he may be.
“You ain’t no police is you?” he asked.

I assured him that I wasn’t an officer of the law, thinking that was already clear based upon him watching me roll joints. I asked the same question to him, predicting the answer based on our current situation. He sharply replied,
“Hell naw man, do I look like some mothafuckin po-lice?”

He certainly did not.
“So you smoke weed? I got ounces?”
“Naw playa, I’m traveling light, not really interested in carrying that kind of weight with me through the South, know what I mean?”

pink hose and blue pipe

He offered me a better price on a smaller amount, insuring me that it was the hydro, in addition to being the chronic. He pulled a little closer and asked for the money. I told him that first I would need to see the product, and i had little interest in buying a cardboard box filled with cellophane and grass clippings. His hesitation gave me the answer that I needed.

“Naw man, I don let nobody touch my herbs”.
An interesting position given his outstretched hand asking for the money in exchange for the product. This deal was quickly turning bad and we both were becoming skeptical. I was not interested in buying fake drugs, and he wasn’t interested in my questioning.

I quickly pulled away and found another gas station a few exits down. Everyone in Birmingham seemed to be dirt poor with the exception of the fancy cars they drove and loud stereos. I figured this would be the extent of my trip to Birmingham–two gas stations and one blown drug deal. I think I get what the city is all about. I got away from the main highway and moved to a lovely two lane stretch of road that is Highway 31. This would bring me to Mobile a little after sundown. The rolling hills were a welcome escape from the spans of concrete. The paved road turned to dirt and I for the first time truly felt that I was in the South.