How I Accidentally Speed-Ran Nashville and Survived CMA Fest 2026– City #12

Nashville was named after Francis Nash, a Continental Army general from North Carolina who was fatally wounded during the Revolutionary War. So yes, before it became the city of cowboy boots, hot chicken, and people casually being better singers than you at brunch, it was named for a war hero.

Back in 1779, the settlement started as a fortified outpost on the Cumberland River called Fort Nashborough. By 1784, it had grown enough to drop the “fort” and become Nashville, which feels like a glow-up in city-name form.

These days, Nashville is a giant neon love letter to music, especially country music, which is why it proudly answers to Music City. Coming from Austin, the Live Music Capital of the World, I did not arrive neutral. I came in fully prepared to love this place, and Nashville said, “Great, here are 850 guitars and zero moments of silence.”

Then there’s CMA Fest, which is basically what happens when country music fans are not only invited to the party but handed the keys to the entire city. It started in 1972 as “Fan Fair,” a four-day event with about 5,000 fans at Nashville’s Municipal Auditorium. Now it pulls in roughly 95,000 people a day downtown, which means everywhere you turn there’s live music, a crowd, and at least one person in fringe moving with purpose. The best part? Free performances from artists you actually know, the kind you hear on the radio and suddenly, somehow, standing ten feet in front of you. The lines were outrageous, the sidewalks were chaos, and big stars like Luke Bryan and Kane Brown apparently just pop into their bars and start singing like that’s a totally normal thing to do. If you happen to be there when it happens, congratulations: you’ve won Nashville.

Four days somehow felt like four minutes and four years at the same time. I heard so many artists this weekend that my brain is now 60% lyrics and 40% dehydration. The lineup of voices floating through my weekend included Ashley Cooke, The Band Perry, Jon Pardi, Gretchen Wilson, Koe Wetzel, Rodney Atkins, Tucker Wetmore, Jelly Roll, Vincent Mason, Ella Langley, Stella Lefty, Willow Avalon, Deana Carter, Clint Black, Jo Dee Messina, Blake Shelton, Scoot Teasley, Shaboozey, Maggie Antone, Red Clay Strays, Keith Urban, Cody Johnson, Sara Evans, Carly Pearce, Riley Green, Caitlin Butts, Zach Top, Emily Ann Roberts, Jordan Davis, Lainey Wilson, and Tim McGraw, Chase Mathew, Clay Walker, Russel Dickerson, Kat Luna, Bailey Zimmerman, The Jack Wharff Band, Riley Green, Laci Kaye Booth, HARDY, Steven Wilson Jr, and Luke Bryan. At some point, I stopped trying to keep track and just accepted that Nashville was going to keep casually delivering bucket-list moments like it was no big deal.

SiriusXM’s Music Row Happy Hour is a live weekly country music broadcast hosted by Buzz Brainard on SiriusXM’s The Highway, and during CMA Fest it expands into a full-day spectacle from 12 to 7 PM inside the Neon Steeple at Eric Church’s Chief’s. Thursday and Sunday offered successful entry; the other days treated the door like a velvet-rope audition with a firm “not today.” The SiriusXM crew remained a highlight, even if parts of the crowd were serving more attitude than southern hospitality. Seeing Ania Hammar and Macie Banks was a bright spot, and Buzz and Nick continue to feel less like hosts and more like permanent fixtures of a very entertaining Nashville universe.

By the end of it, my feet were tired, my voice was questionable, and my ability to hear anything above a mild ring had completely left the building. But honestly? I’d do it all again in a heartbeat. Nashville has a way of making you feel like music isn’t just playing in the background, it’s running the whole town. During CMA Fest, it absolutely is. So, if you ever get the chance to go, go. Wear comfortable shoes, drink more water than you think you need, and accept in advance that you may leave with your phone storage full of pictures and videos, a happy heart, and a completely unrealistic expectation that every city should come with a surprise Zach Top sighting.

A Beautiful Wedding in West Columbia – City #11

I was honored to be a plus one this weekend for a beautiful wedding in West Columbia, a town about 55 miles southwest of Houston and known as the “First Capital of the Republic of Texas.” That history gave the trip an extra sense of occasion. West Columbia hosted the First Congress of the Republic of Texas on October 22, 1836, when Sam Houston became president, and it remains a place with deep roots in Texas history. Stephen F. Austin, often called the “Father of Texas,” also spent his final days there, which adds to the town’s historical significance. It was a lovely setting for a celebration that felt both personal and memorable.

The wedding itself was held at Live Oak Haven, a peaceful and inviting venue that felt especially fitting for such a joyful occasion. Surrounded by open land and beautiful natural scenery, it had a relaxed Texas charm that made the evening feel warm and welcoming. One especially memorable moment came when a Great Pyrenees wandered into view during the ceremony, adding an unexpected bit of personality that gave everyone something to smile about. 

The ceremony took place outdoors beneath large oak trees that created a beautiful backdrop and gave the whole evening a classic, small-town Texas feel. The warm weather and open-air setting made it clear that summer has truly arrived, but it also added to the charm of being gathered together outside to celebrate. As the sun filtered through the trees, the setting felt especially picturesque, and it was easy to appreciate how thoughtfully the day came together. It was the kind of evening that felt relaxed, festive, and full of good energy.

The reception carried that same welcoming spirit. There was great food, plenty of conversation, and a relaxed atmosphere that made it easy for everyone to enjoy the evening. The chicken fried steak was especially memorable, and the wedding cake was a perfect sweet finish to the celebration. Altogether, the night felt full of warmth, laughter, and the kind of happy energy that makes a wedding memorable long after it is over.

Overall, it was a wonderful celebration in a town with a lot of character and history. From the setting at Live Oak Haven to the thoughtful details of the ceremony and reception, the entire day felt special. Most of all, it was a joyful reminder that the best weddings are the ones filled with love, family, laughter, and a genuine sense of togetherness. It was a beautiful day for a beautiful couple, and West Columbia made it even more memorable.

Angleton, Texas: History, Gin, and the Glow of Walmart – City #10

A wedding brought me to Angleton, which is exactly the sort of sentence that sounds normal until a car is actually hurtling toward a place never seen before, fueled by optimism, Waze, and the unshakable belief that every Texas suburb is hiding either a charming bakery or a deeply confusing statue. This corner of the Houston area had not appeared on the itinerary before, so the arrival carried expectations of adventure, local flavor, and at minimum one aggressively majestic water tower.

By all appearances, Angleton’s most unforgettable brush with history was Danny Bible, the serial killer known as the “Icepick Killer,” which is not the kind of tourism slogan embroidered on a pillow. This is one of those historical facts that arrives in the room, kicks over the snack table, and demands everyone stop pretending the most exciting local event was once a pecan festival. Even stranger, he reportedly confessed to his crimes for a pack of cigarettes and a Bible, a transaction so wildly specific it sounds less like criminal history and more like the opening scene of a Steven Spielberg movie filmed behind a gas station.

Naturally, the liquor had been forgotten, because no road trip is complete until one adult realizes the group has been failed in a deeply preventable way. That led to a quick pilgrimage to Spec’s for some botanical gin, and for Texans, Spec’s is not merely a store but a spiritual institution with fluorescent lighting. Spec’s Wines, Spirits & Finer Foods was founded in 1962 by Carroll B. “Spec” Jackson and his wife, Carolynn, in Houston, Texas. Starting with just $7,000, the family-owned chain has grown into the largest beverage retailer in Texas, operating more than 200 locations across the state, which feels less like retail expansion and more like a benevolent takeover by people who understand emergencies involving charcuterie and gin.

Angleton was founded in 1890 near the center of Brazoria County and named for the wife of the general manager of the Velasco Terminal Railway, which is a beautifully old-timey sentence that sounds like it should be read by a man with sideburns announcing the arrival of canned peaches. A bitter rivalry emerged between Angleton and nearby Brazoria over the location of the county seat; Angleton won in 1896 and then won again in a county-wide election in 1913, apparently because Texans have never once said, “You know what, let’s leave this unresolved.” The town was incorporated on November 12, 1912. In the modern era, the place seemed cheerfully overrun with food trucks and flashy national chain restaurants, as though the frontier spirit had finally been conquered by queso and backlit signage. From the hotel room, the picture window offered a majestic panoramic view of Walmart, glowing on the horizon like a big-box moon.

Honestly, if Angleton had a mission statement, this would probably be it: A place where history lurks ominously in the background, the liquor store arrives like a patron saint, and the evening closes beneath the sacred glow of Walmart as if civilization itself had decided to clock out in sweatpants. The occasion was a wedding, the unintended result was accidental anthropology, and the lasting impression was that somewhere out there, beyond the food trucks and county-seat grudges, a giant water tower was still judging everyone silently.

Finlayson, where the food is average but the people-watching is elite – City #9

Stop 9 on the 60-city tour was Finlayson, Minnesota, a town named after David Finlayson, a Scottish lumberman and sawmill owner. This is mildly confusing because the name sounds as if it should belong to a place with purely Finnish roots, especially given the strong Finnish heritage in nearby towns. But no, Finlayson is Scottish by name, northern Minnesota by vibe, and small-town enough to make you feel like everyone knows where you are headed before you do.

Finlayson is the kind of place hunters know well, thanks to its access to Pine County woods, nearby public land, and the general promise that if you head far enough into the trees, something with antlers may eventually appear. Dad and I, however, were not there for wildlife unless you count the dinner crowd. Our mission was simpler, nobler, and much more immediate: find food.

That mission led us to Buffalo Tracks Bar and Grill, right off Highway 35 in Finlayson. The place offers burgers, sandwiches, pizza, and the sort of all-purpose menu that says, “We understand hunger and do not intend to overcomplicate it.” It felt like exactly the kind of establishment where expectations should be kept reasonable and observations should be kept sharp.

I ordered the patty melt, which was not offensive but also did not inspire any future travel plans. Dad had a chicken sandwich, and together we agreed that Buffalo Tracks would not become a culinary pilgrimage. But the people-watching? Absolutely first-rate. Two men and a woman at the bar, all somewhere in their 30s, were swearing with such fluency and commitment that it felt less like overhearing conversation and more like attending a live performance. Around us, takeout orders came and went, road-worn regulars drifted through, and locals moved about with the easy confidence of people who had every right to be there because they practically did live there. We stayed longer than the food required, purely for the entertainment value.

Finlayson, where the food was forgettable, but the people-watching made for a memorable matinee.

 

Moose Lake: Rock Solid Memories - City #8

Moose Lake may be the Agate Capital of the World, but I did not arrive with a rock hammer, a collecting bag, or any real intention of becoming an amateur geologist. I came for something far more valuable: a weekend with family at the lake house, where the stories are plentiful, the history runs deep, and the neighbors are unexpectedly notable.

Moose Lake, Minnesota, is very proud of being the “Agate Capital of the World,” which is a bold claim for a town essentially saying, “Come for the rocks.” It also hosts the annual Agate Days celebration and has the kind of north-of-the-metro charm that makes people start talking about scenery, fresh air, and “getting away from it all.” All of that is lovely, of course, but this particular weekend was not about agate hunting, scenic hikes, or pretending to be more outdoorsy than I really am.

I was there for family time at the lake house, which has been in our family long enough to qualify as both property and legend. It started out as a little shack about 100 yards from the water, owned by my great Aunt Nora in 1952. My grandpa bought the property in 1958. My dad still tells stories about when the brush was so thick you could not even see the lake from the house, which seems like a design flaw for lake property, but apparently that was part of the charm. During his St. Thomas years, he spent the summers studying and weekends clearing the shoreline, moving rock and brush, after which his grandmother would feed him dinner, basically the original version of work-life balance.

The reason the place is beautiful now is simple: my dad did the hard part decades ago so the rest of us could later show up and admire it. That is the kind of long-term planning I respect. Next door is the red brick house owned by my sister, 3 years senior to me. She capitalized on the opportunity to have a Lakehouse next to dad, soon after it became available. It was originally owned by Doc Alvin Sach-Rowitz, another name that lives on in family lore. I grew up hearing stories about how he prevented a lakeshore drive from cutting through the property and turning this peaceful stretch into a public parade route for curious strangers. For that alone, he deserves some sort of posthumous neighborhood medal. Doc Sach-Rowitz operated his own community medical practice, often seeing patients in what is now my sister’s lake house. That practice later became part of the early foundation for Gateway Family Health Clinic when several independent local physicians in the region merged their practices. Doc Sach-Rowitz was also deeply involved in community life, occasionally hosting local social gatherings with his wife, Edith. In addition to his medical work, he partnered with Harold Peterson and Ike Boekenoogen to develop the vintage “Halik Frog” fishing lure.

Then there is the fact that Robert Bly once lived on the south side of the lake house, because apparently my family does not do ordinary neighboring properties. Bly, the poet, essayist, activist, and author of "Iron John”, had a log cabin on the lakeshore that helped inspire parts of his writing. After he died, the property went up for sale, and my oldest sister moved with the decisiveness of someone who knows a good cabin when she sees one. The log cabin is now in the family and has been renamed “The Sugar Shack,” which I think is both less literary and more fun. A fair trade.

As a U.S. Army veteran, I can say with confidence that this weekend was exactly the kind of medicine I needed. Not medicine in the clinical sense, obviously, more the kind that comes from family stories, familiar places, and the absence of any pressing obligation beyond maybe sitting on a deck. Moose Lake may be famous for agates, but for me its true value is much simpler: it is a place where my family’s history is still standing, still expanding, and still finding new ways to make itself memorable.

In the end, Moose Lake delivered exactly what I needed: family, fresh air, and a reminder that some of the best weekends do not require an itinerary, only a good view and people who already know your stories. It may be the Agate Capital of the World, but I left more impressed by the family legends than the rocks. In our case, the real gems were already at the lake.

The photograph is of my paternal grandmother sitting by the lakeshore at the Luck family compound.

Forest Lake: A Meal, a Memory, and My Dad - City #7

Forest Lake is, unsurprisingly, very into water. At roughly 2,270 acres spread across three connected basins, it is one of the larger recreational lakes in the metro area and a magnet for boaters, anglers, swimmers, and anyone else eager to pretend they are outdoorsy. Lakeside Memorial Park adds to the appeal with a beach, boat access, picnic areas, and plenty of scenic opportunities for people who like nature. Perfect for “Memorial Day” visitors.

My dad and I, however, were not in Forest Lake for the fishing, the scenery, or any meaningful communion with the natural world. We were hungry. At one point he asked, “What does Google have to say about restaurants in Forest Lake?” and, as it turns out, Google had at least one very good answer: “The Grillium”. It had the cozy feel of a place that knows exactly what it is doing, namely, feeding people well enough that they will be talking about it later. The menu offered plenty of worthy choices, including comfort-food favorites, walleye, and other hearty options, but once I saw house-made corned beef, my decision was over. I ordered the Reuben with the confidence of a man who had done no research but somehow knew he was right. The sauerkraut counted as a vegetable, the tater tots were exactly what the moment required, and by the end of the meal I felt that Forest Lake had shown me its true character: yes, it has a big lake, but more importantly, it has lunch.

In the end, the real gift of Forest Lake wasn’t the lake itself or even the scenery around it. It was the chance to spend a simple afternoon with my dad. Part sightseeing, part good meal, and part easy conversation. Some places stay with you because of what you see there, and others because of who you shared them with. For me, Forest Lake will always be memorable for that second reason.

St. Paul: More Than Just City #6

The flight into St. Paul, Minnesota, was not luxurious, but it was manageable. A little turbulence kept the cabin service grounded, and the close quarters turned the armrest into a quiet contest with the passenger beside me. Even so, the trip was short enough that discomfort never became the point. I was not traveling for convenience or comfort, but for something more meaningful:

to see my dad in his new home.

St. Paul has a colorful past. It was once known as Pig's Eye, named after Pierre "Pig's Eye" Parrant, a one-eyed bootlegger and fur trader who ran an illegal tavern in the area in the 1830s. It is the kind of detail I probably never would have learned had I not stumbled across it in a YouTube video one day. But I was not in town for local trivia. St. Paul has recently become home to my dad, who moved from my childhood house in Fridley, a six-bedroom, three-level place full of memory, into an apartment here in St. Paul.

My dad will turn 90 this year, and Carondelet Village feels like the right place for this chapter of his life. The community offers independent living, assisted living, memory care, and long-term care, with wellness and enrichment programs at its center. What stood out most was not simply the range of services, but the sense that the place was designed to help people remain engaged, active, and connected. It was perfect for my dad.

The tour of the facility was the highlight of the visit. There were pools and pool tables, pottery and sewing rooms, quiet corners for reflection, and a full calendar of daily activities. It was easy to imagine how a person could build a real life there instead of simply passing time. More than anything, I left feeling relieved. A move like this is never small, but seeing the place for myself made it feel less like an ending and more like a thoughtful new beginning.

I am excited for my dad. As he showed me around the new facility, I met one of my dad's high school friends, Fr. John Forliti, who also lives at Carondelet. He and my dad have been friends since the 1950s. I was not surprised to see a 12-to-1 ratio of women to men.

In the end, St. Paul became more than another city on a list. It became the setting for one of life’s quieter passages, the kind marked not by drama, but by acceptance, friendship, and hope. Watching my dad settle into this new chapter, I was reminded that growing older can still hold the promise of connection, dignity, and new beginnings.

Lauderdale-By-The-Sea: Perfectly Imperfect Coast - City #5

Lauderdale-By-The-Sea marked a fifth city stop, technically a town, sure, but with its own post office, which feels official enough for blog purposes.

South Florida Food Tours turned out to be the right call. The guide stitched the area together with equal parts history and hometown pride, the kind of storytelling that makes each bite taste like it belongs. A standout stop: a small Jamaican spot tucked right in the heart of downtown, called “Alexandra’s.” Alexandra greeted guests at the door with a bright smile and a soft Jamaican lilt: “Welcome, please, come on in.” The jerk chicken was the kind of good that doesn’t just end a meal; it plants the seed for a return trip.

Lauderdale-By-The-Sea stays low to the ground on purpose, a true low-rise community with a height limit that keeps the sky feeling big. With only about 6,000 residents, an “old Florida” ease lingers, as if the modern world agreed to whisper for a while. The beaches were clean, but the wind arrived with an attitude, pushing salt air in sharp gusts and roughing up the water into white-capped drama. Out along the shore, the broken pier stood like a reminder that nature always gets the last word. Damaged in a recent hurricane, the pier faces an especially tricky rebuild because of the coral reef below. Privately owned and expensive to repair, the structure is also tangled in legal and financial hurdles. Rebuilding requires approval from multiple agencies, including the Army Corps of Engineers and the Department of Environmental Protection, and the process is expected to take several years. Until then, the scene looks perfectly imperfect.

For views, Aruba Beach Café stole the show. When the wind isn’t quite so relentless, the doors open and the place becomes a front-row seat for ocean watching, live music in the background, good food on the table, and that steady rhythm of waves doing what they’ve always done. The “Aruba Ariba” adds a playful tropical curveball: vodka, rum, passion fruit syrup, crème de banana, and a bright mix of orange, pineapple, and cranberry juice, vacation with its volume turned up.

A perfect ending to a weeklong trip: sun on shoulders, sand in inconvenient places, laughter that carried late, and (in full honesty) a little too much drinking. Thanks for the memories, Florida.

Raised Bridges and Restless Waters - Boca Raton City #4

 Boca Raton was city number four, and it made a polished first impression. This is city 4 of 4 that I don't remember visiting. This is a town that clearly cares about appearances The town just feels clean. It is meticulously kept, and spotless at every turn, as if every sidewalk and palm tree knows its role. The rhythm of the city felt coastal and unhurried, shaped by fishermen casting lines and beachgoers drifting toward the sand, alongside a steady stream of tourists drawn by the promise of sun and sea.

One of the most intriguing features was the series of drawbridges crossing the Intracoastal Waterway. They felt almost theatrical in their timing and presence. At one point, a bridge tender’s voice boomed sternly over a loudspeaker, scolding an unsuspecting jogger who had chosen the worst possible moment to cross, the bridge rising beneath his feet. Oblivious to the warning at first, the jogger scrambled off as the tender urged him to clear the bridge quickly, adding a moment of unexpected drama to an otherwise tranquil scene.

The visit came with moody weather. Rain drifted in and out, and the skies couldn’t quite make up their mind. Sudden gusts of wind swept through the streets, and the Atlantic Ocean looked restless and angry, its waves crashing with purpose. Even so, the energy of Boca Raton remained vibrant. The city felt alive, expressive, and inviting, proof that sunshine isn’t the only thing that gives a place its charm.

Despite the unpredictable weather, Boca Raton was fun to explore, full of character and coastal flair. It’s a destination that leaves a lasting impression, and one I wouldn’t hesitate to return to, ready for more moments, more memories, and perhaps a little more fun in the sun.

 

Deerfield Beach: Sun, Salt, and Simple Pleasures City #3

 City #3: Deerfield Beach

Deerfield Beach was city number three, and from the moment I arrived, it felt like a place that didn’t need to shout to be noticed. I have never been here before, so this is 3 of 3 cities that I have never visited. Laid‑back and quietly confident, the city holds more life than it first appears, nearly 90,000 people tucked between ocean blues and palm‑lined streets. It’s known for its pristine Blue Wave beach, its internationally recognized fishing pier, and an atmosphere that invites visitors to slow down and stay awhile.

For just two dollars, you can stroll the length of the pier, listening to the rhythm of waves beneath your feet. Four dollars buys you a chance to fish, and sometimes, a story worth remembering. One local fisherman proudly showed off a king mackerel he had just caught, so massive it refused to fit inside his oversized cooler, as if even the fish here resisted containment. The beachfront stretched endlessly in both directions, soft sand meeting open sky. In the distance, a lighthouse stood watch about two miles away, steady and timeless against the horizon.

Pelican Harry, my unofficial name for him, was perched on the pier as if it were his personal lookout. He let me get close, close enough that I nearly could have touched him, yet he never shifted or flinched. He wasn’t camera shy in the slightest; if anything, he seemed to welcome the attention, posing patiently as the waves rolled beneath us. Calm, unbothered, and entirely at ease, Harry felt like just another local, perfectly content, soaking in the slow, steady rhythm of the day.

The parks throughout the area were spotless, lush, orderly, and clearly well cared for. You could see where the city invests its pride. While I couldn’t help but wonder about the property taxes, the answer was right there in the manicured green spaces and welcoming public areas that made the city feel loved.

Even when scattered rain showers passed through without warning, the weather remained gentle and forgiving. Deerfield Beach didn’t seem bothered by imperfection; it embraced it. As evening settled in, pizza places appeared on nearly every corner, each promising comfort and familiarity. Ending the day with pizza and a cold beer felt exactly right, the perfect close to a day that asked nothing more of me than to relax, observe, and enjoy.

 

Where the Waves Set the Pace - Pompano Beach City #2

 Pompano Beach, Florida: City #2.

Pompano Beach, Florida marked the second city on the 60‑city tour, and it immediately leaned into that laid‑back coastal vibe. I had never been to Pompano Beach before, making it two out of two cities so far that were completely new to me. The Wyndham Resort would be home for the next seven days, and it felt like a solid choice from the start. The spacious suite came with not one, but two balconies, one offering a glimpse of the endless blue Atlantic Ocean as it shimmered between two towering timeshare buildings, and the other overlooking the glassy, slow‑moving waters of the Intracoastal Waterway. Warm ocean air drifted through the open doors, carrying the faint scent of salt and sunscreen. It felt like there were more resorts here than palm trees, a clear sign that this town knows exactly how to cater to vacation mode. Arriving on a weekend meant weaving through clusters of sunburned tourists and beach bags while figuring out which nearby spots were easy to reach on foot, but that’s all part of the beach‑town rhythm.

The pool area quickly became a favorite retreat. The water was cool and inviting, a welcome contrast to the thick Florida heat, and the hot tub quietly bubbled nearby. It wasn’t overrun with kids, which made the space feel calm and unhurried. Patches of shade offered relief from the relentless sun, making it easy to settle into a lounge chair and lose track of time. Just a short block away, the beach delivered exactly what you hope for, warm sand underfoot, rolling waves, and a steady ocean soundtrack that seemed to wash the day clean. Sitting back and listening to the waves crash and retreat against the shore was deeply tranquil, the kind of sound that slows your breathing without you even realizing it.

That evening wrapped up perfectly with a quick stop at the grocery store to pick up a few essentials, followed by dinner at a cozy, hole‑in‑the‑wall Italian restaurant. The food was simple, comforting, and full of flavor, the kind of meal that feels especially satisfying after a sun‑soaked day. Unpretentious and delicious, it was the perfect ending and made Pompano Beach feel easy, welcoming, and surprisingly effortless to settle into.