Between now and the end

In case of zombie attack, break glass

2008-11-20T19:00:00.001-08:00

The other night, I came home to my roommate watching Shaun of the Dead. Being a better movie than most I tend to walk in on him watching, I settled into my usual indentation on the couch. Eventually, being the people we are, we got into an indepth discussion about what we could do in the case of a zombie invasion. Our emergency zombie plan, if you will.

This is serious, people. How often are you watching a zombie movie, thinking to yourself (or perhaps yelling outloud depending on your current level of obnoxiousness) "What are you doing? Don't go there! It's not safe! And while your at it, chop off their damn heads. Everyone knows that's how you stop a zombie. Come on! Don't you watch zombie moves?!"

I've said it. You've said it. Ever since the original Night of the Living Dead ("They're coming for you, Baaarrrbbbrrraaaaa"), we have no excuse to be zombie ignorant and not to be prepared for an invasion. Even grade school kids know the quickest way to incapacitate the undead.

Go for the head. Damage the brain or spinal cord. None of this mucking around hitting them with bats or shooting them in the chest and screaming "Why won't they go down?! Oh god they just won't die!!" Duh. They're undead. A little critical thinking can go a long way people.

Anyway, back to the original topic I was to discuss, before my tangential rant (speaking of which, math related post to come soon...I know you've all been waiting eagerly on the edge of your seats for one). In our discussion, we came up with some criteria for an appropriate zombie safe house.

Control of all entrances and exits. This is hugely important. If you can't lockdown your hiding place, I guarantee some clever zombie will find his or her way in. In every zombie movie, if someone ever utters "this place should be safe, it only has the one glaringly large hole in security; but really, what are the odds they'll find that one way in", within ten minutes the zombies' hunger for brains has driven them to solve this particular puzzle.

Following this requirement, there are a couple of things to consider when choosing a location with a known, limited number of exits. Make sure it is small enough so that you can really guarantee safety; don't be space greedy if it is going to put you in danger. However, don't lock yourself in the first garden shed or cellar you come across. You want some living space, who knows how long you'll need to tough it out until some organized effort is put forth to deal with this living dead issue. Think ahead.
You and your rag tag team of survivors are going to need to eat. Don't plan on delivery or being able to pop down to the local pizza joint as options. Therefore, you're safe house of choice should come stocked with food. Preferably canned or other non-perishables (electricity will most likely be spotty, at best). This leads one to think of grocery stores as an ideal location. However, considering the previous point, this may be unwise due to the number of possible entrance points and sheer size of these buildings. Also, most grocery stores won't be able to fulfill the remainder of our criteria for safety. Not to say we ruled them out, though.
So what happens if you need to leave your safe location for a brief period? Or perhaps you become overrun and a zombie or two happens to slip through your security perimeter (hey, it happens to the best of us)? Whatever the situation, it is inevitable that at one point or another you will be forced to have a face to face with a member of the recently risen. And just like the the popular rhyme us unpopular kids would sing to make ourselves feel better, words really won't hurt them. You are going to need something to deliver a large helping of violence, with a side of steaming ass-kicking.

Now, depending on the variation of zombie you are dealing with, different levels of automation and efficiency will be required of your weapon of choice. For dealing with those annoyingly fast zombies a la 28 Days Later or the remake of Dawn of the Dead, a gun is most definitely preferable. You can't really afford to get up close and intimate with these guys. But if your flavor of zombie seems to be more Night of the Living Dead-ish (i.e. sluggish, imbecile, less dead human and more living inanimate object), a more personal or improvised weapon is acceptable; as long as it is capable of damage or removing the head. Shovels, axes, sharp bit of wood, street sign, mangled piece of metal. The key here is to be creative, since you have the flexibility.

Keeping all of this in mind, your choice of hideout will need to be amended to ensure you have access to the appropriate level of weaponry. This requirement sort of rules out traditional grocery stores; however, hybrids such as Fred Meyers, Super Walmart, Super Target, and the like are still possible options.
One key factor to consider is travel time. The less time you spend getting to your designated safe house, the less chance it will have become overrun or that you will get bitten (and therefore doomed to cause the downfall of your party) en route. You can't be roadtrippin' it; who knows, the roads may even be blocked with debris such as traffic cones, trees, other cars, or bits of ex-people. Having a large truck, in this case, would be beneficial. However, it still may be a better idea to locate a safe location within a mile or two of your most probable situation with the invasion begins.

Again, the most important point here is to plan ahead. With all the stress of having to dismember your neighbors while keeping their brain-thirsty jaws away from your person, the last thing you want to be worrying about is where you will be sleeping tonight. Also, having a goal is requisite for survival. Those who end up having a lie about, moping at the injustice of it all or other such nonsense will more than likely get eaten in the next act. While being goal-driven doesn't guarantee survival, it certainly helps keep your mind off of the depressing fact that the girl you've been crushing on for the last few weeks is probably a zombie now and dammit you really should have asked her out before this whole mess happened because seriously the worst she could have said was no and since she's undead now anyway you wouldn't have lost anything plus as a bonus if she had said yes she'd probably be with you now in your rag tag group creating the necessary romantic tension to drive the story forward.

After discussing these issues, we began brainstorming on possible prime locations. Our first thought was Home Depot. It is fairly close (probably about a mile away), and would have plenty of the construction materials needed to properly barracade any exits. Plus we could build a neat fort. Unfortunately, Home Depot severely lacks any sort of food more substantial than candy bars and bottles of soda. Also, in case of the scary fast Olympic sprinting zombies, we'd be gun-less.

My next inclination would be Fred Meyers. It is even closer than Home Depot, has much of the construction materials we could need (sans raw wood, but we could improvise), and would have more than enough canned food to last us quite a while. The large supply of food even means we could support not just our rag tag team, but any other survivors who perhaps had the same idea as us. We run into the same lack of gun problem, though, and also Freddie's is quite large; securing the location could prove problematic. Although the thought did just occur to me that we could definitely take advantage of the built in security cameras (provided we had electricity). Despite not being ideal, I don't think I'd rule it out yet.

After a while, Allen became sold on the idea of using Bimart as our fallback. All the canned food benefits of Fred Meyers, with a subset of the Home Depot construction tools, and the bonus of guns in stock. I mostly agree that this seems to be a better choice; the store is much smaller and therefore easier to secure, as well as being less popular so the chances of having to clear zombies out when we get there is lower (seriously, who actually shops at Bimart other than my mother?).

Our own apartment was ruled out fairly early due to the fact that I put very little faith in the construction of this building to withstand a wave of undead. Yes, Allen may own a sword, but in the confines of our living room I think we'd be more likely to chop off one of our own limbs while practicing our ninja moves than actually putting it to proper use.

In the end, Bimart seemed to remain our best option. It offers the most in terms of supplies, tools, and protection. So when the ~~revolution~~ invasion comes, head on over to our place and we'll set off on a daring escape through the streets, hacking off bits of living dead, making incredibly witty banter of course, only to reach the final showdown with the king zombie in the parking lot of the Bimart where he will force us to make either a terrible choice or heroic sacrifice in order to not only save ourselves and all of humanity, but win the girl (or guy, depending on your persuassion).

Yes, we did talk about this for over an hour. Hush.

Sidenote: So, what happens when a friend is infected? Do you immediately kill them to avoid the possibility of their eventual turn endangering your entire group? Or do you wait until the moment they turn since, after all, they're still human up to that point.

My argument was to leave them alive. First of all, do you really have the heart to kill them? Really? They're still human, you know. Could you be such a cold hearted bastard? Ok, even if you could, hear me out.

While still alive, this person can offer necessary utility to the group. Now that their life is basically forfeit, they could provide a much needed diversion or be the one to make the heroic sacrifice that tugs at the audiences' heart strings. Of course, this all depends on the turn time; the average time seems to be several hours. Considering most people don't even seem to last that long uninfected, why needlessly kill off a useful member of your party prematurely? Also, if you let them live you can get a better understanding of how the plague spreads, how long it takes to turn based on the severity of their injury, and other very important data you may need to not only survive, but ultimately defeat the king zombie.

Plus, how badass would it be to have a zombie friend? Think about it.

Things I've learned as a bicycle commuter

2008-11-13T19:28:00.000-08:00

Most drivers are courteous enough, but there are still those that forget I weigh about two orders of magnitude less than them.
It's all fun and games until it rains.
Beaverton smells. Really bad. Sometimes it's fallow pools of water (what the locals may call "a wetland", but most sensible people call a mosquito breeding puddle), sometimes it's the piles of garbage on the side of the road, and sometimes it's just good old fashion car exhaust. At least the variety keeps things interesting.
You can still sweat in sub 40 degree weather. Which of course just makes you colder. Which also brings me to...
...butt sweat. Yup, it happens.
There is a reason you see bikers rolling up their pants. And no, it's not just to look ridiculously hip. That just happens to be a pleasant side effect.
No roads are actually flat. However, the hills you always imagined as being torturous are usually not quite so torturous.
Planning is key: although the 10 mile ride may be fun, keep in mind you usually have to make the return trip.
Not oft used bike lanes = all kinds of fun sharp things to run over.
Yes, you can be pulled over.
Despite as much as I try to convince myself otherwise, 4 working gears out of 10 really isn't adequate.
My tires are exactly wide enough to fit nicely inside of the street car tracks. Unfortunately, this makes steering, and staying upright, difficult at best. Also, the best time to discover this is in front of a large group of people.
The best bike lane traffic signal sensor is in front of the Beaverton library. Seriously, the moment my front tire crosses over, the opposing light immediately turns yellow. Too bad such technology is wasted on one of the least busy intersections around.
Wet brakes + hills in Portland + trying to stop = not going to happen. (Astute scholars may note that the derivative of this is "nearly crapping my pants").
It's farther than you think.

Chronicles of Public Transit: Chapter 1

2008-11-07T16:08:00.000-08:00

I take MAX into and out of Portland about four times a week. On my way home, I usually board during rush hour (anytime between 4 and 7 really). The newer trains have four hooks to hang bikes on, so I try my best to maneuver myself towards those. Unfortunately, this means I usually have to 1) shove my way through the crowds, knocking over old ladies and small children with my two wheeled monstrosity; and 2) stand next to my bike, staring aimlessly and uncomfortably at my fellow commuters.

Spending this much time on public transit, given the distribution of nutty people, the probability of "interesting times" is high.

To begin, three stories.

The pick up.

About two weeks ago, I boarded MAX downtown near the Pioneer Place mall. I'm pretty sure it was a Thursday, which meant it must have been around 4:30 by the time I grabbed the train, coming from a grueling session of Differential Equations (math with numbers, not my favorite; petition to keep numbers out of math!). To keep myself occupied I usually bring along my iPod, which serves the two additional purposes of keeping my glasses from falling off while biking it up and lets me ignore most of the crazies mulling around.

On this particular day, I had left my precious headphones at home. Mistake number one.

A few minutes into the ride, the man standing next to me asked me a question; I answered it. Mistake number two.

What started out as an innocent enough conversation began to get a little unsettling. I'll try to recreate as much as I can remember. Enjoy.

Him: "So do you work downtown?"
Me: "Uh nope, go to school."

[3 minutes of silence]

Him: "What do you go to school for?"
Me: "Math"

[2 minutes of silence followed by another couple unrelated questions and increasingly personal questions]

Him: "Do you go to a gym and work out?"
Me: "Nope, just ride the bike."
Him: "Oh, well you have nice mass" as he motions to my chest/back region.
Me: "Uh....thanks?"

[4 minutes of very awkward silence]

Him: "So what are you doing tonight?"
Me: "Just going home."
Him: "Where is home? Who do you live with."
Me: "A friend"

[Why oh why did I forget my headphones today, I think to myself]

Him: "What are you doing for dinner tonight?"
Me: ".....Not sure yet. Eat at home probably."
Him: "Do you like to dance?"
Me : "....."

Me: "No."
Him: "So you have a girlfriend?"
Me: "Uh, yup." Pretty much a lie, but it seemed like the right answer.

The last few minutes before my stop were spent in more awkward silence, with myself attempting to do anything except make eye contact with this very persistent man. The train finally pulled into my station, I grabbed my bike, and realized he was also getting off at the same stop. As I jumped on my bike and began peddling like mad, I looked back and noticed him crossing the platform to board the eastbound train back into Portland.

I have a new found sympathy for the ladies who are constantly accosted at bars.

The botched bike theft.

This happened a few nights ago. I had just taken a Group Theory midterm, after which myself and two friends from the class met up at the Market St. McMenamins to drink and commiserate. Much beer and tots were consumed, with a healthy dose of bitching and griping.

Afterwards, two of us walked down to the 10 st. MAX stop, mostly engrossed in slightly too loud conversation. While standing around waiting, a man and a woman walked up from behind us, stopping a few feet to our left. It wasn't entirely clear if they came together, or just happened to arrive at the same time. I'm not sure which would be more disturbing, considering what the man said next.

"Hey, you two, stop being such big losers and talk to this woman. Don't you want to talk to this woman instead of standing around like losers and watching this bike here? Go over there and talk to her and leave this bike here. Stop being such freaking losers, seriously. Just leave this bike here."

Really? That's the best you can come up with? I honestly expect better from crack-head would-be-thieves that hang around MAX platforms.

The typing teacher.

I saw Mr. Bristow, our high school keyboarding/journalism/yearbook/probably something else teacher, get on today at Pioneer Courthouse square. He looks exactly the same. I don't think he recognized me.

True story.

Obama wins, country heaves collective sigh of relief.

2008-11-04T21:31:00.000-08:00

The outcome was expected, but I didn't want to get my hopes up until the moment we knew for certain. Congratulations to America, lets move this thing forward now.

Also, I have to mention that after watching John McCain's concession speech my respect for the man has been resurrected. He seemed to return back to the McCain of 2000 and 2004 who actually stood apart from his party affiliation and spoke with integrity. I'm sure many of his flipped positions in this election were due to a need to please the Republican base, despite McCain's history of moderation. It is a shame he had to run the way he did, but I suppose politics will be politics.

I nearly convinced myself today that maybe McCain was running a subpar election on purpose; in some kind of underhanded way to backstab the Republican party. Like he was a secret Obama supporter, and really wanted him to win, but had to make sure it wasn't too obvious. Sounds like a good movie idea...

A few of us got together tonight to watch the results, either to celebrate or commiserate the results depending on the outcome. Like many others, I'm sure, we decided to make a drinking game of all the coverage. The rules went like this.

Every time the electoral college map was shown, take a drink.
Every time an American flag was shown, take a drink.
Every time someone in a suit made a prediction or analysis, take a drink.
Take a drink to celebrate whenever a state was called for Obama.
Take a drink to wash away the pain every time a state was called for McCain.
Whenever blah blah blah, take a drink
Blah blah drink blah blah blah blah.

I think we all won this game.

Now for two months of everyone insisting this will be the most important election of all time and the insurmountable wall of obstacles Obama will face upon inauguration. Oh well, a step forward is a step forward. The news channels need something to talk about I guess.

Yes we can? I think we just did. Go us.

Epilogue Part I: If we could only see us now...

2008-10-07T02:29:00.001-07:00

Note: I've been writing this post for a few days. Not that that indicates any increased level of editing or proofreading, but just that it has been somewhat difficult to write. I find that writing light-hearted or humorous posts much easier than serious and personal ones (surprise). I almost didn't post it, but figured it would be a waste of keyboard wear and tear if I didn't. Enjoy.

Thirteen thousand and ninety-nine miles.

Fifty days.

Thirty-three states (and two Canadian provinces).

Countless bottles of water and Naked juice.

It's been nearly three weeks now since the end of my journey around the country, and if it weren't for this blog and a few hundred photographs (not to mention an increase in my Visa debt), it would seem like it never happened. Almost.

Origins.

The idea to take this trip came from a conversation I had with friends of my parents when we visited Scotland for Christmas of 2005. The couple, being retired and with all of their children out of the house, took to excursions around Europe, collecting fine wines and cheeses from across the continent. The places they had seen sounded amazing; the history and culture, the food, the spectacular vistas. My desire to travel and explore, which up till then had really only fueled my tendency to take long ways home or explore back roads around where I lived, intensified. The great European vacation from so many books and movies would be mine, I decided.

But really, I thought, why Europe? What had it to offer in terms of unexplored territory that my own continent didn't? I have lived my entire life on the West coast, venturing north and south of Oregon, but rarely further east other than layovers in Newark or Chicago. There was so much to see without even crossing an ocean, why not take advantage of what is in my backyard first. Because honestly, I knew next to nothing about what the United States really felt and looked like outside of TV or movies.

And so, I began planning. I graduated that June and took a mini trip with Scott for a week; a blazingly fast, week long tour of a couple states close by. From that trip, I learned one of the most important rules for an enjoyable roadtrip: don't rush it. If you are always in a hurry, always trying to get to your next location, you'll miss a lot of the country at 80 mph.

The idea for my own trip took a backseat in my mind for more than a year afterward. In the fall of 2007 I was working at an internship at Intel and began to feel antsy again. Maybe it was the sterile corporate environment, or perhaps the frustration of driving the same 10 miles of highway day in and day out; the stagnation, the overwhelming feeling of uncertainty about my future or what I really wanted, feeling stuck in a rut. I desired to break out, explore, drive miles of empty road. I desired to get away. So I sat at my computer one afternoon and haphazardly plotted a course across the country, choosing destinations that I always wanted to see, or had heard about, or just sounded interesting. The exact route was unimportant, the idea was to improvise if necessary.

I started tossing the idea around with some friends and family, getting reactions and advice. Winter was approaching, and considering I was scheduled to work until mid-January as well as not wanting to get stuck in the snow crossing the Rockies, I decided I would leave in the Spring.

For the next few months, I refined my plan, talked some more about it, and above all just waited. It began to feel like one of those amazing ideas you have that simply would never materialize, whether due to lack of opportunity, lack of resources, or a lack of will to really follow through. March rolled around, and then April. I left for another trip to Scotland for yet another wedding two years after the first, my dream still unfulfilled. By the time I returned home, I had less than two months remaining on my lease. Another excuse to for me to wait. June, I thought, I can leave right at the beginning of June after I move.

Near the end of May, tightening funds and a new romantic interest forced me to reconsider a June departure. I've waited this long, I thought, whats another month of two. Plenty of time to save up enough to comfortably cover the trip.

Summer came, and summer slipped away like so many other things. I found myself in the last week of July with no more reasons to stay, no excuse to put off leaving any longer. I had made the decision to return to school in the fall, so my window of opportunity was ever shortening. Without really realizing what I was getting myself into, on August 2nd I packed my car and turned east.

Reasons.

I don't think I was ever really sure what I would accomplish on my trip. I can throw around cliches about finding myself and discovering America, about the great American Road Trip or a quarter-life crisis. They're all true in their own ways, but were more so as unintended results rather than reasons to go. When I try to be honest with myself, I think it was mostly a desire to escape for a while. With no creative outlet or focus in life it is easy to become bogged down; with nothing to work towards or particular reason not to it is easy to stop moving. I felt bogged down, slowed down, from the past two years.

My solution was to drive away. I've always felt at home in a way out on an empty road, even driving alone. I find it relaxing, almost comforting. Call it a consequence of introversion.

I was in a place I didn't much like and needed change. What better change than a new city every night? What better escape than to put thousands of miles between me and where I'd been? It may sound horrible, but we all escape in our own ways every day. Getting lost in music, a TV show, a book, movies, video games, hikes, alcohol, drugs. Some are obviously more productive or destructive than others, but each one offers us time to forget for a while, to be somewhere or someone else. I would get my escape, and as a bonus I would see the country I had lived in for 24 years and perhaps discover some things about myself along the way.

Results.

I've seen mountains so beautiful no words I write could describe them. I've been in uncomfortable situations, maybe even dangerous situations, lost and alone. I've stayed in hostels, hotels, motels, and guest houses; slept in my tent and my car, on couches, air mattresses, floors, and friends beds. I arrived in Sturgis during Bike Week and New Orleans during Southern Decadence. I've watched sunsets that took my breath away and others that I barely noticed. I've seen a full moon rise over the Atlantic, red as blood. I've fled swarms of insects in Montana and Mississippi and I've been bitten more times than I can count. I've seen the Milky Way on a night so clear I could swear there was naught above me but open space. I saw friends I hadn't seen in years, and met some for the first time. I've tried to remember, and tried to forget.

It seems that I, as well as most I talked to, had the idea that I would have passed through a fundamental, material change upon returning. I've been back for more nearly weeks now, time enough to try and digest my experiences and perform some serious introspection. And to what conclusion did I come to, you may be asking? ("Of course I ask that," you say, "why else would I be reading your epilogue?"). Am I better off having spent the better part of two months crossing the country? Am I different now than before?

Well, yes and no.

My trip served the purposes an extended absence can, answered the questions I had that it was able to. A part of my motivation was to search for any other place in the country that could feel like home. I traveled through a wide variety of environments; sweeping open lands, mountainous regions, the farmlands of middle America, big cities, small towns, tourist traps, holes in the wall, deserts, urban jungles. Could I picture myself living in these places? Mostly, yes. I was hard pressed to not find at least something appealing about everywhere I went. But was it home? Did I feel that indescribable feeling of comfort and belonging? Why not? What was it about Portland that kept drawing me back?

The saying is tired and cheesy, but there is truth to it; home really is where the heart is. After you stop groaning, stick with me for a minute while I explain what I mean. Sure, Portland is great, there are lots of things to love about it. But Boston was great too; Austin had an amazing atmosphere; Nashville was more fun than I expected from the capital of country music; Portland Maine, Cleveland, Bozeman, Whitefish, Santa Fe. I could go on, listing (nearly) every city, town, or village I stopped in and come up with a reason to stay. But home is more than a place, more than your address or where you sleep each night. Home is a state of being, home is your friends and your family. Without that, you're never truly home. That is what I finally figured out on this trip.

"Is that it? That was all you got out of seven weeks of driving?"

Of course not. I also learned that this country is giant. Hell, driving across Texas alone took me about four days. On a less facetious note, the time away alone gave me more than ample opportunity to think, to reflect, to let my mind wander. I mentioned this in a previous post, but it deserves repeating: when you're mind wanders, it rarely wanders the direction you want it to. The world is full of triggers to memories; a car, a song, a town, a name. Even single words can stir up thoughts you'd rather not have again. And eventually, all of my thinking of thoughts converged to conclusions. Perhaps not resolutions, but conclusions that are more satisfying than questions.

This may sound like the vague babbling of a madman (and that it may be), with talk of thoughts and triggers and wanderings. The important part is not what particular conclusions I came to about particular thoughts, rather that too often I don't take the time to truly reflect. I push down thoughts or feelings to "deal with" at a later date that rarely comes. I doubt I'm the only one that does this. Sometimes it is necessary to get away from the distractions and activities we do, force yourself to be truly alone with nothing to do but think, no one to talk to but yourself.

You can call it finding myself if you like. I'm not sure I'd go that far.

Which, of course, brings me to the latter part of my answer about whether I have changed or felt different. Early I talked of feeling a need to escape for a while, and how this trip was partly a result of that. The problem with a circular route is that eventually you come back to where you started. And everything I had left behind to escape from was waiting for me, slightly annoyed for being ditched.

This is where I make some grand revelation about not being able to run away from problems and all that good jazz. We all know it, we've heard it untold times before. I'm going to skip it. I have nothing new to bring to that table, there is no easy solution there. I may have returned with new perspectives, new experiences, renewed feelings and hope, but that doesn't change what I left behind (both mentally and physically). It does, however, help me now with doing what needs to be done.

As well as all the mental turmoil I seem to have gone through (and I must apologize to you, poor reader, for you must feel at this point that my trip is turning into a bad emo song), I also learned some fun facts along the way. Behold, the List of Facts!

Internet is everywhere. EVERYWHERE. When even the podunk motels in the podunkiest towns are offering free wifi in every room, thats when you realize the future is now (queue the booming voice over "In the twenty-first century, the future has arrived!").
Planning a trip spontaneously is fun and all, but for some activities you really just need to be prepared. For example, you can purchase a National Parksannual pass for only $80. Yes, this would have saved me money.
Tourist traps are called so for a reason. Beware the boring, overcrowded, overpriced monuments and museums (I'm looking at you Mt. Rushmore, and runner up Rock n Roll Hall of Fame).
Sturgis: Leather chaps + bikinis. Enough said.
Motel prices rise on Friday and Saturday nights by an incredible margin. Avoid if possible.
Sometimes toll roads are just a fact of life. Carry spare change and a couple of bucks just in case.
If you're tired enough, you can sleep just about anywhere.
Good microbrew beers can be found just about everywhere, although sometimes they are referred to as craft beers.
French Canada is seriously French. Seriously.
Portland, Or > Portland, ME
Driving in major metropolitan areas leads to high blood pressure.
Motel 6 provides exactly what you need, is usually the cheapest, and actually less sketchy than you may think.
Museums in DC are completely free. They got something right there.
Pumping your own gas > Having someone else pump your gas
Wikitravel is your friend on the road.
Music is always better live.
Insects are always better dead.
My blood tastes better than Graham's to mosquitoes.
Waffle House is never a good idea. Never.
Blogging is easier to do regularly than journaling because you have the illusion of writing for a captive audience.

Conclusion.

Was it worth it? The time, the money, the misadventures? Had I a time machine and could deliver myself a message three months ago, would I still advise myself to go?

Absolutely.

Would I do things differently, knowing what I do now? Perhaps, but for all the mistakes I made and missteps I took, the least I can say is that I learned from them. They also make for good stories.

The title of this post, "If we could only see us now" is one of my favorite quotes, and comes from a Thrice song (those who know my musical tastes will probably say "what a surprise" with very sarcastic intonation). It has stuck with me over the years because it always feels relevant in my life. I've interpreted it as a comment on how we never really know where we will go in life, and often wouldn't believe where we end up until it happens. If we could only see us now, would we still act how we do? If we could only see us now, what would we have changed?

If we could only see us now.

Memories.

The sunset on the first day of my trip. It was beautiful.

First experiencing the feeling of not knowing where I'll be sleeping that night.

Walking through a field in Montana with the Linns at dusk, the grasshoppers springing up around our ankles.

Feeling disheartened and overwhelmed after Glacier, being less than a week in.

Driving through the night, under a cloudless a moonless sky.

Feeling truly lost for the first time.

Company after a week of solitude.

Remembering, and it being a good thing.

The bartender at the Harbor Inn in Cleveland.

Poutine.

Discussing the origins of altruistic behaviors, among other topics.

Watching the moon rise on an Atlantic beach.

Getting no sleep whatsoever at a hostel in Boston.

Being alone again, on the opposite side of the country.

Seeing a police officer smoking a cigar, on the job, in New Orleans.

A Texas shaped sink in a Texan McDonald's.

Sunset over Whitesands.

Realizing that Death Valley may actually defeat me.

Driving on familiar roads for the first time in six weeks.

Arriving home.

Future.

I'm working on the final two installments of the epilogue. The next will be a collection of photographs, most of which haven't been seen yet. It'll be done "when I finish working on it" (hopefully less than another three weeks).

After the epilogue, I plan on continuing this blog. Life is interesting, and interesting (and odd) things seem to happen everyday. Or maybe I just attract interesting (read: odd) people. Either way, I can't help but feel there are stories there.

Day 50: Tripping on the last bit of road

2008-09-20T11:47:00.000-07:00

I arrived in San Francisco Tuesday night and made my way to Devin's place, which is really his girlfriend Jasmine's place as he is just staying there until he moves back to Oregon to start school. He all ate some pizza and caught up whats been going on in life since the last time we hung out (which was two years ago, during the last roadtrip).

In the morning after waking up and showering (not necessarily in that order), Jasmine's roommates cooked up some loco moco; this amazing breakfast feast consisted of rice topped with a couple of ground meat patties, two fried eggs, and covered with some brown gravy. The proper way to eat it is to mash it all into a big ol' mess, cover it with your choice of topping (ketchup apparently being a Hawaiian favorite, I used hot sauce), and dig in. It was, to say the least, a very fulfilling meal.

After breakfast, Devin and I headed out to tour around the town. The first stop we made was a place called twin peaks, which is really just a hill in the middle of the city. However, from that vantage point you are able to get an amazing view of nearly the entire downtown and surrounding areas. The weather didn't want to cooperate, unfortunately, so it was a bit hazy and overcast, so subsequently photos don't quite do the view justice.

From there we drove down and parked near Haight street. We wandered around for a bit, brushing off pleas and songs for change from street folk, imagining that had we been the type that enjoyed shopping we would garner more pleasure from the district. Even without spending money, it was fun to just walk Haight and imagine what kind of crazy hippy activities had taken place there thirty or forty years earlier.

From the fields of Denmark

The rest of the day was we bummed around, doing a lot of mostly free things; hanging out in Delores park (normally a very popular place for the apathetic young twenty somethings of the city, but was emptier than usual due to the overcast skies), eating delicious ice cream, checking out a windmill, scaring seagulls at the beach, and finally getting a beer at an amazingly dive-y bar called Zeitgeist.

After resting a bit at the apartment, we went to pick up Jasmine from work and get some lamb schwarma for dinner, after which we promptly dropped her off again for class.

That night Devin's dad Frank came into town, and Devin, Frank, Jasmine, and I went to this jazz club called Yoshi's to see a performance by Vieux Farka Touré. Touré is from Mali, and plays a mix of traditional, jazz, blues, and rock guitar. The show was absolutely fantastic, really a treat to see such an artist perform live. For part of the show, a guest slide guitarist came out and the two of them played amazingly off one another.

The next morning I headed out, back on the road. My plan was to get all the way to Ashland that day, which at first seems completely reasonable. However, my chosen route would be a combination of highway 1, US-101, and some windy freaking road connecting Eureka to I-5. But if I had to drive I-5 between San Francisco and Oregon one more time I would have stabbed myself in the eye.

The requisite cliche photo of the Golden Gate bridge

The drive, as always, was beautiful. I also was able to continue my tradition of being able to find the most expensive place to eat in a given stretch of 100 miles of highway; I was starving (having not had much for breakfast, I was hoping to get a bagel or something at a Safeway I never passed), and decided that the next little town I come to along the way with a diner or restaurant of some sort I would eat at. Unfortunately, the next thing I found was the Sea Ranch. The food was decent, and really not much more than your typical establishment. I was, however, the youngest patron by a good thirty years, and felt that my scruffy look and attire didn't go over all too well with the wait staff. No worries; I ate my panini, paid, and was on my way.

Cloud formations make sunsets ridiculously better.

I finally arrived in Ashland a little after 10pm, where I met up with Crystal Gero who is back in Ashland to continue her education (lets hear it for the second bachelors club!). We got some drinks and caught up at my favorite bar, the Oak Tree. In the morning, breakfast was provided by Morning Glory cafe. If you've never been there, or heard of it, you are missing out. It is a local favorite for a reason; they have interesting food combinations and a nice friendly atmosphere. Personally, I had the bacon filled waffle with almond butter (mmm delicious), as mentioned in the LA Weekly.

Now finished with breakfast, we walked across the street to the Southern Oregon University campus so I could obtain a transcript, and subsequently have them unlock my online account (which will make my transition to PSU immensely easier). I tried to stop in the photo lab and apply for a job as a lab monitor, but unfortunately my old photo professor Erika was no where to be found (not unusual for a Friday afternoon).

After a quick stop at 7-11, I said goodbye to Crystal and headed north to Medford, where, after wasting a couple of hours at Starbucks, I met up with another friend from Ashland, Crystal Hess. Again, there were drinks and catchings up. A couple of hours later, I began one of the last legs of my journey.

My original plan called for me to return to US-101 and make the trek up Oregon on the coast. By this time, however, I was over it and really just wanted to get on with the good times. I-5 ended up being good enough for me, and I rolled into Corvallis around 10pm on Friday. I called up my old roommates Jeff Briggs and Brian McFarlane and warned them they had 20 minutes to prepare for debauchery. We gathered, and walked down to McMenamins for pool, beer, and cajun fries. The times, they were good.

I crashed at Brian's apartment last night (as someone had already claimed Briggs' couch), and ate breakfast with him this morning before he had to run off and work on his impending thesis presentation for this week (good luck Brian, and don't worry about it). After meandering around the town and lunch with Briggs, I once again waved goodbye and turned onto highway 99, heading home.

Blog status: This is the last day of the trip. However, don't stop reading yet. Look for the upcoming three part epilogue:
Epilogue Part I: If we could only see us now
Epilogue Part II: Roadtrip through the lens
Epilogue Parth III: Thank you's and No thanks to's
Miles: Over 13,000. Exact figure for the final trip will come in the epilogue.
Sounds of the end:
Thrice - Vheissu

Day 46 pt II: Pacifica

2008-09-17T00:16:00.001-07:00

While on my way up highway 1, I passed through a small town by the name of Pacifica, just north of the famous Half Moon Bay. In Pacifica, there resides the most interesting of Taco Bells I have had the fortune to encounter. It is constructed on the edge of the beach in a style that is reminiscent of 70's beach culture, with a "walk thru" window in the back on the beach itself. It is quite the site to behold. Astute followers of my previous roadtrips will recognize the structure as one I previously visited on my 2003 journey from Santa Cruz to Oregon with Graham and Moose.

Obviously Graham had to fly out to meet me here, but the cost was well worth the repeated experience.

Day 46: City on a Hill

2008-09-16T17:47:00.000-07:00

I arrived at Scott and Rachel's Saturday evening. Scott cooked an awesome dinner of chicken with a cashew sauce over rice for the three of us, plus Rachel's friend Rebbecca. After dinner, the consensus was to find dessert somewhere and possibly some brews for Scott and myself. There were a couple of shady dive bars Scott had in mind we could try depending on how adventurous we were feeling later on.

We headed to downtown Claremont and wandered a bit, deciding where to indulge at. We settled on the Press, a fairly upscale looking establishment that probably charges too much for its beer and other drinks without even offering an amazing selection. I had a slice of cheesecake, which was extremely average at best; the girls split some cake and ice cream, Scott had a beer. Afterwards, we decided to try our luck at a bar more focused on beer. It turned out to be almost exclusively imported draught beer, which in itself is not a bad thing at all, but as a consequence was far too expensive and trendy for us.

Not so easily defeated, we had the girls drop us off at one of the suspect bars on the way back; we were close enough to Scott's apartment to walk back when we had had our fill. The pub was called something like the Black Watch something something. I forget. It's not terribly important anyway, as the place turned out to be pretty tame. We bought a pitcher of Boddington's, sat down away from the bar to chat whilst drinking, and were almost immediately drowned out by the live band playing that night. It wasn't a complete shame, though; they turned out to be alright. The drummer had an amazing mullet going on, complete with 80's style 'stache, and the older gentleman on lead guitar was pretty fantastic. We finished off the pitcher, chalked another one up to experience, and walked back.

Back at the apartment we cracked into some Dublin Dr Peppers. The glass bottle makes this drink about a million times more delicious.

On Sunday Rachel had a job being an assistant for some old artist downtown, so I tagged along with Scott to drop her off so we could bum around the beaches all day. First we explored Santa Monica. Down 3rd street on either side of Santa Monica Blvd for a couple of blocks is the promenade, which amounts to an outdoor shopping mall with a handful of street performers attempting to get discovered. We walked about half of the promenade before making our way to the pier. Like many piers or boardwalks in California, the pier at Santa Monica has a perpetual carnival going on. On the beach itself, adjacent to the pier, is a monument maintained by Veterans for Peace called "Arlington West". In the sand, they have a cross for each solider who has died in the Iraq and Afghanistan wars. The view is quite sobering and a reminder that even in a place of perpetual fun like the beach of Santa Monica, you can't escape the consequences of war.

We walked along the water for a bit, making sure to avoid any needles in the sand, before heading back inland (across the widest beach I have ever see, by the way). By now we were getting a bit peckish, so we stopped on the promenade again to grab some mediocre pizza by the slice.

Not really being much for shopping, Santa Monica wasn't really impressing us. We decided to head south to Venice beach, since we still had a good two hours at least to kill before Rachel had to be picked up. We drove down, parked in a lot where the fee machine was broken (free parking!), and walked the boardwalk. That place is brilliant; the pavement is lined with street vendors peddling art, crafts, political messages, sub-par entertainment, amazing entertainment, and just about anything else you can imagine. The day had started off overcast, but was beginning to clear up as we walked down Venice. We stopped for a while to watch some guy attempt to perform comedy and stunts at the same time, but moved on pretty quickly when we found out he was extremely lame. However, further down the boardwalk our craving for excitement was satisfied. For a good 20 or 30 minutes, we watched a group of break dancers. They were a group from LA and Chicago, and not only were they fantastic dancers, they were also very good entertainers when speaking to the crowd. They also claimed to be followers of true hip-hop: Healthy independent people, helping other people. For the finale, one of the members did a flying leap/flip over about five audience members who where kind of bent over. Very impressive.

After the show, it was time to go. We navigated traffic (ugh), picked up Rachel, and now exhausted, headed home. We decompressed for a while watching some classics (Old School and Wedding Crashers was on TNT). Before sunset, we drove over to the Claremont colleges to experience one of James Turrell's skyspace sculptures. You sit in an outdoor space under a white ceiling with a large square cut out of the middle. The show begins when the sun sets. Color changing LEDs light up the ceiling, gently changing the color through a wide array of colors. As the color of the ceiling changes, the way you percieve the color of the sky through the square changes too. A sky that appeared a deep purple one moment will suddenly seem as blue as the midday sky. The experience is amazing, one that I would highly recommend to anyone in the area. I'm not sure if his other skyspaces have similar light shows. As a side note, I have actually unknowingly seen a Turrell skyspace before. While in England this last spring, we visited the Yorkshire sculpture park where he has another skyspace installed in the side of a hill.

After the skyspace, we came home to scrumptious gumbo. Mmm. Scott, I'm going to visit more often.

The next day was Monday, so Scott had to take off early to make the hour and a half commute of 30 miles into work. Unfortunately, when he left, he locked one of their cats in the same room I was sleeping in. This usually wouldn't be much of a problem; I'm not allergic to cats or anything silly of that nature. It seems, though, that this cat has a particular habit I was unaware of: when he gets hungry he will chew on your fingers and toes. Needless to say, I was awoken to the feeling of a cat first rubbing his head against, and subsequently gnawing at my feet.

I got the the hint and got up. After breakfast and packing, I said goodbye to Rachel and drove into Altadena to meet Scott for lunch. After some good Japanese, I said goodbye to him as well and headed out on the 134 to the 101. The plan from here on out was to stick to the coastal highways all the way through Oregon. I love this drive, and when I have the time I will choose to do it ten times out of ten rather than taking the mind-numbingly boring I-5. The views are spectacular, and the landscape varied and interesting. Obviously weaving in and out of coastal cliffs a hundred feet above crashing waves takes a bit longer to navigate, but the experience is more than worth it.

I still don't care if it is kitsch

I spent the rest of the day and a good portion of the night heading up highway 1. I arrived in the Monterey Bay around 11pm and decided to grab a motel for the night. I had been hoping to simply camp on the side of the road somewhere over looking the ocean, but the condition of my back coupled with the fact that I knew my air mat would offer absolutely no support led me to decide against that. It should be the last room I have to pay for on this trip, anyway.

In the morning I headed around the bay into Santa Cruz. I'm pretty familiar with Santa Cruz, having spent my first year of university here. I drove up to the UCSC campus, parked, and walked around. It was great to see the place again, it brought back a lot of good memories. I went by the bookstore up to my old dorm building (College 10: The college with no soul!), down across the Science library bridge, and around some of my old lecture buildings. I wondered what life would have been like had I stayed. The campus is definitely beautiful, and amazing to walk around (although kind of a pain because of the hill it is on). Things would have been pretty different; I most likely wouldn't be on this trip, living who knows where. But, had I not gone to Southern I would never have gotten as heavily into photography, and probably not math either. Its hard to say, and really there is no use dwelling on past decisions. Learn and move forward, make the most of where you are.

After coming down from the campus (it is located on a hill overlooking the city), I parked downtown and strolled the street. I couldn't resist eating lunch at my favorite pizza place, Pizza My Heart.

Now, I'm on my way up to San Francisco for a day or two to see my friend from back in the old swimming days, Devin. I'm nearly finished with the trip, but there are some good times that need to be had before I'm done.

Weather: Mostly cloudy north of Santa Cruz.
Total miles gathered: Exactly 12200.
Playlist:
Sea Wolf - Leaves in the River (I didn't realize how good this was, I would have listened to it earlier had I known)
Pink Floyd - Wish You Were Here
Chevelle - This Kind of Thinking (Could Do Us In)

Day 45: Holiday from the real

2008-09-15T16:17:00.000-07:00

On Thursday during the day I was on a mission do get some work done, and do some old fashion 'sploring of the area around Toluca Lake/North Hollywood/Burbank. I drove around for half an hour or so looking for some breakfast; I was hoping for a bagel shop. No such luck (I ended up at one of the many Starbucks in the area). After pretending to look important with my laptop reading Slashdot for about an hour, I didn't feel like I could justify taking up their space anymore (I had only bought a muffin or something), so my mission continued. Laura had provided me with directions to the local Burbank Public Library, which I followed more or less (meaning I missed the intersection the first two or three times I drove by it, but found it eventually).

Not pictured: my eyes burning from cutting
up chilies.

The library was amazingly productive. I spent a good couple of hours working and blogging, only interrupted for an hour or so for me to hit up In-n-Out for lunch and read the LA Times.

I met Laura back at her apartment after work, where we planned the evenings itinerary of debauchery. First, dinner; we hit up a Thai grocery store and Ralph's for some ingredients, Twinkies, and Tequila. The plan was to cook up some fried chicken and rice with chili pepper infused soy sauce. The Twinkies were bought on a whim; with the oil ready to fry the chicken we thought "Hey, why not try and deep fry a Twinkie or two before we much it up with chicken and batter! It has always sounded like a delicious and absolutely not a nutritious treat!" As the oil came up to temperature, I looked up the actual Twinkie frying recipe on Laura's phone. Reading Wikipedia, I realized the consequences we would unleash were we to continue our plan of just dropping the Twinkies in hot oil.

"STOP! This will be a horrible error!!" I yelled.

Apparently, to properly deep fry a Twinkie, you must first freeze them for at least a day, then batter them in some sort of egg based batter. Otherwise, the cream filling will melt and the whole thing will fall apart in a gooey, bready mess. We were not prepared.

Chicken and rice were sufficient, in the end, with normal slightly cold Twinkies for dessert.

We now had been fueled for the main event: a night at a karaoke room. Now, for those who are unfamiliar with the concept of a karaoke room, like I was, let me elaborate. A karaoke room is an establishment which is really just a collection of rooms (this one had about 10 or so probably), each one has its own TV, karaoke machine, pair of microphones, pair of tambourines, and apparently sometimes a fog machine.

"This is just a tribute"

We met up with Laura's friend Pam, her sister Jenny, and Jenny's boyfriend, who I had been led to believe hated everyone and was extremely infatuated with Jenny. This turned out to be not entirely true, the guy was actually pretty nice; although for most of the evening the rest of us were just background to the couple as he swooned over her, implicitly dedicating every song he, or anyone else for that matter, sang. He did kind of look like a member of the Aryan nation, though, and he completely threw me off everytime I sang with him. Not that I am any kind of an amazing singer or can even keep a pitch, but come on, give me something to work with.

For four hours, we sang our hearts (and voices) out. Rest assured I sang the crap out of the likes of Tenacious D, Radiohead, 80's butt rock, and many R&B/pop songs that I don't actually know. However, don't assume that this is some sort of indication of future forays into the world of karaoke...

Friday rolled around, and the day itself was much like Thursday; Starbucks for breakfast and the library to pretend to work.

For dinner that night, Laura and I went to Pam's mom's Thai restaurant. Needless to say, it was fantastic; Thai Orchid eat your heart out. After stuffing ourselves, we hung around drinking the free-refills of Thai ice tea while waiting to be able to move again.

We finally got moving again after a good hour at least, heading to a bar called Bar One to meet up with some ex-coworkers for drinks. The bar was a neat hole in the wall kind of place, specializing more in wine than beer but still having a fairly decent selection of brews. There was a live DJ, although we didn't really notice the fact that it wasn't just a jukebox until actually seeing him (in other words, not so impressive).

The last stop for the night was a birthday party for Laura's roommate's boyfriend. So I don't have to type that ridiculous identifier anymore, here is a reference list of names to people so I can just use names.

Name	Relation
Laura	My friend from Santa Cruz
Dre	Laura's roommate
Aaron	Dre's boyfriend, the birthday boy
Chad	Friend of Aaron's. His real name wasn't Chad, but thats what everyone called him. I think it was Dan.
Renaldo	Another friend of Aaron's. May or may not have eaten some soup when he wasn't supposed to.
Joe	The last friend of Aaron's, his real name isn't Joe but for the life of me I can't remember now what it was. Sorry Joe.

The birthday party was quite fun, filled with some Santa Cruz beer (almost all of us there had gone to UC Santa Cruz), sopa, funfetti cake (which Dre had made the night before while we were cooking dinner; it took all of our will power not to eat it in its entirety when Dre left), and a game of Taboo. I was on Aaron and Joe's team, with Laura, Dre, and Chad on the other; I think Renaldo had passed out on the floor by this time. Taboo, apparently, is not Aaron's strength, a fact I found out while playing and which was later confirmed by Laura later with an amazing anecdote. We lost, but not badly.

Interesting side story: It seems the guys living in this house (Aaron, Joe, and another who wasn't present) either don't believe in washing their hands after using the bathroom, or they don't believe in using towels for this purpose. Despite which it is, I found myself with wet hands and nothing to dry them on while there. Looking around I realized I had three viable options.

Use my own clothes, a popular trick among males but one not taken to lightly
Use the shower curtain, it seemed to be made out of some kind of cotton product; should be absorbant enough
Use the floor mat, I'm not sure why I thought this might be a viable option

I ended up deciding on option 2.

We eventually ended up back at Laura and Dre's studio around 4 am. Saturday morning came, and went; we arose around noon. That day we had to head out to Santa Monica to pick up Meghan, then down to Redondo Beach to meet Scott for lunch.

We arrived in Santa Monica and quickly found absolutely no place to park. Meghan was having tea with her boss, but said she'd be good to go when we got there. Circling the block, Laura dropped me off in front of the Tudor House, instructing me to be charming to Meghan's boss, flashing my biggest smile, and then retrieve Meghan. I walked in what turned out to be a side door, and stood for a good couple of minutes looking around. I must have looked quite the creep, bearded and scruffy, scoping out the scene. I finally spotted Meghan chatting with her boss. For some reason, it seemed to me that the conversation looked quite important and uninterruptable, so after fidgeting for a few minutes hoping to catch her eye, I just kind of wandered back out. This made for a humorous story the rest of the day.

Luckily they finished soon and departed of their own accord, and we were able to pick up Meghan and book it down the coast to Redondo Beach.

The spines were still moving...

The three of us met up with Scott who was already waiting there (sorry Scott), and headed down the pier to the fresh fish market. This place was amazing; every kind of shellfish, fish, and even strange edible sea creatures you could imagine were ready to be bought and cooked (most were still alive). I was strongly advised to get the crab, as the experience was pretty phenomenal, not to mention the taste. Laura and Meghan split a smaller crab, Scott was more adventurous and purchased a sea urchin, and we all shared about three dozen oysters.

Now, I have never been one for shellfish, or really sea food in general. I had certainly never had freshly steamed dungeness crab which not 30 minutes ago had been alive and kicking. Setting my thoughts and preconceived biases aside, I dug in; tearing limbs and claws from the de-shelled body (I received helpful advice from Laura and Meghan on the proper techniques, and Laura kindly ripped the things top shell off for me). My conclusion for crab: not too bad of a taste, extremely messy, not convinced it was worth the cost (well, maybe the first time for the experience as well).

Removing bits of crab and "ancient Chinese secret"

Scott had to head back to downtown LA to pick up a painting for Rachel, so he left us to finish off lunch. Also, to get the full Redondo Beach experience, I still had to do three more things: win a plate with a roster on it, win a mystery box, and eat a churro. We headed to the arcade that Scott had described as "very scary, I felt like I would get an STD from a child there", and played the easiest game to win prize tokens. In the end, we had enough for 13 plates and a mystery box. We purchased the box and went to get churros. These boxes are notorious for containing completely random crap, used or new. Previously, Meghan and Laura had received such prizes as used makeup, broken toys, trinkets with bits missing, and other such gems. Before opening, we registered our predictions about what ours would contain. After shaking the box, I guessed an article of clothing and a pencil sharpener. The actual contents:

A small fake Christmas wreath to hang in your car, complete with cigarette lighter power cord
A half bandana
A bottle of nail polish (seemingly unopened)
An American flag with suction cup to attach to a window
A bracelet with the name "Angie" on it
One of those wooden ducks you hang up and the wings spin in circles with the wind, except one of the wings was completely rusted and wouldn't spin.
Two plastic coasters
An unidentifiable round bottle

It was like Christmas in September. After finishing our churros, we headed back to the arcade to purchase the cock plates, then headed out. Back at Laura's, I packed my stuff, said goodbye to Laura and Meghan, and drove on over to my last LA destination: Upland, to stay for a few days with Scott and Rachel.

Back status: It hurts, I think I tweaked it this morning. Good thing I'm just going to be mostly driving today.
Miles: Somewhere around 12000.
Music:
Jack's Mannequin - Everything In Transit

Day 44: Too tired to be creative

2008-09-14T23:52:00.000-07:00

So just enjoy this picture of me enjoying Redondo Beach and crab. Update coming tomorrow, I promise.

Day 42: Out of Fire and Death, into the City of Angels

2008-09-12T12:48:00.000-07:00

As darkness fell over Death Valley, I was beginning the journey from the south edge towards my campground. When I say darkness, I really should note that it was never total. The moon was out, and just over half full, which cast an eerie glow over everything; and the lightning storms, which had yet to let up, continually flashed in front and behind me.

Like most National Parks, Death Valley has an entrance fee to drive through. However, unlike most other parks, there was no range booth on the edge of the park from the direction I came. Rather, you were required to stop at one of the kiosks along the route and purchase a pass from an automated machine. I finally arrived at the first of these machines nearly an hour after turning from the highway. Up until this point, I had yet to leave the confines of my car inside of the valley; I had no idea what to expect from the atmosphere. I arrived at the completely unlit Bad Water kiosk and parked my car so that my headlights could provide illumination. I refrained from turning off the engine, however; I didn't anticipate a long stay.

I opened the car door, and was immediately hit with a blast of 106 degree wind. The storms raging around the mountains were causing a ferocious wind to gust from more than one direction, blowing sand and hot air into my face in an unpredictable manor. I ran over to the ticket kiosk, quickly read the instructions, inserted my $20, and waited for my pass to print. Suddenly, an enormous gust came blowing down from the north, hurling dirt and dust at me. In order to save my poor contacts from further abuse, I turned my back and hunched over to shield myself. At that exact moment, my ticket finished printing and before I could react was blown from the machine and off into the rocky bed below the parking lot. I stood there for a few seconds, trying to comprehend what had just happened. The little piece of paper, which had cost me $20, had just gone flying off into the dark unknown, on the back of a gust of wind which probably measured 40 or 50 mph.

You have got to be kidding me, I said out loud. You have got to be freaking kidding.

I snapped out of my intense disbelief and ran to my car to get a flashlight. I went around the back of the pit toilets (which smelled horrendous, let me tell you what; just imagine the effect of all that waste sitting in 115 degree heat all day, and then having the stench blown at you in hot waves; not pleasant), and began searching frantically for my little receipt. Winding my hand crank flashlight, furiously trying to increase its area of illumination, I continued my futile searched for about 5 minutes. Every now and then, I would stop and listen, hoping to catch the sound of rustling paper. Unfortunately, I had to give up. The wind could have carried it any of at least 5 directions, and by this time far away. I would have to just pony up the cash and buy another one.

This time, I covered the opening with my hand while waiting.

I got back in my car and blasted the A/C for a good 5 minutes cooling off. I eventually arrived at the main village in Death Valley, Indian Village (over 70 miles from the entrance). Luckily, they had a gas station so I could stop worrying so much about saving fuel to be able to leave in the morning. My campground (and the only one in the park open at this time of year) was just up the road and had the charming name of Furnace Creek.

I pulled in, paid my camping fee (again making sure to place my hand over the opening to prevent losing another $12), and began driving around looking for a decent camp site. Furnace Creek is quite large with over 100 campsites, although many of them are place right next to one another in typical "camping out of a car" fashion. I finally settled on one far enough away from others, with a decent view of the eastern mountain range and thunderstorm still in progress.

What followed was an exercise in frustration as I attempted to set up my tent in high winds, while being blinded by sand being thrown into my eyes. When I finally was able to get the tent up (using rocks on each of the corners to weigh it down), a sudden gust of wind essentially turned it into a big kite. For a few minutes, I desperately held on as the tent rose about six feet into the air and pulled me forward. I prayed the straps holding the posts wouldn't rip from their stitching, or that the posts themselves wouldn't break. Finally, I wrestled the tent to the ground and was able to sit on it, preventing it from becoming airborne again. I sat there contemplating my next move. I took the tent apart, shoved it back into my car, and gave my eyes much needed rest and lubrication.

My next idea was again to weigh down the tent as I erected it, but this time from within rather than without. The theory was that once the poles had been connected, the weight would still be inside the tent holding it down and it wouldn't lose anchor like it previously had. I rummaged through my trunk, searching for items to use as ballast. While still in my backseat, I stuff the tent with anything I could find with substantial weight. With faith in myself, I brought it back out to try again.

This is how I lost my tripod, shovel, sleeping bag, pillow, sleeping mat, and extra blanket all at once.

Just kidding. It actually ended up working out fairly well (especially when I used four large rocks to anchor each of the corners inside). I finally set the tent up, threw my water bottle inside, and dove in to escape the pelting winds. After setting up my sleeping arrangements, I stripped down to my boxers and laid on top of it all. The temperature was still over 100, and my gallon of water was quickly running low. Between tent cave-ins, lightning flashes, and the oppressive heat, I spent the longest night of my trip. Oh, and my rudimentary fixes for my leaking sleeping mat failed.

Death Valley 2, Colin 1

I arose just before sunrise to the proverbial calm after the storm. The sky was mostly clear, the wind gone, and even the heat was down to an acceptable 85 or so. I packed up my belongings, got dressed, watched the sun rise, and headed back into the village for overpriced breakfast buffet.

I left Death Valley partially conquered, but partially victorious.

For most of the rest of Tuesday, I crossed the barren wasteland that is south-eastern California. After hours on the road, I descended the San Bernardino mountains and into the smog filled valley. For those who haven't driven into LA by car, the change is very visible; a think layer of brown haze permeates the view into the distance. My first stop in LA was to be with a friend from Santa Cruz, Laura Kim; I'd be staying with her for a few days and getting exposed to some lesser seen parts of life in the Valley. I arrived in Pasadena around 2pm, which meant I had a few hours to kill before she got off work. I bummed around, bought a CD from a used record store, and settled down in a coffee shop to read a local news paper.

That night, we met up with two of Laura's friends for happy hour at Bar Celona, a fairly fancy bar in old town Pasadena. The happy hour menu consisted of a selection of food items such as shrimp, buffalo wings, meatballs, and other such finger food for $5 each. Not too bad, we thought. That's when we found out that for $5, you get four meatballs, or four shrimp, or four wings. We ate a couple of plates between us, drank down some pints, and headed over to King Taco for more substantial food. Another bar (where they had Stone IPA on tap!), then some delicious frozen yogurt from a self-serve yogurt bar. This place was very interesting; you chose the size of dish you want, pour as much yogurt of varying flavors, then top with fresh fruit! Very tasty and in fact quite healthy. I imagine places like this will begin popping up in Portland within a year or two (behind LA as we usually are in these kinds of things).

Wednesday morning, I got up around 9am so I could navigate the interstate traffic down to Disneyland to meet up with my sister Kirsten and her daughter Natalie, as well as her friend Kari and her son Rowan, who just so happened to be vacationing at the same time I arrived in the area. Talk about good timing. Amazingly, the park wasn't all that busy (being after Labor Day, and the middle of the week); we never had to wait more than 5 or 10 minutes for even the busiest rides.

Contemplating my situation.

I spent the day with them wandering around the park, getting shown around Minnie Mouse's house by Natalie, and getting completely saturated on Splash Mountain. In reference to that last point, let me tell you, I think the ride seater was conspiring against Kirsten and myself, as he sat us in the front (myself in the very front), with a smaller child behind. We obviously weighed down the nose of the boat, so any and all declines caused the nose to dip lower than usual into the water, resulting in more pronounced waves invading the sides. I was soaked before we even went down the last drop. I thought about how best to shield my poor backpack (with camera inside) while plunging down the last free fall. Good thing it was a nice day (although I still didn't dry off before going to bed that night).

We parted ways in the evening and I headed back to North Hollywood to meet up with Laura and Meghan, another friend from Santa Cruz. I met them at Porto's, a delicious bakery restaurant and ate some leftover scraps of food they had ordered (well more than scraps really, but that's what it felt like; I had a good portion of a beef sandwich, two potato balls, and half of a cheese and jam filled danish thing). That night, the three of us went bowling at an amazingly hip and "indie" kind of bowling alley. With complete modesty, I can say that Moobs dominated. Okay, dominated is a bit of a strong word, and in fact quite incorrect. But we had fun.

Thursday rolled around, and set in motion events that would culminate in an amazing trip to a Korean karaoke establishment...

Beard status: getting quite full and fluffy. White hairs becoming more pronounced, though.
Total trip miles: 11652. Unbelievable.
Listening to recently:
Eye Alaska - Yellow & Elephant

Day 41: Daylightning

2008-09-11T16:40:00.000-07:00

When last I posted I was setting off from Utah on an adventure that would bring me through the corners of Arizona and Nevada, into the barren wasteland that is south-eastern California.

After passing through the little bit of Arizona and back into my beloved Pacific Time Zone, I made my first stop of the day. It is here that I discovered two amazing things:

Red Bull Cola
Valley of Fire State Park

First, the cola. I've been more or less a fan of Red Bull since my early days of drumming; it (along with the sadly absent Surge) fueled many a long jam sessions with various friends over the years. I find the taste to be far superior to any imitators that have come after (I'm looking at you Rockstar), and its smaller can size much more manageable. Other than a sugar free version, Red Bull has up until now offered no other variations on its product line. To say the least, I was surprised to now see a cola alternative. My initial thoughts were tempered with memories of the rather vile Rockstar Cola, but my curiosity won out in the end and I purchased a can. I cracked it open, drank it down, and came to the conclusion that I couldn't form a decisive opinion one way or the other about it. It was deliciously Red Bull in flavor, with a nice kick of cola; and yet at the same time just as horrid in flavor as previous energy/cola offerings. Quite the contradiction in a can. Further tests are necessary.

Every park needs an arch.

Either way, I didn't let the Red Bull Cola uncertainty distract me from the second amazing thing I discovered in Nevada; Valley of Fire State Park. On a recommendation from my friend Devin Saez, a former resident of Las Vegas, I took a detour from the interstate to check out this park. The day was beginning to become a scorcher, and time was not something I had in abundance, so I regulated myself to simply driving through the park. Even so, I was able to experience much of the fantastic sights the park has to offer. The site of an ancient inland sea, plate movements have forced enormous amounts of jagged, fire-red rock formations through the surface. The visitor center offered an extremely informational time line explaining how exactly the valley was formed over millions of years, and the processes which caused the brilliant landscape.

One area of particularly amazing formations was the Painted Valley (or something to that effect). Here, different compositions of stone had been pressed together and exposed in such a way that contrasting colors come together, giving a kind of rainbow or painted effect. It was all quite stunning and very fun to drive through.

On my drive into the park, I had noticed a gathering storm off to the east over much of the Lake Mead area. It looked pretty nasty, even to the point of becoming a thunderstorm (as a side note, lightning during the daytime is fun to experience, albeit still a little unnerving when it gets closer). After a while in Valley of Fire, I realized that this storm was heading directly my way. Time to boogie, I thought, not really wanting to get caught up in a nasty storm. I stopped just outside the park to photograph the entrance sign, and was nearly blown over by the powerful winds preceding the storm. I felt sorry for the wedding party that was just beginning to arrive for their afternoon ceremony.

Once back on the highway, I discovered that while running away from one storm, I was heading straight into a second. It seemed the weather systems had conspired to surround me, opening up the sky and letting fly crazy thunderstorm rain right as I pulled into Las Vegas. The storm was pretty nuts, to say the least.

The deceptive beauty of Death.

After stopping to get food and get lost in the suburbs of Las Vegas, I continued on my way to Death Valley. I wasn't sure exactly where the campground I was to sleep at was located within the park, and really wanted to arrive around or right before sunset to ensure I could get a spot. It turns out Death Valley is a bit further from Las Vegas than I had initially suspected. After driving for a couple of hours, I finally crossed the border into California and began the ascent over the mountains bordering the valley on the south-eastern edge. While still on the eastern face, the sun began to set over the western range, the temperature outside a pleasant 85 or so. I crossed the summit and began to descend into the park. It was around this point that a series of facts, once connected, began to worry me.

All of the elevation gain for the last 20 miles or so had not been kind on my fuel efficiency.
My odometer I use for my current tank of gas was just below 300 miles (I usually average at or just below 400 when I fill up), and my fuel reading was quite a bit lower than I expected it to be.
I was enter Death Valley from the south. It is a large park, with the main village close to the center. Also, there aren't really many towns of appreciable size close by.
The temperature was rising. Quickly.

I went into extreme fuel saving mode. Despite the fact that the outside temperature was now over 100 degrees, I turned off my air conditioning. Now that I was descending the slopes of the mountains, potential energy became my friend; I put the car into neutral and used gravity to take me down to below sea level, performing what amounted to a controlled "free-fall".

Needless to say, it got hot in the car; every 15 minutes or so I would turn on the A/C for a few minutes to cool off. Due to these fuel saving measure, I was able to travel quite far into the park without affecting my level of fuel much at all. Around 100 feet below sea level, the road more or less leveled off. I was well into the park now, and losing light. No turning back...

This story to be continued (its time for karaoke).

Day 38: Into the Valley of Death

2008-09-08T10:37:00.000-07:00

Lota-imitations

Fast Food Report
Blakes Lotaburger - I first thought this was just a local one-off, having the look of an old burger joint/drive in. However, when I started to see these cropping up all over the place in northern New Mexico, I began to become suspicious. The name, obviously, is very similar to my previously mentioned Whataburger, and unfortunately the food wasn't much better. Although score one for having such burger names as the "LOTA burger" and the "ITSA burger" (guess which one is bigger). As an aside, I also found a place called "Thatsaburger", although I didn't eat there. Interesting...

In-n-Out Burger - Known as the best for a reason. All fresh ingredients guarantee a delicious burger experience. A lack of frilly options means they do what they do, and do it very well (your choices are burger, cheeseburger, or double cheeseburger). Really not much has to be said about In-n-Out; if you haven't yet partaken in this pinnacle of fast food achievement, get yourself to a more enlightened state and treat yourself.

The last few days have consisted of a lot of driving, mostly. I left Santa Fe Saturday morning and began my journey north. My first destination was Four-Corners national monument. Unfortunately, there was no real direct way to get there from Santa Fe; I had to first drive nearly to the northern border, then west. In the end though, I'm glad I was forced to drive that route because the scenery of northwestern New Mexico is quite amazing. I suppose you can call it "high desert", although it is far from barren. Unfortunately, like a dope, I neglected to stop and take any pictures, and I'm having a hard time describing it. Just take my word for it.

As I got closer to Arizona, the landscape began to change into a more typical desert. Interesting but not quite as beautiful.

Exciting.

Four-Corners is an interesting place. I don't think I was expecting much, so I can't call it a let down. It sits on the Navajo Reservation, and has a selection of merchant booths around the monument selling jewelery, crafts, and souvenir t-shirts. The monument itself is a plaque in the ground marking the actual corner set in a concrete deck with the seal of each state in its respective section. There is an elevated deck where you can get a better view of the corner. The best part was the Navajo Frybread I ate while looking at the corner. Think elephant ear, with honey instead of the cinnamon-sugar mixture. Yum.

From that exciting adventure I drove northeast through the lower bit of Colorado. I had thought about stopping at the Canyons of the Ancients national park there, but my time was beginning to grow short if I was to make it to Arches before sunset, so I settled for simply driving by it. Unfortunately there wasn't much to see from the road.

I arrived in Moab, UT right around Sunset on Saturday. I had no idea, but this town just outside of Arches is quite the outdoor adventure town. It reminded me a bit of Whitefish, MT in its size and popularity with tourists. When I finally reached the entrance to Arches, I saw the following sign in the ranger station window:

Campground Full

Drat. Figures, though; I hadn't really thought about the fact that it was a Saturday. Driving back through town, I stopped at motel after motel only to find them all completely booked. Double drat. I talked to a man outside of one motel who told me that unless I wanted to pay $150 for a room (not unless I'm in Canada), I was probably out of luck. Nothing I can do about it then, I thought to myself, and decided to get some grub and drink at the Moab Brewery I had passed on the way in. The food was pretty good, the beer was nothing too special (at least the one I had). I bummed around the town for a bit, wasting time on the internet, reading, wandering the grocery store, until I felt tired enough to attempt the car-nap. I must say, I'm getting better at this sleeping in my car business. It's still not the best nights sleep, but it's more than adequate to get me through the next day.

I woke a little after the sun rose, ate a banana, and headed into Arches. Being early into the park had two major advantages:

Beat the heat
Beat the rush

The only named arch I wanted to ensure I saw was the famous Delicate Arch; everything else was just bonus. The trail leading to the arch is about 1.5 miles each way, and rises about 500 feet. It doesn't sound so bad, except that the altitude rise is almost all encompassed in one stretch of the trail that goes up an exposed rock face at a nasty angle. Add to that the fact that my calves were still recovering from Carlsbad, and you get one gnarly hike. Thankfully it wasn't over 80 degrees yet.

The famous delicate arch...just kidding, click for the real photo.

At the end of the trail, you round a corner carved out of a rock face with a rather steep drop off to your left, and there in front of you is Delicate Arch, set in a natural amphitheater area. The view is more than worth the hike to get to it. I sat around enjoying the view for a while, then walked around the arch itself before heading back down the trail.

The rest of the park was truly fantastic. There is a lot to see and explore, I spent more than an hour simply driving around and doing short hikes to other lesser known arches. As the day wore on, however, the crowds began to irritate me. I think a late fall return to the park could be well worth the trip; less heat, less crowds, and hopefully a camping spot.

I left Arches behind in the early afternoon, and began my long drive down to St. George, UT. Although quite lengthy, the drive was made interesting due to the landscape. The southeastern quarter of Utah has amazing views; canyons, mountains, jagged rock formations pushed at odd angles out of the earth. It's also mostly empty (there was a stretch on I-70 that had no services for over 100 miles). If I have to spend six of seven hours driving, I'll take that kind of a drive.

When it was time to head south, I took US-89 instead of I-15 for two reasons. First, I've been trying to conserve fuel so I don't usually drive faster than 65 or 70 (no need for the interstate speed limits of 75+); and second I-15 is pretty boring, having driven it on my last roadtrip with Scott. My plan was to head through Zion National Park, but not to actually stop in it this time. However, as I found out, it costs $25 just to drive through. Forget that, I thought. Unfortunately, the next passage between US-89 and I-15 was about 20 miles back the way I came.

I finally arrived in St. George around 8pm. I checked into my $26 motel (new record!) and realized I'd better do laundry so I don't offend my hosts in California. As you can probably guess, it was an exciting night.

Today, I'm off to Death Valley, via Las Vegas. I'm not anticipating a problem getting a campsite this time (being Monday, and the fact that there are over 100 sites at this particular campground), although it may be a bit on the warm side. I'd better pick up some water.

Reason for the short blog: I need to get on the road and put off writing this
Odometer reading: ~1000 (it rolled over after 9999).
Musings:
The Honorary Title - Anything Else But the Truth (pretty decent album, thanks Lynsey)
Pink Floyd - A Momentary Lapse of Reason and Wish You Were Here (the former being quite good, I'd never really listened to it before)
Coldplay - Parachutes and A Rush of Blood to the Head

Day 35: Beer has food value, but food has no beer value

2008-09-05T20:59:00.000-07:00

On Thursday, I woke up fairly early so I could head back to Carlsbad Caverns. Being after Labor Day, the park was mostly quiet. I purchased my ticket (only $6, what a deal) and walked over to the "natural entrance" to the caverns, which is the large hole in the ground the first explorer of the caves used to get in and out. Luckily, visitors these days don't need to scale down a wire and wood ladder into total darkness; there is a convenient paved path (albeit a winding one) that leads you into the depths. Once you're eyes adjust to the darkness, the few lights on the path and strategically placed to emphasis points of interest are more than enough to feel comfortable with.

The caverns themselves are amazing. As with Glacier, I feel any words I could write would be unable to truly do justice to the magnificence of the place. The sheer size of some of the caves is unbelievable, as are the many (many) formations decorating the floor and ceilings. I felt like I was walking through a Disneyland exhibit, nothing this amazing could be natural. But of course it is, and is really a testament to the power and beauty of nature. Anyway, I'll stop trying to butcher Carlsbad with words; instead I'll use pictures.

It took me about two and a half hours in all to complete the self guided tours available. In the future, I think I'd like to come back and participate in one of the caving tours; one where you get a helmet and headlamp and scale yourself into one of the undeveloped caves.

Also, after Labor Day is the perfect time to come (at least to this national park, but I imagine the story is similar at most places). One ranger I met on my way down told me I was only the seventh person he had seen that day (almost two hours after the park opened).

Don't believe the lies...I'm not sure which lies not to believe, though

Leaving Carlsbad, I headed north again to a little town called Roswell (you may have heard of it). Let me tell you, that is one goofy place. Of course, I had to go to the International UFO Museum and Research Center (yes, research center). Now, I'm a skeptic by nature, but my natural inclination is to believe that there must be something somewhere out in the big ol' universe other just ourselves. I also wouldn't necessarily rule out the possibility that some of these outsiders have visited Earth, and even that our own military has some secret cover up concerning the whole matter. However, that being said, the UFO museum is just certifiably wacky. Maybe it's just that aliens conscientiously choose redneck hillbillies to visit because they know their credibility is lacking, to say the least. Or perhaps it's just that these are the only people willing to speak out about their encounters. Either way, I must say that the "evidence" that the museum puts forth is far from convincing, even to one like myself who is not a disbeliever. They seem to take themselves quite seriously, though. Just the same, I'm taking away 20 points for lack of an organized flow and an unprofessional display of evidence.

I left Roswell and headed west-ish with little plan for the rest of the day. It was still fairly early (mid-afternoon), and I hadn't put down a lot of miles for the day yet. My goal was to get to Whitesands National Monument that day, and then find a place to sleep somewhere west of there.

Not pictured: missiles exploding on the
range to my right

The drive from Roswell was very nice, heading up into the mountains, eventually coming down towards Whitesands and the Whitesands missile range. As luck would have it, I arrived in the valley just as the sun was setting over the western mountains. After watching a beautiful sunset, I pulled into Whitesands about an hour before the gate closes for the night. Since I had so little time left, the ranger didn't charge me for entrance (thank you). Whitesands is exactly what you would think it to be from its name; namely, dunes of white sand. The sand itself is very fine grained and quite pleasant to the touch. I stayed out on the dunes for as long as I could stand the bugs (even with the bug spray this time...). The sky was completely clear all around, but as I was leaving I noticed some clouds probably twenty miles or so to the south. To my surprise they suddenly lit up from within with lightning. I was able to watch this show for a good twenty minutes on my drive through the missile range.

I crossed the western mountain range, hit Las Cruces, and began heading north up the interstate. Curiously, I had to pass through a border control inspection point (seemed a bit far north to me for that).

First try at the Milky Way. More to come.

Further up the road, I decided to start looking for a place to sleep for the night. Around 10pm I pulled into Truth or Consequences, NM (I kid you not). I drove the strip, but finding nothing too promising instead stopped for a bit to eat at a diner. To tell you the truth, the consequences of that meal and coffee were that I was able to continue driving for another hour or so to Socorro (see what I did there??).

In Socorro I found a Motel 6 for thirty bucks; the cheapest of this trip so far.

Friday morning I had breakfast at a local restaurant, which consisted of huevos rancheros. I'd never had this delicacy before, but my experience has left me a changed man. Think scrambled eggs with cheese on a corn tortilla, smothered in red and green chili sauce; with pinto beans, hashbrowns, and covered with lettuce, tomatoes, and black olives. Perfection on a plate.

After breakfast I checked the trusty internets to decide if Albuquerque or Santa Fe had much in the way of points of interest to offer. It seems my streak of serendipity was continuing. This weekend in Santa Fe is the Fiesta de Santa Fe (or simply "La Fiesta"). I booked a motel in Santa Fe for the night and set off.

Remind me later to go on a rant about traffic and driving habits that contribute to worsening conditions. I'm still too bitter about it to relate the tale of my drive this afternoon.

After checking into my motel in Santa Fe, I headed downtown to the Plaza, where La Fiesta was being held. Parking was at least 27 different kinds of frustrating, but I eventually found a place out in a residential area.

La Fiesta was really fun, I walked around for a while soaking in the atmosphere. For dinner I had a Navajo Taco (oh man, so very delicious). There was a stage with music, on which was playing a mariachi band whilst I ate.

The downtown of Santa Fe is really nice; there are no high rises or obtrusive buildings. Being one of the oldest towns in America (founded in the early 17th century), much of the architecture and design of the city is reminiscent of early Spanish, Native American, and Mexican ideas. It is also at an elevation of over 7000 feet above sea level.

Following La Fiesta, I drove out of the city to watch the sun set again. I'll never grow tired of that.

Once again the mosquitoes determined that it was time to go (although I think this time the bug spray helped a bit more). Before turning in for the night, I headed over to the Second Street Brewery. I had a couple pints of their IPA (while writing the majority of this blog, I must say, so I apologize if it quickly deteriorates in quality) while listening to a jazzy kind of band (I'm not sure how to classify them). The IPA was actually quite good, nice and hoppy with a hint of citrus.

Tomorrow I hope to get to or near Arches National Park. We'll see how things develop. Either way, I'll most likely be out of wifi options for the next few days. Wish me luck.

Outside temperature: 66 F
Exact number of miles: 9942
Playlist:
Norah Jones - Not Too Late, Feels Like Home, Come Away With Me, Stay With Me
Thrice - The Alchemy Index I-IV, Identity Crisis, The Illusion of Safety
Iron and Wine - Our Endless Numbered Days

Day 33 pt III: Last post I swear

2008-09-03T21:21:00.000-07:00

An analysis of my blogs to date:

Wordle = awesome.

Day 33 pt II: Revenge of the Blog

2008-09-03T18:36:00.000-07:00

After stretching and putting on a fresh layer of deodorant, I drove to an IHOP I had seen earlier that morning. Normally I would look for a local alternative, but having had only two hours of what can only be very loosely called sleep, I wasn't in the mood to hunt.

I had coffee and some food, the more important part of the meal being the coffee. As a side, I have noticed a definite hierarchy in the world of 24 hour diners. It usually runs something like this: local diner, Shari's, IHOP, Denny's, Waffle House. I do what I can to avoid the bottom half of that scale. I've at least learned my lesson about Waffle House. Yeesh.

By the time I finished eating and had my fill of coffee, there was still approximately two and a half hours until I could check into my motel. My plan was to check in, take a nap, then head out again for the evening/night. But I still had some time to kill. I drove around a little longer, ending up at another mega store; Super Target. Super indeed. I spent an hour or so reading Sports Illustrated about the Olympics, and generally bumming about.

I'm starting to think that this blog entry may be becoming a bit on the boring side, so I'll speed things up.

At noon I headed over to the Motel 6, only to discover that they were still cleaning rooms. I was to return at or after two, the clerk informed me. More time to kill. Fortunately breakfast had done me well, and I was feeling well enough without a nap. When coming to Austin, I decided that I was pretty finished with doing the touristy thing, finished seeing monuments and historic buildings and other such riff raff. I just wanted to get a feel for the city. So I headed back to the university district. I bought a book from a local bookstore (Flatland by Edwin Abbott, I'm stoked to read it), and ate a delicious calzone at a neat restaurant called Mellow Mushroom. The atmosphere was pleasant, staff friendly, and food more than adequate.

Somewhere in this timeline I also visited an amazing beer and wine store to pick up some of the original Keep Austin Weird stickers, plus some Texas beer. It's kinda fuzzy when this actually occurred, though.

By the time I got back to the motel, I was allowed to get my key. By this point, I was tired and smelly and sleepy and grimy. I took a shower, and promptly did nothing else for a long time (although I did watch Fur, a fictitious story about the photographer Diane Arbus, on HBO; it was pretty good). Around eight I thought I'd go find some internet so as to download more work. On the way to Starbucks, however, I was distracted by the sunset and ended up getting myself nearly lost driving around a lake for two hours. Fun with exploration.

At my poetic best.

The next morning I had big plans. First on the list was Prairie Chapel Ranch, aka the Bush Ranch in Crawford, Texas. I had a bit of a tough time finding the place at first; there are obviously no large signs pointing you in the right direction. But eventually, I was successful...in finding the intersection you take to get to the ranch. Unfortunately, that's as far as I was able to get, as there was a checkpoint blocking the road to the ranch itself. Big surprise. No worries, however, as I was still able to perform my democratic duty of expressing my disagreement with the administration's positions and policies, as seen in the photograph.

In all honesty, I can understand why the Bushes like the ranch, the landscape is fairly beautiful (for Texas), with gently rolling hills and various streams running through the area. Also, the house next to the ranch with the white SUVs, locked gate, property of US government signs, and giant antennas adds a nice ambiance .

What kind of doctor is Mr. Pepper anyways? Doctor of
awesome beverages, probably. With a masters in delicious.

From Austin, it was a short jaunt to my next destination: Dublin, Texas. But Colin, you may be asking yourself, what could you possibly find interesting in such a small town in the middle of Texas? Certainly your time would have been better spent in a more well known city? On the contrary, I say. Let me introduce you to Dublin Dr Pepper; only bottled in the town of Dublin, Texas. And, the only bottler of Dr Pepper that still uses real sugar rather than high fructose corn syrup. I bought a 24 case (of glass bottles, naturally). Bids start at $5 per bottle when I get back.

I finished the day in San Angelo. After driving quite a long ways that day, I felt like kicking back. So I went to the grocery store and picked up a six pack of Broken Halo! Touche Texas, touche. Your selection of beers has far surpassed my expectations. It was a nice taste of home.

This morning after getting up, I spent some time at Schlotzky's (or as Matt would call it, Not Quiznos) eating a delicious sandwich and, more importantly, posting today's first blog. Free wifi for the win.

Today's drive was mostly uneventful, other than almost getting hit by a car merging into my lane. I had passed into the western Texas deserts and oil fields, so the landscape was quite desolate. I did, however, see the largest wind turbine farm I've seen since Europe. And a roadrunner (I think). Oh yeah, and a zebra.

I passed into New Mexico around 4:30, which promptly became 3:30. I must say traveling west across timezones is far superior to the other way around. I tried to go to the Carlsbad Caverns, but unfortunately I missed the last opportunity for the day, so that's first on the agenda for tomorrow.

Oh yeah, one last thing. I had dinner at a local Mexican restaurant, which was good in and of itself. However, after my meal I was served sopaipillas. If you are ever offered sopaipillas, the correct answer is always "yes please" (or "si por favor" if you prefer). Trust me.

Vegeta, what does the scouter say about his mileage level?? OVER 9000!!!!
Other things I have been listening to:
Fiona Apple - Tidal
Staind - Dysfunction
Linkin Park - Reanimation
Anberlin - Cities
Alice in Chains - Jar of Flies
Cold War Kids - Robbers & Cowards
Mae - The Everglow
Jurassic 5 - Power In Numbers

Day 33: Lone Star

2008-09-03T09:21:00.000-07:00

When I rolled into Austin, I had about 20 hours before I could check into my motel. I made the decision that rather than trying to sleep in my car somewhere, I'd just stay awake until Monday afternoon when I could check into my room and take a nap then. For the last few weeks I'd been getting plenty of good sleep, shouldn't be a problem to pull an all nighter once in a while right? I'd done it before in college, I could do it again.

I parked near the downtown area near the University of Texas campus. While I still had daylight I took a stroll around. The campus is pretty large and quite beautiful, I was only able to see a small portion of it but what I did see was pleasant. Even the squirrels are very friendly, one nearly climbed up my leg while I watched it (insert requisite joke about gathering nuts). I also learned that carrying around a backpack with my laptop and camera on my back in 90+ degree heat and humidity 1) makes me very thirsty and 2) results in my back being completely saturated. Time for some water.

It seems once again I proved my ability to show up in the right place at the right time, for some given random event. While trying to cross the street from the campus to a CVS, I found my path blocked by a stream of red. To be more specific, a stream of red shirts. To be slightly more specific, thousands of participants in what I later found out to be the Nike Humanrace 10k. I waited for a few minutes for a break in the crowd, and when none came I performed a diagonal run across the street, trying to match their speed with a lateral vector included.

Members of the Humanrace.

Since both I and the human stream of red were heading towards downtown, I walked parallel to the race for a while. In many ways, it seemed similar to the Nike 10k that Scott and I did a couple of summers ago; particularly with respect to having bands perform at spots along the course. I stopped to watch one of these bands in the downtown area. I think they were local (and maybe not even "officially" invited to play there), they had all of their equipment set up in a bank parking lot with a couple of speakers hooked up to mics. They sounded a bit Muse-ish, but a little more indie leaning; they were quite good actually. I felt sorry for the runners, since they couldn't really enjoy much more than 30 seconds of the music before they were round the corner.

I followed the race until it turned east, running parallel to the river which I was heading towards. I didn't have much of a plan yet for the evening; I had read a bit about Austin and what to do, but had yet to decide what I was going to do next. Sixth street was mentioned as a good place to hear music, having a decent bar scene. As I passed Sixth, I looked up and down. Seemed a bit quiet, but then again it was still pretty early (not yet 8 pm). I walked past and eventually ended up at the river. This is when I remembered another fact about Austin: under the Congress Street bridge lives a colony of 1.5 million bats, and at dusk each night they come out. Brilliant. I'll watch bats, I thought. Well, being a Sunday on Labor Day weekend, it seems I wasn't the only one with this idea, as there were literally hundreds (thousands?) of people lining the bridge and the waterfront waiting for dusk. I took my place on the bank and waited.

Lots of dark.

Here's the thing about dusk: it's dark, and getting darker fairly fast. And the thing about bats is that they are black, and pretty small. As a consequence, when the bats did actually begin coming out, I had a pretty hard time seeing anything. The best place to see them, it seems, is on one of the boats or kayaks that crowded the river near the bridge. Note taken for the next time I'm in Austin.

I now had about 15 hours until check in time, so I started to think of ways I could spend this time to a) see what Austin had to offer and b) stay awake. I headed up Congress street (which, fittingly enough, heads straight to the capitol building). A little ways up I realized that the finish line for the 10k was up in front of me, and that there was a giant stage with some kind of concert happening. Being the curios type, I walked with the stragglers towards the finish.

Down in front!

After threading my way through the throngs of runners, family members, volunteers, and various city folk, I got close enough to the stage to actually see the performers. The setting was pretty stunning; the stage had been set up right at the intersection in front of the capitol building, which was lighted and provided an amazing backdrop to the events below. I didn't recognize the band, but I had a suspicion they were famous since quite a lot of people seemed to know the lyrics and were singing along. Later, I found a schedule of events for the run and discovered that I had seen Ben Harper perform. Neat.

I'd been walking around for the better part of six hours or so, in ungodly heat and and humidity, with a heavy backpack. It was well past beer thirty. I found Sixth street again, and chose a direction to walk (west, for those interested). I eventually happened upon what I took to be the "scene", and wandered into a bar that seemed pretty laid back and had a sufficient number of beers on tap. Bonus: Sunday is cheap beer night, every pint is $2.50, with the exception of the Texas lager "Lone Star", which is $2.

Now, remember that my overall goal for the night was to stay awake. Unfortunately, drinking three pints of beer after walking around all day DNE a good way to not be sleepy. In fact, it produces quite the opposite effect of what I intended. But I wanted to try me some Texas beer. A breakdown:

Lone Star Lager: your typical lager, probably a bit better than the mass produced American classics, but in the end it is what it is. Fairly refreshing, though, on a hot day (which I'm led to believe happens in Texas on a mostly regular basis).
Shiner Bock: per Graham's suggestion. Impressive, I'm not usually one for Bocks, but this one was very flavorful and tasty, but without being heavy.
Austin Amber: my least favorite, although this may be due to the fact that it is a heavier beer (after I'd been drinking lighter varieties), and I'm not really much of an amber fan in general anymore. Still, I think in the future I'll avoid this one.

I left having spent $7 on three pints of beer (not including tip); not half bad.

The walk back towards the campus was a bit brutal: I hadn't noticed the slight hill I had walked down while following the race, and even though it was 11pm the temperature was still in the upper 80s. I needed caffeine if I was to stay awake, and I realized I hadn't really eaten since the drive from Houston to Austin. The solution: Kerbey Lane Cafe, a 24 hour diner located in the University district. The place was packed, mostly with runners and students. I sat at the counter (the advantage of going to a restaurant by yourself, you usually don't have to wait for a table). The food was good; I had a turkey and avocado sandwich with what they called home fries, but anyone else would call quarters of baby potatoes. I read the Onion, trying to take my time and enjoy the air conditioning as long as possible. I was never asked to leave, but I could tell from the crowd waiting to get in that the staff would prefer if I didn't loiter and take up valuable seating space.

I left and walked back to where I had parked my car. Luckily, I had parked next to a bakery with wifi, so I sat in my car for an hour or so using the internet for what it's best at: wasting time. Around 1am I packed up the laptop, and took a drive around Austin. The city has a pretty large suburban area surrounding it. The interesting thing is that it is all considered Austin, and not separate cities (think if Hillsboro, Beaverton, Tigard, and Gresham were all instead just Portland). I stopped in a deserted parking lot to play guitar for a while, but the mosquitoes are still determined to ruin my trip. After accumulating approximately ten bites on my arms, three on my back, and one on my right cafe, I'd had enough. I think from now on, as part of my morning routine, I am going to cover myself in bug spray just in case I ever head outside.

I still had nine hours or so to go. I needed something to do. I found a 24-hour Wal-Mart. If played right, you can spend hours in a 24 hour mega-store without spending a dime.

Sidenote: I discovered a way to extend the time between needing to do laundry on this trip. While in the Wal-Mart, I purchased a pack of boxers and white undershirts. That's an extra week of clean clothes! Genius.

Unfortunately, I wasn't going to make it. I realized this around 4:30, and decided that I could afford just a couple hours of sleep before the sun rose. I parked again next to the wifi bakery, kicked my seat back, and failed miserably to get any kind of restful sleep. It was too hot, and too humid, as well as being too uncomfortable to start with.

Around 7:30, I gave up and headed to IHOP for breakfast and coffee.

I'll have to finish this tale tonight. I need to get on the road if I have any hope of seeing Carlsbad Caverns today. More to follow...

Car status: nothing terribly bad has happened since Montana. I've noticed one or two new scratches I never used to have, and I have an ever growing collection of plastic bottles in the back seat (I refuse to just throw them out, I need to recycle!), but all in all it is holding up well.
Miles on the trip: nearly 9000.
Recent music:
Ray Charles - Genius Loves Company
Damien Rice - O and 9
Green Day - Insomniac
The Early November The Room's Too Cold and the other album I can't remember the name of
Punk Goes 90's and the Spawn Soundtrack
The Crystal Method - Vegas

Day 30: Eye of the Storm

2008-08-31T09:53:00.000-07:00

Don't believe the lies.

Fast Food Report: Whataburger
This name is very much a misnomer. I'd suggest a more appropriate label such as Whatadisappointment, or Whatacrappyburger. Really, with a name like Whataburger, I was expecting a reaction along the lines of "Wow! What a burger!" after taking a bite. Instead, my initial thought was "Wow...what is this, a burger?". Come on people, either bring your A game or change the name.

Thanks for all of the concerned words and comments about avoiding New Orleans until after the hurricane or all together and what have you; unfortunately I received most of them either when I was already there, or after I left. Go figure.

After my last post, I hadn't made up my mind yet whether or not to attempt New Orleans. In order to put off the decision even longer, on a whim I walked into a movie theater that happened to be next to the Starbucks I had breakfast in and watched Babylon AD. My general rule of thumb is that anything with Vin Diesel in it can't be bad. I was mostly right (it was at least a fun couple hours).

In the end I decided that I couldn't skip New Orleans, I had come far too close to just go around it. My argument was that Gustav wasn't predicted to make landfall until late Monday or early Tuesday, and it being Friday I had plenty of time to stay one night, then continue on my way west. With this in mind, I booked a motel (all the hostels were unfortunately full) and started the journey south.

As I approached the city, I began to notice an marked increase in the number of cars traveling in the opposite direction. I figured they were just being overly safe. Then I saw a couple of nursing home buses, then a couple prison buses, followed by thousands of cars. This made me slightly concerned, a feeling that intensified as the northbound traffic became a traffic jam while my southbound side contained only a handful of cars.

In the end, this concern really wasn't necessary. I found my motel easy enough, checked in and checked out what to do while in town. Since it was getting on in the afternoon, most of the outdoor activities and places to see were falling off my list of possibilities; which really just left Bourbon Street.

I was keeping a careful eye on the news the entire time I was in my room. I learned that I was situated in Jefferson parish, which hadn't evacuated yet (luckily), but was planned for the next day at 4 pm. The cars I had seen on the freeway were most likely from one of the neighboring parishes that had already ordered a voluntary evacuation, to be followed soon by mandatory evacuations. Nothing I need to worry about until tomorrow, I thought.

Something for everyone.

Armed with my camera and an appetite for decadence, I parked downtown and walked towards the French Quarter. Of the places hit by Katrina, the French Quarter actually came out alright, being set on slightly higher ground (read: not below sea level); and of course, was quickly restored afterwards as it is a large tourist attraction. For those who haven't been, the French Quarter is really only a handful of city blocks, about seven blocks from the river back and ten blocks or so long. But packed in that small area is an amazing variety of activities, restaurants, galleries, cheap shops, expensive shops, and much more.

Not pictured: the old guy dancing.

Unfortunately it seems the threat of hurricane scared off some of the possible patrons, although there was still a fair amount of people roaming the streets. I walked up and down taking it all in before I settled on a place to get some food, the Cajun Cabin (I suspect most of the places on Bourbon Street aren't particularly "authentic", but they had live music and decent prices). I ordered a Catfish Po-boy, which is really just a fried piece of catfish (which was interesting in itself as I had never had catfish) on a type of french bread common in New Orleans. It was decent, although not in anyway amazing, and the "local" beer I had was also pretty average. It wasn't all mediocre, though; the music was pretty fun and the atmosphere fairly friendly.

I finished up and headed out, camera in hand, ready to begin capturing the nightlife. By this time it was after 9 pm, so things were beginning to get slightly more enlivened, although I imagine no where near a typical Friday night. Many bars and restaurants had live bands playing and every now and then I would stop and listen for a while. As I headed down river, I entered the section of the street that hosts most of the gay bars and clubs. In addition, the street began to become more crowded and lively. It was a really fun atmosphere, and I can imagine that if I was gay and if I could dance, I would have been in heaven.

Pure Decadence.

Here's the thing I've learned about myself on this trip: I have an uncanny ability to arrive in places during scheduled events that I had no previous knowledge about. Sturgis in South Dakota, Bike night on Beale Street, and now Southern Decadence in New Orleans. For those who are unfamiliar with Southern Decadence, as I was, it is a week long gay event held annually in New Orleans culminating in a parade the Sunday before Labor Day. It seconds only Mardi Gras in size and economic impact on the area, and causes much less damage and litter.

I found out this little fact when I stopped into a jazz bar along Bourbon Street. The seating hostess sat me at the bar, and I ordered an Abita. When I received my drink, the man next to me glanced over and raised his glass; "To decadence," he said. I cheered him and took a drink, thinking we were drinking to the general philosophy of being degenerate. On the TV in the corner was a news channel with constant Gustav updates. I exchanged some words with my friend next to me about the coming hurricane, and the planned evacuations and such.

Jazzy.

"We ended up changing our flight from Monday to Sunday," he told me, as he put his arm around the man next to him.
"Yeah that's a good idea," I replied, "since this thing is supposed to really hit around Monday."
"Really unfortunate timing, with Decadence and all."
I gave him my patented slightly confused look, the one where I raise my right eyebrow just a little bit and cock my head to the side.
"Southern Decadence?"
I shrug my shoulders.
"Are you gay or straight?" he asks me.
"Straight." I reply.

He went on to explain to me about Decadence and why I probably saw a lot of men walking around shirtless on the street. I just figured it had been because it was so hot and humid.

It turns out that he and his partner were from San Jose and had just flown out for the festival. They had planned to come in 2005, but Katrina kind of put an end to that. Three years later they decided to come back, and here was Gustav barreling down on the city. Go figure, he says.

And people bring their kids here...

I stayed for a while, had a good conversation with Jim from San Jose, drank some alright beer, and listened to some seriously decent jazz. Eventually they left; I finished my own beer and hit the streets again. I walked around a little longer, snapping some more pictures, before deciding to call it a night. New Orleans is fun and has a really great atmosphere, but it really seems like the kind of place you come with a group of friends. Next bachelor party guys, forget Vegas.

In the morning I pack up and check out. Planning for the next few days, I decided it would probably be best not to head to Corpus Christi (which was next on my initial route) since it was also on the gulf coast. Instead, I booked myself a motel in Houston for the night, Houston being about five hours from New Orleans, and on the way to Austin.

I was beginning to see the effects of the imminent evacuation. I went to Wal-Mart to grab some fruit for breakfast; the place was mobbed. Businesses had begun covering their windows with ply-wood, many already closed. I finally got what I needed, filled up with gas, and promptly joined the parking lot that was I-10. Thankfully, most people were heading north, so when the intersection for I-55 came, I-10 mostly cleared up.

Here is a summary of the rest of my day: a drive that should have taken, at worst six hours, took me in excess of eleven. Eleven hours of driving (if you can call going an average of 2 mph for 20 miles driving). The worst came only 70 miles outside of Houston.

A few things of note that came from this drive:

I have decided to hold a press conference when I return to Oregon. The topic will be ocean temperatures, and will go something like this:
"Hello and thank you for coming to this press conference. I have called you all here to inform you that yes, it is possible for ocean waters to NOT be frigid year round. In fact, the water at a beach can be quite pleasant, almost enjoyable. That is all, thank you for your time."
At one point along I-10, I was only 12 miles from a gulf coast beach (thank you road signs). I had to test it out. It was awesome, definitely worth the bug bites I sustained enjoying the retreating sun while standing ankle deep in murky warm water.
I seem to always make the wrong decision when it comes to traffic. Change lanes at the wrong times, decide against taking this or that exit, decide in favor of taking this alternate route. Nearly without fail, every tactic I tried to employ to fight the jam just made my situation worse.
A sample of activities I engaged in while trying to pass the time stuck 50 miles from Houston: listening to my radio scan the AM stations...twice (I thought maybe I had missed something interesting the first time around; for those curious, I didn't), finishing off my collection of Science Friday podcasts, listening to American Idiot in its entirety, looking in the windows of cars that passed trying to make eye contact, dusting my car interior, attempting to drink a half gallon of water without messing myself, writing this blog entry in my head.

I finally arrived at my motel around 12:45 am. Thankfully they hadn't rented it out to someone else. Today I plan on heading over to Austin and staying for two nights. I have encountered a slight problem, however. My inability to plan more than one day in advance has caused me to have no where to stay tonight yet (tomorrow I'm covered). Yet again, this hurricane is foiling my plans to have an enjoyable time. I suspect this won't be my last confrontation with Gustav.

I close with an email from MoveOn.org concerning the nomination of Sarah Palin as John McCain's running mate. It says what I'd like to say, and with references to boot. Please read it and pass it on.

Dear MoveOn member,

Yesterday was John McCain's 72nd birthday. If elected, he'd be the oldest president ever inaugurated. And after months of slamming Barack Obama for "inexperience," here's who John McCain has chosen to be one heartbeat away from the presidency: a right-wing religious conservative with no foreign policy experience, who until recently was mayor of a town of 9,000 people.

Huh?

Who is Sarah Palin? Here's some basic background:

She was elected Alaska's governor a little over a year and a half ago. Her previous office was mayor of Wasilla, a small town outside Anchorage. She has no foreign policy experience.¹
Palin is strongly anti-choice, opposing abortion even in the case of rape or incest.²
She supported right-wing extremist Pat Buchanan for president in 2000. ³
Palin thinks creationism should be taught in public schools.⁴
She's doesn't think humans are the cause of climate change.⁵
She's solidly in line with John McCain's "Big Oil first" energy policy. She's pushed hard for more oil drilling and says renewables won't be ready for years. She also sued the Bush administration for listing polar bears as an endangered species—she was worried it would interfere with more oil drilling in Alaska.⁶
How closely did John McCain vet this choice? He met Sarah Palin once at a meeting. They spoke a second time, last Sunday, when he called her about being vice-president. Then he offered her the position.⁷

This is information the American people need to see. Please take a moment to forward this email to your friends and family.

We also asked Alaska MoveOn members what the rest of us should know about their governor. The response was striking. Here's a sample:

She is really just a mayor from a small town outside Anchorage who has been a governor for only 1.5 years, and has ZERO national and international experience. I shudder to think that she could be the person taking that 3AM call on the White House hotline, and the one who could potentially be charged with leading the US in the volatile international scene that exists today. —Rose M., Fairbanks, AK

She is VERY, VERY conservative, and far from perfect. She's a hunter and fisherwoman, but votes against the environment again and again. She ran on ethics reform, but is currently under investigation for several charges involving hiring and firing of state officials. She has NO experience beyond Alaska. —Christine B., Denali Park, AK

As an Alaskan and a feminist, I am beyond words at this announcement. Palin is not a feminist, and she is not the reformer she claims to be. —Karen L., Anchorage, AK

Alaskans, collectively, are just as stunned as the rest of the nation. She is doing well running our State, but is totally inexperienced on the national level, and very much unequipped to run the nation, if it came to that. She is as far right as one can get, which has already been communicated on the news. In our office of thirty employees (dems, republicans, and nonpartisans), not one person feels she is ready for the V.P. position.—Sherry C., Anchorage, AK

She's vehemently anti-choice and doesn't care about protecting our natural resources, even though she has worked as a fisherman. McCain chose her to pick up the Hillary voters, but Palin is no Hillary. —Marina L., Juneau, AK

I think she's far too inexperienced to be in this position. I'm all for a woman in the White House, but not one who hasn't done anything to deserve it. There are far many other women who have worked their way up and have much more experience that would have been better choices. This is a patronizing decision on John McCain's part- and insulting to females everywhere that he would assume he'll get our vote by putting "A Woman" in that position.—Jennifer M., Anchorage, AK

So Governor Palin is a staunch anti-choice religious conservative. She's a global warming denier who shares John McCain's commitment to Big Oil. And she's dramatically inexperienced.

In picking Sarah Palin, John McCain has made the religious right very happy. And he's made a very dangerous decision for our country.

In the next few days, many Americans will be wondering what McCain's vice-presidential choice means. Please pass this information along to your friends and family.

Thanks for all you do.

–Ilyse, Noah, Justin, Karin and the rest of the team

Sources:

1. "Sarah Palin," Wikipedia, Accessed August 29, 2008
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sarah_Palin

2. "McCain Selects Anti-Choice Sarah Palin as Running Mate," NARAL Pro-Choice America, August 29, 2008
http://www.moveon.org/r?r=17515&id=13661-8607554-nkMU6cx&t=1

3. "Sarah Palin, Buchananite," The Nation, August 29, 2008
http://www.moveon.org/r?r=17736&id=13661-8607554-nkMU6cx&t=2

4. "'Creation science' enters the race," Anchorage Daily News, October 27, 2006
http://www.moveon.org/r?r=17737&id=13661-8607554-nkMU6cx&t=3

5. "Palin buys climate denial PR spin—ignores science," Huffington Post, August 29, 2008
http://www.moveon.org/r?r=17517&id=13661-8607554-nkMU6cx&t=4

6. "McCain VP Pick Completes Shift to Bush Energy Policy," Sierra Club, August 29, 2008
http://www.moveon.org/r?r=17518&id=13661-8607554-nkMU6cx&t=5

"Choice of Palin Promises Failed Energy Policies of the Past," League of Conservation Voters, August 29, 2008
http://www.moveon.org/r?r=17519&id=13661-8607554-nkMU6cx&t=6

"Protecting polar bears gets in way of drilling for oil, says governor," The Times of London, May 23, 2008
http://www.moveon.org/r?r=17520&id=13661-8607554-nkMU6cx&t=7

7 "McCain met Palin once before yesterday," MSNBC, August 29, 2008
http://www.moveon.org/r?r=21119&id=13661-8607554-nkMU6cx&t=8

Want to support our work? We're entirely funded by our 3.2 million members—no corporate contributions, no big checks from CEOs. And our tiny staff ensures that small contributions go a long way. Chip in here.

Gustav annoyance level: orange.
Miles: >8000 (I was mistaken in the last post, it should have read closer to 7500).
Musics:
The Decemberists - Her Majesty and Picaresque
Green Day - American Idiot
Finch - What It Is To Burn

Day 28: Down in the Delta

2008-08-29T08:59:00.000-07:00

Holy nation wide coverage Batman!

I awoke to a fairly decent day in Nashville; thankfully the rain I had driven through the entire length of the state so far had subsided. After breakfast I went on a driving tour around the city. There is far more to this city than I was able to really explore in one day, but the impression I had from that day was mostly positive. Even though it is the country music capital, Nashville really wasn't the city I was expecting it to be. Yes, the country and southern elements are there, but it is also quite urban. This, no doubt, is helped by the universities in the city.

I had quite a bit of ground to cover, so I fueled up and headed out on the road. Between Nashville and Memphis I completely avoided the interstate, as per usual on this trip. In doing this I was better able to see the transition in landscape from the lush and hilly forests in the east to the more flat, farm oriented lands in the west. It was, for the most part, a pleasant and enjoyable drive (apart from being stuck behind trucks on one lane highways).

I rolled into Memphis in the early evening and I checked into my motel. From what I had read about Memphis, there are a couple distinct districts just like in most other cities. Along the Mississippi river is the "downtown" area; with the skyscrapers, most of the popular bars and restaurants, etc. To the east of downtown, is "Midtown". Apparently you don't walk around in midtown day or night, and you only really want to drive through it in the day. My motel was in midtown, a fact that I had missed when booking it as it was labeled "Downtown Memphis". I dumped my stuff in my room, promptly latched and deadbolted the door, and did some work for a while until I got hungry. Upon leaving I made sure to leave the lights and TV on to give the impression that someone was still in the room (a technique I learned from my dad).

I had the address of a popular brew pub chain in the region, but had trouble finding it. Either it had closed down or my address was wrong. No worries, I thought, I'll just head to one of the bars and get some pub food there.

Beale in the morning. Not pictured: passed out patrons
between the buildings.

For those unfamiliar with Memphis, it fancies itself a blues town; in fact it is quite celebrated for its blues music. In this vein, there is a street downtown called Beale street; where every night it is closed to traffic and people wander the streets, beer in hand, going from bar to bar to watch live music. Every night. I was there on a Wednesday night, but it felt like a Friday. It was an amazing atmosphere. For about four blocks there is bar after bar, most cover charge free, offering live music; some dive-y, some upscale. Even between the buildings in the alleyways and the streets there are bands set up on makeshift stages performing.

It seems I picked an interesting night to show up; it was Bike Night, so once again on this trip I was thrust completely into the biker culture. Which was fine, it made for a lively scene. After walking up and down the street soaking it all in, I ducked into a bar at random to grab some food. The one I picked was probably the only one without a live band inside, offering karaoke instead. So there I sat, eating a BBQ sandwich, watching what turned out to be some fairly decent karaoke (at least compared to what I had witnessed the night before).

Off topic: I just read that McCain chose his running mate: Sarah Palin, the governor from Alaska. She's young and fairly inexperienced in politics other than the Alaskan executive office. Interesting choice. My first thought is that she was chosen because Hillary Clinton was not chosen to be the Democratic VP, in a play to win some of the Hillary supporters over to the McCain side. Other than that it's hard to see what she could really bring to McCain's ticket, having little or no experience in nationwide politics. Yes, when people point this out there will be the obvious comparison to Obama, saying he has little experience as well, but I feel that his experience is more relevant to the position he is running for, and his choice in running mate really complements his weaknesses rather than just pandering to political games. It'll be interesting to watch the vice president debates.

Anyway, back on topic. After eating I walked around for a couple of hours, watching various bands perform; from blues, to rock, to a singer-songwriter with an acoustic guitar playing covers such as Hotel California and Hendrix songs. All in all a definite must see for anyone who enjoys music, large amounts of crappy beer (they sell something like 44 ounce beers on the street), and a slightly debaucherous atmosphere. My only suggestion would be to stay at a hotel nearer (or have a DD), as I only had a single beer on account that I had to drive back to the shady side of town.

You can just make out the wreath hanging on
the railing where Dr. King was shot.

In the morning, I headed over to the South Main district and had some coffee at Bluff City Coffee, and nice local joint with decent coffee and free wifi. The main reason I was over in the area, however, was to go to the National Civil Rights Museum. This museum is actually built out of the hotel that Martin Luther King, Jr. stayed in and was subsequently shot outside of during a stay in Memphis. It only cost $10 to get in (lets hear it for student discount), and I spent the better part of four hours walking through. The exhibits start from the Civil War era, and cover everything through reconstruction, the world wars, the depression, and the rise and eventual (at least legislatively) success of the civil rights movement that culminated in the sixties. It ends with the assassination of Dr. King, with his hotel room as part of the display. Across the street the museum continues from where it is believed his killer stayed, and fired the shot from. The evidence and timeline for the case is laid out for the patron to draw their own conclusions from, as the case still has many unanswered questions (although they did catch and convict the man believed to do the actual killing). It is interesting to see everything laid out side by side, especially the government's actions in trying to spy on and discredit Dr. King. Conspiracy theorists go nuts for this kind of thing (and it does give the average person pause).

Museums seem to be the bane of my existence; I never allow myself enough to time to thoroughly enjoy them and read everything they have to offer. Regardless, I did get a chance to experience the majority of the Civil Rights Museum, and thankfully so. It was extremely powerful and educational, and quite engaging through videos, pictures, quotes, and real artifacts from each era. I cannot recommend this place highly enough to anyone visiting the Memphis area, especially for those without a deep familiarity with the subject.

By the time I left Memphis it was past six. My initial goal was to make it to New Orleans immediately after Memphis, but the distance between the cities is far greater than I originally realized, so I decided to stay in Jackson, Mississippi for the night. I started off traveling south on highway 61, hoping to get some nice views of the Mississippi River which it ran along. Unfortunately there were two problems with this:

The highway actually runs about 2 or 3 miles from the river at any time.
The sun promptly began to set not long after I departed from Memphis.

The drive was still pleasant, the landscape was definitely beginning to change and take on the characteristics I had in mind for the area. Eventually, when it was too dark to see anymore, I jumped over into I-55 and completed my journey into Jackson.

My plan was from here to head down to New Orleans for the night, then begin around the gulf coast to Texas. However, there seems to be talk of a little hurricane brewing off the coast which is already causing problems for some of the island nations. It's not expected to make landfall in the New Orleans area until Monday, but already there is talk of a mandatory evacuation of the area. This is quite unfortunate, but really I'm not sure what I was expecting at the height of hurricane season. I'm still evaluating the situation, but I'm leaning towards heading down and checking it out. I'm still a good few days away from the Monday target, at which time I should be in Austin anyways. We'll see how things pan out.

Weather status: Holy hell, I am now beginning to get a better understanding of what true humidity is like. Also it seems to bring out the insects in Biblical numbers at night. Gross.
Distance conquered: ~7200 miles
Recent listenings include:
I Can Make a Mess Like Nobody's Business - Self Titled
The Kooks - Inside In/Inside Out
The Starting Line - Based On a True Story
More Science Friday podcasts (I'm beginning to see why my iPod is full, I have hundreds of these things, each one upwards of 40 minutes in length)

Day 25: Stabbing westward

2008-08-26T23:12:00.000-07:00

Immediately following my last post, I was ready to hit the town and see a show. I figured I had some time to grab some food and maybe a beer before hand, so to Wikitravel I went to research my options. I found what seemed to be an interesting place (boasting something like 40 beers on tap and 200 bottled), and on a whim I checked on the time and location of the show.

"Oh look at that, rather than starting at a reasonable time (for a concert) like say 8 or 9, apparently this particular show started at 6...over an hour ago."

Well, damn. Shows a no go. I'm not terribly bummed though, since this band will be in Portland in about two months, so I'll catch them then. I head out to grab food and a beer from a place called Capital Ale House. Like in Providence, the pub turned out to be a little more upscale than I was looking for, but they had a beer menu that was pages long, broken down by type and with blurbs about each one. I settled on a very tasty IPA from Williamsburg (brewing company I guess? Williamsburg being a town not far from Richmond), and the burger with Gouda. Let me tell you, I never would have thought to put Gouda on a burger. But oh yes, this particular taste combination is amazing. I even learned quite a bit about beers from reading the menu (such as many IPAs actually use mineral water instead of normal water as the base to add a drier taste to the final product).

I want something like this to adorn my grave

The next day, the first priority was to get my car in for a service. A quick Google search revealed a number of Honda dealerships in the area. I gave one a call and was able to set up an appointment for later in the afternoon. Good news for my car, but it also meant I would have to spend the entire day waiting around in Richmond. This turned out to be less of a problem than I first thought, as I had a list of attractions I could visit in the interim.

My first stop was the Confederate White House. It turns out that this piece of history is located downtown, immediately next to an extremely busy hospital and medical university. And the streets are under construction. I found a spot to park eventually and walked the half dozen blocks back to the White House. I was a little surprised to see the museum was located right in the middle of downtown, with little green space surrounding the house itself (unlike the current White House). Also, as far as historical monuments go, the Confederate White House was a little underwhelming; it is a white house with slight Victorian styling, but mostly uninteresting and unimpressive in size and design. I suppose it only served for five years or so as the capitol of the Confederates, which didn't give it much time to mature.

True man of mettle (er, metal)

I left the downtown area and began heading towards the Honda dealership to ensure that I wouldn't be late, even though I still had another couple of hours. On the way, I noticed on my GPS a large cemetery called the Hollywood Cemetery. I recalled reading that this was where Confederate president Jefferson Davis was buried. In I went. The graveyard is quite historic, and is the final resting place for many thousands of people over the last few hundred years. Two other American presidents are also buried there.

I first visited Jefferson Davis' grave site, which is marked by a slightly larger than life statue of Davis, as well as a flagpole (although no flag was flying). Sprinkled around the site (and indeed around the entire graveyard) were confederate flags of various designs. I noticed something interesting about all of the inscriptions and plaques talking about not only Davis, but the confederacy in general. None mentioned the issue of slavery as the reason for the difference between them and the Union. From grade school, I have been taught that this was THE reason for the Civil War; it was intriguing to see a different perspective on history. Obviously the winners write the history books, and each side has its own biases and view of what happened, but it makes me curious to delve deeper into this subject.

The other major point of interest in the graveyard is the confederate soldier section; kind of a scaled down confederate version of Arlington. It is always sobering to see the tangible effect war has on human life.

Leaving the cemetery, it was finally time for my appointment. I spent the next hour sitting in the waiting room, trying to ignore Dr. Phil on the TV and get some work done (I was mostly successful on both fronts).

I had about 5-6 hours of driving to do for the day, so I hit the road. I took mostly back highways between Richmond and Greensboro, NC which enabled me to see some very nice country side of Virginia. By the time I got to Greensboro it was getting dark anyway, so the interstate sufficed until I got to my motel in Asheville.

It was late, but I hadn't eaten since before my service appointment. It was time. It was time for me to experience another eastern United States institution: Waffle House. I've seen these everywhere, the sign consisting of black block letters on a yellow background. The best way I can describe the atmosphere is to imagine a local grimy diner; smoky air, dirty tables, cheesy framed slogans on the wall, but most of all really crappy, greasy food. Then, someone decided it would be an amazing idea to franchise this diner. Thus was born Waffle House. I ordered a standard breakfast (eggs, bacon, hash browns, toast, and gravy covered biscuit). On the wall was a framed certificate claiming a score of 95 during a recent health inspection. I have a hard time believing this was on a scale of 100; maybe 1000. Or maybe it was a 9.5 out of 100. That's probably how I'd rate the food. Although the biscuit with sausage gravy was pretty delicious.

I awoke to some August torrential rain, which meant my plan of walking around Asheville was about to be canceled. Before I left town I ate at a local pizza joint which was quite impressive called Marcos Pizzeria. The drive from Asheville to Nashville was very rainy, but still quite beautiful as the interstate went through the Great Smoky Mountains. What I've seen so far of Tennessee has actually run quite contrary to the image I had in my head, the east half being quite forested and lush.

I got into Nashville in the early evening, checked into my motel, and started writing this blog. Once rush hour had died down I decided to head out to grab some food and hopefully check out the bar scene. I looked up a couple of places, grabbed their addresses, and headed out.

The first place I tried was closed (which is fine, it seemed to be in a shady area of town anyway); I ended up at Rotier's, an awesome hole in the wall kind of diner/restaurant near Vanderbilt University. I ordered their "grilled cheeseburger", which is basically a cheeseburger with bread instead of a bun and grilled like grilled cheese. Now I know what you're thinking, something along the lines of "holy crap that sounds so freaking amazing how can it possibly get any better?". Well, not only was it a novel idea, the ingredients themselves were quality. The burger was handmade, not just a frozen patty; you know the kind that just fall apart when you bite into them. And it was cheap. Double bonus.

I had a list of bars to try that promised some kind of live music. The first one was Springwater, the dive-y-est bar you will ever see; and it was karaoke night. As I walked in there was an elderly gentleman on the mic performing some kind of impromptu strip show between verses of his song. It only got better from there. After about half an hour, I figured I needed some actual music before going to bed, so I moved on to the Station Inn. And boy was I glad I did.

Performing at the Station Inn was a band called Mashville Brigade, a six piece acoustic bluegrass group (banjo, mandolin, guitar, fiddle, Dobro slide guitar, and stand up bass). Now, I've seen many metal bands live, I've watched some amazing soloists tear up the stage. But let me tell you, these guys can shred...as much as you can "shred" on an acoustic instrument. The show was awesome and a lot of fun, and the venue quite packed for a Tuesday night. Definitely worth the $8 cover charge.

Tomorrow I'll explore more of Music City, then probably head on over to Memphis.

Motivation yo: Can't get enough of that southern accent...
Miles yo: >7000
Muzak yo:
Modest Mouse - Good News for People Who Love Bad News
Thrice - Vheissu
Dustin Kensrue - Please Come Home

Day 23: Good evening, Virginia

2008-08-24T13:32:00.000-07:00

Note: The only photos I have for the last few days are from DC, and I have plenty, so they won't necessarily follow the timeline of the rest of the post. Sorry for any confusion.

Note number 2: If anyone has ever wondered, no I don't re-read and edit these posts. The thought just occurred to me (after writing most of this) that it may sound like complete disjointed babble at times. Such is the nature of the roadtrip blog I guess.

More evidence that the oblivious humans
would have been devoured had we lived with
dinosaurs

On this trip, I seemed to have developed a keen ability to get myself semi-lost in the sketchiest parts of a city. On Friday I left breakfast and headed into Philadelphia via the road my hotel was on. It looked to be a fairly major road, so I hoped it would lead me to an interesting place in the city (and hopefully, a place where I could get some wifi to research sites to see in Philly). The road certainly did drop me into an interesting place, but not in the way I had hoped. For the better part of an hour, the only direction I was able to judge was correct was towards the skyscrapers in the distance.

I had always thought that when the word "dirty" was used to describe a city that it was meant figuratively or metaphorically. Experience has proved this wrong. Trash literally lined the gutters and along the sidewalks, run down and boarded up buildings accounted for a good portion of the landscape, people hung out on steps just sitting, watching the world pass. However, despite all of this I didn't necessarily feel unsafe; many people were walking around the streets, and it had the feel of a community. All in all, I could have been lost in a worse place, but it certainly wasn't what I had been looking for.

By the time I reached downtown proper, it was midday, and traffic was basically horrendous. My intention was to find a place to park and do a bit of a walk around, as there were quite a few places of historical significance nearby. This plan had two problems, however:

There was no place to park, anywhere
There was NO PLACE TO PARK. ANYWHERE.

I guess Friday afternoon wasn't the best of times for me to try this, so needless to say gave up looking after about an hour, plugged in the address of my next location, and hit the road.

I'm not even sure what this is

A friend of mine, Matt Chin, who I had met at Intel and lived with in Corvallis is currently in the DC area for an internship, so thankfully I was able to stay with him for a few days. The night I got there, Matt took me to an amazing BBQ place just up the road from his house; I'm a sucker for pulled pork and fries.

It seems that the area of DC Matt lives in has the highest crime rate, even though it has the highest concentration of police patrols. I can't back this up with any data, but it certainly felt that way. Also, Matt's car was broken into the first week he moved there, and they have had stuff stolen off of their porch. Needless to say I was slightly concerned, but I usually bring everything of value out of my car where ever I'm sleeping for the night (thankfully nothing happened).

The original blood diamond

Interesting thing about the house: at one time as many as seven guys were living there, so it's quite large. However, all of them are temporary interns around the DC area, so the house is mostly void of any kind of substantial furniture. This meant no couch for me to crash on. No problem, I thought, I have my sleeping mat for camping, I'll just toss that down on the carpet and be good to. In theory, at least. A word about this sleeping mat. I had purchased one the year before for camping trips, but discovered after a couple of extremely uncomfortable nights that it didn't so much stay inflated the whole night as it had at least one major leak that emptied all the air out in under 10 minutes. I had intentions of patching the hole(s) before leaving for this trip, but ran out of time and simply purchased a new one (of the same brand and model, since it was one of the cheaper ones, which in hindsight was probably an indication of its quality). It performed amazingly in Glacier luckily, however somewhere between there and here the gods of air mattresses smote me once again, tearing a small seam in the upper corner. This meant for two nights the only support under my back was two layers of plastic and the carpet.

But enough complaining (for now). The accommodations were free, which is all I can really ask for.

Not pictured: Me flipping the bird

The next day, Matt and I headed into DC proper. Our first stop was the Holocaust museum, as it tends to "sell out" very early. An awesome thing about all of the museums in DC is that they are entirely free. As in, you pay nothing to go in. Due to the popularity of some museums, however, you are required to get tickets to enter at specific times. The Holocaust museum was one of those, but luckily we arrived early enough to get tickets and go right on in.

For those who have not seen it, this museum is a definite must for anyone in the DC area. The material is extremely powerful, and it is very tastefully and respectfully put together. It begins with the rise of the Nazi party and the history of Jewish culture in Europe, and continues through the end of the war and beyond. The shear amount of information, pictures, and videos is amazing. The room of remembrance at the end is particularly moving. There really is no way to describe this experience and do it justice. Highly recommended.

Deep respect for the names on this wall

After it took us an hour to finish the first half of the first floor, we realized that we probably couldn't read everything if we planned on doing any other site seeing that day. In the end we spent the better part of 3 hours in the Holocaust museum, leaving plenty of information and exhibits unvisited.

Walking around the Mall (the blocks of DC which contain most of the memorials, museums, and important buildings), we visited:

The Smithsonian - more of a meta museum, covering information available in the more specific museums in the area
The Museum of Natural History - yay dinosaur bones!
The Washington Memorial - yet another obelisk on the east coast. That's two they have to our none on the West.
The White House - I couldn't see the snipers, but I'm sure they were there.
The Lincoln Memorial - probably the most impressive of the outdoor memorials we saw. The structure surrounding the statue is amazing; beautiful marble columns on the outside, transcripts of two of Lincoln's famous speeches carved into the walls inside. And then of course, the statue itself is enormous. I was surprised at how close security allows the public to get, with only an area about two or three feet from the base of the statue roped off.
The Vietnam Memorial - It is truly unbelievable how many people lost their lives in Vietnam. The memorial really shows you the magnitude of this conflict.
The Air and Space Museum - This was pretty cool, although some of it was redundant from the earlier Air Force museum I visited with Graham.

After an exhausting day of walking up and down DC, we headed back out of the city on the subway and got some delicious steak.

Nothing phallic about this whatsoever

This morning I headed out of DC and down the coast again towards Jamestown. I arrived in the early afternoon, and promptly headed west for Richmond. Call me cheap, but I really wasn't in the mood to pay $25 to see some reenactments and old wagons. Maybe if I was more of a history buff, but I figured I could read about all that stuff on Wikipedia if I was truly interested.

I'm holed up for the night at a Motel 6 next to the airport (and I just realized I can hear planes land, this should be fun tonight). Tonight I'm heading downtown to catch Eye Alaska play, and hopefully get a tasty brew somewhere. Tomorrow I think I'll check out some of the historical places around town (the Confederate White House? Sounds interesting), before continuing my journey back inland.

Stop signs ran so far: Two, but one of those was in Canada so it doesn't really count (it was in French).
Miles from home: ~6100 and definitely in need of a service now.
Music keeping me distracted recently:
Pink Floyd - The Wall (Disc 1 and 2)
Eric Clapton - Nothing But the Blues
Regina Spektor - Begin to Hope
Linkin Park - Hybrid Theory and Meteora
Kanye West - College Dropout and Late Registration
Common - Be

Day 22: The District sleeps alone tonight...because I am in Hyattsville

2008-08-23T20:09:00.000-07:00

I was going to write a blog right now, but I'm watching the roast of Bob Saget instead. Holy god, hilarious....

I'll finish this later.

Day 21: Is it time for zombies yet?

2008-08-22T12:22:00.000-07:00

What I have learned from or about the East Coast so far:

People love their Dunken Donuts. I thought this chain had all but died out, considering the only few I knew of in the Portland area either closed or changed into Sesame Donuts. But no, how wrong I was. You can't trip off a curb without turning around to look at the curb you tripped on and realizing that it was actually a Dunken Donuts (don't think too hard about that one, it seemed to make sense at the time of writing). It seems to be the Starbucks of the eastern half of the US, which leads me to my next point...
You can't throw a rock from Starbucks to Starbucks across entire states like you can in the West. In fact, I spent most of the day today just trying to find one between New Jersey and my current location of just east of Maryland so I could post this damn blog. This would be fine if I knew of any other reliable source of wifi.
The East Coast has (mostly) mastered the art of the roundabout, although here they call them rotaries. Whereas us on the left coast see them and think "Oh how quaint and fun, a roundabout!", rotaries make up important intersections here on the right.
Carry cash, but just a few bucks. You never know when you will be innocently driving down a freeway when suddenly you have to pay to continue. Toll roads continue to be the bane of my existence; although I understand the necessity of this evil I do not necessarily agree with their implementation.
Those crazy stereotypical accents do actually exist, but not really in the strength or ubiquity we're led to believe. I must say, though, that when I was served by an attractive young woman back in the midwest that her slight Minnesotan accent made her a bit more attractive. Context is important.

I'm seriously thinking about carrying a notepad around or something, as I'm constantly thinking of great things to post but subsequently forget them before I find the ever coveted wifi...

And yet I still haven't seen the Oregon capitol building

When last I posted I was heading towards Providence, Rhode Island. I arrived in the city and parked near my first attraction, the capitol building. It was very impressive in form, and parking was easy so double points there. While redressing post metal detector, the governor happened to walk in, which was a neat coincidence (side note: apparently he is trustworthy enough not to have to walk through the metal detector). The building has one of the largest free standing marble domes (according to something I read), and inside this dome is adorned with amazing murals and ornamentation.

Around the inside are various mementos from Rhode Island's past, such as the original charter for the state, a bunch of sculptures honoring each branch of the military, and some old roll call books. Of most interest, however, is an original painting of George Washington in the press conference room, by the artist who did the portrait for the one dollar bill. According to a staffer giving a tour to someone else, this painting is only one of two in which Washington is completely pictured standing up, making it worth "a whole bunch, millions probably". Fascinating, to say the least.

He saves children, but not the British children

Being a nice day I decided to tour the city on foot. Providence is a medium sized metropolis, not insanely busy like others here on the East coast, but decently bustling. I walked along the canal over to the Rhode Island Institute of Design, and then up the hill to Brown University ("Down with Brown!"). The walk was pleasant, the universities nice enough in their way (once you've seen one ivy league school you've seen 'em all, right?), and mostly served to work up a nice appetite for dinner.

I ate not far from the capitol building at the Union Station Brewery, so called because it is built out of an old railway building downtown. The food was good (probably a bit overpriced, but then again the atmosphere was a little classier than I had expected), and the Half Day IPA I had was decent but a bit weak in taste for what it claimed to be. What it lacked in taste it seemed to make up for in alcohol content because I had to walk around the mall for a few hours, reading magazines in Borders, until I was sober enough to drive.

Out of Providence I headed west into a beautiful sunset (brilliant and orange, nicely contrasted with deep blues) and drove for a few hours into Connecticut. All the excitement of the past couple days apparently made me completely forget to visit Jamestown while I was in the area. Oh well, next trip right?

I headed south west towards Bridgeport. Now, again, I must admit that I was not thinking entirely clearly. Looking at the map I thought to myself "Hey, Bridgeport! Isn't that a brewing company that makes a cheap yet very decent IPA?" Well, the answer as I later remembered was yes but no. The Bridgeport Brewing Company I had in mind is actually located only a few thousand miles to the west, in Portland. Oh well.

I like this.

I stayed for the night in what I thought was a Super 8, but I must have misread the sign because where I actually stayed was a Super Shady. My neighbor was either having heated arguments all night, or had the TV extremely loud, the bathroom door only shut with an enormous amount of force, and there were all kinds of nefarious looking people hanging around in the parking lot. In the morning, I could hear my aforementioned neighbor talking on the phone, the conversation going something like this:

"Man that was bullshit, I had the money but the stuff was crap. Then the cops showed up and we had to bolt. Blah blah blah some more nonsense probably about other illegal activities."

I knew I had a bias against Super 8 in favor of Motel 6 for some reason, this just reminded me why. They also charge more.

Knowing now that Bridgeport was not the destination for me (and actually, according to Wikitravel, is quite the hot bed of criminal activity), I continued west, with a slight northern tilt out of Connecticut and into New York. I decided that I was going to skip New York City this trip; there is far too much to see there, and I would honestly prefer to not have my car with me to worry about. However, because of where I was, this meant a long detour around what I guessed to be the busier highways. Like usual I tried to avoid the interstates as much as possible, and as a consequence had a very enjoyable drive through the country side. New York and New Jersey actually have quite beautiful landscapes outside of the cities.

My plan was to hit up Atlantic City that night, but I really wanted to book ahead some place to stay so I wouldn't get bent over again and pay far too much for a sub par room. I ended up booking a room at a Motel 6 just east of Philadelphia. I checked in there first, did some work to justify the cost, then headed back east towards the bright lights of Atlantic City.

First impression of the skyline: impressive, at least from about 5 miles out. One casino in particular used the entire building as a giant display screen, animating all kinds of scenes in color. It seems this would get pretty frustrating for those trying to actually sleep there, but I'm sure the engineers worked something out (no windows in the rooms maybe?).

When I got to what appeared to be a "main drag", I was duly unimpressed. Granted it was a Thursday night, but the streets were mostly empty. My worries about finding any kind of parking vanished as I was able to park at a metered spot on the street. I couldn't for the life of me figure out how to insert coins into the meter, but luckily in 20 minutes it wouldn't be enforced anymore so I figured I was safe.

I speculated that the reason the streets were so empty was that everyone was inside gambling, so I entered one of the first casinos I came upon, The Resort. I was partially right. The casino itself (and in fact, all of the ones I went in) offered your standard sensory overload experience. I'd estimate that about a third of the machines were occupied, and maybe half the tables open for play.

Not pictured: dozens of cart pushers walking around empty,
trying to get couples to take a ride.

When I got to the back I was reminded that Atlantic City has a boardwalk! I had found the people, albeit still not an overwhelming amount. The boardwalk reminded me of an old, slightly run down year long carnival, particularly down the steel pier. Manning the rigged gaming booths were employees who looked extremely bored, most leaned against the wall, a few chatted with one another, and one girl sat on the counter, speaking to no one in particular through her loud speaker that she was looking for a winner. One man called to me, saying he'd give me a free through at his dart game. I figured he would try to charge me eventually, but I thought what the hell.

"Bored, eh?" I ask him.
"Something like that, here ya go, five bucks out of my pocket."
The first dart I throw bounces off a balloon and sticks into something behind the counter.
"Here," as he hands me a second dart, "That's ten bucks out of my pocket."
This one sticks in the board between a couple of balloons.
"Did I mention I'm crap at darts?" I say.
"I can see that, here fifteen bucks out of my pocket." He slides over a third dart.
Determined not to be outdone by a bunch of under-inflated carnival balloons, I hurl this one hard and worry less about aiming. I finally pop one.
"Alright," he says as he hands me two more darts, "pop these next two and I'll give you a prize." He mumbles something else, but I can't understand it. After politely asking him to repeat himself ("what?" I ask), I figure that whatever it is I can't understand has something to do with me paying him if I fail to complete my task. I say thanks but no thanks (what do I want with a stuffed something-or-other anyway?), and walk away.

Further down the boardwalk is more of the same; a lot of sitting about waiting for the next sucker. I pass a fortune telling store front where about six people sit around doing nothing in particular. I think to myself that they at least should have had the foresight to predict such a slow night and not bothered even coming in.

Shooting from the hip so as not to get kicked out

After walking a couple miles up and down the boardwalk, I pack it in and begin to head back. I leave without having my wallet or car stolen, so I consider it a win. All in all, I'd rank Atlantic City above Reno, but definitely below Vegas. I imagine there is some kind of official hierarchy among these cities of sin which mandates what kind of image they put off. Not so much a conspiracy as just an understanding that they will cater to different folk.

This morning, after a delicious breakfast at the local Baaahhb Ehhvaahhns, I somehow found myself nearly completely lost in north Philly...

Beard status: I have a lot more red and white hairs than I remember having last time I grew it out. Either my face is feeling two thirds patriotic or I'm getting older. I'm leaning towards the former.
Approximate miles (one of these days I'll actually get the real number): ~5800 and in need of a service soon.
Music to listen to while reading this post:
Incubus - Make Yourself
The Decemberists - Picaresque
Thrice - The Alchemy Index II & III
Something Corporate - North
Jack's Mannequin - Everything in Transit
Wolf Parade - At Mount Zoomer

Day 19: On my own again

2008-08-20T09:19:00.000-07:00

Prologue: Someone needs to inform the east coast and Canada that the 90's are over. Seriously, roller blades? This plague of an activity is everywhere you look it seems, from shirtless old guys cruising the parks to trendy 20 somethings around universities. It's obvious from the popular culture media that the correct rolling trend right now is roller SKATES (following more accurately with the 20 year cycle of trends). Anyway, on with the blog.

Downtown P-town, east coast version

Portland, ME conclusion: worthy of being Portland, OR's predecessor. This city was very neat; it had the same small town city feel of its west coast cousin (probably a bit smaller actually) while still offering quite a lot to look at and do. We parked and simply walked around for a while. The architectural feel of the city is obviously a bit different since it is a real port, and quite older (brick is fairly prominent throughout, especially in the sidewalks). However, apparently the city (and indeed the state) is very craft brew friendly, something we found very agreeable. Even though we really only got a small taste of the city, we did leave with the feeling that living there may not be as entertaining as just visiting if you're not into boating.

We found a nice little brew pub (with wifi nonetheless) called Sebago. I had an excellent IPA (in fact, two of them...in 22 ounce servings! Yum), and Graham had, according to him, a delicious barely wine and a not so delicious blueberry ale. Being the middle of the afternoon the pub wasn't too busy, so we were able to chat quite extensively with our bartender who filled us in on what it was like to live in east coast Portland. It also seems that most ePortlanders don't realize that wPortland was named for their city. Go figure.

A message everyone can get behind

After a couple super pints, we were in the mood for chowdah (being in New England it was pretty much mandatory). According to our bartender pretty much any restaurant along the bay made their own chowder, and most all of them were excellent, so we couldn't really go wrong. We ended up at a place called Dewey's, a quiet pub/eatery on the south end of the walkable waterfront. The chowder was okay, not terribly impressive but I'm sure quite authentic.

Having thoroughly enjoying our stay, we left Portland behind on our way south down towards Boston. After the previous night (and in fact previous week) of bad motel luck, we smartly decided to book ahead. This meant we didn't really need to hurry (as long as we arrived before 11pm or so), so we took the scenic route along the coast.

Passing through many an affluent New England neighborhoods was very interesting, especially the coastal towns. I imagine that image is what Cannon Beach was really aiming for, had they not been pressed up against a mountain range immediately to the east. We tried unsuccessfully to touch the Atlantic at a rock beach, but luckily found a nice beach town close by with ample parking.

Our timing was excellent, the sun had just set and a full moon was just rising. As we walked out on the beach towards the water, a dark, burnt copper colored moon was just beginning to become visible. We stood there for a while, ankle deep in the not so frigid waters of the Atlantic, watching a beautiful moon rise. What a waste of a romantic moment.

I guess I taste better than Graham to the insect community, because after about 15 minutes of this I felt like one giant bug bite, so we hit the road again. For all the beauty and elegance of some of these east coast coastal towns, their road system seems to have been designed by a four year old. Needless to say, Sunday night traffic towards Boston sucked extensively for pretty much the rest of the night. We ended up at our Motel 6 on the south side of Boston (Braintree) just before 11.

I felt smarter just looking at the buildings

In the morning we ate down the road at an awesome diner called the Olympian (cheap, quick, and very delicious), and stole some internets from the library to book us a hostel for the night on the north side of Boston (Everette). Now having a base camp (and place to park my car outside of the city), we headed straight to the hostel to check in. From there, we took the subway into the city and out to Cambridge. Our first stop was the MIT museum. Rock and Roll Hall of Fame take note: this is a museum well worth the entrance fee (only $7.50 in fact). We had allotted close to two hours to walk through this place, and were still unable to finish it all before closing time. Anyone in the Boston area with any interest at all in science should definitely check this place out, there are tons of exhibits, videos, and things to read about the cool things MIT has been doing over the years.

Being in the area, we had to tour the campuses of both MIT and Harvard. The buildings were, of course, quite impressive; large, massive, and classical at MIT, and old, brick colonials at Harvard. The latter in particular definitely gave off the classic "college campus" vibe, so much so that I felt like I was almost walking through a movie set.

What the world needs more of is Science!

Dinner was provided by a hole in the wall falafel place (I think it was in fact a Falafel Palace, or something like that), and drinks were courtesy of the Miracle of Science Bar. I kid you not, there is a place near MIT called the Miracle of Science. We had to go there. And in fact, it was a neat place (they had a periodic table menu on one wall), good atmosphere and good beer.

After drinks we took the subway back to the hostel, where we watched Olympic diving (I will keep my opinion to myself about this sport). We shared a room with a couple other guys who apparently hadn't thought to air the room out before night time, so when we finally went to bed it was probably 30 degrees warmer in the room than outside. Add to that someone watching something very loudly in the room next to us, and you get a night of not much sleep.

Vote yes on monolithic statues

Our next day in Boston was spent walking around the Freedom Trail, a 3 mile walk through Boston that showcases many of the historical places and events that took place in early America there. Very interesting, I'll give it a B+. It ended at a giant obelisk marking the location of the Battle of Bunker Hill. Makes you wonder why there aren't more giant monolithic structures commemorating history throughout the states. Graham postulated that it had something to do with the decline in paganism, and I'm inclined to agree.

Tuesday marked the end of Graham's journey with me. After the Freedom Trail walk, I bid him farewell. Thanks again for coming along Graham, the company was quite refreshing after almost two weeks on my own. We drank some good brews and stayed in some shady motels. All in all good times were had.

Beginning the second solo portion of my trip, I continued down the eastern coast to historical Plymouth, MA. All I have to say is this: Plymouth Rock, very unimpressive. I've seen larger boulders in rock gardens. I guess I was expecting something more magnificent for the landmark of the first landing of the pilgrims. Maybe something along the lines of Haystack Rock off the Oregon coast, now that is a rock.

Plymouth marked the end to my mostly eastward journey, as from there I began heading west again. I passed through New Bedford, checked out Dartmouth (very strange place for a campus, there is really not much surrounding it in the way of a town; I was hoping for a neat college pub or something to stop at, but no such luck), before ending up just east of the border of Rhode Island for the night. Providence is next on the itinerary. Using Wikitravel I've found some places that may be of interest within the city. On a whim while on Wikitravel I checked out Portland, OR to see what they had to say about the city. Reading about it made me realize that I'm really beginning to miss the City of Roses. Of all the places I've been so far, very few seem to offer what Portland does. Maybe it's simply because I was raised there, and therefore am more familiar with it. Either way, I'm glad it is my destination.

Observation 3: When on the road, especially on your own, your mind tends to wander a lot. The thing is, you never think of the things you mean to ponder, at least not for long. In fact, often your mind leads itself to areas you'd prefer not to think of, and begins to repeat itself. Nothing can really show you what is on your mind more than 500 miles of interstate with nothing to do but think.

Status update: Well rested, slightly clean shaven (I decided to stop looking like a bum and give my beard a bit of a shape. Plus my neck was itching like crazy).
Miles under my belt: ~5400. I'm pretty close to my estimated half way point, although the path I have taken has deviated quite widely from my planned route. Check the map under the links section to see where I've been so far.
iPoddin':
Flaw - Endangered Species and Through the Eyes
Incubus - Morning View

Day 16: It is hard to find free wifi in Canada

2008-08-16T18:20:00.000-07:00

Cleveland was just a quick jaunt from Dayton; we arrived in the afternoon (after getting a bit of a later start than planned). Our first stop was the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame and Museum. Two things to note about the museum:

It costs $22 to get in (but you can get a military discount, thank you Graham).
It will take you more than the hour and a half we allotted to see it all if you really look at everything.
It's probably not worth $22 (or even the $17 that we paid).

We talked to an interesting employee who filled us in on the process for getting materials into the museum (they have to be donated by the bands), and who was quite skeptical "as a fan" of the legitimacy of the place. Curious.

The nice thing about the museum was that it was on Lake Erie, so afterwards we were able to take a nice walk around the pier, looking at the dead fish floating near the dock.

Graham introduced me to the wonderfulness of Wikitravel.org, which introduced us to our next stop: The Harbor Inn, the oldest pub in Cleveland. They only have one beer on tap (something crappy I don't remember), but dozens of domestics and imports in bottles and, according to Graham's judgment, an attractive bartender. We spent a good amount of time hanging out here, and even had pizza delivered from a local Italian restaurant so that we could continue our boozing. The atmosphere was awesome, very friendly and inviting.

Interesting buildings abound

After a bit of a walk around the piers we were good to drive, and headed out of the city. Impressions of Cleveland were positive, the only thing it really had going against it was the fact that it resided in Ohio. Transport it to the Oregon coast or anywhere on the west coast really and it would be a phenomenal place (from what we could tell, we obviously didn't get a terribly in depth feel for the city itself).

We holed up for the night just outside the city at a Motel 6 and watched some Olympians win some golds. Go Phelps.

Breakfast at Bob Evan's (a midwest institution apparently): awesome. After leaving Bahb Ehvahn's (you really have to imagine the accent), out next major stop would be Buffalo, NY. Instead of of taking the interstate, we decided to take our time and stroll up the coastal highways (is it still a coast if it's just a lake?). We passed through a bunch of little communities on the lake, some quite well off and others quite not. Erie, PA didn't really live up to the image we had in our heads, but to be honest we weren't really sure where that image came from in the first place.

Apparently "Pearl" is universal for restored old buildings

By the time we reached Buffalo it was well past beer o'clock, and we just so happened to pass something called the Pearl St. Grill and Brewery; putting two and two together got us dinner. I had the double IPA (22 ounces thank you very much) which was very hoppy and bitter, but with nice, almost citrus flavors (which gave me a definite buzz while waiting for our food to arrive). Graham had the sampler, a circular tray with miniature "pint" glasses of six or so of the beers.

After dinner we headed north (over a damn toll bridge; seriously, what the hell are taxes for up here?) to Niagra Falls. For some reason I had pictured Niagra Falls in the middle of a forested park that you had to hike down to. Reality it seems is very different. The falls themselves are pretty magnificent, the sheer amount of water that flows down those rivers every second is staggering. We tried walking over to the more famous horseshoe section of the falls when we realized why everyone over there was wearing plastic rain ponchos. To dry off we hiked around the central island for a while before crossing the river to watch the sunset over the Canadian side of the city of Niagra Falls. All in all, Niagra Falls gets an A+ for being visually stunning, and comparatively cheap (only $8 to park).

The only position from which we didn't get soaked

Departing from Niagra marked the beginning of our adventures into the great northern neighbor of ours: Canada. Crossing the border was the first challenge. The border agent grilled us for a while about what possible reason we had to visit his country, asking us the same questions multiple times trying to catch us in a lie. Not a whole lot different than passing through customs at an airport, really.

We headed around Lake Erie for a while, but as it was getting late we decided to find some place to rest our traveled bones. Grimbsy offered a decent Super 8, although all we could get once again was a smoking room. The desk lady was nice enough to give us the AAA rate, though.

In the morning we finished the journey up to our first major stop, Toronto. This city is pretty much giant, very busy, and very interesting. My initial impression of Canadian cities and towns was that they had a distinct British influence in architecture and feel; Graham thought they felt more Californian. A nice mix of both is probably the best way to describe it.

We had an address that apparently was a good place to park and walk around. Turns out the address was a park, a place to walk around. Oh well, close enough. While on our hike, the city decided to be a jerk and begin to thunderstorm. The sky opened and sent forth a torrent of Graham sized rain drops. We took refuge in a Lebanese cafe for lunch, gorging ourselves on delicious schwarma (maybe not authentic Canadian cuisine, but damn tasty none the less). Our last stop in Toronto was the Distillery district, and old warehouse and industry type place being reinvigorated a la the Pearl District of Portland. We hit up the Mill St. Pub, which served its own craft brews on tap. The bartender was extremely friendly, talking to us about the craft brew scene in Canada in general and where to find good beer in the area. We also met a man from Quebec who highly recommended that we check out Montreal (a city not on our current iternery) for beer at his ex-girlfriend's bar and smoked meat sandwiches from Schwartz's.

Heading out of Toronto that evening, we discovered something amazing, something mind blowing, an indescribable phenomenon (despite my attempts to): poutine. We knew about this legend from such cultural icons as Super Troopers, but had yet to experience it first hand. This Canadian delight begins with french fries, but no it doesn't stop there. Add cheese curds on top. Add gravy over everything. Add an extra little dose of beauty and a dab of heaven, and you have poutine. Seriously, well done Canada. Well done.

Graham doesn't think Poland should beat the US in volleyball

For the next hour we were stuck in traffic (learn to merge properly people; and Canada, come on, don't close two of the three lanes on a busy express way the night of a sporting event), and then for the next couple hours we were on the road to Ottawa. An interesting thing we discovered about the GPS unit in my car: some parts of the map are just blank. Apparently the part of Canada between Toronto and Ottawa weren't important enough to include in the American database. I wonder who made that decision to just say "eh" to an entire region of the province.

We ended up rolling into Ottawa a bit late (one in the morning) only to discover that there was some sort of golf tournament going on that weekend, which meant nearly zero available rooms. We drove around from motel to motel, until we found a room for $200...which we promptly rejected. On a whim, we used the GPS to help us find a motel in the area, which led us to Webb's Motel, an awesome hole in the wall kind of place with rooms! Cheap (ish) rooms!

We found Graham sized ladies to have tea with

After a much needed nearly full nights sleep, we found a neat little diner for breakfast then headed downtown to the parliament buildings. We bit the bullet and paid for parking in a garage (with tiny little spaces), which worked out well as we were able to park quite close to parliament. The buildings themselves are brilliant; a bit gothic with intricate details, tons of bronze statues sprinkled around the grounds, and monuments to wars we didn't even realize happened (apparently America tried invading Canada, you may have heard of the war of 1812).

Out of Ottawa and back on the road towards Montreal. We decided that the promise of more delicious Canadian things was too much to pass up, plus we're doing well on our time table, needing only to get to Boston by the 19th.

It happened gradually at first; a sign here or an advert there. But when we stopped in a small town grocery store for something to drink and heard all the announcements in French, we knew we were getting close to the province of Quebec, French Canada. Passing into the providence itself, all traffic signs switched to French first, English second.

By the time we got near Montreal proper, it was approaching rush hour. Consequently it took us nearly an hour to go the last couple of miles. But we finally found our way to the recommended pub in the heart of a suburban/commercial downtown area. Not speaking a lick of French between us, we were a bit nervous, but luckily our waitress spoke English (enough to get our order at least). We drank down our brews and went for a walk to get some delicious smoked meat sandwiches (luckily the pub was in the same neighborhood as Schwartz's). And good they were. This was one of those hole in the wall shops, although it must be pretty famous because the line to sit down was out the door. If you wanted an order to go, though, you could just walk in; not a hard choice for us.

Our last major stop in Canada was to be the city of Quebec. The trip from Montreal was simple enough, and we arrived in town earlier this time (9 or 10 at night). Unfortunately, finding a motel was just as troublesome as it had been in Montreal. Every sign being in French only compounded our troubles (we did learn that "complet" means full or no vacancy). Our luck changed finally at a one star cheap motel, with a single bed in a cramped room. Oh and the TV was stuck on porn when we first turned it on (we finally figured out how to get back to regular broadcast TV).

In the morning we headed into downtown Quebec. The French/European influence was amazing; we could have easily been walking around in a city in France. Forget flying to Europe, save some money and fly to Quebec. We grabbed a sandwich for breakfast, then walked around the city for a bit. It is built on a bit of a hill, so we walked to the top to the "Citadelle", which seems to be an old military base or something. From there you can walk on the Governor's Promenade which circles around the outside of the hill through all the vegetation and offers a tremendous view of the river below. This led down to the old Governor General's palace, an enormous castle slightly reminiscent of something you would find at Disney Land.

For the rest of the day we headed south out of Canada, and through very rural Maine. Augusta was pretty much a hole in the ground, but just outside was the town of Hallowell. We stopped at an awesome (and quite busy) pub called the Liberal Cup. After a couple of pints we were back on the road again, finding a Motel 6 (after some calling around) in the town of Lewiston. There we experienced the history making winning swim for Micheal Phelps (woot), and in the morning ate at a restaurant which seemed to cater to the extremely old. From there, it was on to Portland, Maine...

Facial hair status: it's been a bit more than two weeks since I last shaved, and it's getting to the point where I can't really call it stubble anymore and need to deal with it by either shaping it into a beard or shaving it all off. Or I guess I could just keep on looking like a bum.
Mileage status (in miles since we're back in the good ol' oosuh): ~5000
Musical status:
Fiona Apple - Tidal and When the Pawn
Thrice - The Alchemy Index III & IV
The Beatles - Revolver
George Thoroughgood - Extended Versions Live
Daft Punk - Alive 2007
Norah Jones - Feels Like Home
Gnarls Barkely - The Odd Couple

Day 13: Still catching up

2008-08-14T16:57:00.000-07:00

On Sunday I had a nice lie in (much needed I'm sure). I rolled out around 10, and immediately into the Starbucks down the street to get my daily fix of internet news and nonsense. Vowing again to stay away from the toll road, I headed east towards the lake and took a nice local highway along the shore.

Graham says "Jesus would approve"

This eventually met up with the interstate (post toll section thankfully), which meant traffic. Sunday afternoon traffic going south into Chicago. My regiment of drinking as much water as I could was starting to catch up to me, as well as a slight irritation with the crowds of cars, so I took an exit looking for a bathroom. From here I decided to move towards the shore line again as I had heard the shore line road was interesting and goes right through downtown. This part of Chicago was pretty interesting, reminding me of a blend between northwest and southeast Portland.

Traffic began increasing as I approached the shore, which I realized was due to the giant public park the road I was on led to. A combination of traffic, stress of driving in an unknown city, and a renewed desire to use the restroom caused me to turn on what I thought was the correct road, but turned out to be one that ran parallel, with no way of connecting.

This began an adventure in navigating downtown Chicago trying to get on the right highway. Taking a wrong turn I eventually joined up with the correct route, however in the wrong direction. There must be some psychological effect that a full bladder has on the brain, because I was making some pretty poor judgment calls about turns and such. By this point, I was at the stage where had I been able to discover the proper logistics I would have used one of the empty bottles I had rattling around.

Once I was finally able to get on the shore line drive in the right direction, I decided to sacrifice my comfort in favor of not getting lost again. The road was nice, good speed and right on the lake; I was able to take in much of downtown Chicago at 60 mph.

Eventually, though, I was led into south Chicago. This is where my trip took a turn for the culturally interesting. I had this conversation with Graham, who helped me really flesh this out as he had the same general observations. Being from Portland, I hope to be a liberal and open person, and for the most part believe myself to be. However, with that in mind, the other element of being from Oregon is a lack of extreme economic diversity; for the most part, the state (at least the Portland metro area) has a range of middle class with few outliers on either side. Driving into south Chicago, I was abruptly thrown into a poor, predominantly African American community. In and of itself, not necessarily a threatening environment, but I was already lost (sort of) and quite out of my element. Against my intellectual self, I admit that I felt uncomfortable. I am unsure whether it was from expectaions and biases from what I've seen in popular media, a lack of personal experience in this kind of situation, or most likely a combination of the two. But the worst part was that I was frustrated in myself for succumbing to a fear that I know to be illogical. I know that the chances of anything adverse happening to me are low, and probably mostly equal no matter where I am, but I couldn't help but feel uneasy.

How do you combat those kinds of personal biases, when you know intellectually that they have no base? Putting yourself out there, out of your comfort zone, forcing yourself to confront your unease perhaps? I don't know the answer.

Needless to say, I found my way out of Chicago and into Indiana. This is where I had my first taste of the delicious institution known as White Castle. If what you want are tasty little burgers and fries, White Castle delivers. No frills or extras.

You provide compelling arguments.

I got out to Graham's around 9 (being in the Eastern time zone now). We went out to what is referred to as the "Oregon District" of Dayton, a street of shops and pubs that don't serve any Oregon beer. So why the name? Graham's housemates Bree and Ben postulated that it has something to do with the Oregon trail, and this district perhaps being a staging area. Probably the best explanation I heard. Despite not being from Oregon, the beer wasn't half bad for sure.

Monday we spent tromping around Dayton, visiting the Air Force Museum (very interesting), then heading out to Yellowsprings (the town Graham originally lived in when he first came to Ohio). The town is quite nice, but probably more suited for young families just settling down. We took a nice long "hike" through a nature preserve and rewarded ourselves with some beer (Stone Ruination IPA on tap!) and spinach dip.

On Tuesday, we began our journey north towards Cleveland...

Trip eh? Canadian
Kilometers eh? 6646
Music eh?
The Manchester Orchestra - Like a Virgin Losing a Child
Colour Revolt - EP
Lily Allen - Alright, Still

Day 10: A report on day 8

2008-08-11T17:43:00.000-07:00

Fast food test results 1
Hardee's: It may look like Carl's Jr., but that is where the similarities end. Far inferior to it's western cousin.
White Castle: Succeeds in what it purports to do--cheap and fairly tasty no frills burgers and fries. You don't go here for quality, you go for quantity.
Skyline Chili: Not delicious. Apparent claim of popularity among midwesterners under much suspicion.

Since my last posting, I've made quite some progress. Day 8 was pretty uneventful, I stayed mostly to the interstates to save some time and make progress, as I needed to meet up with Graham soon so we could start that leg of the journey. I took a quick jaunt through Madison, Wisconsin and nearly got myself ran over by an ambulance while looking at the capitol building, but really nothing exciting. The town is quite interesting as it is built on a strip of land between two lakes. Driving down the main avenue from the highway, the capitol building stood as a culmination at the end, offering quite a distracting driving experience (also one of the reasons I nearly got myself ran over).

Milwaukee: Town from the highway

From Madison I headed east towards Milwaukee, where I tried unsuccessfully to get myself lost. The city seemed interesting, but I didn't really take the time to explore it much as I intended to reach north Chicago by night.

Around this time I did start to notice a distinct trend in the industrial landscape, favoring more factories but also containing many rundown and abandoned buildings. Much of the land that was once taken up by manufacturing plants has been left largely un-reclaimed. More on this and the atmosphere it seems to create later.

Heading down I-94 towards Chicago, I made the mistake of not taking the last exit in Wisconsin and simply finding a motel among the plethora available. Little did I know that I-94 becomes a lovely toll road right across the border. Luckily I had the $1.50 in cash and didn't need to find out if they would take my debit card (somehow I doubt it). Also, once in Illinois the abundant rate of interstate-side motels dropped off exponentially to basically zero. After about 20 minutes of this freeway (and needing to use the restroom badly) I decided to exit and try my luck blindly driving down local highways.

Lesson about toll highways: not only does it cost money to enter, it costs to exit too.

At this point I was in the north western area of Chicago, or what I know like to call land of endless suburbs. Each "town" flowed seamlessly into the next, with gated communities and tree lined winding streets around every turn. Where I had failed in Milwaukee, I overwhelmingly succeeded here to get myself completely lost.

After an hour or two, I had yet to find any motel in the area (although plenty of suite offering luxury hotels). My best bet, I realized, would be to return to Wisconsin and stay near the border at the exit I missed. However, I desperately wanted to avoid paying the toll to use I-94, so I stubbornly would my way on backroads and highways back to the state line. By the time I reached my destination it was past dark. I rolled into the local Super 8 Motel, crossing my fingers and wishing I had something to sacrifice to better my odds.

No dice.

Big surprise, though; it was Friday night (something I tend to lose track of). The desk clerk suggested I head west down the road to "one of the cheaper motels, they should have rooms". When Super 8 tells you to go to a cheaper motel, that should worry you.

I finally found what I was looking for at the Value Inn: a smoking room with a king sized bed priced at more than I really wanted to pay. Okay, perhaps not ideal, but it was the last room available probably in the state of Wisconsin, so I couldn't be terribly picky.

I know I'm about 2 days behind now in the blogs, but I'm tired so day 9 will have to wait until tomorrow. Tune in for adventures in confusing highways, bladder control, and race relations.

Current trippy status: quite trippy, but its good to be in Dayton and hang out with Graham.
Current trippy miles: >3000 (the couch is too comfy to get off to check)
Current trippy music: Nothing really today, but recently...
The White Stripes: Elephant and Icky Thump (the latter being amazing, truly the best that they have done so far)

Day 8: East of the 'ssippi

2008-08-09T11:39:00.000-07:00

Who knew Graham offered free internet?

Throughout my trip I have seen increasing numbers of motorcycles on the roads, especially as I have traveled east. In fact, more and more these motorcycles have appeared in groups of at least three, and upwards of ten sometimes. I had suspected the reason for this since my first night in Montana, and yesterday this suspicion was confirmed; Sturgis, South Dakota. The annual biker rally has been going on this entire week I have been gone, and culminates this weekend. Never in my life have I seen such a multitude of bikers accumulated in one place. Literally thousands of motorcycles (and some of those funky tri-motorcycles) cruised around the streets of Sturgis, among hundreds of booths, vendors, and venues. It reminded me of a summer music festival like Lollapalooza or Warped Tour, except 100 times crazier. I didn't spend long in Sturgis (to be honest, I felt a bit out of place in my little Civic), I drove the main drag up and down just to soak in as much as I could. I imagine that had I been involved in the motorcycle scene I would have wet myself with excitement.

After Sturgis I headed south on some local highways through Deadwood. The town was kind of interesting, but seemed very cheesy, kind of like the gambling and drinking version of Disneyland. It was pretty bustling with bikers, though (which is fairly unsurprising considering how many signs advertised free draught beer for bikers).

Just down the road from the Bush Sr. stone
carving

Keeping on the southernly trail I ended up at Mt. Rushmore. I didn't have the cash to actually park in the official parking structure, so I ended up simply stopping by the side of the road (probably quite illegally, but I definitely wasn't alone) to snap a couple of pictures. To be honest, not terribly impressive. Maybe my expectations were just too high, but the sculptures seemed quite a bit smaller than I had imagined. Or maybe it was just further away than I realized. Either way, I'm glad I saved my money.

The rest of South Dakota was about what I had heard; that is, completely uninteresting. Maybe I just missed all the interesting things, but somehow I think that list is pretty short. For about 100 miles along I-90 there are advertisements for a place called Wall Drug, which purports itself to be a mecca of everything western. Of course I had to stop. Some of it was pretty interesting to look at, but once again the whole thing seemed so incredibly staged that I couldn't really get over the feeling of walking through "Western town" at some Disney park.

The rest of the interesting things in South Dakota

The next stop I made was Sioux Falls around 11:00 PM (which I think may have actually been 10:00 PM according to when I woke up this morning, but I'm beginning to lose track of what the current time actually is where ever I am; my cell phone can't seem to decided depending on what kind of signal it gets). I considered staying here for the night, but a quick survey of the motels proved futile (thank you Sturgis), and I couldn't find an area un-shady enough to park and sleep for the night. No worries, after two cups of coffee and a sandwich I was energized and couldn't sleep anyways, so I jumped back on I-90 and left South Dakota to those better attuned for it.

I like sunsets and don't care if they are kitsch

Entering Minnesota ended up being a good decision, as I was treated to an awesome lightning show far away on the horizon while I sped down the freeway. Unfortunately I wasn't quite close enough to get any pictures of the actual forks; hopefully I'll get another chance within the coming weeks (chances are probably pretty good).

Three cities later (all still booked), I ended up at Albert Lea. By this point I was pretty exhausted, and was only going to get a few hours sleep even if I did find a motel, so I kicked back in the parking lot of a Hy Vee, a 24 hour grocery super store.

I think I'm starting to get used to this sleeping in the car thing (by the way, my previous hypothesis of getting better sleep stretched out in the backseat is complete bunk; mostly due to "stretched out" being a very generous way to describe curling up in the fetal position just to fit). Falling asleep didn't take long, and I woke up much less than the first night. It's still overrated, though. Tonight is hopefully a motel night.

I'm already into Wisconsin now, it took quite a few stops in Minnesota and here to finally find some internets, things are looking good to push through Madison tonight, maybe even into northern Chicago.

Maybe it's because I spent so little time in South Dakota and Wyoming, but it seems like now that I am getting closer to the east coast the landscape seems to ahve drastically changed quite quickly.

Observation 2: One of the underlying similarities that all people seem to share, no matter which region of the country they are from, is that on average they completely suck at driving. Driving through South Dakota last night, there was this car that would consistently drive up behind me (nearly matching my speed), pass me very slowly, then immediately cut in front of me when they had passed even though there was absolutely zero traffic behind them. They then proceeded to lose about 10% of their speed, causing me to hit my brakes in fear of rear ending them at 70mph. Their speed would then stay below what mine had been on cruise control, so I would pass them back up at my cruising speed, and the whole process started all over again.

Seriously people, learn how the hell to drive.

Today I am: glad to be out of South Dakota.
Miles so far: 2784
Sounds of the drive:
Dustin Kensrue - Please Come Home
AFI - Decemberunderground and Sing the Sorrow
Otis Redding - The Ultimate Otis Redding
More Science Friday Podcasts

Day 7: Away from home, on the range

2008-08-07T18:56:00.000-07:00

This looks oddly familiar.

Pushed on to Bozeman two nights ago after posting in Great Falls. I felt the need for a shower and a real bed for the night, so I ponied up the cash for a room at a local, only slightly shady motel. I brought up any valuables that the folk hanging out in the parking lot BBQing (a few of them shirtless, most of them beer'd) might feel inclined to appropriate, and immediately took a 20 minute shower. Feeling refreshed and clean enough to not offend the general public, I got ready to check out this town and get some grub. Unfortunately, it seemed my room didn't actually lock from the outside, so down came all my valuables again into my car.

Bozeman is actually a pretty nifty town, very reminiscent of Corvallis (it is after all a university town). The downtown area is particularly interesting, with quite a few bars and restaurants to choose from. I could see myself living there for a short while (say while at school), but probably not really long term, as it is slightly more isolated than I would prefer.

Drive by shooting

After a much needed night sleep, I headed south to Yellowstone. Now, I have been to Yellowstone years earlier, and at that time it had recently been ravaged by a forest fire. Although the trees have not completely grown back, the difference is quite noticeable.

Although the scenery was beautiful at Yellowstone, being one of the more popular national parks was a tad annoying. For this reason, I only made one major stop to walk around the geysers, and of course to watch Old Faithful do its thing (which I barely caught as I was walking up). I did see a bald eagle on the way in, though, which was pretty awesome having never seen on before in person.

Looks beautiful, smells horrible.

Apparently, unbeknownst to me, twenty five dollars is the standard fare to enter a national park (or at least the more popular ones), as once again Yellowstone cost me a quarter of a Benjamin to get in. On the positive side, it also include Grand Teton National Park, which I was planning on driving through anyways, so that was a bit of a bonus.

A note about the roads surrounding Yellowstone and Grand Teton: they are under some heavy construction. I probably lost about an hour in travel time yesterday sitting in a line of traffic waiting for a pilot car to drive us through.

After Grand Teton, I decided that I had not made enough eastwardly progress as I would like. Therefore, Gillette became my goal for the night, I drove pretty much the rest of the day (and some of the night).

As not much else happened to report on, here's a list of various thoughts or observations I've had so far, mostly unrelated to anything else.

Why anyone would blame it on the Tetons is beyond me

My car has become a mobile catastrophic event for the insect population of the western United States. The front of my car looks like I painted it yellow and I have to stop at almost every town to wipe my windshield clean.
The Red Cross of Montana has a campaign where they place little white crosses next to the road where someone has died in an accident on the highways (and multiple crosses if more than one person died at that location). It's slightly chilling to realize how many people have lost their lives on even the few highways that I drove.
Every state really seems to have something to offer, be it beautiful scenery, historical significance, or some undefinable quality. However, this does not indicate that I would actually like to live in every place I've been through so far.
My car gets extremely decent gas mileage with mostly highway driving. I've been averaging 38ish mpgs, but yesterday between Bozeman and Riverton I somehow got 41 mpg. Thank you Honda and you're higher efficiency standards.
While having your windows down is an okay way to cool off on the road, air conditioning may be the best invention in the automobile industry in the history of everything, with the possible exception of...
Cruise control. I'm pretty sure this is why I'm getting the gas mileage I am. Although, cruise control on a manual seems to pretty much give up when it encounters any kind of incline, though I'm pretty sure this is due to the mechanics of cruise control only really maintaining rpm's, and not the actual speed.
Being able to see the entire Milky Way is amazing.
Deer like to come out at night and stand on the edge of the highway staring down cars. This is some sort of game for them, and they are good at it. Coming around a mountain corner at 60 mph to see a buck staring directly at me almost made me mess myself.

Time to leave Gillette and keep on keeping on. Next up, Mt. Rushmore and South Dakota.

Trip status: can't believe it's almost been a week.
Total Miles put on this bad boy so far: 1839 (I put quite a few on yesterday)
Recent listenings:
Science Friday podcasts
Norah Jones - Come Away With Me
The White Stripes - Get Behind Me Satan

Day 5: Wait a tick...

2008-08-06T12:38:00.000-07:00

I must have done something to Montana in a past life, like dumped a metric ton of toxic waste in some pristine lake or ran for government. More on this to follow.

Early yesterday I headed out of Whitefish towards Glacier. I arrived at the park probably around 9:30 or so (I don't quite remember and was too busy looking out the window to look at the clock). Note to anyone who has never visited Glacier, even if you only plan on driving through, it will cost you TWENTY FIVE DOLLARS just to enter the park. The pass lasts for seven days, so definitely plan on longer stays to really get the most out of your TWENTY FIVE DOLLARS. There is one main road through the park going west to east aptly named Going-To-The-Sun road. I'll give it an A+ for a name more interesting than Glacier Drive or Twenty Five Dollars to Drive On This road.

Being from Oregon, I've seen and driven through mountains before, but nothing like this. For as much as I was irked by the steep entrance fee, I must admit that once I got into the park those feelings were mostly abated. Awesome, in the true sense of the word. Nothing I write will really live up to it, so I won't even bother.

I arrived at my camp ground, Rising sun, near the east end of the park around noon. After setting up my tent and paying my fee, I packed my camera equipment and set off on a hike. From Rising Sun, the only official trail is to Otokomi Lake, a 5.2 mile hike that rises about 1900 feet. Keep in mind, you start from an altitude of over 5000 feet above sea level. After about 15 minutes on the trail, I was cursing myself for bringing so much equipment (would I really need a tripod and flash?), but I really didn't want to turn back.

Don't feed the bears bits of yourself.

One thing to note about Glacier, and specifically with respect to hiking/camping there: bears. Upon entering the trail head, there was a sign informing me that I had no guarantee of safety if I went any further. There are many useful tips to avoiding bear conflicts in the literature provided, however. For example, apparently bears don't like to be surprised, so make a lot of racket on your hike. One method of achieving this, which I resorted to since I was hiking alone, is to clap loudly every few minutes. It felt a bit goofy to be honest, but I survived unmauled.

The hike was pretty intense, especially carrying probably 40 lbs of camera equipment, backpack, and water on my back. Note to future self, most of the time all that equipment is not necessary. Seriously.

Probably should have used the tripod for this
shot to justify bringing it along.

I took a break for a bit on the bank of the river the trail followed. It was quite pleasant, and gave my blistered feet a much needed rest.

Inspired by the beauty of the river and determined to see the damn lake it originated from, I pushed on. I had been on the trail for a good couple of hours now, so I felt it must be close. A couple minutes up the trail, however, I met a couple on their way back. Apparently they had left the lake over an hour previous, and were coming downhill.

After weighing my options, and realizing that I was running uncomfortably low on water (I had filled a 2 liter Camelbak before leaving), I decided to head back. I had come about 3.5 miles and risen about 1500 feet; not bad, I thought, for my first major hike of the trip.

Coming back down was (obviously) much easier than going up, and mostly uneventful. I passed a man wearing an umbrella hat ("Gives me an excuse to stop," he said as I walked by), and caught up to a couple who thought they saw a bear on the trail, but which turned out to be a stump.

Not pictured: flies eating of my flesh.

I was bummed that I didn't get to the lake at the end of the trail, but luckily my campground was across the road from St Mary Lake. I bandaged up my feet, put on my lighter backpack and Birkenstocks, and set out again.

The lake was that beautiful shade of blue green, and very very cold (pure glacial waters tend to do that apparently). I sat for a while soaking my feet and soaking in the view, until I could no longer stand the multitude of flies that my salty skin attracted. Heading back to camp, it happened.

Here's the thing about nature. Walking around is like playing Craps with about 6 dice; you get snake eyes much less often than usual, but it still sucks.

Me: (throws dice) Ooo awesome I just got triple snake eyes! That must win something right?!
Nature: Oh bad lucky matey, triple snake eyes wins a tick in your leg.
Me: Bummer.

Yup, I joined the exclusive "I've had a parasite embedded in my skin" club (newsletter forthcoming). After cursing profusely for a few minutes, I decided I better do something about it. I booked it (as much as one can "book it" in Birks with blisters on both feet and aching leg muscles) back to the camp store to see if they had any handy tick removing devices, or if they could direct me to a park ranger.

They had tweezers and a book with an article on how to remove ticks.

I'll take what I can get, I thought, and purchased the tweezers. I sat down on the porch and proceeded to dig at my cafe with my newly acquired surgical instruments, chasing the bugger further into my skin. This was about as pleasant as it sounds, so I won't go into anymore detail. The story ends with me having the campground host dig out the remaining bits with a sterilized needle.

The rest of my night was comparatively boring. I ate, missed the ranger's talk on cats because my clock was an hour late, and went to bed pretty early.

This morning I packed up, and have pretty much been on the road since. I'm currently in Great Falls, Montana, deciding where to go from here. I'm thinking Yellowstone, although I may have had enough of nature for a while.

Trip status: itchy, I feel like I've been eaten alive by mosquitoes.
Total mileage: Just over 1000 (I can't be bothered to level Starbucks to check).
Soundtrack for the day:
The Ataris - so long, astoria
Story of the Year - Page Avenue
Yellowcard - Ocean Avenue & Lights and Sounds
(today was a flashback to sophomore year in college)

Day 3: Revenge of the Roadtrip

2008-08-04T20:07:00.000-07:00

Who put a swimming pool out here?

Day three marks my first day of misadventure. It started out well enough, although I did seem to forget when setting the alarm on my cell phone that it stubbornly still believed to be residing in Portland; I won't complain about an extra hour of sleep, though. When I finally did roll out of bed and freshen up, I was greeted with coffee and breakfast before packing up and leaving the Linn's.

They had mentioned Dickey Lake as being quite interesting, and conveniently on my way to Whitefish, so my first stop for the day occurred less than 15 minutes after leaving. And indeed, the lake was beautiful; clear as any pool I'd been in, and amazing shades of green and blue depending on the depth. I strapped on my hiking shoes and went for a nice walk around the edge of the lake, discovering on the way that squirrels make a kind of odd chirping sound when they are either courting or playing (I couldn't tell for sure).

I decided to pack it in and head for Whitefish, which began the series of events which led to semi-tragedy. Somehow, due to the exact angle that I had parked at, coupled with some very suspiciously low parking area demarking stumps, I managed to back up over one stump and land with my front right wheel suspended between two.

Not pictured: one broken shovel

Awesome.

Being a front wheel drive car, my little Civic stood no chance. Surveying the damage and cursing my brilliance, I tried to devise various plans to free my car.

Dig out the back stump so I may be able to finish backing up.
Jack the car up, place a series of branches and logs of increasing diameters underneath the front wheel to build a makeshift ramp of sorts in order to pull forward.
Jack the car up, place a series of any branches that would hold the front wheel up enough so that I was no longer hanging, and try to maneuver out from between the stumps in reverse.

One failed due to the fact that the shovel I brought with me is probably not rated for digging anything more challenging than snow, as well as the fact that the said stump was probably buried ten feet into the ground.

Two failed due to my car not being able to generate enough torque for the right wheel to climb the ramp and simultaneously not generating too much torque so the left wheel wouldn't spin out in the gravel.

Three worked insofar that it got me off of the front stump, but then promptly stuck me on the rear one.

Luckily it was a nice day for a walk. Four or five miles later I arrived at a little store in Trego and was able to use a payphone to call John Linn. It's amazing what a chain saw can do to stumps under your car (once again, I am indebted to the Linns, thank you).

Not wanting my last memory of such a beautiful lake to be of my own stupidity, I jumped in it. Very refreshing. After a quick Douglas Deck Change (sans towel), I was finally starting the short trip to Whitefish; and only three hours late.

Parking downtown, I bummed around for a bit, enjoying the very walker friendly town. Whitefish is a pretty neat little town, part tourist due to the amount of recreation nearby, and part historical landmark. A bit like Cannon Beach on steroids and historical crack.

After sitting on a dock at the beach for the better part of an hour, I had a pretty flavorful IPA at the local brewery tasting room, and headed to the Red Caboose for dinner. Unfortunately the place was mobbed, but I was able to watch the waitresses slowly lose sanity while I waited at the counter. The burger was pretty tasty (swiss cheese with grilled onions and sauteed mushrooms), but according to the local couple next to me, Bulldog is the place for an amazingly decent mushroom swiss burger. Future self, take note.

Sitting on the dock of a bay

Tomorrow I'm heading for Glacier National Park. After reading up on it, I don't think I'm quite prepared (nor have I filled out a permit application) to backpack into the back country. So instead, I'm going to stay at one of the drive in campgrounds and try to get some day hikes in. I'm pretty excited about it, as everything I've heard about Glacier is positive. I may even spend two nights there; one at Rising Sun campground, and the second at Many Glacier. We shall see.

Right now my trip feels: tired from trying to dig my car out.
Miles traveled thus far: 760
Music for the day:
Jimi Hendrix - Radio One and BBC Sessions
Cream - Disraeli Gears
The sounds of thousands of crickets on my walk.

Day 2: Awakened by the prodigal sun

2008-08-03T19:25:00.000-07:00

After my successful wardrive at Gonzaga, I cruised the streets of downtown Spokane (or what I assumed to be, it had the largest buildings around). Finding a bar was easier than finding a parking spot, but once I did I ended up at the Blue Spark. Not a bad little place, perhaps a tad on the clubish side for me (and really, only with respect to the overwhelmingly loud pop music permeating the scene), they scored bonus points for having Full Sail Prodigal Sun IPA on tap!

Not really feeling ready to sleep or pay for a hotel, I decided to head back to I-90 and make for Idaho. I fill up with gas at a station that looks and sounds eerily like Tesco (a major retailer and petrol station across the pond), and arrive in Coeur D'Alene shortly thereafter. Understanding that it is past midnight, and I'm doing what I can to save money on this trip, I find a handy Safeway, park, and attempt to get some sleep.

I do not recommend this.

While quite feasible and definitely thrifty, sleeping in your car in a Safeway parking lot has the following drawbacks:

Street lights. Great for making you feel safe and secure, horrible when you close your eyes and can see the inside of your eyelids.
Sleeping in a compact sedan is less than optimal at the best of times with no cargo. When your car is packed full of stuff you need to live on for the next half dozen weeks, it makes for not much comfort room. Although, I think with a little repacking I can fit everything in the trunk and passenger seat, leaving the enormous (in comparison) back seat for an almost enjoyable half night's sleep (see below).
When the sun comes up, you do too. I don't know how many of you have actually watched the sun rise recently, but let me inform those not in the know that it gets good and bright long before a single ray of sun peaks over the horizon. This is, of course, exaggerated in mountainous areas.
While this time I was able to avoid pesky trains, apparently the gas tanker likes to show up nice and early to beat the rush.

On the plus side, Safeway opens almost as early as you will get up, so breakfast is never an issue.

Good morning Coeur D'Alene

I picked up a fresh bagel and a couple of apples and headed into town. For those who haven't been, Coeur D'Alene is quite a nice little town, and sits on a beautiful lake. I sat on the beach eating my breakfast and trying not to think about how it was earlier than I had gotten up in a couple of months.

Exploring the town was semi-eventful. Apparently not a lot of businesses like to open at 7 on a Sunday morning. Heading north through town I discovered the very exclusive Hayden Lake. All attempts on my part to actually get near enough the lake to park and even touch it without egregiously trespassing were foiled.

All was not lost, however, as I did encounter my first example of wildlife driving through neighbors of ridiculous houses: a deer. Ok perhaps not the most exciting of wild animals to come upon (I see more eating my Mom's flowers whenever I visit home), but I'll take what I can get.

Once you figure out what you're looking for, it's over there

I felt like I had gotten enough from a town I had trouble pronouncing, so I jumped on US-95 and went north. The drive was mostly uneventful, and indeed quite quiet (most of the folks who get up this early on a Sunday were still in church).

The next real town of interest was Sandpoint. I traversed another fairly impressive bridge that I once again completely failed to get any pictures of. Not feeling particularly touristy, I didn't spend much more time in Sandpoint that what it took to stop and grab a coffee (or what I refer to as 10 o'clock lunch).

I stopped to ponder various matters at Ponder Point. There really isn't any other story there, I just found it funny to see a town with that name and had to attempt some kind of joke with it. Oh well.

Nessie's lesser known American cousin

Between Sandpoint and Bonners Ferry there was quite a lot of driving, and a bit of turning too. I did stop once to do a spot of hiking and stretch my clutch leg where I happened to make a fairly important biological discovery, pictured left. But really, nothing to write home about.

Bonners Ferry is a neat little town, and in fact when I stopped there was some sort of community basketball event taking place. There was also a local art shop with some truly fantastic photographs and paintings (as well as the usual filler "art").

Out of Bonners Ferry and onto US-2. This took me into Montana, where suddenly a road that was rated at 55 mph in Idaho, is instantly safe to drive at 70+ across the border.

Imagine this * 10,000

Montana is beautiful. Simple as that. Any photos I took just cannot do it justice. And I've only been through the northwest corner of it. Definitely more to come on this issue in the coming days.

I ended today's trek in Trego, via Libby and Eureka, at the Linn's amazing house. I am extremely thankful to them for putting me up for the night, plus spoiling me with a delicious home cooked meal (something I won't be getting much of on this trip I'm afraid). Graham buddy, you have a lot to live up to when I get to your place; your parents set the bar pretty high for hospitality.

Sleeping in a real bed will be fabulous tonight. Tomorrow: Whitefish and beyond.

Observation 1: This may sound extremely obvious, but America is big. Until you actually drive it, you never realize just how large this country is. During my trips over to the UK we have driven around that country fairly extensively. This has instilled in me something of what to expect a country should be like by car. Now, obviously, America is quite a bit bigger than the UK, but you can't truly grasp its sheer size until you experience it mile by mile. And I'm only in Montana.

Current road trip status: seriously thinking about considering retiring here.
Total miles: 686
Currently Listening to:
Damien Rice - Everything I had that Lynsey gave me. Basically just listened to this all day (other than finishing up the Ricky Gervais bodcasts). Truly amazing and talented group, I can't get over them. If you haven't yet checked them out, do it. Do it right now.

Day 1: Our neighbor to the north

2008-08-02T22:14:00.000-07:00

After a little bit of a slow start to the day (who would have thought I should have done laundry BEFORE the morning I was leaving?), I finally made it out on the road; where I promptly got stuck in traffic before even leaving Portland.

The first part of the trip was fairly uneventful. The Columbia gorge is beautiful, for sure, but lets be honest: it's not exactly all that new and exciting when you've lived in the area for 23 years.

I-84 took me all the way to where I-82 ends abruptly in a T-junction with 84. At this point I turned north, which took me through what some would probably call the lovely quaint town of Umatilla, but I think I'll prefer to call it simply interesting. Granted, I only spent a few minutes driving around almost unsuccessfully looking for a grocery store, but in that time I was able to compile the following lists.

Things Umatilla has

A military depot named after it
A bridge
Multiple strip clubs (or "exotic experiences" as one signed described it)
A plethora of shady little shops (one of them being some kind of testing lab)
About 27 gas stations and truck stops

Things Umatilla doesn't have

More than one street of substance
Any kind of well labeled grocery store
A city hall (a sign in a gravel parking lot proclaimed this was "coming soon")
A reason for me to return

Luckily I was able to find a Western Family product peddling store, purchase some sandwich making materials, and be on my way into my first new state!

Washington: The Evergreen State

Despite the slightly barren landscape, this part of the drive was fairly interesting, in as much as this was the first time I had driven this particular stretch of interstate.

It passed fairly quickly and rather enjoyably in fact. At Kennewick I branched off of the ol' interstate and took US395 north out of town. There was a pretty amazing bridge that I completely failed to get a picture of, so I'll just leave that one as an imagination exercise for the reader.

Doing what I do, I caught a pretty neat sunset through an old structure of some sort, while taking care not to trespass and probably get myself shot by an irate rural farmer.

Neat!

Unfortunately, once the sunset it made it a bit harder to appreciate the landscape, so I jumped off at what may end up being my first night stop (I haven't decided this yet): Spokane. The city is actually quite a bit larger than I had imagined. Granted, what I had imagined was based off of entirely zero knowledge of the place, other than the fact that it is in Washington "somewhere". After driving around looking for a Starbucks to snatch some wifi, I realized that 1. Not every city is like Portland, with a Starbucks at every half-block, and 2. Starbucks wifi is not free wifi.

But Colin, you may ask, how then are you uploading all of these neat sunset pictures?

BAM internet problem solved

Thank god for higher education and open access points.

I cruised around Spokane for a while, searching for somewhere to purchase eye drops that I had completely forgotten to get while "getting ready to go this week" (read: shopping yesterday and packing this morning). Think I may go check out a bar or two before deciding what to do for the night.

Trip status so far: good start.
Total miles: 390
Currently listening to:
Feist - The Reminder
Norah Jones - Feels Like Home
Billy Connoly - Classic Collony in Words
The Ricky Gervais "Bodcast"

The Plan

2008-07-14T13:28:00.000-07:00

Here's the plan: approximately 11,500 miles, 29 states, 8 days of driving time, and 32ish tanks of gas (here's to hoping for better mileage from all that highway driving).

View Larger Map

Things I still need to do before I go

Buy new tires since apparently having to refill a tire every week because you somehow ran over 6 nails at once isn't normal nor a good thing
Have the car serviced. Maybe new windshield wipers too; ones that actually move water and grime off the windshield rather than just smearing everything together
Make a list of things I need to unpack from my wall of boxes to take with me
Stop making lists and make some money

Hmm, I better get going on that.