Big Piney, WY (again)

Well, I'm home now. I wish I had some deep and insightful understanding of life, the world, or the last three months, I don't. At least not yet. I think I need to get some distance from it all before I can see it in any sort of objective light.

In the meantime enjoy the video below. It's a compilation of my favorite photos from the trip put to music. Stay tuned for a final entry in a week or two.

Boise, ID

This is my last social stop of the trip and to be honest, I’m not yet sure how I feel about that. I got into town on New Year’s Eve and accompanied (invited myself) along with my friends over to a low-key party. The evening wasn’t all that noteworthy, but I do take a little pride anytime I drink that much whisky and avoid making an ass of myself. At some point that evening I made plans with a buddy to do a ride-along with him one night. He’s a parole officer and a couple nights a week he goes out and does unannounced visits on his parolees/probationers to make sure they’re staying out of trouble.

It was a new and interesting experience for me. I had to sign a liability release and wear a bullet-proof vest, even so he wouldn’t let me carry a gun. Barring that I suggested a might carry a machete but he nixed that idea too, seriously, how scary would I be walking around at night with a machete hanging from my hip? I thought I’d just be tagging along and watching but as it turned out I actually got to assist in searching through people’s homes for drugs, alcohol, guns or anything else that was deemed by the court to be too much fun for a felon.

When a person agrees to probation or parole they agree to waive their fourth amendment rights. For those of you not up on the bill of rights, that’s the one that protects against illegal search and seizure. By waiving it, any member of law enforcement may search your house, car, or anywhere else you happen to be. At first it was a little strange, but by the end of the night I was rifling though people’s possessions like I was digging through the sale bin at a hardware store.

Rufus, OR

I drove through the Columbia River Gorge today and it’s like so much else of the northwest, big. The Historic Columbia River Highway cut through lush green forests, across old mossy bridges and next to more than a few long and crashing waterfalls. At one point it took me to an overlook above the river and I almost didn’t want to get out of Rocinante for the wind. Gusts were shaking my two-and-a-half ton steed like it was a Tonka Toy, and the other vehicles parked nearby weren’t faring any better. To look at them you’d have guessed we were at a make-out point rather than a scenic point. As soon as I stepped out the wind almost knocked me down and even tried to rip the camera out of my hands. I can honestly say I’ve never felt anything like it. Walking against it was such a struggle I was almost at the point of dropping to all fours and crawling back to Rocinante.

Right now I’m sitting at a free campground just below the John Day dam and despite the frequent trains and the interstate nearby, it is the best place I’ve stopped in a few days. In an earlier post I mentioned how this trip is wearing on me, one of the things I’ve noticed is all the stuff I took for granted. Just having access to a bathroom is nicer than you might imagine. The ability to get up and take a shower in the morning is such a luxury. That sort of thing is impossible for me while I’m camping. I can do a bucket bath in the evening, but I don’t like Scotch for breakfast and since I can only find the testicular fortitude for stripping down and getting wet in 30 degree winds after a healthy measure of whisky, all my bucket baths are drunk and nocturnal.

Grants Pass, OR

I crossed over the state line on an eighth of a tank trying to avoid paying those California fuel prices. As it turns out, I should have filled up before I got here. Oregon state law requires an attendant pump your gas for you, which probably doesn’t keep prices down. I can’t remember the last time someone else pumped gas for me. I filled up so hopefully the next time I need gas will be in Washington, is it any cheaper there?

I’ve got to be honest with you, this trip is wearing on me. I hate to burst the bubble of anyone living vicariously through me, but even the best road trip requires a fair amount of work. For example, there is rarely a moment on the road when I’m not looking for something. Fuel, food, ice, wifi, a place to camp, a bathroom, propane, a Laundromat, and sometimes just a place to pull over and check the map all make the list pretty frequently. Also, but for the few hours a day I’m actually driving, mine is a cold and un-climate controlled world. Sure, there have been a few spots in AZ and So-Cal where the weather was ok, but most nights it gets below freezing and most mornings are hard. The most trying aspect is probably the bathroom situation. Since October 9th, the vast majority of the bathrooms I’ve used have been public restrooms. Some are nice and clean; many are not. Highway rest areas, fast food joints, grocery stores, gas stations, the list is long and ignominious. Now don’t misunderstand me, I love traveling, a man doesn’t embark on a journey like this if he doesn’t, but I love tacos too and three months of tacos would suck.

Crescent City, CA

Today I shucked on my long-handles and it will be May before I go without. Driving up the coast there was a ferocious wind trying like hell to knock poor Rocinante over. The plus side of that were some cool photos of wind-whipped waves slamming into the coast. I took some extra shots because I had to say goodbye to the Pacific today. I’m turning inland and I’m not sure when I’ll get to the coast again.

Humboldt, CA

Driving through a grove of giant redwoods makes you feel like a mouse must feel when it drives a tiny car through a normal-sized forest like they do in some movies and books, er, ok, not my best analogy. It is a pretty surreal feeling, though. This time of year is rainier than usual so I didn’t take as many photos as I wanted to, but oh well, you get the idea.

When I made camp (a.k.a. parked) I decided to let Mr Kesuke Miyagi (that’s right, there was only one entry in my Name-The-Bonsai contest so SM won) frolic among some of his big brothers and sisters. I set him on the picnic table and not five minutes later I heard a crash. When I looked outside I saw Mr. Kesuke Miyagi had been knocked over. There was only one other campsite occupied, so I figured it wasn’t a gang of ruffians and carnivorous bunny rabbits aren’t known for vandalism so, I got out to see wtf happened. It seems a branch had fallen from one of those big red trees and just happened to hit my sidekick. I took this as an omen from the tree gods, so I tried to light one of them on fire in retaliation. As it turns out, wet trees don’t burn so well. Instead I moved to a spot further from attack-trees.

Mountain View, CA

I spent a couple days visiting my sister and her husband and a couple more days visiting their house. They went to the other coast for x-mas and I took advantage of free access to a shower, washer and dryer, Wii, etc. The most exciting thing is I finally got my Mac fixed, whoo hoo!

I did have a wonderful x-mas eve, though. I watched House reruns on TV and drank Scotch, jealous? X-mas day came and I decided it was time to get moving before I got any more comfortable.

On the way out of town I took a few minutes to drive around downtown San Francisco before crossing that Golden Gate and heading north. Highway 1 is getting a little tiresome so 101, here I come.

Salinas, CA

When I began this trip so long ago I could not help but think of another man who undertook a similar trip. He was born and raised in this town. His first novels were written and based in this town. Later, the residents of this town called his books communist and burned them in the town square. He grew to despise this town. Now there are businesses and streets named for him and the house he was born in is an overpriced restaurant with his name on it.

I am speaking, of course, of John Steinbeck. I wasn’t going to come here; the town’s treatment of him and subsequent hypocrisy leaves a bad taste in my mouth. In the final equation, however, how could I resist seeing the original Rocinante? Yes, it’s true, I stole the name from Steinbeck (who stole it from Cervantes), but if one is going to steal, who better to steal from?

The town’s economy is still based on agriculture and the farms are still worked by migrant workers. According to some sources (biased though they are) this is some of the most fertile land in the world. Outside town limits this might be true, inside it’s just another California town.

Plaskett Creek, CA

Driving up a coastline is dangerous in the daytime. The ocean tugs at your eyes when you need most to be taming that twitchy road. After an hour of riding the asphalt wave I had to stop and let my head untwist and where I stopped is a campground near enough to hear the waves crashing on the rocks.

Most nights since I left Big Piney I look up at some point and find Orion, the Hunter. It’s the only constellation I know and I’ve known it since I was young. I’d lie on a raft in the backyard pool for so long that I’d dry out watching Orion creep across the sky, hunting the moon. It sounds silly, but his name sounds like mine so I’ve always felt a connection. I’m a hunter too, I guess, this trip is a hunting trip. My quarry doesn’t have a name yet, but I think I’ve stumbled onto its trail.

Morro Bay, CA

I pulled into the state park in town, fully resigned to coughing up the cash to camp. The check-in booth was empty but had a list of unoccupied sites and a reminder to check in and pay the $20 fee by 10am. I meandered through the park and found a spot amongst all the families enjoying their x-mas break. First I cooked: chicken, mashed potatoes, corn, hot chocolate. Then I watched TV (Rocinante has a flip down TV) and sipped Scotch. Then I took a hot shower. Then I realized all that was left was to sleep, and I could do that anywhere. Then I left and found a nice little side street where I could sleep and keep my $20.

The next morning I found a camera shop in San Luis Obispo where I could get my camera cleaned. Afterwards I went back to Morro Bay and gave my day to the ocean. In return she gave me the sunset.

Ridgecrest, CA

Such a subdivision-y name for a wind-blown military town in the desert. They should call it Fort Hell Sand or Camp Deathwind, something that really lets a person know what this place is. Woke up to another Walmart parking lot, which I have decided is maybe a half-step less depressing than waking up in a Turkish Prison. After many days of desert isolation it was nice to get a chance to catch up on the chores: groceries, internet, ice for the cooler, laundromat, refuel, Rocinante-cleaning.

Quick movie review: Eragon sucked. The plot was thin and contrived and it depresses me that someone got paid for writing it.

Death Valley, CA

Let me explain how they do it, the National Park Service that is. They build these nice little campgrounds with fire rings, electrical hook-ups, hot showers, etc. Then, they charge you 10-25 dollars per night to use them. These campgrounds are really designed for the RV crowd, not people like me who actually camp or just need enough space to park a van. I don’t need electricity, water or a picnic table, I have all those things in the van, yet I still end up paying the same amount as some guy with a 40 foot RV towing a Jeep. Then they don’t tell you where the free primitive camping is and let me tell you, it is a pain in the ass getting woken up at 2am because you didn’t know you couldn’t camp there. The only way to know where you can camp is by the signs that say things like “No Camping Next 3 Miles”. Then you know you can camp before and after those three miles. The problem is, those three miles are the only three miles out of forty where camping is even a possibility. The other 37 miles of road are flanked by deep ravines or man-made berms or giant carnivorous rabbits.

Park rangers aren’t so much protectors of the environment as they are a bunch of rent-a-cops employed by accountants. Don’t get me wrong, I’m all for environmental responsibility, but charging a cover for mother nature is f’ing ridiculous. They tell us the money collected is to help preserve our fragile ecosystems. Keep in mind, these “fragile ecosystems” we tiptoe oh-so gently around will obliterate every trace of human existence within a few thousand years of our eventual extinction. The truth is, it’s somewhat arrogant of us to think that we even could destroy the environment. It was here a long time before we evolved and it will be here a long time after our time at the top of the food chain runs out.

Ok, I’m done with that little rant. Death Valley is amazing. The first night I pulled a few miles down a dirt road and camped. At dusk I found myself sitting on top of Rocinante* (the new name for the beast) watching the last sliver of day trickle down the rocks and wondering if I had ever experienced a silence so complete. My cheap Timex sounded like a hammer on a tin roof and my heartbeat seemed to rattle my head. A bird, silhouetted against the night sky, glided toward me and for a moment I wondered if it might land on my shoulder (or peck my eyes out). It couldn’t have been more than a few feet away when it went over me and even then the silence was perfect. I found myself pitying the creatures it hunts.

The next morning was as still as the night before and I took my time preparing to move on. On the ground I noticed a little scrap of garlic skin next to a rock. I remembered I had watched it land there the night before while preparing my dinner. In twelve hours not a single whisper of wind had so much as tickled that dry wisp into flight.

I spent that day meandering across the valley floor stopping repeatedly to snap photos at places like Badwater (the lowest point (-282 feet) you can drive to in the western hemisphere), Furnace Creek and Artist’s Drive, as well as many spots not blessed with names. By late afternoon I had still not escaped the park so I went looking for another free place to camp. I followed the signs to a place called Wildrose Canyon and on the way there I drove through sleet. That’s right, sleet, in Death Valley.

*Fifty points to anyone who knows what Rocinante is from.
Twenty points to anyone who actually takes the time to Wiki it.
Four points to anyone who asks me about it next time they see me.
Minus 47 points to anyone who doesn’t really care.

Mojave Desert, CA

Today was more exercise than I’ve had in a while. I was maybe 15 miles into the park when I glimpsed a beautiful photo possibility between two hills. The road curved in close to one set of hills and I pulled off the road at the closest place I could find. From the van it looked like no more than a few hundred yards up a gentle slope to a ridge that looked like it would give me a great panorama of the valley and mountains beyond. When I got to that ridge I found that the view was ok, but was hindered by another set of hills a few hundred yards further on. It looked like if I were to climb up to the peak of the closest one I would have a truly postcard-worthy shot. You can probably imagine what happened next and then again after that. Every hilltop showed me another and each one wasn’t too much further and I had already come that far so…

Cut-to: an hour and forty-five minutes later, with a heart rate better suited to a hummingbird, I finally got back to the van with a bunch of photos; none of which will do justice to the view I labored for.

Joshue Tree National Park, CA

I was lying on a rock looking at the stars and enjoying a silence I haven’t heard in a long time when a coyote started to sing. It couldn’t have been more than a few hundred yards away and at first it startled me. As I listened, though, I began to hear it differently. It started out harsh and grating then became something more. Each cry would begin as a bark, almost a yelp, and then would stretch into a declaration. He seemed to be saying, “I am here, if only for a moment.” It was the last bit that really got me, though. It dropped into a mournful lament, rife with sadness. It was as if he had lost a companion and his cries soared across that desert canyon to lay his friend to rest. After several minutes of song he stopped and disappeared back into the dark silence of the desert leaving only his echo and I wondered if he had even been there at all.

Salton Sea, CA

The main reason I had to see this was because the movie of the same name was pretty good. When I pulled up to the beach my first impression was of how still the water was. This lake is so big you can't see all the way across it in some parts yet the water stirred hardly a jot. When I got out and began walking towards the waterline I noticed the hordes of seagulls and when I got closer I saw the carpet of tiny dead fish all the way down the shore. The smell was overwhelming, but not overwhelming enough to chase me away from a truly breathtaking view.

If not for the odor I probably would have camped there, but as it was I stole a few photos and moved on, much to the dismay of the camp host. In actuality the dismay probably had more to do with the fact that I didn't pay the six dollar day-use fee. Damn The Man, Save The Empire!

Yuma, AZ

I didn’t make it far today, but where I ended up was worth it. Mittry Lake might be the prettiest free campground I’ve been to. The above photo does not do it justice. I bet summer would be almost unbearable here, but December is working out nicely.

There are a few other campers, but not many, not on a Wednesday. After the sunset a few bloodsucking bugs came out, but the temp dropped (as it does in the desert) fast enough that it was a short-lived issue. I was thinking of staying here for a day or two but I’ve been enjoying the hum of tires on asphalt.

Initially I was thinking that I’d head straight to San Diego when I left here but after some consideration my “plans” have changed. I’ve been to San Diego several times and while it is beautiful, I’m feeling the need to see some new horizons.

Phoenix, AZ

As with every post about a city where I was visiting friends, I don’t really know what to write. I was hoping to see three friends while I was in town. As it turns out, I only had two. I think the third was just a girl I used to know, and that’s about as far as it ever went. It was nice, though, the warmth of a couple friends, a couple hot showers, and being in a town I knew my way around.

Its been about a year since I left this town to head to a womanless land where winter lasts 8 months. I don’t regret leaving, but I have to admit, big city life has its benefits.

Superior, AZ

My magic book of camping sites let me down, then I found a campground not in the book. It’s a weekend so the place is a little busier than I like, but after my performance last night, I don’t mind a little company.

It seems a bit warmer here, but regardless, I’m sure I’ll still wake up in a cold world. The van is nice, but if the temp outside drops down to 30, so does the temp inside. I can stay pretty warm in all my warmies, but there is still that moment in the morning where I crawl out and spend a few minutes freezing.

I’ll be in Phoenix tomorrow and depending on how things go I’ll be there for a few days to a week. From there it’s on to sunny San Diego.

This trip has become less something I’m doing and more something I’ve become. This isn’t a roadtrip so much as its just living on the road.

Ruidoso, NM

Well, it happens to the best and bravest of us, getting spooked that is. I had found a nice little Forest Service road meandering for several miles before topping out among pines and scrub brush. I pulled off into some trees and washed down some cold chicken with chocolate milk. I got nestled into my bunk with a mediocre book and as I read, half-remembered stories began festering in my brain.

The stories involved isolated campers in southern New Mexico and illegal immigrants. Desperate people in desperate situations, all that sort of dramatic stuff. Every little creak and snick became a band of evil sweaty men with daggers clutched between their teeth. Once the thoughts began I made it about 10 minutes before crawling up to my captains chair and easing on down the road.

So here I sit, in a darkened corner of the Ruidoso Best Western parking lot, typing away and hoping to pass the night here without being rousted by motel staff or killed by hispanic pirates.

Tatum, NM

I have a neighbor tonight, a man by the improbable name of T.A. Knight. Maybe he’s a rock star or a superhero disguised as an 80-year-old widower with a small dog named Poe. He’s traveling in a dually pick-up truck with a good-sized fifth wheel in tow. When we compared our traveler pedigrees he came out on top by roughly 18 years and 10 months, oh well.

He arrived at the Randolph Rampy City Park a few minutes after me and the welcome committee arrived a few minutes after that. She drove a white Crown Victoria that (judging by the spotlight mounted adjacent to the windshield) had served time as a police car.

She said “Welcome to Tatum” in a slightly formal and practiced way and asked where we were from. After feigning interest she got on to the real reason for her stopping.

“There’s a dance tonight and you are invited, it’s at the middle school and it’s just four dollars to get in and we have a live country and western band and oh my, you should hear them, they are so good, the doors open at 6 and the dance starts at 7.”

I was amazed that a women of her advanced age and with a handicapped tag hanging from her mirror could produce such a stream of words with nary a pause for breath. I quickly realized she was waiting for some sort of commitment on my and T.A.’s part.

Well, I said, I’m gonna make some dinner and see how I feel. Where’s the school at?

She told us (as if one actually needs directions in a town of this size) and my neighbor thanked her for the invitation and off she went. T.A. and I chatted a few minutes longer and he mentioned that he was planning on early to bed and early to rise in order to avoid driving into a predicted strong wind.

By now the sun had set and while I hadn’t decided whether or not I would attend the dance, I figured I should get cleaned up in case the fancy struck me. Getting cleaned up is no easy feat in a city park where the bathroom is locked and the temperature took a dive when the sun did. I snuck over to the most private side of the beast and conducted a bucket bath. This involves a tub of hot soapy water, a thermos full of more hot water, several minutes of partial (yet substantial) undress, and the ability to maintain muscle control during the onset of hypothermia.

Next I warmed myself around a propane stove with a mouthful of prevention (prevention is this wonderful brown liquid that comes from Scotland). When the time came I hunted down the school and mentally prepared myself for whatever may come. It was then that I saw through the windows that not a single attendee of the dance appeared to be a day less than a hundred and forty years old. After about 17 seconds of thought I decided that I should probably get to bed early too.

Paducah, TX

It’s cold here. Leaving Kansas I drove south for a long time trying to get warm and apparently I failed. There are parts of Texas that stay relatively warm, even in December, but Paducah isn’t one. I imagine I could head down towards Galveston and find a mere tolerable chill, but I won’t.

I’m staying in Matador Wildlife Management Area, and I’m not supposed to be. At the self-check-in station there was a sign stating that the campsites were for quail hunters only, but I have chosen to disregard that sign. I figure there is every chance that tomorrow I may be unable to swerve in time and may accidentally run over a quail. While that’s not exactly “hunting”, the result would be the same… a dead quail. That would be the important thing, right? I would have rid the world of one more dangerous critter deserving of death. And, like hunters, I would have done it with a whole lot of modern technology against a decidedly un-modern foe.

Medicine Lodge, KS

The trip back from Florida was faster and thus, a little less interesting than the trip down. Having a purpose (moving my niece back to Erie) changed the flavor of the traveling, but I had a good time nonetheless, despite the efforts of an annoying little twit (her roommate) throwing a bossy little temper tantrum (beware the carpet police!). We got back Monday afternoon and by Tuesday afternoon the beast was unloaded, reassembled and headed south. I must say, it was strange to look in the mirrors and not see a little white car tucked in behind me.

There has been an addition to the trip, a plucky little bonsai picked up at a roadside stand in Alabama. I haven’t given her a name yet, but I will be taking suggestions. It could be a contest, whoever suggests the winning name wins a… well, nothing actually, this trip is slowly making me broke.

The goal now will be to make my way southwest and eventually Phoenix. Sometime before then I will be stopping for a few days to read/think/relax.

PS I feel like the sunset photos are sort of a copout, I mean, its just too easy to get a dramatic shot, however, this one was a little more special. I was driving towards (into?) the sunset and got to really study how the day decayed into some of the most intense crimsons before giving way to night.

Hammond Beach, FL

This is amazing. I said before this all began that I didn’t really have a point to this trip, but of course that’s a lie. The truth is the point of this trip can’t really be captured with words. Its sort of on the tip of my mind. I don’t think I’m looking for answers as much as I’m looking for the right questions to ask. Laying on the beach I feel like I’m getting closer to the questions. Hopefully I’ll figure something out before I get back to Wyoming. At my current pace I should be there by 2011.

I spent the day relaxing on the beach, drinking cheap red wine and watching skittish little crabs digging out their holes. When nighttime came I made friends with the four guys camped next to me. This was probably the most social I have been with strangers since the trip began. We drank their beer, ate hot dogs sans buns, smoked cigars and discussed all the usual topics: women, classic cars, traveling and sports.

The next morning I was up in time to watch the sun rise over the ocean. How does one describe such a thing? One doesn’t. All one can do is say its something everyone should see at least once in their life.

Palatka, FL

It was a great day. Tonight I'm gonna park in Estonia State Park just west of town. I’m about 40 miles from the ocean right now and depending when I get up I should be able to spend almost all day tomorrow lazing about the beach. I didn’t want to get any closer tonight for fear of not being able to find a sneaky place to park. In less populated areas its not much of a problem, but the more concentrated an area is the more likely I am to get bothered by a cop or a nosy, er, concerned citizen. Generally (obviously), the closer one gets to the ocean the denser the population.

This park is actually meant for day use only, but they don’t have any signs saying I can’t park overnight and the gate wasn’t locked sooo, here I am. The bathroom was even unlocked, joy joy joy. They must want me to stay here, but even so, I’m gonna try to be extra special quiet tonight.

Usually I tend to overnight in Walmart parking lots because as long as you don’t park up close to the building, they don’t mind short stays. I guess the thinking is that if you stay the night, chances are you will spend some money in the store before breaking “camp”. It’s pretty safe, convenient and completely depressing to wake up to. There is definitely an art to boondocking (see: www.phrannie.org/boondock.html).

Opelika, AL

US 280 is a four-lane divided highway that mainly connects Birmingham to Savannah. I say mainly because highways in this country were much more multi-purpose in the pre-Interstate Highway Act of 19-whatever days. Highways were mainstreets of towns and parade routes and spectator sports for the locals long before they evolved into efficient and convenient ways of getting from A to C without being bothered by B. This highway has intersections and stoplights and if you aren’t careful it might peel off one direction or another and let you glide right past into some new and unintentional adventure (i.e. getting lost).

I’m sitting at a rest stop now and was contemplating the differences in rest stops from one state to another. Many are just your basic bathrooms and picnic tables style. Some of these have added vending machines in a small nod towards capitalism. Others, like the turnpike rest stops in Pennsylvania, have visitors centers complete with fast food, Starbucks, a gift shop and a gas station. Iowa had wi-fi and fully touch-free restrooms (everything but the door operated via motion sensors). Here in Alabama (as in most southern states) they are pretty basic, but with one little oddity. There is a little red button located just outside the men’s restroom which (if pressed) will give you the local weather. I’m guessing it’s outside the men’s room because all you women shouldn’t worry your pretty little heads about such things. You should be focused on cooking and tending to the young‘uns, at least that’s the way it is (or was when this place was built) in Alabama.

Clinton, AR

Well, I didn’t exactly make record time, but then again I rarely do these days. About 6 miles into this leg of the journey I realized I had left my trusty (if a little torn and beaten) road atlas at the Erie Kansas Shangri-La (LS’s house). Hating to backtrack, especially for a torn and beaten road atlas that wasn’t the road atlas I had in mind when I bought it so many miles ago, I stopped at a gas station and found the large scale, badass atlas I had wanted all along.

Things went smoothly from there until I hit the Ozark mountains of northern Arkansas. I knew the two-lane blacktops here would be a little slower going, but I forgot how nauseous I get after a few hours of the steep and twisties. In Eureka Springs I had to pull over and lay down in the back for an hour or so to let my head clear. Luckily, the road straightened out a few miles further on or I wouldn’t have gotten this far.

Now that I’ve logged a few miles with this vehicle I do have one very serious complaint. The cup holders suck. I have five of them within reach in three different sizes and as far as I can tell there isn’t a single cup in all of existence that fits any of them. I drove through a Taco Bell and a scant 7 seconds after pulling away with a bag o’ crap, my large soda took a header off the center console and exploded on the carpet. Cursing at the mess didn’t seem to help (despite my very energetic efforts) so I ended up using half a roll of paper towels trying to soak it up.

Maybe Ford makes a line of travel cups designed to fit snugly in those oddly sized depressions, but if they do, they hold a monopoly on that niche.

Erie, KS

I was planning on just stopping for the night then heading southwest. As it turns out, I’m stopping for a couple nights and then heading southeast. That’s what I get for making plans.

Truth is, this is what I needed to remind me of something I forgot back when I was young. I don’t have the words for it yet, just the taste of it in my mouth. Occasionally and for no apparent reason a line (usually just half-remembered) from a poem will pop into my head. Sitting beneath the stars a line from a Dylan Thomas poem is flitting about.

“…Nothing I cared, in the lamb white days, that time would take me
Up to the swallow thronged loft by the shadow of my hand,
In the moon that is always rising,
Nor that riding to sleep
I should hear him fly with the high fields
And wake to the farm forever fled from the childless land.
Oh as I was young and easy in the mercy of his means,
Time held me green and dying
Though I sang in my chains like the sea.” ~ D. Thomas

I arrived at my ex-half-sister-in-law’s house and was planning on spending a night and moving on when my ex-half-sister-in-law LS asked (half jokingly) if I could go help HS (my ex-half-niece) move back from Orlando. My initial reaction was, of course, huh? Then I spent about 4 ½ minutes thinking it over before I remembered the unemployed-traveler-with-no-real-need-to-be-anywhere-anytime-soon credo, ‘Why Not’?

So I stripped all the extra seats out of the beast, packed a bag of essentials, and hit the road. This of course was after I had taken a couple nights to enjoy the amenities: wi-fi and a hot tub. I don’t have to be there until Thursday morning so I can take my time getting there.

Wow, that was a hyphen-laden post.

McLouth, KS

I found something in Kansas that I had forgotten about. Something I didn’t know I had been missing till I felt it again: the warmth of old friends. With old friends things are easy.

There was a drunken night with homecooked food and a campfire. There was a drunken night at an American Legion hall in Perry, KS watching pool. There was a tipsy night on Mass. Street in Lawrence. Am I a functioning alcoholic?

KC, MO

Here, as well as my next destination is a case of the people taking precedence over the place. In case you didn’t know, I grew up in and around Kansas City, so as you can imagine, I don’t really have any new and insightful observations of the area. I can’t see through all the memories anymore. One thing I did notice was feeling distinctly out of place. Like running into your first love ten years later with her husband and three kids.

I visited the VC and gave him his VCmas present (which I suspect he wasn’t as excited about as he acted). We spent an evening or two in Westport and the mostly it felt like being at a high school reunion where I didn’t like anyone that showed up (other than VC, of course). I wasn’t able to meet the elusive Isabella (his daughter), but that’s just as well, it probably would have been a letdown for her.

For those of you that have been following this little project-o-mine, I have solved the vehicle issues. It took a lot of hard work to get it fixed. Well, actually it will take a lot of hard work to pay off...

THE NEW VAN!

OK, its not new, its an '02 with 28k miles on it, but it is nice. Every experienced road warrior has fantasized about the perfect ride, the ideal vehicle, the ultimate road trip machine. Some of you may be disagreeing with my choice but my reasons are sound. A van is small enough to fit in normal size parking places and through drive-thrus, unlike RVs. It also gets better gas mileage than many suvs and pick-ups, yet has more interior space. A van is better insulated (from both weather and noise) than a truck with camper shell and will attract less attention than some monster Suburban or Navigator. While it won't sip fuel like my Mazda did, the more upright posture of a full size van seat is better suited to long trips than the layed back lean of most passenger car cockpits. Also I can sleep in it.

Sorry for the huge gap between posts, but you shouldn't expect punctuality from an unemployed vagabond.

Davenport, IA

A Day In Iowa
It’s storming today. The wind is racing the rain to blow the hardest and as of yet there is no clear winner. Then, when the hail started it was all I could do to get my car on the next exit ramp and come to a stop. Luckily I had a thermos full of coffee and no reason to be anywhere anytime soon. After ten or fifteen minutes things calmed a little and I was able to get back on the road. For the next 15 miles I saw car after car spun off into the ditch and wondered at the fools who thought they could outdo Miss Nature. I felt bad for them, but mainly I was glad they got to learn their lessons without spinning their cars under oncoming 18-wheelers.

Right now I’m sitting at a rest stop just west of Iowa City and this seems to be a popular destination. My car is having some more weird issues with its operating temperature and even though I’m keeping it below the naughty-bad-blow-up-my-motor temp, I thought it might be wise to give her a few minutes to relax. Not to mention I’ve been neglecting my blog so I’m trying to assuage my guilt a bit by doing a little pitter-patting on the old keyboard. I never know what I will decide to post so mostly I just write what I feel like. Some comes out good, some bad and some is just plain gibberish. In case you were wondering I delete the bad, save the good for some future book and post the gibberish to my blog. Heh heh.

A quick review of my new favorite el cheapo motel chain: Exel Inns rock. A mere 7 bucks more than the Motel 6 next door, they all offer blazing fast wi-fi, clean rooms and the staff are always fantastic. They seem to know exactly what their guests will want. When I checked in the cute girl behind the counter told me exactly where I could park so I’d be able to look out the window and see my car. And when I asked where the closest liquor store was she didn’t miss a beat with perfect directions. Then later when I was drunk and calling the front desk to inform her of the party in my pants she was invited to, she didn’t even kick me out or call the cops. Heh heh, just kidding, the directions to the liquor store weren’t exactly perfect. The next morning when I checked out there was a different cute girl behind the counter who asked me four times if everything was alright. I told her everything was great, but that I missed her at my party the night before, heh, I am one witty fella.

Chicago, IL: The Sequel

I made it back up to the windy (foggy, chilly) city to see a couple old friends. I’d already been through once, but I wasn’t able to get a hold of anyone then so I’m glad I made the drive.

JS took me to play Whirlyball the first night I was there. Whirlyball is this wonderful game that’s sort of a cross between hockey, lacrosse and basketball played in bumper cars by drunk people. I have to say, at first I was sort of leery, then I was a little drunk, then I was having a great time. The bruises on my hips and shins will heal; the glory will live forever.

Other than that, I had one very drunken night (thanks JS, one of the best filets mignon I have ever had (thanks DK) and a museum/walking around downtown day (thanks me).

I like Chicago, its like New York but with a midwest feel to it. The people are friendlier and more open and although the layout of the streets is worse, what with all those diagonals, it is a little easier and a little cheaper to find parking.

St. Louis, MO

Well, as many of you have noticed, it’s been awhile since I have written, at least in this blog. I stopped in St. Louis for the better part of a week and had a great time. St. Louis is what K.C. likes to think it is. It’s a real city with things to do, yet unlike many real cities, you can find parking. I stayed with my friend L.C. and we managed not to get on each other’s nerves too much despite an apartment definitely designed for one. Actually, I might have gotten on her nerves a bunch and she’s just too gracious to let on. I envy her, she’s got a direction in life, a goal. I’ve got a car with weird issues and a road atlas. Oh well, maybe I’ll have one of those goal thingy’s one day. If I do I think I’ll name it Baxter.

I got to finally have Movie Day. In the lovely land of Big Piney the closest real movie theater is (drum-roll please) 100 miles away. I went and watched “The Prestige” and it was great. Christian Bale was solid as always and Hugh Jackman at least didn’t ruin it. After that I saw “The Departed”. Pretty much every big-name, tough-guy male actor was in it and they did surprisingly well together. Usually this many big names in one movie ends up as a chest-thumping ego-fest. Special kudos go to Mark Wahlberg and Jack Nicholson. My only complaint was the deus ex machina inserted near the end. The disappointment of the day was “Flags of Our Fathers”. Shameless pandering by Clint Eastwood. Had the movie focused more on Ira Hayes it might have found a more original voice. As it was, I got the feeling I’d seen this movie before. Also, I’m tired of WWII films, but at least I didn't pay for this movie.

If any of you are thinking of attempting a Movie Day, I have a few tips for you. 1) Movie Days are best attempted solo. It is rare for any two people to agree on 3-4 movies to see all in one day. 2) Before you enter, write down the times of all the movies you might possibly decide to see. This makes it easier to sneak from one theater to the next all day. 3) If time must be killed betwixt movies, find a bathroom stall and learn to play some of those games your cell phone came with.

Marshall, IL

I’m enjoying a momentary respite in McKenzie’s Laundromat. Laundromats in general are enjoyable places to spend a little time. The sound of industrious machines toiling away makes me feel like something is being accomplished. It’s sort of the same idea as watching a master carpenter ply his trade. The movements are practiced and sure, methodical and satisfying. The smell of sawdust in the air is rivaled only by the relaxing scent of fresh laundry.

I camped last night, I’ve been camping the last three nights. It was kind of nice after the hustle and bustle of Boston and NY. I can handle some bustle, but hustle gets me anxious after any length of time.

The first night was strictly sleeping. I found the park at about 11pm, did a crappy job of setting up a tarp, and was packed and gone by 8am (perfect to avoid paying site fees). The next night I stopped about 6 and set up as the sun was setting. There was a shower house adjacent so I got a nice hot shower after my meal of canned beef stew over rice.

My friend LC asked if I could dilly-dally and not arrive till Tuesday so I stopped early yesterday, about 12:30. It was nice being able to take some time setting up and enjoying the afternoon. I cut a big stack of wood and cooked a big meal. I set up the tarp high and open so I could enjoy the nice weather and then I emptied, cleaned and organized my car. That night I finished off a bottle of cheap scotch, got drunk and was in bed by 11. Of course it rained all night and in the morning I was awoken by one corner of my tarp coming loose and flapping cold wet leaves all over me. The real excitement, however, came after I pulled myself out of my warm snug sleeping bag and saw that the passenger side door of my car was wide open. I thought my worst fears had been realized, that being having my laptop and camera stolen. I sprinted to the car (that’s the first time I can remember running in a long time). When I got there I discovered that the gear was all still there. It seems that a drunken Ryan had left his door open the night before. Regardless, I think in the future I will keep the expensive stuff with me while I sleep. I was so relieved that it didn’t even bother me that some small creature had made off with the lemon-pepper chicken and sautéed onions I had leftover from dinner.

I-70

Car problems: somewhere in New York state my car developed a couple charming little issues. The first issue happened only once, yet is still irritating me. It wouldn’t start. It would turn over and over and just wouldn’t catch. After 30 minutes of cursing and trying, it finally (and very reluctantly) caught. A few more minutes and the battery would have been dead and I would have been calling a tow truck (and cursing some more).
The other issue struck just after I crossed over into Pennsylvania. The car tried to overheat. Just as I pulled over the temperature dropped back down so I pulled back on the highway. The temp continued to fluctuate till I worked out that the faster I went, the lower it dropped. Between 75 and 80 seemed to do the trick. This was all well and good until I got into some twisty roads and it started snowing. Also it was night. So there I was, doing 80 down a curvy unknown road in driving snow thinking how smart I was to figure out how to keep the car from overheating. The snow lasted about 60 miles and I came out it of never so happy to see dry roads. About an hour later I realized it wasn’t the speed that mattered, it was the rpm’s. I could drop it into 4th and run at 65, or 3rd and 50, and the temp would stay low. It's a good thing I are so dang smart.

The next day it ran fine, and the day after that I had to stop a few times to let the car cool off. Then it ran fine again. Then it wouldn't start. Now it's fine.

My car is weird.

I might have to trade it in soon and finish the trip in something else. Oh well, such is life.

NYC

New York for at least 2 years. That’s how I answer the “where would you live if you won the lottery?” question. As a non-lottery winner I don’t think I have the energy to work the hours it would take for me to pay the rent there. The whole city is amazing, though.

I saw the Guggenheim (disappointing), the MoMA (spectacular, perhaps the best art museum I’ve ever seen) and the Whitney (if you like Edward Hopper (and I do) this is a must-see). Of the three, the MoMA was the only one that allowed photography and after spending a few hours there I wish they didn’t. I watched hordes of middle-aged white guys rushing from masterpiece to masterpiece trying to calm their Starbucks twitch long enough snap a pic with their camera-phones with scant interest in actually experiencing the beauty and genius of great art.

“Hey Bill, you still got that ‘Starry Night’ on your phone?”

“Hell yeah, check out this shit.”

Other than that I walked around and people watched a lot.

Concord, MA

Well, much has happened. I made my way down to Concord, MA to visit MC for a few days and found myself getting a little too comfortable.

I spent a night at an upscale club in Boston drinking 25 year old single malt and being repeatedly amazed at how inept some guys are at talking to women.

I spent a rainy yet beautiful afternoon seeing where the “shot heard round the world” took place. This was the first time colonists fired upon British soldiers. There’s a little patch of earth fenced off that’s actually British land, it’s the spot where a British soldier died a long long time ago.

I spent a day a night and a day on a 32 foot sailboat in Buzzards Bay near Cape Cod. Afterwards I ate pot roast and potatoes and carrots and had a baked apple for dessert.

Then I went to Boston and hopped a bus from Chinatown to Chinatown in NY.

Camden, ME

I got up early today, in fact this was the earliest since I quit working. I was heading north along the eastern edge of Vermont long before sunrise. Then, when the sun did finally rise, it didn’t really rise. The sky was sort of misting and all the sun did was turn it a sort of milky grey. Nevertheless, I didn’t really want to stop and spend money on breakfast (this is becoming an expensive adventure) so I pulled off at a highway rest area and made oatmeal while trying to avoid eye contact with all the people who thought I was a freak for actually using the provided picnic tables. Also I was naked.

Just kidding, it was far too chilly for anything of that sort. I headed east across New Hampshire and just as I got into Maine, the sun finally came up. It was almost surreal. Most of the trees have turned their autumn colors and with the grey sky they just looked a little sad. Once the sun lit them up, however, wow. I mean, it was just like we’ve all seen in hundreds of photos and movies, but live and in person the colors were overwhelming. I took lots of photos, but of course they just look like all the other photos you’ve seen.

Now I’m camping in Camden Hills State Park and hopefully I’ll be up early enough to see the sun rise over the ocean. I love the ocean, I know lots of people say they love the ocean, but I really really love the ocean. Its almost a sexual love. Almost.

But seriously, as soon as I hit Belfast I drove through town and at my first whiff of the ocean I giggled. At the first glimpse of it a grin spread across my face that you couldn’t remove with a red-hot rusty spatula.

This campground actually has hot showers, which is a good thing. I’m gonna be visiting a friend in Boston tomorrow so it’d be nice if I didn’t reek of campfire (Truthfully, I kind of like that smell). So I’ll try out the showers (it’s a good thing I kept a few of those tiny bars of hotel soap) and then on the way down I’ll keep my eyes open for a Laundromat.

Wow, this may be the longest post I’ve yet done, sorry. But in my defense, the ocean does things to me. Also I’m an alcoholic (hey, if Mark Foley can use that excuse, I can too).

Brattleboro, VT

Some days you eat the road, some days the road eats you.

One of you commented earlier that they thought the point of this trip was to stop and smell the roses. Actually, there is no point to this trip, not in that sense anyway. A point is too close to a goal or an objective which implies the possibility of failure. This was successful the moment I pointed the car away from my apartment and pushed the pedal on the right. One thing about road trips is you can’t fight them. Each one takes on a spirit of it’s own and you must allow it to breathe a little. If you try to force it to be something, if you try to direct it, you kill it a little bit.

Every true journey is an interior journey. The physical travel is almost incidental. It’s only when you escape your surroundings that you see things clearly.

I-90

Well, drove from Wabasha, MN to the first Pennsylvania exit off of I-90 before I finally gave in to the sandman. Its important to know one’s limitations. Knowing when one is too tired to drive is a delicate thing. After many thousands of road trip miles I have learned the subtle warning signs. For example, when I begin reading highway signs out loud, I have a few hours of driving muscle left. Once I begin doing it in a British accent, it’s T-minus 59 minutes. When I start scolding myself in the voice of an angry southern motivational speaker (Dammit Ryan! Hands at 10 and 2, watch that semi over there, pay attention man!), that’s what I call my 2 minute warning – if I don’t bring the car to a stop within two minutes, it’ll probably be stopped in two and a half minutes whether I like it or not.

I’m in New England now, the plan is to get to Maine by tomorrow and head south from there. Unfortunately there is not much camping up here (most campgrounds are closed for the season) so I’m trying to speed up a little and get back west before I spend too much on motels.

Note: The photo is in West New York, thats Lake Erie in the back of the vinyard.

Chicago, IL

This is just sort of a midnight update. I woke up in Minnesota (as you probably know if you've been keeping up) and am now in Indiana, some days just feel like big mile days. Mainly I just wanted to post this picture of me in downtown Chicago. I sat for about 35 minutes just to pay an 80 cent toll on I-90, after that kind of delay I almost would have felt better paying 6 bucks, 80 cents was just sort of anti-climatic.

Also, I disabled the feature requiring you to be Blogger members in order to post comments, so now any of you can voice a word or two at your whim. I didn't even know it was requiring that (thanks MC), sorry.

Well, I better get back on the road, I want to be past Toledo long before sunrise, that is not a pretty city in daylight.

Wabasha, MN

Moteled it last night in Wilmar, MN, I know that was a little quick, but I just didn’t feel like hunting down a campground. Tonight I’m camping west of Wabasha. I’m used to having the campgrounds to myself this late in the year, but the weather is still pretty mild in Minnesota and this is a weekend so I’m camping between two groups of young folk who seem to be competing to be the most obnoxious campers in this part of the country. One group, I think all guys, is listening to AC/DC and managing to hold conversation at a level that would be more appropriate at an AC/DC concert. On the other side is a group that I’m guessing forgot to bring flashlights because every time one of them wanders into the woods to piss, they have to play Marco Polo to find their way back. I’m not sure why they don’t just follow the glare from the bonfire they have going, but it is crowded enough here they might wander over to the wrong one. Lord knows they don’t want to wander to this one, I’d hate to have to hit someone with my fire-poking stick, that’d be one dirty deed done dirt cheap. Anyway, I don’t want to sound pissy, this has been an otherwise great night. Had steak with sautéed onions and au gratin potatoes with a nice cheap cabernet drunk out of a peach can, the peaches were the appetizer for tonights meal. I’m now sitting in front of a nice warm campfire and wondering if these two groups will decide to go to bed early tonight… yeah right.

I just stopped to poke the fire and was thinking about how I really hate when people blare music whilst camping, how if that’s what they want to hear, they oughta just stay home and leave the woods in peace. Then I remembered I once had a mix cd titled, “Sitting around a campfire drinking cheap beer out of a broken cooler Music”. Ok, I’ll admit to a little hypocrisy, but dammit there wasn’t any fucking AC/DC on that cd. Anyway, I’m a grouchy old man and I’m sure when I was younger I might have pissed off an old person or two in the days of Natural Light and stolen steaks.

Oh Clinton Lake, we were some rowdy beer-soaked bastards.


This whole trip reminds me of the Ultimate Road Trip that Jason and I took in those younger poorer days, when nothing beat splitting a smoke, sitting on a rock, and making do with what little we had brought.

Oh, days pass and they pass and don’t we wish just now and then we could pluck one from the rack like an old record and let it spin if only for an hour?

UPDATE: The Next Morning: Karma is great, one of the AC/DC guys backed his truck into a tree, pretty hard by the sound of it, too. Heh heh heh.

Selby, SD

I have discovered that I get an earlier start on the day when I stay in a motel than when I camp. Camped last night at Lake Hiddenwood State Rec Area east of town. When I went through town the bank clock said it was 31 degrees and that was at 5pm.

I found a site by a little stream that was mostly out of the wind and after staking out my little shelter and spreading out the bedroll went to work making dinner. I browned a pound of hamburger, threw in half a chopped onion and made a couple cups of rice. I made some hot chocolate, mixed the rice and burger together and spent the next 20 minutes trying to decide if it tasted better with hot sauce, soy sauce or plain. I eventually decided it needed cheese and since I had none I choked down what I could and went to bed.

I’m not sure how cold it got, but when I woke up today the stream was frozen over.

This was a boring entry, sorry.

Miles City, MT

Driving through Montana it’s easy to imagine what it must have looked like a hundred years ago. A milky grey sky stretching on and on, muscular rolling plains and the Rockies standing like imperial guards to the west. It’s easy to imagine mainly because not a whole lot has been done to Montana in the last 100 years.

Part of this feels weird, one of the things I’ve always enjoyed about traveling is the secret pleasure I take from it, the zen-like trance tires humming on pavement creates in me, the quiet little moments of bliss that become silly and pointless if exposed to the mental process of trying to explain them. It’s like I’m opening a door to a secret world for you.

The first day or two of the trip my mind sort of revolts. The idea of having no pressing matters or deadlines sort of rips a hole in the space-time continuum for me, like a faulty logic loop. Once my conscious mind accepts that it is just along for the ride, that this trip is for the benefit of my sub-conscious, things tend to smooth out. The part of me writing this is the conscious, a loudmouth hitchhiker sharing mostly inane observations. Occasionally the other part of me volunteers something, but it's mostly mute.

Bozeman, MT

Question: What does one take on a trip around the country if one will be camping/moteling/sleeping in the car/visiting friends in and around small towns/big cities/middle of nowhere for days/weeks/months?

Answer: Too much.

Well, now I’m sitting in a Wal-Mart parking lot. Last night was a bit cold, but I did alright for the most part. There were a couple things I needed, hence the Wal-Mart stop. I’m probably gonna end up shipping a box-o-shit back home. The stuff that was nicely folded and organized into the trunk has somehow exploded all over the backseat and spilled over into the frontseat. I really don’t need as much crap as I brought. You’d think after the 412,576 (rough estimate) roadtrips I’ve taken I would be better at packing for them. The problem is, every trip is a little different and not knowing what sort of feel this one would end up taking I didn’t want to be sitting in the middle of Minnesota thinking, ‘This sure would be paradise had I only remembered to bring my…’

Big Piney, WY

Well, I'm not really sure I can explain what this is all about. I've always liked roadtrips and lately I've been feeling out of touch with myself. It's as if I've lost my footing in life, like I'm becoming invisible. I will admit to a touch of arrogance in assuming some of you might find this a little interesting, but if not I won't be all that surprised or bothered. I don't have any real definite goals for this trip, at least not exterior goals like seeing the biggest ball of twine in Minnesota. Like most journeys, the destination is irrelevant, it’s the interim that matters. I imagine I'll most likely make stops in to visit many of you, but of course nothing is set in stone.

Occasionally I will upload a snapshot and I will try to keep this site updated with my route, but due to the nature of roadtrips I don’t know how regular the updates will be. You can expect entries to be entered in batches whenever I get a chance to steal some wi-fi.

I leave in a few minutes from Big Piney, WY and will be heading north. My tentative plan will be to go east after that, but I have no real timeline for getting anywhere. I won’t have a cell phone with me, but feel free to post comments.