It's a miracle: The iPod is back!
All praise be to Steve and his mighty reality distortion field.
Now begins the super sprint to Ithaca NY for a stay with my friend Celeste and her other half Jacob and then I'm off to Maine. My stay with Chris, Asia (Joanna) and Gus in Chicago has been wonderful.
Sunday, September 21, 2008
Friday, September 19, 2008
Colorado to Chicago
I’m sitting at The Common Cup, a wonderfully laid back coffee shop in the Rogers Park neighborhood of Chicago. The coffee is good and breakfast treats are delicious. I’m really happy to be back here. Chicago is a city of industrious beauty, history and really great people. After being away for a few years, I can easily say it is truly the second city, only bested by New York in its cityness. No other American cities come close to those two.
Despite the 5 years I spent here, Chicago has never felt like home to me. There’s something about it that’s completely oppressive. I suppose that it’s the fact that, if you’re in Chicago and want to do something, you’re going to do it in Chicago. There’s no easy escape here. You’re boxed in by city, traffic, miles of suburbs and then hundreds of miles of flat flat fields. If you want to go camping or backpacking, you drive to a different state. To go skiing, you get on a plane. To go surfing, you go to the video store and rent a DVD on the subject.
Not really a place I would like to spend my life but it’s still a great place to be today. Fall lasts about 10 days here and I caught one of those days. Good timing.
The drive here was long. About 1,300 miles from Grand Junction. After experiencing Southern Utah, Colorado and the Rockies had no appeal for me. I longed to stay in the same bed for few days, spend time with some good friends, enjoy good company and make use of the internet, shops and everything I’m used to back home. I’m also enjoying not having any real itinerary to speak of.
Yes, I’ve been on a schedule. Once you set goals to see certain sights, it’s hard to back away from racing from pin to pin in the map. I don’t believe I’m alone in this traveling fault but awareness is one stop on the path to recovery.
The Rockies were pretty, but far from spectacular when blowing by at 75 miles per hour from scarred interstate. Upon dropping down into Denver, I got a feel for what was ahead for the next 1000 miles: Flat. Flat. Flat. That’s something I hadn’t seen since the start of the trip in the central valley of California. If you remember, I didn’t like it then either.
Stereotypical Nebraska starts long before you cross into the state and continues until you’re within sight of the Missouri river. For the most part, the entire state was a labor to cross with the exception of one moment. As I wearily walked out of a rest stop bathroom and begrudgingly faced my sentence of 250 more miles, I looked up into an electric neon sunset. Hot pink fading to aqua blue. With no trees or hills around I had 180 degrees of brilliant sky above me. The land smelled warm and dusty, rich in soil. As I merged back onto the freeway and barreled eastward, I locked the wheel with my knee and whooped it up while clapping.
Notes:
I spent the night on the outskirts of Omaha at a Motel 6. The people were fun and made my stay memorable. I slept too late to make use of the indoor pool (my main reason for stopping there).
Iowa has beautiful rolling farmland and would have been a joy to travel through if it wasn’t keeping me from getting to Chicago. They have wireless internet at their rest stops and the most awesome picnic tables ever. I think the only way that table could be more awesome is if the eagle was playing electric guitar.
The Mississippi is a gigantic river and brought back memories of traveling along the Columbia in Oregon. It’s surrounded by beautiful rolling farmland. If I had another few weeks, I’d love to travel the length of it. Perhaps a barge tour? There’s always a Next Time.
My apologies for plagiarizing HST but Chicago comes on like good psychedelics. One moment you’re driving along, wondering what you’re doing, bored and thinking the boring farmland will never end. Then, without warning, you’re not sure how or when it happened but you suddenly notice the huge office buildings, the road has opened up to 3 or 4 lanes in each direction, there’s construction, confusing signs, bumpy unmaintained narrow lanes and traffic that jams into all available spaces. About 20% of the cars dart around you at ridiculous speeds while the other 80% get in your way. Driving here feels like being in the middle of a gradeschool playground at recess.
It’s unbelievably fun once you get into it.
Then you get into the real jams. I spent 2 hours getting to Chris’s house. Over 1,300 high speed miles in two days and I’m standing still on the freeway within 10 miles of my destination. At 8PM! And I thought the bay area was bad.
After bringing my stuff inside, we reacquainted after 6 or 7 years over drinks and burgers. I was too zonked from the drive to understand any stories that involved pronouns. I said this a lot: “Hold on, who again?”
Then 10 hours of glorious sleep. Chris' dog Gus finally woke me up midmorning. He sings along with the fire trucks.
Despite the 5 years I spent here, Chicago has never felt like home to me. There’s something about it that’s completely oppressive. I suppose that it’s the fact that, if you’re in Chicago and want to do something, you’re going to do it in Chicago. There’s no easy escape here. You’re boxed in by city, traffic, miles of suburbs and then hundreds of miles of flat flat fields. If you want to go camping or backpacking, you drive to a different state. To go skiing, you get on a plane. To go surfing, you go to the video store and rent a DVD on the subject.
Not really a place I would like to spend my life but it’s still a great place to be today. Fall lasts about 10 days here and I caught one of those days. Good timing.
The drive here was long. About 1,300 miles from Grand Junction. After experiencing Southern Utah, Colorado and the Rockies had no appeal for me. I longed to stay in the same bed for few days, spend time with some good friends, enjoy good company and make use of the internet, shops and everything I’m used to back home. I’m also enjoying not having any real itinerary to speak of.
Yes, I’ve been on a schedule. Once you set goals to see certain sights, it’s hard to back away from racing from pin to pin in the map. I don’t believe I’m alone in this traveling fault but awareness is one stop on the path to recovery.
The Rockies were pretty, but far from spectacular when blowing by at 75 miles per hour from scarred interstate. Upon dropping down into Denver, I got a feel for what was ahead for the next 1000 miles: Flat. Flat. Flat. That’s something I hadn’t seen since the start of the trip in the central valley of California. If you remember, I didn’t like it then either.
Stereotypical Nebraska starts long before you cross into the state and continues until you’re within sight of the Missouri river. For the most part, the entire state was a labor to cross with the exception of one moment. As I wearily walked out of a rest stop bathroom and begrudgingly faced my sentence of 250 more miles, I looked up into an electric neon sunset. Hot pink fading to aqua blue. With no trees or hills around I had 180 degrees of brilliant sky above me. The land smelled warm and dusty, rich in soil. As I merged back onto the freeway and barreled eastward, I locked the wheel with my knee and whooped it up while clapping.
Notes:
I spent the night on the outskirts of Omaha at a Motel 6. The people were fun and made my stay memorable. I slept too late to make use of the indoor pool (my main reason for stopping there).
Iowa has beautiful rolling farmland and would have been a joy to travel through if it wasn’t keeping me from getting to Chicago. They have wireless internet at their rest stops and the most awesome picnic tables ever. I think the only way that table could be more awesome is if the eagle was playing electric guitar.
The Mississippi is a gigantic river and brought back memories of traveling along the Columbia in Oregon. It’s surrounded by beautiful rolling farmland. If I had another few weeks, I’d love to travel the length of it. Perhaps a barge tour? There’s always a Next Time.
My apologies for plagiarizing HST but Chicago comes on like good psychedelics. One moment you’re driving along, wondering what you’re doing, bored and thinking the boring farmland will never end. Then, without warning, you’re not sure how or when it happened but you suddenly notice the huge office buildings, the road has opened up to 3 or 4 lanes in each direction, there’s construction, confusing signs, bumpy unmaintained narrow lanes and traffic that jams into all available spaces. About 20% of the cars dart around you at ridiculous speeds while the other 80% get in your way. Driving here feels like being in the middle of a gradeschool playground at recess.
It’s unbelievably fun once you get into it.
Then you get into the real jams. I spent 2 hours getting to Chris’s house. Over 1,300 high speed miles in two days and I’m standing still on the freeway within 10 miles of my destination. At 8PM! And I thought the bay area was bad.
After bringing my stuff inside, we reacquainted after 6 or 7 years over drinks and burgers. I was too zonked from the drive to understand any stories that involved pronouns. I said this a lot: “Hold on, who again?”
Then 10 hours of glorious sleep. Chris' dog Gus finally woke me up midmorning. He sings along with the fire trucks.
Tuesday, September 16, 2008
Escalante to Arches and then into Colorado
Today was complete and utter scenic overload. I can’t even begin to describe what a strange and beautiful place southern Utah is. I think the following exchange between myself and someone at the campfire last night sums it up well
ME: So what are some of y’alls favorite spots in Southern Utah?
GUY: Yes.
Nuf said. Everywhere you go is amazing. Today’s trip from Escalante to Arches had my jaw dropping at every turn. I couldn’t believe it. I even took a direct route that bypassed one of the most scenic roads in Utah and I was still amazed.
The day started in the wonderful town of Escelante. When packing up my tent and getting ready to hit the road I met a really cool couple from Blowing Rock NC. They’re running a production company in Vegas now but their license plate still says “First in Flight”. I love meeting other folks from NC and Faron and Sarah were no exception to my sentiments. Great people. They’ve got the travel spirit and are in Utah filming the Escape Adventures crew doing all types of adventure sports throughout the area.
After chatting for a bit, I repaired my stove (how is it that Escalante Outfitters even had all the parts I needed for my 15 year old stove!?) threw a scone in my face and jumped in the car with the hope of making Denver by 10 PM. About 5 minutes into the drive I slowly began to get the feeling that I had no hope of getting even close to Denver by midnight.
My drive ended up taking me through the State parks near Escalante, across Capital Reef and to Arches.
The drive wound through amazing scenery and strange landscapes cut by erosion.
By the time I go to Capital Reef (didn’t even expect to go there, it was just in the way of getting to arches) I was screaming at God, “How the hell do you expect me to get anywhere if you keep on throwing beautiful scenery in my way?”
There were barren landscape, desert, and finally Arches.
Arches was an incredible finale for Southern Utah. It doesn’t get any stranger than that. Next Time, I’ll see more of it.
I made it as far as Highline Lake State Park in Colorado where I am right now. They have hot showers, grassy camping spots and, from what I can hear, about a million crickets.
ME: So what are some of y’alls favorite spots in Southern Utah?
GUY: Yes.
Nuf said. Everywhere you go is amazing. Today’s trip from Escalante to Arches had my jaw dropping at every turn. I couldn’t believe it. I even took a direct route that bypassed one of the most scenic roads in Utah and I was still amazed.
The day started in the wonderful town of Escelante. When packing up my tent and getting ready to hit the road I met a really cool couple from Blowing Rock NC. They’re running a production company in Vegas now but their license plate still says “First in Flight”. I love meeting other folks from NC and Faron and Sarah were no exception to my sentiments. Great people. They’ve got the travel spirit and are in Utah filming the Escape Adventures crew doing all types of adventure sports throughout the area.
After chatting for a bit, I repaired my stove (how is it that Escalante Outfitters even had all the parts I needed for my 15 year old stove!?) threw a scone in my face and jumped in the car with the hope of making Denver by 10 PM. About 5 minutes into the drive I slowly began to get the feeling that I had no hope of getting even close to Denver by midnight.
My drive ended up taking me through the State parks near Escalante, across Capital Reef and to Arches.
The drive wound through amazing scenery and strange landscapes cut by erosion.
By the time I go to Capital Reef (didn’t even expect to go there, it was just in the way of getting to arches) I was screaming at God, “How the hell do you expect me to get anywhere if you keep on throwing beautiful scenery in my way?”
There were barren landscape, desert, and finally Arches.
Arches was an incredible finale for Southern Utah. It doesn’t get any stranger than that. Next Time, I’ll see more of it.
I made it as far as Highline Lake State Park in Colorado where I am right now. They have hot showers, grassy camping spots and, from what I can hear, about a million crickets.
Monday, September 15, 2008
Bryce Canyon and Escalante
I’m sitting in the bar section of Escalante Outfitters sipping a cold Heferwizen and eagerly awaiting my veggie calzone. My tent space 100 yards away cost me 16 bucks. They have free wireless internet, hot showers and their own liquor store where you can buy a fifth of gin (in a glass bottle) for $8.99. That last detail won’t be necessary tonight but it is fueling my sneaking suspicion that I am no longer in Utah but have somehow taken a wrong turn and will be spending the night in the Elysian Fields.
Not that I could easily ask anyone around me where exactly I am. Everyone in this section of Utah speaks German. They’re the new Japanese tourists of the 80’s. Seriously! Everywhere I went in Bryce Canyon I heard German. Not that that’s a bad thing, it’s just really really funny to be in the middle of rural America and hear, “Guten Tag, bin das fine weinersnitzel meizen zeist Volkswagon”
I actually really like Germans a lot. Those I met today were really friendly and their countrymen make good beer and fine automobiles.
OK, enough rambling, I’m still waiting on my calzone so that means I can tell you about Bryce Canyon. Scratch that, as soon as I typed that last sentence the waitress brought it out. It comes with a salad. I like salad. I’ve missed salad.
brb.
OK, today’s notes:
The Cedar Creek Motel’s advertised continental breakfast isn’t even in the same league or nation as the Cedar Creek Restaruarnt’s. For them, 1/4 inch of Sunny Delight and a few vending machine mini doughnuts constitutes a nutritious start to the day. Screw it, they have laundry.
Laundry caused me to get a slow start to the day but I was still able to climb my car up to 10,500 feet and see Cedar Breaks National Monument. Very pretty and cool. It’s like a strange painted top of a mountain that’s eroding away.
Red Canyon is like a fairytale landscape of fire red formations. Supposedly Butch Cassidy hid from the law here numerous times. Mr. Wishkins thought it was spectacular. He’s getting out of the car to look around more and more. While he was born in the forest (and likes camping), I think his ancient race came from a planet that looks a lot like Southern Utah.
I was actually contemplating skipping Bryce but a friendly retired couple in Zion worked to convince me otherwise. It worked. They were right. It’s freaking nuts. I can’t even begin to describe the size and multitude of spires and spikes. I took a ton of pictures.
Es ist alles gut!
Not that I could easily ask anyone around me where exactly I am. Everyone in this section of Utah speaks German. They’re the new Japanese tourists of the 80’s. Seriously! Everywhere I went in Bryce Canyon I heard German. Not that that’s a bad thing, it’s just really really funny to be in the middle of rural America and hear, “Guten Tag, bin das fine weinersnitzel meizen zeist Volkswagon”
I actually really like Germans a lot. Those I met today were really friendly and their countrymen make good beer and fine automobiles.
OK, enough rambling, I’m still waiting on my calzone so that means I can tell you about Bryce Canyon. Scratch that, as soon as I typed that last sentence the waitress brought it out. It comes with a salad. I like salad. I’ve missed salad.
brb.
OK, today’s notes:
The Cedar Creek Motel’s advertised continental breakfast isn’t even in the same league or nation as the Cedar Creek Restaruarnt’s. For them, 1/4 inch of Sunny Delight and a few vending machine mini doughnuts constitutes a nutritious start to the day. Screw it, they have laundry.
Laundry caused me to get a slow start to the day but I was still able to climb my car up to 10,500 feet and see Cedar Breaks National Monument. Very pretty and cool. It’s like a strange painted top of a mountain that’s eroding away.
Red Canyon is like a fairytale landscape of fire red formations. Supposedly Butch Cassidy hid from the law here numerous times. Mr. Wishkins thought it was spectacular. He’s getting out of the car to look around more and more. While he was born in the forest (and likes camping), I think his ancient race came from a planet that looks a lot like Southern Utah.
I was actually contemplating skipping Bryce but a friendly retired couple in Zion worked to convince me otherwise. It worked. They were right. It’s freaking nuts. I can’t even begin to describe the size and multitude of spires and spikes. I took a ton of pictures.
Es ist alles gut!
Sunday, September 14, 2008
Zion
Oh wow! What a day. Zion is like the Grand Canyon but with all that unused extra space taken out and replaced with color and otherworldly landscape. While chatting with other hikers I pointed out that, if we should ever colonize another planet, I hope the entire place looks like Zion. It’s dramatic and absolutely amazing. Seriously, it can’t be beat.
After eating breakfast I rocketed into the park. It’s a cool place but it has the feeling of some type of nature version of Disneyworld. You park your car and take propane powered shuttle-trams around the park. They let you off at various spots and trailheads. I was a bit apprehensive of leaving my car but after getting chauffeured around, I can say that their system works great.
Zion is a compact park centered around a canyon with steep red sandstone walls. There’s something new and interesting to see in every nook and cranny of the canyon. Since I was only planning on spending one day there, I opted to see a few of the sighs along the main road and then hike the Observation point trail.
I was a bit nervous about the hike since it’s eight miles round trip and my feet are still very sore and blistered from the Cirque trek. Also, my shoes and insoles have holes in them. However after a few minutes of strolling around Weeping Rock they were feeling like they’d make it.
The Observation trail is a steep climb that takes you up over 2000 vertical feet in under 3.5 miles. In that time, you get one hell of a view of the main canyon as well as some time passing through different terrain in narrow side canyons.
Hey John, I'll give you a dollar if you jump in:
Finally, at the end of the trail you’re treated to a view from the top of the park, looking back through the main drag of Zion. It’s one hell of a view.
From observation point you can see the park’s other famous hike, Angel’s Landing. It’s an awesome trek up and along the top of a knife edge ridge that juts out into the canyon. In the above picture, Angel's Landing is the ridge on the lower right hand side. While lumbering back to the valley floor I played with the idea of doing that hike as well, then eating a bucket of railroad spikes for dinner. However, half way down from the top of the canyon, my feet informed me that they had a problem with the idea of hiking a lot more. They’re high maintenance and I’m whipped. I’ll save Angels Landing for next time.
Overall, it was another day of amazing scenery and great hiking.
Tonight I’m hanging out in a cheap but excellent hotel in Cedar City, they got internet, cable and most importantly, heat. Comedy Central is playing a Chapelle’s show marathon and I’ve got a few tall boys of High Life (“The Champage of Beers”). That means this little blurb is ending now.
After eating breakfast I rocketed into the park. It’s a cool place but it has the feeling of some type of nature version of Disneyworld. You park your car and take propane powered shuttle-trams around the park. They let you off at various spots and trailheads. I was a bit apprehensive of leaving my car but after getting chauffeured around, I can say that their system works great.
Zion is a compact park centered around a canyon with steep red sandstone walls. There’s something new and interesting to see in every nook and cranny of the canyon. Since I was only planning on spending one day there, I opted to see a few of the sighs along the main road and then hike the Observation point trail.
I was a bit nervous about the hike since it’s eight miles round trip and my feet are still very sore and blistered from the Cirque trek. Also, my shoes and insoles have holes in them. However after a few minutes of strolling around Weeping Rock they were feeling like they’d make it.
The Observation trail is a steep climb that takes you up over 2000 vertical feet in under 3.5 miles. In that time, you get one hell of a view of the main canyon as well as some time passing through different terrain in narrow side canyons.
Hey John, I'll give you a dollar if you jump in:
Finally, at the end of the trail you’re treated to a view from the top of the park, looking back through the main drag of Zion. It’s one hell of a view.
From observation point you can see the park’s other famous hike, Angel’s Landing. It’s an awesome trek up and along the top of a knife edge ridge that juts out into the canyon. In the above picture, Angel's Landing is the ridge on the lower right hand side. While lumbering back to the valley floor I played with the idea of doing that hike as well, then eating a bucket of railroad spikes for dinner. However, half way down from the top of the canyon, my feet informed me that they had a problem with the idea of hiking a lot more. They’re high maintenance and I’m whipped. I’ll save Angels Landing for next time.
Overall, it was another day of amazing scenery and great hiking.
Tonight I’m hanging out in a cheap but excellent hotel in Cedar City, they got internet, cable and most importantly, heat. Comedy Central is playing a Chapelle’s show marathon and I’ve got a few tall boys of High Life (“The Champage of Beers”). That means this little blurb is ending now.
Zion's Breakfast
I’m sitting in the Cedar Creek Restaurant eagerly awaiting the follow up to yesterday’s Epic Breakfast. I’ve come to accept the simple fact that, in order to find the best breakfast spots, follow the crowds. Counting cars in the parking lot is an easy metric and on this Sunday morning, the Cedar Creek Restaurant wins handily over the Main Street Cafe 22-3. This is not a technique that should be used exclusively for any other meal other than breakfast lest you enjoy eating dinner at Sizzler every night of the week. For breakfast however, it works well.
I’ve found breakfast tastes to be highly universal. Early in the morning we enjoy calories: preferably in the form of grease, protein and starch. All a restaurant needs to do is make fluffy food that combines all three of those ingredients in wonderful quantities. I’ve also found that the Sunday breakfast crowd is fiercely loyal. If you have a favorite breakfast spot, you go there. If you have friends or family, you bring them. It’s true for La Note in Berkeley, I have no doubt it’s true for the Bear Town Restaurant in Evanston Wyoming and I can see it’s true at the Cedar Creek Restaurant as well.
The nights are still cold, especially at 8,200 feet. The coffee is cutting through my early groggyness after waking up with the sun. Once again I got the experience of waking up and getting acclimated to my picturesque surroundings pulling in to a campsite after midnight. Like a prairie dog emerging from his hole, I popped my head out of my tent and said, “Wow, that’s pretty!” (A mantra I find myself repeating frequently out here.) It was about that time that some hyperactive chipmunk started throwing pine cones at me. From the top of a tree 40 feet up, he dropped pine cone bombs down on me every few seconds until he had exhausted his armory. I've never seen anything like it. The entire barrage lasted about 8 minutes as I tried to disassemble my tent and guard my head. Bastard laughed at me the whole time.
Mr. Chipmunk, I hope they clearcut your mom’s house down.
The drive from Vernal to Cedar City was beautiful but uneventful. I was a bit let down by missing the dam tour (Heh! Putting dam in front of any noun never gets old) but was snapped out of that about 20 miles down the road when I rounded a corner and got this view.
Even Mr. Wishkins got out to enjoy it. He’s having a blast.
Pictures can’t accurately capture the massive amount of space out here. Like the redwoods, the landscape can only be truly appreciated in person.
Actually, that sounds incredibly selfish. Enjoy the photos.
My detour to Flaming Gorge meant that I would be on smaller highways and local routes for the daylight hours and hitting the interstate for high speed travel after the sun set. Perfect.
During the daylight, I was treated to huge vistas, cliffs and canyons cut by the erosion of petrified sand dunes, beautiful color contrasts, and long straight-aways where the road disappears into the horizon at a point. Everything out here has a western feel.
Sorry about the black and white. Sometimes that’s the best I can do. Oh and I liked this. Nestled into a beautiful canyon was, what Georgia Pacific called a “carbon power plant”. Uh… don’t you mean coal? Nonetheless, I thought it was cool in a very evil type of way. If I ever have a summer home on Cape Cod, I want it to look like this:
Breakfast is served. Spread across three plates are eggs, corned beef hash and buttermilk pancakes. I feel like it’s playtime in kindergarten and it’s my turn to select a toy before anyone else. Of course I go for the red hook and ladder fire truck. Y’all are suckers.
I’ll be back in a sec-. Wait! What the hell is that? An orange slice? Don’t you know this is Pancake Country! Get it out of here!
OK, now that that’s fixed. It’s breakfast time.
I’ve found breakfast tastes to be highly universal. Early in the morning we enjoy calories: preferably in the form of grease, protein and starch. All a restaurant needs to do is make fluffy food that combines all three of those ingredients in wonderful quantities. I’ve also found that the Sunday breakfast crowd is fiercely loyal. If you have a favorite breakfast spot, you go there. If you have friends or family, you bring them. It’s true for La Note in Berkeley, I have no doubt it’s true for the Bear Town Restaurant in Evanston Wyoming and I can see it’s true at the Cedar Creek Restaurant as well.
The nights are still cold, especially at 8,200 feet. The coffee is cutting through my early groggyness after waking up with the sun. Once again I got the experience of waking up and getting acclimated to my picturesque surroundings pulling in to a campsite after midnight. Like a prairie dog emerging from his hole, I popped my head out of my tent and said, “Wow, that’s pretty!” (A mantra I find myself repeating frequently out here.) It was about that time that some hyperactive chipmunk started throwing pine cones at me. From the top of a tree 40 feet up, he dropped pine cone bombs down on me every few seconds until he had exhausted his armory. I've never seen anything like it. The entire barrage lasted about 8 minutes as I tried to disassemble my tent and guard my head. Bastard laughed at me the whole time.
Mr. Chipmunk, I hope they clearcut your mom’s house down.
The drive from Vernal to Cedar City was beautiful but uneventful. I was a bit let down by missing the dam tour (Heh! Putting dam in front of any noun never gets old) but was snapped out of that about 20 miles down the road when I rounded a corner and got this view.
Even Mr. Wishkins got out to enjoy it. He’s having a blast.
Pictures can’t accurately capture the massive amount of space out here. Like the redwoods, the landscape can only be truly appreciated in person.
Actually, that sounds incredibly selfish. Enjoy the photos.
My detour to Flaming Gorge meant that I would be on smaller highways and local routes for the daylight hours and hitting the interstate for high speed travel after the sun set. Perfect.
During the daylight, I was treated to huge vistas, cliffs and canyons cut by the erosion of petrified sand dunes, beautiful color contrasts, and long straight-aways where the road disappears into the horizon at a point. Everything out here has a western feel.
Sorry about the black and white. Sometimes that’s the best I can do. Oh and I liked this. Nestled into a beautiful canyon was, what Georgia Pacific called a “carbon power plant”. Uh… don’t you mean coal? Nonetheless, I thought it was cool in a very evil type of way. If I ever have a summer home on Cape Cod, I want it to look like this:
Breakfast is served. Spread across three plates are eggs, corned beef hash and buttermilk pancakes. I feel like it’s playtime in kindergarten and it’s my turn to select a toy before anyone else. Of course I go for the red hook and ladder fire truck. Y’all are suckers.
I’ll be back in a sec-. Wait! What the hell is that? An orange slice? Don’t you know this is Pancake Country! Get it out of here!
OK, now that that’s fixed. It’s breakfast time.
Saturday, September 13, 2008
Best Breakfast Ever
I just had The Best Breakfast Ever! It was epic. Magnificent. Perfect.
I was on my way out of Evanston Wyoming when I decided that I hadn't had a suitable meal after backpacking (and starving) back in the Cirque. About 5 miles down I-70, I turned the car around and barreled back to Evanston to find the perfect place for breakfast.
When I say that I wanted the perfect place to eat breakfast, I really don't mean that I set out to find perfection in breakfast form. It's just a figure of speech. However, this time, I actually found it. And less than 100 yards from the motel I stayed at the previous night.
It was perfect.
Pulling into the parking lot I first noticed that pickup trucks outnumbered regular cars 3 to 1. There were 4 smokers on the front porch and the ashtray was full of butts. A car full of army grunts were loitering around the parking lot and a lady was attempting to squeeze/waddle through the front door. She was literally having trouble fitting through the door.
These are all good signs for someone who wants to feel full. I had obviously arrived at a place where people really don't give a shit about eating a bit more than a healthy amount of grease.
I looked over the menu and was amazed. Everything was loaded with carbs, grease and protein. If I remember correctly, all meals off the kids menu were delivered a Remmington bolt action rifle and 5 live rounds on the side. After much deliberation I ordered a Denver Omlette. The waitress seemed a bit taken aback by this since it was the only thing on the menu that had any trace of green in it (green peppers). I believe they put that item on the menu to see who's not from round these parts.
I thought I was really pegging myself for an out-of-towner when, instead of a muffin, I chose a scone as my side order.
Scone's are defined by wikipedia as:
"a British snack of Scottish origin. A small quickbread made of wheat, barley or oatmeal, usually with baking powder as a leavening agent. British scones are often lightly sweetened, but may also be savoury. In the U.S., scones are drier, larger and typically sweet."
Heh. Not in these parts sissy boy.
When my meal finally made it to my table I was amazed. I had the largest, greasiest omlette I've ever seen. It sat in a puddle of fat with sausage and bacon on the side, and then, on it's own plate, the scone: A 6 inch disc of fried dough, with no less than 3 tablespoons of solid butter floating in a pond of melted butter on the top. By its shape, I could tell the butter had been scooped out of a tub with a spatula. It comes with 4 containers of honey on the side. I drenched it in sweetness.
In Wyoming, a scone is a funnel cake type doughnut drowning in butter and honey. It's ridiculously decadent and bad for you beyond a doubt. But is it any good?
Oh hell yes!
I worked through my meal, taking a break in the middle to go outside and catch a breather. One of the men outside pegged me.
"You're not from round here are you? Where you travlin' to?"
Humm, I knew it. The veggies in my Denver omelette had blown my cover. "I'm heading into Utah." I answered. Scenes from Easy Rider flashed through my head.
The man smiled big with a Marlboro hanging out of the side of his mouth. "Well let me tell you about my favorite drive to get there."
The guy was awesome. He proceeded to tell me in great detail all about his most favorite drives into Utah. Traveling into Utah via the Flaming Gorge dam was recommended. He urged me to get out my road atlas. We plotted the drive together. I heard, once again, what I've heard over and over again on this trip, "I'm really jealous. Wish I could come with you."
After 10 minutes of passing the atlas back and forth, swapping road trip stories and directions I made my way back inside the restaurant, my day and drive transformed. Round 2 of breakfast was just as amazing as the first half. I finished everything on the plate, paid the check and rolled out of town on my new route. He hadn't lied to me. It was a spectacular day of driving.
I was on my way out of Evanston Wyoming when I decided that I hadn't had a suitable meal after backpacking (and starving) back in the Cirque. About 5 miles down I-70, I turned the car around and barreled back to Evanston to find the perfect place for breakfast.
When I say that I wanted the perfect place to eat breakfast, I really don't mean that I set out to find perfection in breakfast form. It's just a figure of speech. However, this time, I actually found it. And less than 100 yards from the motel I stayed at the previous night.
It was perfect.
Pulling into the parking lot I first noticed that pickup trucks outnumbered regular cars 3 to 1. There were 4 smokers on the front porch and the ashtray was full of butts. A car full of army grunts were loitering around the parking lot and a lady was attempting to squeeze/waddle through the front door. She was literally having trouble fitting through the door.
These are all good signs for someone who wants to feel full. I had obviously arrived at a place where people really don't give a shit about eating a bit more than a healthy amount of grease.
I looked over the menu and was amazed. Everything was loaded with carbs, grease and protein. If I remember correctly, all meals off the kids menu were delivered a Remmington bolt action rifle and 5 live rounds on the side. After much deliberation I ordered a Denver Omlette. The waitress seemed a bit taken aback by this since it was the only thing on the menu that had any trace of green in it (green peppers). I believe they put that item on the menu to see who's not from round these parts.
I thought I was really pegging myself for an out-of-towner when, instead of a muffin, I chose a scone as my side order.
Scone's are defined by wikipedia as:
"a British snack of Scottish origin. A small quickbread made of wheat, barley or oatmeal, usually with baking powder as a leavening agent. British scones are often lightly sweetened, but may also be savoury. In the U.S., scones are drier, larger and typically sweet."
Heh. Not in these parts sissy boy.
When my meal finally made it to my table I was amazed. I had the largest, greasiest omlette I've ever seen. It sat in a puddle of fat with sausage and bacon on the side, and then, on it's own plate, the scone: A 6 inch disc of fried dough, with no less than 3 tablespoons of solid butter floating in a pond of melted butter on the top. By its shape, I could tell the butter had been scooped out of a tub with a spatula. It comes with 4 containers of honey on the side. I drenched it in sweetness.
In Wyoming, a scone is a funnel cake type doughnut drowning in butter and honey. It's ridiculously decadent and bad for you beyond a doubt. But is it any good?
Oh hell yes!
I worked through my meal, taking a break in the middle to go outside and catch a breather. One of the men outside pegged me.
"You're not from round here are you? Where you travlin' to?"
Humm, I knew it. The veggies in my Denver omelette had blown my cover. "I'm heading into Utah." I answered. Scenes from Easy Rider flashed through my head.
The man smiled big with a Marlboro hanging out of the side of his mouth. "Well let me tell you about my favorite drive to get there."
The guy was awesome. He proceeded to tell me in great detail all about his most favorite drives into Utah. Traveling into Utah via the Flaming Gorge dam was recommended. He urged me to get out my road atlas. We plotted the drive together. I heard, once again, what I've heard over and over again on this trip, "I'm really jealous. Wish I could come with you."
After 10 minutes of passing the atlas back and forth, swapping road trip stories and directions I made my way back inside the restaurant, my day and drive transformed. Round 2 of breakfast was just as amazing as the first half. I finished everything on the plate, paid the check and rolled out of town on my new route. He hadn't lied to me. It was a spectacular day of driving.
Friday, September 12, 2008
Cirque of the Towers
I was in an unbelievably swanky coffee shop with free internet in Missoula Montana when I started poking around in my road atlas. You see, I bought the “Adventure Atlas” with blurbs on national parks and descriptions of about 100 popular destinations around America. I looked at what was described near my route when I came across the Cirque:
Cirque of the Towers, Wyoming
Begin the most classic hike in the Wind River Range at the Big Sandy Opening trailhead. Pack in eight miles and make camp in the cirque – a wonderland ringed by soaring tabletops, fins and spikes of gray granite. You’ll be smack in the middle of award-worthy calendar photo.
After a bit of Googling, and some reading I knew:
1) It’s only 525 miles away.
2) The last 40 miles are along a dirt road “with sections of washboards which will rattle your teeth.”
3) I want to go.
Awesome. It was already late so I crashed in a campground and decided to get an early start the next morning. That whole early thing never really works out. I ended up eating breakfast in Pinedale around noon (at Stockman’s Restaurant and Drive-Through Liquor Store) and then heading off to the Big Sandy trailhead.
After a few hours of driving I saw my destination:
There were some clouds but I had good rain gear. Then it started hailing. Then these guys got in the way:
When I got to the trailhead, it was already 2:45, and it was snowing. I still hadn’t even packed my backpack. I packed in record time, forgot a few essentials, changed a few clothes and was underway by 3:10. I had 9 miles to go if I wanted to sleep on anything but granite. The sun goes down at 7PM
I won’t go too much into the hike but it was hard. The first 5-6 miles are easy and flat. Then in the last 3 miles you go up from 7,900 feet, up through Jackass Pass at 10,790 and then back down to about 9,000 feet. In three miles, that’s a lot of elevation change. The last few miles are through rocky terrain so it isn’t fun to do on tired legs. I lost the trail, did some accidental rock climbing to get back on track (not fun with a pack) and made it up the pass. I was happy to finally get over the pass. It was all downhill from there.
When I finally made camp with about 20 minutes of dusk left I was exhausted and cold. All I wanted was a hot meal.
That’s when I learned that my stove’s pump had given out. Cold freeze dried chicken and mashed potatoes sucks. I ate it while hearing coyotes (or some animal) howling in the darkness.
The night was cold. It hailed and snowed more. I’ve never fully used the mummy features on my 15 degree bag but I used them that night and still felt the cold all the way through my body. In the morning when I finally crawled out of my bag, everything was frozen solid. I only noticed the cold until I saw what all the hype was about. The Cirque is incredibly beautiful once the clouds get out of the way.
Breakfast was a frozen Cliff Bar. As the sun broke through to the valley floor, I dried everything out and threw on my boots to hike out. The day before had not allowed a lot of rest so my feet were surprisingly sore and blistered. My boots are good but probably not a good match for my feet.
I climbed back out and down to the trailhead. It was a chore to get out (the last 5 miles are flat, boring and long) but my trip didn’t even compare to these guys’.
I met them at the trailhead. They’d been in for 8 days doing 10-15 miles a day with 9 days of food. After arriving at the trailhead a day early, they wanted to be back to civilization. From experience I knew that all they wanted was a good meal. We’re talking hot dogs, chili and fritos (a favorite post trek food at Philmont). They gave me a number to call to get them picked up early then jokingly said, “But if they can’t pick us up tonight, have ‘em send out some chips and salsa.”
“Chips and salsa?”, I asked.
“Dude, all we’ve been talking about for 8 days is chips and salsa. That’s what we’re all dreaming of right now.”
When I moved out of my apartment, I cleaned out my fridge and pantry. I think I gave away almost 50 pounds of food I couldn’t store or take with me. One of the last things to go in the car was a bag of chips and an unopened jar of habanero lime salsa. I had the feeling that somewhere across America, I would run into a party or some occasion where chips and salsa would be the perfect addition to a situation. This was the time. I paused, looked at ‘em and smiled. I’ve been on long 2 week treks before and dreamed of particular foods while begrudgingly stuffing down backpacking food. 50 miles from the nearest town, I just happened to have exactly what they wanted.
I laughed and walked over to my car, pulled out the chips, salsa, and the (still) cold 22 oz bottle of Heineken I’d been saving in my cooler.
“Get your cups out and dive in guys.”
I threw the bag of chips on the picnic table, opened the beer and popped the lid on the salsa. You wouldn’t believe the look on their faces. The entire mess was gone in 3 minutes of blissful gorging.
Cirque of the Towers, Wyoming
Begin the most classic hike in the Wind River Range at the Big Sandy Opening trailhead. Pack in eight miles and make camp in the cirque – a wonderland ringed by soaring tabletops, fins and spikes of gray granite. You’ll be smack in the middle of award-worthy calendar photo.
After a bit of Googling, and some reading I knew:
1) It’s only 525 miles away.
2) The last 40 miles are along a dirt road “with sections of washboards which will rattle your teeth.”
3) I want to go.
Awesome. It was already late so I crashed in a campground and decided to get an early start the next morning. That whole early thing never really works out. I ended up eating breakfast in Pinedale around noon (at Stockman’s Restaurant and Drive-Through Liquor Store) and then heading off to the Big Sandy trailhead.
After a few hours of driving I saw my destination:
There were some clouds but I had good rain gear. Then it started hailing. Then these guys got in the way:
When I got to the trailhead, it was already 2:45, and it was snowing. I still hadn’t even packed my backpack. I packed in record time, forgot a few essentials, changed a few clothes and was underway by 3:10. I had 9 miles to go if I wanted to sleep on anything but granite. The sun goes down at 7PM
I won’t go too much into the hike but it was hard. The first 5-6 miles are easy and flat. Then in the last 3 miles you go up from 7,900 feet, up through Jackass Pass at 10,790 and then back down to about 9,000 feet. In three miles, that’s a lot of elevation change. The last few miles are through rocky terrain so it isn’t fun to do on tired legs. I lost the trail, did some accidental rock climbing to get back on track (not fun with a pack) and made it up the pass. I was happy to finally get over the pass. It was all downhill from there.
When I finally made camp with about 20 minutes of dusk left I was exhausted and cold. All I wanted was a hot meal.
That’s when I learned that my stove’s pump had given out. Cold freeze dried chicken and mashed potatoes sucks. I ate it while hearing coyotes (or some animal) howling in the darkness.
The night was cold. It hailed and snowed more. I’ve never fully used the mummy features on my 15 degree bag but I used them that night and still felt the cold all the way through my body. In the morning when I finally crawled out of my bag, everything was frozen solid. I only noticed the cold until I saw what all the hype was about. The Cirque is incredibly beautiful once the clouds get out of the way.
Breakfast was a frozen Cliff Bar. As the sun broke through to the valley floor, I dried everything out and threw on my boots to hike out. The day before had not allowed a lot of rest so my feet were surprisingly sore and blistered. My boots are good but probably not a good match for my feet.
I climbed back out and down to the trailhead. It was a chore to get out (the last 5 miles are flat, boring and long) but my trip didn’t even compare to these guys’.
I met them at the trailhead. They’d been in for 8 days doing 10-15 miles a day with 9 days of food. After arriving at the trailhead a day early, they wanted to be back to civilization. From experience I knew that all they wanted was a good meal. We’re talking hot dogs, chili and fritos (a favorite post trek food at Philmont). They gave me a number to call to get them picked up early then jokingly said, “But if they can’t pick us up tonight, have ‘em send out some chips and salsa.”
“Chips and salsa?”, I asked.
“Dude, all we’ve been talking about for 8 days is chips and salsa. That’s what we’re all dreaming of right now.”
When I moved out of my apartment, I cleaned out my fridge and pantry. I think I gave away almost 50 pounds of food I couldn’t store or take with me. One of the last things to go in the car was a bag of chips and an unopened jar of habanero lime salsa. I had the feeling that somewhere across America, I would run into a party or some occasion where chips and salsa would be the perfect addition to a situation. This was the time. I paused, looked at ‘em and smiled. I’ve been on long 2 week treks before and dreamed of particular foods while begrudgingly stuffing down backpacking food. 50 miles from the nearest town, I just happened to have exactly what they wanted.
I laughed and walked over to my car, pulled out the chips, salsa, and the (still) cold 22 oz bottle of Heineken I’d been saving in my cooler.
“Get your cups out and dive in guys.”
I threw the bag of chips on the picnic table, opened the beer and popped the lid on the salsa. You wouldn’t believe the look on their faces. The entire mess was gone in 3 minutes of blissful gorging.
Wednesday, September 10, 2008
Under Sail
Well I'm currently on the road in Missoula Montana and don't have too much time to spare at this super swanky coffee shop. So far its been a tremendous trip with amazing stops, views and people. I have posts from California, Portland and Montana to share but I haven't uploaded the pictures so they'll have to wait.
Next stop: Cirque of the Towers, Wyoming, then onto Utah.
Monday, September 8, 2008
Portland to Glacier NP
Well, I made it to Glacier National Park. The general store here only sells 6 packs of beer (“No Exceptions!” says the sign). Fortunately (Uh… unfortunately?), I don’t feel like getting tanked or wasting beer so this entry is going to be fairly lucid.
I left Portland a bit late after getting a really good night sleep and taking my time in getting ready. It was a good stay and I don’t think I really wanted to leave. On my way out of town I picked up a cranberry hazelnut (not walnut) scone (Oooh that hazelnut’s good!) at Grand Central Bakery. That thing was monstrous in taste and stature. It was so large I didn’t even finish it until I got to Multnamah Falls (conveniently located right off of I-84):
That thing is big too.
After the falls it was time to see some fish and big engineering at the Bonneville Dam. The Bonneville Damn lies across the Columbia, the second largest river in America. To allow fish to run up stream and spawn, they built a fish ladder:
And a funky looking fish maze:
They have a viewing room that allows you to spy on the fish as they make their way up the ladder. This year’s run was exceptionally large (and incredibly hard to photograph).
I love big engineering projects so when I realized I was 10 minutes late for the tour of the power generation plant, I sprinted down five flights of stairs and caught up with the group as they wandered over to power generation station 1.
The Bonneville Dam was originally conceived as having 2 generators and 2 technicians dressed as butlers as their early concept art shows.
However, when they realized the dam was to be built in Oregon and not 1730’s Rococo France, the design was changed a bit. As energy demands grew, more turbines and generators were added to the site. Currently they have 10 massive generators in station 1 and a bunch more in station 2:
This allows them to supply 1000 megawatts of renewable power. That’s enough to power a city of 500,000 people.
Legend has it that the early 1940s, the site was expanded by 4 generators in order to supply power to the plutonium manufacturing facilities of the Manhattan Project in Washington State.
The tour concluded with a non-technical but hilarious prop scholar/comedy explanation of hydroelectric power generation. I was the turbine.
From there I was off along the Columbia at high speed (yep, there were trains along the road too)
The Columbia is big.
Real big.
Once I left the Columbia, the drive to Spokane was pleasant, leaving the dry, rolling plains in favor of trees, hills and meadows. The town of Spokane is really quite nice. The downtown has an old factory feel and as you leave town on HW-2 you pass by an awesome antique shop with all the junk I’ve ever wanted but never had the space for.
The sun set on my way out of Spokane so I completely missed all of Idaho and the entrance into Montana. I regret that because, from what I could see with my hi-beams on, it’s a beautiful drive.
Since I set up camp in the dark, I awoke to find that I had entered Pancake Country!
Montana, the land of tah-dah.
And log trucks…
There are lots of those. They go slow.
Finally, after about a week on the road, I made it to my first major destination: Glacier National Park. It’s really pretty here.
I left Portland a bit late after getting a really good night sleep and taking my time in getting ready. It was a good stay and I don’t think I really wanted to leave. On my way out of town I picked up a cranberry hazelnut (not walnut) scone (Oooh that hazelnut’s good!) at Grand Central Bakery. That thing was monstrous in taste and stature. It was so large I didn’t even finish it until I got to Multnamah Falls (conveniently located right off of I-84):
That thing is big too.
After the falls it was time to see some fish and big engineering at the Bonneville Dam. The Bonneville Damn lies across the Columbia, the second largest river in America. To allow fish to run up stream and spawn, they built a fish ladder:
And a funky looking fish maze:
They have a viewing room that allows you to spy on the fish as they make their way up the ladder. This year’s run was exceptionally large (and incredibly hard to photograph).
I love big engineering projects so when I realized I was 10 minutes late for the tour of the power generation plant, I sprinted down five flights of stairs and caught up with the group as they wandered over to power generation station 1.
The Bonneville Dam was originally conceived as having 2 generators and 2 technicians dressed as butlers as their early concept art shows.
However, when they realized the dam was to be built in Oregon and not 1730’s Rococo France, the design was changed a bit. As energy demands grew, more turbines and generators were added to the site. Currently they have 10 massive generators in station 1 and a bunch more in station 2:
This allows them to supply 1000 megawatts of renewable power. That’s enough to power a city of 500,000 people.
Legend has it that the early 1940s, the site was expanded by 4 generators in order to supply power to the plutonium manufacturing facilities of the Manhattan Project in Washington State.
The tour concluded with a non-technical but hilarious prop scholar/comedy explanation of hydroelectric power generation. I was the turbine.
From there I was off along the Columbia at high speed (yep, there were trains along the road too)
The Columbia is big.
Real big.
Once I left the Columbia, the drive to Spokane was pleasant, leaving the dry, rolling plains in favor of trees, hills and meadows. The town of Spokane is really quite nice. The downtown has an old factory feel and as you leave town on HW-2 you pass by an awesome antique shop with all the junk I’ve ever wanted but never had the space for.
The sun set on my way out of Spokane so I completely missed all of Idaho and the entrance into Montana. I regret that because, from what I could see with my hi-beams on, it’s a beautiful drive.
Since I set up camp in the dark, I awoke to find that I had entered Pancake Country!
Montana, the land of tah-dah.
And log trucks…
There are lots of those. They go slow.
Finally, after about a week on the road, I made it to my first major destination: Glacier National Park. It’s really pretty here.
Saturday, September 6, 2008
RIP iPod
My iPod died. I’m sad.
However I started listening to the unabridged audio book of Steinbeck’s Travels with Charley”. It’s perfect for this trip. It begins with a letter to his friend, Frank Lesser:
In the fall, right after labor day, I'm going to learn about my own country, I've lost the flavor and taste and sound of it. It's been years since I have seen it. So I'm buying a pickup truck with a small apartment on it. Kind of like the cabin of a small boat. Bed stove desk icebox toilet. Not a trailer what's called a coach.
I'm going alone, out towards the west by the northern way, but zigzagging through the middle west and the mountain states. I'll avoid cities, hit small towns and farms and ranches, sit in bars and hamburger stands and on Sunday go to church. I'll go down the coast from Washington and Oregon and then back through the Southwest and South and up the East Coast but always zigzagging.
Elane will join me occasionally but mostly I have to go alone and I shall go unknown. I just want to look, listen. What I'll get I need badly: a re-knowledge of my own country, of its speeches, its views, its attitudes and its changes.
It's long overdue, very long.”
I’m not an old man like him so I don’t need the truck but I do wish I had a few more months to explore the US and zigzag. One month isn’t enough. I'm hitting too many superhighways and not enough small towns. There’s too much stuff and too many people.
That’s why there’s a Next Time. There’s always a Next Time. And perhaps I’ll bring a dog.
However I started listening to the unabridged audio book of Steinbeck’s Travels with Charley”. It’s perfect for this trip. It begins with a letter to his friend, Frank Lesser:
In the fall, right after labor day, I'm going to learn about my own country, I've lost the flavor and taste and sound of it. It's been years since I have seen it. So I'm buying a pickup truck with a small apartment on it. Kind of like the cabin of a small boat. Bed stove desk icebox toilet. Not a trailer what's called a coach.
I'm going alone, out towards the west by the northern way, but zigzagging through the middle west and the mountain states. I'll avoid cities, hit small towns and farms and ranches, sit in bars and hamburger stands and on Sunday go to church. I'll go down the coast from Washington and Oregon and then back through the Southwest and South and up the East Coast but always zigzagging.
Elane will join me occasionally but mostly I have to go alone and I shall go unknown. I just want to look, listen. What I'll get I need badly: a re-knowledge of my own country, of its speeches, its views, its attitudes and its changes.
It's long overdue, very long.”
I’m not an old man like him so I don’t need the truck but I do wish I had a few more months to explore the US and zigzag. One month isn’t enough. I'm hitting too many superhighways and not enough small towns. There’s too much stuff and too many people.
That’s why there’s a Next Time. There’s always a Next Time. And perhaps I’ll bring a dog.
Portland 9-6-08
Things go by fast on the road. I arrived in Portland last night and have been running ever since. Actually, I feel like I’ve been way behind on stuff for the last few days. That’s the truth. It’s an all out (scenic) sprint up to Glacier and I’ve had a lot to get through before I get there.
Today I finally finished up with the tail end of my Berkeley stuff, final bills, health insurance and a bunch of odds and ends. Once that was taken care of it was time to play quartermaster and get supplied…at REI (OK, that’s the last time I’ll rhyme...no, no, that was). The REI in Portland is HUGE. Much bigger than the one if Folsom or Berkeley. I had a very Targetesque experience while shopping there. I entered needing one item and left with an entire load of stuff and a lot less money. Aaahh, shopping! I love how you make me do irrational things. We killed a few hours at REI and then I was treated to an impromptu tour of Portland by my uncle Bill.
I was really impressed. Portland seems to straddle the line between an industry heavy working town and a vibrant young city. It really doesn’t have a big city feel but there’s a ton to do here. People seem friendly and hip, there’s a lot of activity on the street and outdoor seating. I liked the feel of the town a lot. Now, keep in mind that it was sunny and warm. No, it was flat out beautiful. I’m leaving before I see any rain or grey skies.
We had dinner with my Aunt Lynn and Uncle Ed. Toured Ed’s woodshop/man cave (he’s currently building a wooden kayak), ate ice cream, looked at maps and then called it a night.
Portland? Great.
Today I finally finished up with the tail end of my Berkeley stuff, final bills, health insurance and a bunch of odds and ends. Once that was taken care of it was time to play quartermaster and get supplied…at REI (OK, that’s the last time I’ll rhyme...no, no, that was). The REI in Portland is HUGE. Much bigger than the one if Folsom or Berkeley. I had a very Targetesque experience while shopping there. I entered needing one item and left with an entire load of stuff and a lot less money. Aaahh, shopping! I love how you make me do irrational things. We killed a few hours at REI and then I was treated to an impromptu tour of Portland by my uncle Bill.
I was really impressed. Portland seems to straddle the line between an industry heavy working town and a vibrant young city. It really doesn’t have a big city feel but there’s a ton to do here. People seem friendly and hip, there’s a lot of activity on the street and outdoor seating. I liked the feel of the town a lot. Now, keep in mind that it was sunny and warm. No, it was flat out beautiful. I’m leaving before I see any rain or grey skies.
We had dinner with my Aunt Lynn and Uncle Ed. Toured Ed’s woodshop/man cave (he’s currently building a wooden kayak), ate ice cream, looked at maps and then called it a night.
Portland? Great.
Friday, September 5, 2008
Redwoods
I made it though the redwoods and I have to say that Muir woods might be pretty but it doesn’t hold a candle to Redwood national and state parks.
The day started with a beautiful drive up the coast. There’s something absolutely majestic about the rocky and cliff filled Northern California coast.
There were so many scenic vistas that I eventually felt desensitized to the whole thing.
When this:
Begins to feel like a kansas feild, you’re completely spoiled.
Highlights:
Drive through tree
That no look like Bigfoot! Bigfoot much better looking.
Redwood
Big tree
Ferndale, an Old Victorian fishing town with great looking restaurants.
My notebook says:
If you ever decide to chug a quart of milk on a hot day, your stomach will tell you (in no uncertain terms) that it is very very disappointed in you.
I decided to camp in one of the redwood state parks (the national park encompasses three amazing state parks). However, the beach campground was full so I packed in 200 yards to the walk in camp. There I met a really cool German couple. Since we were the only ones staying in that area it seemed natural to hang out and share a campfire and a few drinks.
The evening was a whole lot of fun. Making friends while swapping stories over a campfire is one of the pleasures of traveling. Also, if you’re alone on the road, company is always appreciated.
We’ll actually be in Utah at the same time next week. We’ll see if our paths cross again.
The day started with a beautiful drive up the coast. There’s something absolutely majestic about the rocky and cliff filled Northern California coast.
There were so many scenic vistas that I eventually felt desensitized to the whole thing.
When this:
Begins to feel like a kansas feild, you’re completely spoiled.
Highlights:
Drive through tree
That no look like Bigfoot! Bigfoot much better looking.
Redwood
Big tree
Ferndale, an Old Victorian fishing town with great looking restaurants.
My notebook says:
If you ever decide to chug a quart of milk on a hot day, your stomach will tell you (in no uncertain terms) that it is very very disappointed in you.
I decided to camp in one of the redwood state parks (the national park encompasses three amazing state parks). However, the beach campground was full so I packed in 200 yards to the walk in camp. There I met a really cool German couple. Since we were the only ones staying in that area it seemed natural to hang out and share a campfire and a few drinks.
The evening was a whole lot of fun. Making friends while swapping stories over a campfire is one of the pleasures of traveling. Also, if you’re alone on the road, company is always appreciated.
We’ll actually be in Utah at the same time next week. We’ll see if our paths cross again.
Wednesday, September 3, 2008
Folsom to the California Shore
Wow, what a day! I feel like a five year old kid who just ate his first salad bowl sized helping of Fruity Pebbles. The day started off in Folsom at Barb and Flip’s house. I’ve always enjoyed my time in Folsom, it feels like my home away from home on the west coast, and whenever I leave, I look forward to returning.
The trip out of Folsom was really the true start of my travels and honestly, it wasn’t the most exciting start to a trip I’ve ever had. In fact, the first 40 or so miles of the trip was boring, flat and hot. Taking US-50 to I-5 and riding that to Woodland was your average central California interstate crap, only with more suck. I think the highlight of that portion of my trip was a giant sign by the side of the road (I regret not getting a picture) yelling at all oncoming traffic “We sell dirt”. My entrepreneurial mind wondered if they ever thought of diversifying and selling mud. I couldn’t help but daydream about this:
Branching off of I-5 at Woodland the scenery and the drive instantly changed. It was glorious. First, while driving out of the central valley, the interstate was replaced by HW 16, a beautiful 2 lane road lined with oak trees. I found myself winding my way through small farms and orchards. Signs by the side of the road advertised fresh squash instead of dirt.
When the road reached the hills, the farmland gave way to plots of land featuring small family run orchards (I wish I knew what they were growing), smaller houses, and the occasional bush farm (well… I’m not sure what those plants were…).
One fun aspect of traveling along highways instead of interstates is the sporadic stops and slowdowns due to road construction. It kinda’ breaks up the monotony of driving as you wait 5-10 minutes for your chance to share a single lane. People, stop their cars, get out, stretch and even smalltalk.
You can get one hell of a tan working outside in California.
As I continued through to Willits I noticed that there are a whole lot of pickup trucks in Northern California. I grew up in North Carolina and was surprised that we don’t have a monopoly on rednecks.
The guy in front of me at the gas station picked up 6 cans of skoal.
I’m used to seeing fairly dumb, white trash, hey look at me I’m an ignorant sonofabitch bumper stickers in the south but once I saw my second
Uncle Sam want you
to speak English.
bumper sticker, I started to feel that 100 miles north of the bay area…ain’t the bay area.
Whatever… No Problemo.
Continuing on 20 out of Willits, the scenery changed again. As I dropped down through the turns to the coast, the oak and burnt grassland hills began to mix with coastal redwood forests. It’s amazing how fast this state changes.
There’s something about breaking through to the Pacific that never gets old. Meeting up with Highway one was like coming home for Christmas. At Fort Bragg I decided that the sun was getting low and it was about time to eat some dinner and call it a day. Besides, the Burger King chicken sandwich I ate for lunch was getting lonely. I found it fortuitous that, as soon as I thought, “Humm, I should eat” the North Coast Brewery suddenly appeared.
Red Seal Ale and a cup of their famous clam chowder…J’amie! (yes, j’amie is French for “I like”).
Tonight I’m staying at MacKerricher State Park. At the start of the day, I was shooting for Redwood National Park but this place is great. After catching the sunset
I was able to explore their rocky tidal pools. I met me a friend.
And now it’s time to go to bed. Tomorrow’s gonna’ rock.
The trip out of Folsom was really the true start of my travels and honestly, it wasn’t the most exciting start to a trip I’ve ever had. In fact, the first 40 or so miles of the trip was boring, flat and hot. Taking US-50 to I-5 and riding that to Woodland was your average central California interstate crap, only with more suck. I think the highlight of that portion of my trip was a giant sign by the side of the road (I regret not getting a picture) yelling at all oncoming traffic “We sell dirt”. My entrepreneurial mind wondered if they ever thought of diversifying and selling mud. I couldn’t help but daydream about this:
Branching off of I-5 at Woodland the scenery and the drive instantly changed. It was glorious. First, while driving out of the central valley, the interstate was replaced by HW 16, a beautiful 2 lane road lined with oak trees. I found myself winding my way through small farms and orchards. Signs by the side of the road advertised fresh squash instead of dirt.
When the road reached the hills, the farmland gave way to plots of land featuring small family run orchards (I wish I knew what they were growing), smaller houses, and the occasional bush farm (well… I’m not sure what those plants were…).
One fun aspect of traveling along highways instead of interstates is the sporadic stops and slowdowns due to road construction. It kinda’ breaks up the monotony of driving as you wait 5-10 minutes for your chance to share a single lane. People, stop their cars, get out, stretch and even smalltalk.
You can get one hell of a tan working outside in California.
As I continued through to Willits I noticed that there are a whole lot of pickup trucks in Northern California. I grew up in North Carolina and was surprised that we don’t have a monopoly on rednecks.
The guy in front of me at the gas station picked up 6 cans of skoal.
I’m used to seeing fairly dumb, white trash, hey look at me I’m an ignorant sonofabitch bumper stickers in the south but once I saw my second
Uncle Sam want you
to speak English.
bumper sticker, I started to feel that 100 miles north of the bay area…ain’t the bay area.
Whatever… No Problemo.
Continuing on 20 out of Willits, the scenery changed again. As I dropped down through the turns to the coast, the oak and burnt grassland hills began to mix with coastal redwood forests. It’s amazing how fast this state changes.
There’s something about breaking through to the Pacific that never gets old. Meeting up with Highway one was like coming home for Christmas. At Fort Bragg I decided that the sun was getting low and it was about time to eat some dinner and call it a day. Besides, the Burger King chicken sandwich I ate for lunch was getting lonely. I found it fortuitous that, as soon as I thought, “Humm, I should eat” the North Coast Brewery suddenly appeared.
Red Seal Ale and a cup of their famous clam chowder…J’amie! (yes, j’amie is French for “I like”).
Tonight I’m staying at MacKerricher State Park. At the start of the day, I was shooting for Redwood National Park but this place is great. After catching the sunset
I was able to explore their rocky tidal pools. I met me a friend.
And now it’s time to go to bed. Tomorrow’s gonna’ rock.
Tuesday, September 2, 2008
Folsom
Well, I finally moved all my stuff into storage. Moving your stuff into storage feels like like Moving Lite. All the hassles of moving out but none of the hassles of moving in. I actually like it a lot. Moving into a new place comes with an entirely new set of problems and anxieties that I’d rather not deal with at the moment. Thus, after sweeping, sneezing, mopping, sneezing, scrubbing and sneezing (obviously I’m allergic to cleaning), I’m finally out of town and on the road.
Well, I’m not really on the road. I’m away from my old home but I’m not driving anywhere. It’s labor day weekend and the last thing I wanted to do with our collective last hurrah of summer is spend it On the Road with every other fool in this nation so I decided to make a quick trip out to my aunt and uncle’s house and relax, take care of business and lay low for the holiday.
Yesterday (Monday) we decided to trick the crowds and made a late afternoon trip up to Wrights Lake in the Sierras. It’s an awesome spot. I'd give it two thumbs up but then I'd drop the camera in the lake.
Wrights Lake is home to many different critters and creatures. As I explored, I took pictures and gave the animals unique names. There were tons of ducks named Fred. Enjoy some duck butt!
And a bunch of noisy geese named Fred.
An old Heron named Fred practicing Thi-Chi on a rock in the middle of the lake. Every time I got close, he’d start doing a nutty one legged balancing act with his wings outstretched. He might have been practicing The Crane from the first Karate Kid or just ticked off at some jerk snapping pictures from a red kayak.
Finally, while paddling back to our neck of the woods I came upon this little bugger lying on his back in the middle of the lake. At first I thought it was a dead hummingbird (eh?) then upon closer inspection I thought it was a dead giant from the Carboniferous period but when I scooped him up with my paddle, he seemed to cling onto it for dear life. Alas, it was simply a really big and water logged dragonfly. I named him Fred.
He fluttered his wings a bit, threw up some water on my paddle and asked for a ride back to shore. I obliged.
Then spent some time nursing him back to health.
After a while he started to feel a bit better and went for a stroll along the top of the kayak but refused to fly away.
When I reached my hand down he eagerly jumped onto it. I wondered whether they would let me take him on the plane to Europe. I contemplated our future. I decided Fred and I would have a long and happy friendship.
Right after I took that picture, Fred the Dragonfly thanked me for my troubles and promptly jumped off my hand and did a back flop…right back into the lake. Apparently he ain’t all that impressed with his lot in life. Or he's really dumb. I rescued him (again) and decided that I didn’t want to tote Fred the Suicidal Dragonfly all the way to Eastern Europe. We said our goodbyes and parted amicably as I placed him on a stump by the side of the lake. Farewell Fred.
Overall, we all had a good (and chilly) time relaxing by the lake in the late afternoon sun. Books were read, jokes were told, strawberries were eaten and a sandwich was sat upon.
Today I’m pulling everything together here in Folsom (plane ticket, shopping, work, blogging, blah, blah, blah) then I’m off to Redwood National Park for a few days. That’s gonna’ be a pretty trip. I’ll tell you how it goes.
Well, I’m not really on the road. I’m away from my old home but I’m not driving anywhere. It’s labor day weekend and the last thing I wanted to do with our collective last hurrah of summer is spend it On the Road with every other fool in this nation so I decided to make a quick trip out to my aunt and uncle’s house and relax, take care of business and lay low for the holiday.
Yesterday (Monday) we decided to trick the crowds and made a late afternoon trip up to Wrights Lake in the Sierras. It’s an awesome spot. I'd give it two thumbs up but then I'd drop the camera in the lake.
Wrights Lake is home to many different critters and creatures. As I explored, I took pictures and gave the animals unique names. There were tons of ducks named Fred. Enjoy some duck butt!
And a bunch of noisy geese named Fred.
An old Heron named Fred practicing Thi-Chi on a rock in the middle of the lake. Every time I got close, he’d start doing a nutty one legged balancing act with his wings outstretched. He might have been practicing The Crane from the first Karate Kid or just ticked off at some jerk snapping pictures from a red kayak.
Finally, while paddling back to our neck of the woods I came upon this little bugger lying on his back in the middle of the lake. At first I thought it was a dead hummingbird (eh?) then upon closer inspection I thought it was a dead giant from the Carboniferous period but when I scooped him up with my paddle, he seemed to cling onto it for dear life. Alas, it was simply a really big and water logged dragonfly. I named him Fred.
He fluttered his wings a bit, threw up some water on my paddle and asked for a ride back to shore. I obliged.
Then spent some time nursing him back to health.
After a while he started to feel a bit better and went for a stroll along the top of the kayak but refused to fly away.
When I reached my hand down he eagerly jumped onto it. I wondered whether they would let me take him on the plane to Europe. I contemplated our future. I decided Fred and I would have a long and happy friendship.
Right after I took that picture, Fred the Dragonfly thanked me for my troubles and promptly jumped off my hand and did a back flop…right back into the lake. Apparently he ain’t all that impressed with his lot in life. Or he's really dumb. I rescued him (again) and decided that I didn’t want to tote Fred the Suicidal Dragonfly all the way to Eastern Europe. We said our goodbyes and parted amicably as I placed him on a stump by the side of the lake. Farewell Fred.
Overall, we all had a good (and chilly) time relaxing by the lake in the late afternoon sun. Books were read, jokes were told, strawberries were eaten and a sandwich was sat upon.
Today I’m pulling everything together here in Folsom (plane ticket, shopping, work, blogging, blah, blah, blah) then I’m off to Redwood National Park for a few days. That’s gonna’ be a pretty trip. I’ll tell you how it goes.
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