We left Vegas early, when (I imagine) many of her revelers, gamblers, and the like were just going to bed. Still a bit stressed from being in the city and the crazy traffic and whatnot, I made Errol drive us out of the city (breaking our usual pattern of me driving in the morning and him driving in the afternoon).

We left the city of glitz and glamour and entered desert; dust and dirt and sand punctuated only by an occasional oasis in the form of a casino and hotel. They would come into view, strange and garish and in sharp contrast to the landscape, and then fade away again as we continued to drive.







It was unbelievably hot. Rolling down the windows was futile; dust would come into the car, and the rushing wind overpowered the music and conversation. We put on the AC. I could still feel the sun baking my legs. I could not believe the wind and dust that blew around us - I felt like we were going through the Sahara. Or a golden Mars.

It was mostly quiet. I was tired, and stressed from Vegas. Errol continued to drive. We passed over into California suddenly, and without much warning. I felt it.

"Are we in California?" I asked, suddenly, and Errol consulted the GPS. "I think so," he said.

"Towanda."

"Towanda."

We drove through the Mojave Desert. Sam called me, and told me that if we haven't passed it already, we needed to stop in this little town for lunch at a place called The Mad Greek. Luckily, as he and I spoke about the route we were going to take (take 58 and not 46, he advised; 46 is crazy fast and is, in fact, where James Dean died, and 58 is lovely and scenic), we came upon The Mad Greek, and even though it was kind of early, we stopped for lunch.

It was awesome. I mean, who'd have thought that you'd have a fantastically delicious Greek restaurant in the middle of the Mojave Desert? We feasted on gyros before hitting the road again.





Also, we passed this sign. Can anyone pronounce this?



We got on 58 and began to drive through the Valley. It was hot, and dry, and dusty, and there were fruit trees and forests of towers with power lines stringing across them like electric canopies. We stopped to get gas in the middle of nowhere and the woman behind the register lamented that gas would be six dollars a gallon by June. I bought a large bottle of Gatorade and guzzled it and a bottle of water in record time. I fell asleep for a bit, warmed by the sun, and woke up with sweat pooling uncomfortably in the small of my back and behind my knees.



We drove past orchards and fields, stands selling strawberries and avocados, and got turned around on a small dirt road that turned out to be part of a farm. We sat in a small traffic jam while a train hundreds of cars long inched by.







58 became smaller. Cars started dropping off and taking other routes, but we pressed on. The road got twisty and strange and suddenly we were at the base of a mountain, and there was as sign warning us that there weren't any services for 70 miles.

We began to climb.



Poor Beatrice. Taxed by the length of the journey and the weight of my possessions, she huffed and puffed her way up that hill. The landscape was bizarre - the dust and dirt of the desert had been replaced by a golden sort of grass - or was it a grain? - and the road cut around the hills like they had at Mesa Verde. We twisted around and suddenly there was a drop off, and I turned away, or attempted to calm myself by taking a picture.

We came down the mountain.

We went through a large expanse - a plain, almost - of the same golden colored grass.















"This is beautiful," Errol said.

I couldn't disagree. We drove past fences, behind which black and brown cows strolled contentedly.

We went up another set of hills.

When we came down, we noticed something very strange - we could see the climate change. That is, suddenly there were larger trees, and green plants and grass, and the mountains in front of us - the last set before the ocean - weren't gold, but green. We went up the last mountain roads.





When we came down on the other side, the horizon was hazy, but I - well, I could swear - that I could see where the landscape ended. "The ocean," I whispered, hoarsely.

We drove into Morro Bay. I saw the rock from miles away, and as we drove into town, I felt my heart lift. We'd reached the other side.

We found the hostel where we were staying. It was a home hostel, run by this elderly woman named Sue who loves to travel (she's just gotten back from Canada not too long before). We put our stuff in our room and then drove to a local seafood restaurant that overlooked the ocean.





Before we went inside, we stood at the harbor and I took a deep breath. The salt air rushed into my head and made me a little giddy.

We came back from dinner, talked to Sue for a bit, and then, for lack of internet access or an update to make, I crashed.

We woke up the next morning, had some coffee and toast, and got on the road. But not before I got a picture of Sue, and she took a picture of us.



We took Route 1, up the coast. It was the most exceptionally beautiful thing I have ever seen. We've seen some incredible natural beauty on this trip, but this was something else.















We also stopped to see the sea lions! They were hanging out on the beach. Being awesome and whatnot.







We wound along the coast, taking hairpin turns (very, very carefully!) and meandering through cliffside flowers and beaches and rocks and trees and my heart swelled from the beauty.

We stopped for gas and paid the most that we've paid on the whole trip: $5.09/gal. We kept going.

Around one, we came to Monterey. I'd had my heart set on In-n-Out, but when I realized that Monterey was a proper city (as in: to drive around to find one would have taken forever), we stopped near Fisherman's Wharf and ate seafood overlooking the marina.



We kept driving. We went inland. We passed an overturned truck on 101; the driver was standing on the side of the road next to some good Samaritans who had stopped. Behind the truck, thousands of lettuces were rolling over the pavement.

As we continued through Santa Cruz, we both noticed billowing smoke rising from the trees on the hill in the distance. It appeared to be spreading, too - smoke began rising from other places, small at first, and then they all seemed to mesh together. Fire trucks started coming south on 101, in huge numbers.

Apparently, there was, indeed, a forest fire, and we drove right through it. Weird, huh?

Around four thirty, we pulled up in front of Mary's house. I jumped out to help Errol park, and as he maneuvered Beatrice to get her into the driveway, Rebekah came out of the house! I attacked her and hugged her like crazy and smothered her in kisses because I have missed her SO MUCH and I was so happy to be, in one way or another, home.

After unpacking poor Beatrice (who is now much happier and higher off the ground), we went for a walk/grocery shop that I could better understand Piedmont and Oakland.

The house I'm staying in absolutely beautiful. There are herbs growing everywhere and a lemon tree and the weather is perfect and there are roses and flowers everywhere. Lillian, the dog that we're taking care of, is super-cute. She's a black cocker spaniel and has these floppy black ears that drag in her water bowl, and when you lean down she just flips over on her back so that you can rub her tummy. So adorable! *makes puppy-wuppy silly smoochy noises* There's also a really friendly neighborhood cat who I keep seeing when I go outside. She reminds me of Simon.























Today, I slept in. Even after pulling myself out of bed at eight in the morning to answer a phone call, I crawled back into bed and dreamed that I hitchhiked my way across the US by paying people with macaroni and cheese that I carried in an iron pot that I wore like a messenger bag. I'm not exactly sure how it worked. I remember that I had a big ladle, though.

We went to the Berkley Rose Garden today and it was lovely. I smelled the roses for so long that my super-sensitive nose went a little haywire and I got a headache from all the perfume. But it was gorgeous. My favorite rose was called Taboo, and was this deep, gorgeous red that melted into an even darker, sinful maroon. It was a very sexy rose.

















While we were sitting, a ball came crashing through the roses and landed in the water. I fished it out for a young man who came and apologized. We followed him back up. He and his friends were playing cricket on a tennis court.



I miss Rebekah already. She's at a retreat for the weekend. Hopefully Errol and I will get some exploring done in the next few days, though I personally am still recovering from le road trip. I'm tired and my back and neck are killing me.

To the people at Arden: *waves hello* Have a fun tournament. I miss you guys!

Okay, I'm done writing this post, for the record, at 3 AM Pacific time Saturday morning. Now, I just have to wait for those darned pictures to upload so I can add them in and post! Stupid ScrapBook.

Awesome picture of the day:



It was probably a good thing that I went to bed early last night. I woke feeling refreshed, uploaded photos, took a shower, wrote my entry, and by the time Errol was ready to go, it was posted and I was ready to hit the road.

We got gas and got back on 160, winding our way toward Mesa Verde. The morning started cool, but as we drove, I could feel heat building around us.

The entrance to Mesa Verde is less than an hour from Durango, but you have to drive some 20 miles into the park - up twisty, mountainside roads that Beatrice was straining to climb - to get to the cliff dwellings. Deer bounded across the road periodically, and I drove very, very slowly.















It got hotter and hotter as we drove, and by the time we reached Spruce Tree House, it was easily in the mid-80s. We packed some drinking water and made the hike down the cliffside.









Even as a child, I loved sightseeing in places like historical villages because my imagination would go nuts. I would have these intense fantasies that I was living during that time period (coincidentally, in these fantasies I was always a feisty feminist that the patriarchal establishment was trying to suppress. Oh, and I always had a horse) and I would wander around, eyes glazed over, occasionally breaking from my daydream to hear the guide make some relevant point about knitting needles and tanning animal hides.

It was like that. The cliff dwellings are so well-preserved and so distinct that I had this moment of visualization that I was there when they were occupied by their original tenants.

We wandered around and took pictures. I listened to a large group chatter away in French. I grilled a park ranger about how one becomes a park ranger (I did this for you, Amanda - I can just see you wearing one of those hats). I climbed down into a dark pit, and climbed back out again. I touched the very, very old structures with the palm of my hand.













We hiked back up. It was intense. We downed all the water and collapsed into Beatrice, hungry and thirsty. I found another water bottle and as we drove back down the twisty, windy mountain hills, I smothered rice cakes in peanut butter and we feasted.

We left Mesa Verde a little before noon and continued on 160 West. We dipped down into the Ute Reservation, where we stopped for gas, and one of the guys at the station showed us how the mountain is supposed to be a sleeping Ute.



We went through Cortez, a town whose sign told us that it was the "gate to the Southwest."

And that's when I realized that the landscape was changing. The air was heavier, the ground was redder and full of scrubby, small vegetation. The Rocky Mountains were further and further behind us.



We hit the Four Corners.

I put my hands and legs in all four states at once, and it was exciting (and added two extra states to our trip: New Mexico and Utah).



As I went to get back in Beatrice, I noticed a couple about my parents' age checking out her bumper stickers.

"I love your bumper stickers," the woman said, smiling. "And you're from Pennsylvania! We're from Doylestown!"

"I'm from Allentown," I said. I explained about my move.

They wished me the best of luck with my travels. We drove into Arizona.

The funny thing about visiting new states is the immediate impressions they make upon you. I mean, you hear about states from other people - people who have lived there, for example - and you have ideas about what it's like, but there's nothing like actually experiencing it.

Arizona is hot. It's desolate. We drove through the Navajo Nation and it was beautiful and sad at the same time. Men sitting on suitcases jut their thumbs toward the brilliant blue sky, and the earth is so red it's almost disconcerting. The road was lined with lovely coral and yellow flowers. Horses galloped over the desert. I had the impression of hugeness, of heat and light.

We drove. And drove. And drove.





















We even drove past a truck hauling amusement park rides.



We turned off 160 W and went south. We got onto 64 and headed toward the Grand Canyon National Park.

As we drove, I noticed something. The earth was splitting open - slightly at first, and then suddenly, as we turned a corner, I saw that the the ground was huge and yawning. We pulled over and stepped out of the car.

This might not mean much to people who have never met me in person, but to those of you who do know me in real life, know this: I didn't speak. I couldn't. For all of my words, there were none in any combination that could adequately describe the feeling I had when I saw the Grand Canyon for the first time. I tightened the string on my hat to keep it from blowing away as the wind whipped around. And I didn't speak.









We drove through the park. It was strange - we'd descend into some trees, and begin to chat idly, and then the trees would clear and there it was, huge and gorgeous and gaping and spectacular and I'd stop mid-sentence with a "my god" and we'd fall silent.

We went through the entire park and came out the other side. We took our luggage to the hotel, had dinner, and then hung out in the room for a bit before heading back to the park for sunset.

We stood against the railing, Errol and I, staring out over the canyon as the setting sun bled color over the crags and formations and valleys. Errol pointed to one formation that looked like a pyramid, and we began to create a story about a king who lived there. "There," Errol said, pointing to another structure, "that's the land of the gods."

"And over there," I said, pointing to a high tower far away from the king's palace, "that's where the king's rebellious daughter ran away to. She lives there with high priestesses who worship her visage." I leaned my head against his shoulder. "I'm glad there's someone here experiencing this with me, or I don't think I'd believe that it happened."

The sun dipped down, and everything turned blue. I swallowed, hard. I thought about America, and her ugliness and her beauty, and was reminded of a line from a poem by Judy Grahn.

When she is cruel, she is very, very
cruel and when she is kind she is lavish.

Lavish, indeed.







































As the sun set, the full moon began to rise on the other side. I wish I'd had the lenses to adequately capture the beauty of the orange moon rising over the canyon.





We drove back in the dark, headlights catching the trees and signs imploring us not the feed the wildlife.

Sleep soon. Tomorrow, Las Vegas.

Love you.

I woke up early on Sunday, long before my alarm went off, and went and sat on the porch of the hostel, overlooking the main street of Estes Park. It was cold, I was in my pajamas, and I could see my breath, and these things combined with the informality of the hostel (incidentally: this was my first hostel, and I LOVE it. I think that hosteling agrees with me) made me feel like I was a ten-year-old Girl Scout camping in the Poconos in November again.

I put on some shoes and my cowboy hat and went for a walk. At some point, I turned around and there they were - the Rocky Mountains. I shivered, and it wasn't from the cold. Sometimes, when I'm in geologically interesting places, I get these... these impressions of how the landscape was formed, as though something in me is connecting with the ancientness of the earth beneath the pavement. As I stood on that street in Estes Park in my flip flops and my cowboy hat, I imagined the violence that occurred millions of years ago; the tectonic plates slamming together and the earth's crust rupturing and the Rocky Mountains, in all of their huge, magnificent splendor, jutting towards the sky.

Despite the fact that my favorite natural landscape is the beach, I think mountains are a close, close second.

On the walk back up the street, I saw something really fantastic: a hearse (yes, just like the one I always wanted) parked in front of a house.



I went back to the hostel and got ready. Errol was already up and showered, and we packed the bags in Beatrice (but not before fixing a "Rocky Mountain National Park" sticker to her bumper) and drove down from the mountains.

We'd originally wanted to take mountain passes to go through Colorado, but the weather is bad and snowy and we didn't want to get stuck in a blizzard. So we made our way towards Boulder and Denver - all the while keeping the Rockies in our sights.









We came out the other side of Denver and drove into more isolated country. The Rockies never left us.





After awhile, we came to a point where the mountains seemed to surround us almost on every side. I realized that to progress, we'd have to go through at least some of them.

And we did. We wound up into the thin air of the snowy mountains, passing snowslide signs and avalanche signs and mounds of snow and... it was beautiful.









We arrive in Durango around six, and met up with my friend Jeff (who canvassed with me for the DNC when I was just a freshman in college, and has since moved from DC to NM/CO) and his girlfriend and his girlfriend's really cute three-year-old daughter.









We stayed for many hours, eating and drinking tea and yes, I played and played with with the daughter because I love love love kids, and they never get sick of my silly faces or goofy jokes. And just as we left to head to the motel, I caught the sunset.



And I then proceeded to pass out in bed.

Today is going to be great. We're going to see the Four Corners AND Mesa Verde AND the Grand Canyon (we're staying by the Grand Canyon). *squee!*

Love you all! Bye!

*hits the road*
*but not too hard, the road has been very nice to us*

Before I go into the awesomeness of the day, I would like to share with you a picture that pretty much sums up how I feel about life right now.



I woke up early this morning and hopped online. With the spotty motel wireless, it took a bit of wrangling to get that last entry up, but I did it! For all of you! Well, and for me. But also for all of you!

*loves all of you*

Anyway, by the time we got all showered and wolfed down complimentary bagels and coffee, it was around nine. We hopped into Beatrice and made our way out onto the open Wyoming road.

The landscape was, by and large, the same landscape we saw yesterday. Gorgeous, huge skies, wide, open spaces. I, however, was not distracted by this natural beauty. My eyes? Were fixed on the horizon.

"I see the mountains! I see the mountains!" I shrieked, bouncing in my seat. Beatrice swerved slightly.

"I think that might be a hill," Errol said.

It did, indeed, prove to be a hill. A short time later:

"There they are! I can see the snow!"

"I think those are clouds."

They were. So we drove along, Joni Mitchell crooning at me as I frantically searched for the Rockies.

Around Cheyenne, not too far from the Colorado border, we drifted over the swell of a hill and... there they were. Snow capped and majestic and blue with distance.

"Oh. My god." I felt that pressure behind my nose like when I'm about to cry, and I had to take a deep breath to keep from doing so. "My god."

We went through Cheyenne and over the Colorado border.

"TOWANDAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!"

We stopped for gas; I made my voice post, we checked the oil (good until Las Vegas, I'd say), and we got back on the road, silent, doing nothing but stare at the mountains.

We turned off the main road and headed toward Estes Park. We went through a town called Loveland where there was a lovely lake (looking at a map, I think it was Boyd Lake, but I'm not sure) with a little park and a great view of the mountains. We stopped to stretch our legs and absorb the majesty for a bit.







As we got ready to get back into Beatrice and continue on our way, Errol pointed out some statues to me. Read the last bit carefully.







It says: Invictus. I am the master of my fate. I am the captain of my soul. William Ernest Henley

Errol smiled at me. "It seems appropriate," he said.

Hands shaking slightly, I got back into the car and we kept driving... into the mountains.



We drove slowly, soaking in the sights as we climbed higher and higher into the mountains, passing through small towns with cabins for tourists. After a while, we arrived in Estes Park.

It was gorgeous. The town was clean and bright and you could see the snow capped mountain peaks in the distance. We had a delicious and surprisingly inexpensive lunch at a pizza restaurant and then made our way to Rocky Mountain National Park.

Sadly, we're here about a month out of season, so certain passes were closed (I am, however, absolutely positively determined to come back here during the season at some point). We did, however, get some amazing pictures. It was breathtakingly lovely.





















Also, while I was hanging out taking photos on this rocky outcropping, I made friends with a very personable furry woodland creature who got very, very close before scampering away.



After we were all Rocky Mountain-ed out, we headed toward the hostel. By accident (though I'd been wanting to see it, we hadn't planned on it) we stopped at the Stanley Hotel, which probably has all kinds of rich historical things attached to it, but which I love because it's where Stephen King was inspired to write The Shining.



After we left the Stanley, we found the hostel. The manager and her son were busy setting up mattresses and things. The son, Joel, was a shy sixteen year old who helped me out getting internet up. Then he, Errol, and I helped drag some boxsprings and mattresses onto bedframes.

Later, Errol and I took a walk around Estes Park. I bought a big ol' cowboy hat at a leather shop. The owner nodded his head approvingly when I tried it on. I looked in the mirror. It looked pretty darn cool.

"Now, here's the question," he said. "Are you the type of lady who pushes her hat up off her face, or the kind who pulls it down low?"

I tugged the hat down low on my face.

"This way," I explained. "I can see them, but they can't see me."

We walked around. I bought a "Rocky Mountain National Park" bumper sticker for Beatrice, and a little Buddha for my dashboard in a Nepalese shop (interesting fact: there are something like 4,000 people from Nepal living in Estes Park during the normal season. Apparently it's a huge destination for the Nepalese). The girls at the shop told us that we'd apparently missed snow in Estes Park - get this - by a day. Whew. We're just going to have to be careful tomorrow - don't want to get trapped in any freak blizzards.

Anway, the hostel is lovely and nice, and I really want to come back here some time in the summer. They have a map on the wall of where people are from, and I stuck a pin in PA and DC.

So, in conclusion: Rocky Mountains = *indistinct gaping noises combined with a waving of hands*

Love you all! Tomorrow we travel to Durango.

We left Murdo a little after eight central time and headed west on 90. Twenty minutes outside of town, the time zone changed to mountain. We zipped along 90 with Ani DiFranco singing. The sky behind us was clear, and the sky in front of us was heavy with a thick layer of clouds. We watched the clouds apprehensively, but in another twenty minutes they dissipated, and the sky was a perfect, flawless shade of blue.

We passed by the first bison I have ever seen in my entire life outside of a zoo. Live bison, just chilling with other bison. It was freaking sweet.

We drove for about an hour; the signs for Wall Drug and The Badlands increased with alarming frequency, and by the time we saw the first evidence of The Badlands - the landscape breaking up into these small white hills - I was practically bouncing out of my seat.



We stopped at a gas station just outside of the entrance to the park to fill up. I got out to go to the bathroom, and this shaggy dog came running up to me. He butted his head against my hand and sat down on top of my feet, looking up at me with this huge doggy smile and two colored eyes. I pet him. Errol came over. "Does he have any tags?" he asked.

I checked. He had a worn leather collar, but nothing else.

"No," I said. My imagination went a little haywire. I imagined adopting this dog and taking him on the road with us! I could name him Dakota!

I went into the bathroom of the gas station. The dog followed me to the door, then stopped as I went inside. When I came back out, he was sitting at the far pump. I whistled lightly and he came bounding over. I pet him again.

"Don't you have a home?" I asked as his pink tongue lolled contentedly out of his mouth. I realized - practically - that there was no way I could take this dog with us. I pulled out my camera to take a picture.

A heavyset, grizzled man came walking out of the gas station and saw us.

"You want a picture? Here." He whistled and patted a large crate in the back of his pickup truck. The dog jumped up and leaped into the bed of the truck, jumping up on the crate and curling up like it was his bed.

"There ya go," the man said, and disappeared into the store. I took a picture.

"Thanks," I said, giving him one more pat before getting into the car. I never did find out his name.



We drove on to the Badlands. As we got closer to the park, we could see the... well, whatever they were. Mounds, hills, mountains - the steep white walls and organic, wind-and-water shaped formations - they were lovely.

(Note: I'm not posting every single Badland picture here. For more than what's here, check out The Next Great Adventure album.)



















As we drove, two prairie dogs skittered across the road. I braked very, very hard, and when I got out, I realized that on either side of this particular stretch of pavement there were hundreds of prairie dog holes. They noticed my presence and began to chitter loudly. I took a few pictures and got back inside.



We also saw a snake!



The Badlands were just... incredible. Every time we turned a corner, Errol and I would just say "Oh... my god. Oh... my... god." As I stood on the overlooks, staring out over the hundreds of miles of inhospitable land, I tried to imagine not being just a tourist, looking at it from a paved road, but someone trying to cross this land for the first time. It was a terrifying thought.

We finished up the Badlands Loop. The exit took us to Wall, SD, home of the infamous Wall Drug. It was around lunchtime, so we figured "Why not?"

Wall Drug is an interesting experience. According to the historical information that I picked up, a man purchased the drug store in the 30s. When they didn't get any business (I know what you're thinking: a drug store in the middle of nowhere in South Dakota in the 30s wasn't getting any business?!), the wife of the proprietor had an idea - offer free ice water to motorists.

The result is a place that resembles a South Dakota style South of the Border experience. The billboards start from hundreds of miles away, the amount of stuff that they sell is staggering, and the cheesy, camp of it all is not to be missed. We had a fun time at Wall Drug.

(Also, if any of you understand the book reference that I am acting out by kissing the bison, you win a million points.)











After we left Wall Drug (with the complimentary "Have you dug Wall Drug?" bumper sticker on Beatrice's rear), we continued to drive on 90. As we got closer to Mount Rushmore, we could see the Black Hills looming in the distance. (We also kept passing patches of not-quite melted snow, which was bizarre, considering it was 70-something degrees outside.)

We started the crawl into the Black Hills. Beatrice was a trooper - only once did I feel her straining slightly with the climb. We went up higher and higher into the Black Hills, and they were lovely.



The billboards for all of these random attractions kept increasing as well (including one "mystery attraction," which we didn't stop at, despite the fact that I was incredibly tempted). We skipped over the Borglum museum (I can only take so much historical information in one day) and drove straight up to Mount Rushmore. But not before passing this sign:



Mount Rushmore was cool. It was, however, somewhat smaller than I'd imagined. I guess I'd always imagined that the heads would be HUGE, and they didn't seem that big. Still, it was neat. And very... American.

(Also, I think we can agree that Gutzon Borglum is the most unfortunate name ever, yes?)













We left Mount Rushmore and began the climb back down from the Black Hills. We passed through a town called Hot Springs that reminded me of Jim Thorpe, PA.



We also saw a whole herd of bison on the side of the road.





After an hour, we caught our first glimpse of Wyoming.



The cheesy billboards behind us, everything sort of opened up, and we were on a long, flat road going into a wide open space. We passed the Welcome to Wyoming sign, which was small and unobtrusive and hardly noticeable. It was, after all, dwarfed by the sky.

There was no cell phone reception for hundreds of miles. I felt cut off, but it wasn't bad or scary, just strange.

The open space of Wyoming is dizzying. It's just a huge sky and a road, and you occasionally pass hills or trees and fences but it's always just... open space.











We drove and drove. I nodded off to sleep for a bit. We pulled into Torrington around five-thirty, checked into our hotel, and then went out for dinner.

And now! I need to take a shower and go have breakfast and get ready to get on the road again. Today we're seeing Rocky Mountain National Park, which is going to be SO AWESOME. I'm really excited.

Love you all!

First of all, thank you for the FOUR text messages (and one LJ comment) that I got today telling me that the California Supreme Court has legalized same-sex marriage. The story itself makes me SO HAPPY, of course, but the fact that everyone sent me this news while I was on the road makes me really happy as well. :)

Today was a good day. After three days of going to bed late and getting up super early, today we were able to sleep in. After I managed to roll out of the most comfortable bed ever, I had breakfast with Errol and my aunt. We picked dandelions out of her front lawn, I updated LJ, and we got on the road around eleven.

We left Savage. But not before getting a picture of the water tower.



We took off south on 35 until we hit I-90. Then, we began the 375 mile trek toward Murdo.

Minnesota, by and large, remained the same as everything we'd already seen. Green grass, farmland, blue skies. Errol and I chatted for a bit, then began putting in CDs (Paul Simon's Graceland, Jagged Little Pill... they were random, but good). I drove a good deal of the way, but got so tired that we switched places. I began to get a barrage of text messages about CA legalizing same-sex marriages. We continued to drive.



Around 3:30, we crossed over the border of South Dakota. This was the first state of the trip that I've never been to before. I held my breath as we crossed, waiting for something possibly miraculous to happen.

Nothing did.

Everything looked the same as Wisconsin and Minnesota. The only change that I noticed was the sudden quantity of billboards. Advertisements for Wall Drug, The Corn Palace, and various tourist traps and historical places. (Jon Lipe, I took this picture especially for you.)



We watched the sky grow dark and drove through about ten minutes of absolute downpour. We then cleared the system (still going roughly 80 miles per hour), and I watched the storm behind us in the sideview mirror as we drove toward blue skies.



I nodded off. Errol continued to drive as I passed out, most likely with my mouth open, in the soporific warmth of the car. Errol flipped down the sun visor to protect my face. I slept ungracefully.

Some time later, I woke up. My face felt greasy and my mouth tasted funny, but I didn't feel exhausted any more. Rubbing my eyes, I asked Errol if everything was all right. "Everything's fine," he assured me. I looked at the farmland and sky flashing past us. Still the same.

Route 90 made a sharp curve, and as I fiddled with my camera in my lap, I heard Errol gasp. I looked up, and my jaw fell open.

In front of us was the Missouri River. And behind it, the landscape was changing.











It was gorgeous. The hills rolled in this strange way - they were smooth and mild, but repetitive, and sometimes you could see these little hills over and over again as far as the eye can see. And then sometimes there was water. And it was stark and sometimes lush and strangely lovely.

It hit me. I swallowed hard.

"Errol," I said. "I'm moving. I'm moving out west."

"You are, chica," he said, his eyes never leaving the road. "You are."

Up until now, this trip has felt like a vacation. It's felt like me visiting various relatives that I haven't seen in a long time.

But now, it feels real.

Around seven, we pulled into Murdo. I checked in at the Best Western lobby.

"We were trying to decide when you pulled up," the woman said as I signed my receipt, "if you're a college student or you're moving."

"Moving," I said. "Far away."

She recommended a place just behind the motel for dinner. We put our stuff away in the room and walked to the restaurant.





The restaurant was exactly as you'd imagine a restaurant in a town like Murdo. A haggard looking waitress took our orders on a pad, the walls were wood paneling like you'd see in your uncle's basement, children in cowboy boots ran around as their parents slumped over chicken noodle soup, and men in hunting/ranching gear sat in groups of four at small tables and ate ice cream out of bowls with more delicacy that you'd think possible.

After a tasty dinner of burgers and salad and soup, we headed back to the motel. I took a walk around to take some pictures as the sun went down.







Tomorrow we'll be up at seven and out the door by eight (after grabbing some complimentary breakfast! Yay!). The time zone changes over to Mountain about twenty minutes east of town, so we should get to the Badlands by the time they open at eight. It'll be the Badlands, Wall Drug, Mount Rushmore, and then we're staying in Wyoming tomorrow night.

Love you all! Good night!

We left Madison early in the morning, getting caught up in the swell of rush hour before we managed to find relief on a country road moving far away from the city.

The drive made my throat ache. There's something about Wisconsin - related, I'm sure, to the fact that my mother was raised here, and how she talks about her childhood - that makes this land so incredibly beautiful to me.

We were heading toward Spring Green, where the House on the Rock was waiting for us.

House on the Rock is this bizarrely awesome tourist attraction set dead in the middle of nowhere, Wisconsin. How it came to be is a sort of long, convoluted tale, but the short version is this: an eccentric man named Alex Jordon built a house in a mountain and collected things, and now, almost fifty years later, it's probably one of the coolest and most random places in the United States.

As we drove to HotR, I was practically bouncing out of my seat. Errol looked somewhat bemused every time we passed a billboard and I squealed.

We stopped a few time to take pictures - the morning overcast clouds had gone away and the sky was blue and filled with fat clouds - and I took shots of the road and the fields and the sky and barns and occasionally cows and trees and windmills. I got a shot of the Don Q Inn, where my mother used to work years and years ago. Every so often we would pass something that I recognized, and it felt like Christmas.









Around nine, we arrived at HotR. I practically skipped to the door. We bought our tickets for the complete, deluxe tour. I crossed my fingers that it was as excellent as I remember, and that Errol would like it.

Needless to say, it ROCKED SO HARD. I think what I like so much is how it feeds my love of stuff and details and pretty things and little niches and crevices and houses with lots and lots of things and rooms and decoration. There was so much stained glass and stone and hand carved wood and art and so many Tiffany lamps and antique books and random, random collectibles (crown jewels, weapons, circus figurines, doll houses, carousels, miniature ships, turn of the century bric-a-brac, calliopes, self-playing musical machines and I could go on and on and on. We just wandered around with our jaws hanging open. It took us four hours to get through the whole thing (with time for a stop for some surprisingly excellent pizza), but it was entirely, totally worth it. (Interesting side note: Part of Neil Gaimon's American Gods is set in The House on the Rock.)









Back out on Route 23, we headed back in the direction of Dodgeville and then toward Highland, where we stopped at The Summer Kitchen to see Mr. Shroeder. He's ninety years old and spry as ever. We chatted about my life and journey, and he introduced to his new puppy (a friendly lab named Echo).



From the Summer Kitchen, we headed toward Minnesota. It took us a great deal longer than we anticipated, partially because we hit some traffic along La Crosse, and partially because we kept stopping to take pictures ("WE HAVE TO STOP THERE ARE COWS!"). After La Crosse, we crossed over the Mississippi River ("TOWANDAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!") and headed toward Savage.

We are officially in The West.



We spent the night at my aunt and uncle's house and got to see my cousin Vanessa and her son. It was kind of weird, though - my aunt reminds me A LOT of my mom (similar voice, mannerisms, etc.), and it made me miss home a bit. But I got lots and lots of sleep last night and now I'm all refreshed and getting on the road in about six minutes.

Love you all! Take care. Next update will be from Middle of Nowhere, South Dakota.

Will do my update in the morning. Love you all!

My alarm went off at six, and I had been dreaming about rain. In the dream I was high in the mist of the West Virginia mountains, lying on my back in the middle of the road as the rain fell down, and I was soaked and melting into the wet pavement.

It took a second for the alarm to register. I grabbed my cell phone, turn it off, and groaned.

Must... peel self... off... air mattress.

I showered and packed up my things, and around seven, Errol and I took off up Indiana.

We stopped and got gas, and I ran into a Starbucks to get us some coffee. Inside, a chipper barista said "Good morning!" in a voice that was entirely too bright for this hour of the morning.

"Two... big... coffees."

"You look tired," he clucked as he made the coffee. As I unfolded dollar bills to hand to him, he stuffed a donut and coffee cake into a bag. "Here," he said. "On the house. You look like you've got a long way to go."

"Thank you."

Outside, I got into the car with the spoils. "Some guy thought I looked so sleepy he gave me baked goods," I told Errol.

"Oh?"

"Or maybe he thought I was cute, so he gave me baked goods."

"Maybe," Errol suggested, "he thought you looked cute when you were sleepy."

"Maybe. Or maybe he was just nice."

We drove on.

Errol sat in the driver's seat and I took pictures from the passenger seat until I drifted off to sleep. By the time we reached Indianapolis, we hit rush hour traffic, and I woke up and began to highlight bits of the atlas as we crawled through the city. I fell asleep again and woke up when we were clear of the city and driving straight along I-65. The landscape was flat and sprinkled with farmland and small towns, and I put on a CD and stared out the window as we continued.

Eventually, as the coffee we'd gotten began to take hold, conversation began to tumble out. We talked about our roommates and then our families, told various stories about our parents and ourselves, and passed the time as the flat green farmland flitted past.

We got up around Gary (city motto: "Not even an eighth as good as the song promises!") and began to head toward Chicago. Just before approaching the city, we stopped at a gas station. Errol filled up and I got quarters and went to the bathroom. While back outside, I realized that I was hungry (the donut didn't fill me up), so I ordered a breakfast sandwich. The woman behind the counter was very nice, so we chatted for a bit. Errol came out of the bathroom and we waited for my sandwich.

After a few minutes, it was in a travel bag, and the woman pushed it toward me and said "So sorry about the wait! I put a hashbrown in there 'cause it took so long."

Back in the car, I explained the idea of Midwestern friendliness and hospitality to Errol. "People out here are just nicer," I said.

We got on I-90 to go around Chicago, but we hadn't been there for more than a few miles when there were signs telling us that I-90 was closed due to construction and to seek an alternate route. This set off a chain of events that, an hour later, had us still hovering around Chicago. We made wrong turns, got onto strange roads, and, at one point, Errol forgot himself and we ended up on the wrong side of a concrete divider. As I instructed him to "turn around," (okay, so, it was "Ahhhh we need to turn around this is the wrong side of the road ahhhhh!"), a cop noticed that we were, I don't know, ON THE WRONG SIDE OF THE ROAD, flashed his lights at us. I had a horrible sinking feeling. Were we going to get a ticket?

He drove over and blocked our car from the rest of the traffic (not that there was much) and asked us where we were going. We told him.

"Ah, okay," he said. "You just need to take this exit back to..."

He gave us directions that would take us exactly where we needed to go. Then he told us to be safe. Then he drove away.

"SEE?" I said. "People in the Midwest are just freaking awesome. So nice."

We took the detour and swung around Chicago. Up through Illinois, I put in Sufjan Steven's Come On Feel the Illinoise!, which was lovely. As we made our way through Illinois, I called my grandmother to let her know we would be there soon.

As soon as we crossed over the border of Wisconsin ("TOWANDA!"), I feel giddy with nostalgia. Ever since I was a little girl, we'd do the two day drive from PA to Wisconsin to see my mother's family. I haven't been back since before I went to college. And here it was, beautiful farmland and fragrant air and blue skies. We hit Janesville and went west to Evansville, where my grandmother lives. As we drove, I fired off every story I could remember about my cousins and my grandparents and visiting this state.

Evansville has changed. The Coach House has burned down, the pharmacy has been moved, and the endless cornfields behind my grandmother's old house - the fields where my cousin Jessica and I used to run and eat raw sweet corn in messy, decadent quantities - have been covered up with a huge housing development. It made my throat feel raw.

When we pulled into Kelly House, I got out of the car, grabbed my left ankle with my right hand, and bent down to the ground, letting everything pop as I bent over. I did the same with my other leg.

Inside, my grandmother was waiting. She'll be ninety next month, and she looks fantastic. A little hard of hearing (to be expected), but still the same feisty woman I'd always remembered. She introduced me to all of her nurses ("This is my granddaughter, Carmen. She's moving to California!")

I drove her to a local restaurant (seeing as there were only two seats in Beatrice, I had to take her and then go back and get Errol) and we had lunch (only in rural Wisconsin can you get a triple decker sandwich, fries, pickles, and soup for five dollars). We talked about the cousins and aunts and uncles, the marriages and pregnancies and divorces and children and adoptions. It was so good to see her. She was a little frailer than I remembered - and was the skin of her hand just more slightly translucent? - but overall she looked wonderful.

She made me promise to call. I took her back to Kelly House and gave her a kiss and hug (but not before taking her picture, which is the last one in the previous post) and then hopped back on the road. I swung around to the restaurant to pick up Errol. He was inside, chatting with a gentleman. I asked him, as we climbed back into the car, who that was.

"He saw that I was sitting alone and started chatting with me." Errol looked amazed. "I see what you mean about Midwestern friendliness."

We left Evansville and headed to Madison. We picked up the beltway around the city and went to Attic Angels to visit Mrs. Jacobs, a very, very old friend of my mother's and my "fairy god grandmother." She's a ninety-six year old woman with an incredible life story*, funny as hell, and lots of fun to be around. We spent an hour and a half talking to her.

"I'm so proud of you, Carmen," she said. "You can do anything. The world has opened herself up to you."

We left Attic Angels around four-thirty and made our way toward my Uncle Nick's house. We got a little turned around and ended up in downtown Madison near the capitol building, but with the GPS and sheer patience we found Nick's house.

I love my Uncle Nick. He's a dear, sweet man, and it was so nice to see him again. He gave us a tour of his trees and mulch and shrubs and then made his special recipe fish (with fish that he caught himself in Canada). He then helped me figure out the route for tomorrow and gave me a bigger Wisconsin map than the one in my atlas.

Another awesome thing: I actually got to see all three of Nick's kids! They're all cousins who are older than me, but he managed to wrangle them all together. I haven't seen them in... well, a very, very long time. It was so good to see them. What's even cooler is that my cousin Tim is actually moving to Colorado soon, so I might be seeing more of him in the near future (not on this trip, but when I get out to Colorado again).

Anyway, it's really late, and I need to sleep. I hope you're all doing well. Tomorrow: House on the Rock, the Summer Kitchen, Aunt Mary Ann and Uncle Tom in Savage, MN. Yay!

*which I will tell, in as much detail as I know, at a later date

Nothing stellar picture-wise thus far in the trip (meaning: we were covering a lot of ground and didn't stop for a lot of pictures) and I'm not on a computer where they can be edited, but here's some of what we've been seeing.

Michael and Natalie's bed and hospitality were fantastically awesome. We're on our way in about twenty minutes. The morning looks overcast - hopefully it'll clear up.

Today: see my grandmother in Evansville, WI; see the House on the Rock in Dodgeville, WI, and stay with/see my Uncle Nick and Aunt Terri in Madison, WI. It's a day of my childhood - I haven't been back to Wisconsin since before I went to college.

I didn't cry.

It was raining, and I was sleepy, and I kissed my grandparents goodbye and got into Beatrice. I pulled my traveling hat snugly around my ears and stared at the rain through the windshield. The inside car was quiet, and all I could hear was the muffled sound of the rain. I curled my hands around the steering wheel.

In the house, my grandfather had made me waffles and coffee. As I hugged him goodbye, he smiled brightly. "It's going to be okay, Carmen. I promise."

I believe him. I really do.

I rolled down the driveway and into the street. I waved goodbye to my grandfather as I drove past the house.

In Silver Spring, I hugged a sleepy KC in the doorway of her apartment. I then went and picked up Errol. I hugged Amanda goodbye. I told her that I loved her. We got Errol's backpack into Beatrice and the trunk closed. Success.

We got on the road.

We took off across Maryland, starting from her wide eastern side and moving to her narrow western handle. I thought that I'd never been this way before, but I have; I recognized the road, the small, lush mountains. This was the way that we used when we used to go to West Virginia. We passed through the place where the West Virginia bound group would stop for lunch - a section where the highway passed through the mountain. The mountain had been blasted away and the layers of rock were visible where the earth had pushed up and folded upon itself; split open, it was raw and beautiful.

Errol and I talked. We told stories about friends and lovers and family, and commented on the beauty of the places we were passing. We decided on a road trip battle cry - "Towanda!"

It rained and rained. Mist clung to the mottled green mountains. The windshield wipers pulsed. Other drivers sped past us.

We passed through Frostburg, where my father went to college.

"TOWANDA!" we screamed, pumping our fists in the air as West Virginia welcomed us.

Errol murmured a prayer in Arabic. "What was that?" I asked.

"Traveling dua," he said, and then translated it for me.

We stopped at a gas station high in the mountains. We filled up, shivering in the drizzly morning air. I went inside and went to the bathroom, making a note (by which I mean "taking pictures") of the shelves of kitschy statues and clocks and trinkets. I bought a soda. At the counter, a woman with frizzy blond hair said "It's miserable out there."

"Yeah," I agreed. "It's been raining all morning."

"You been driving for a bit?"

"Since six this morning, yeah."

"Where you going?"

I felt a tiny glow inside as I said "California."

"Ooh! Visiting?"

"Moving."

She tilted her head to look past me and saw Beatrice filled to the brim with boxes.

"Wow." She handed me her change. "Good luck with that. I hope the weather improves."

"Thanks."

"Travel safely."

"Thank you."

Somewhere high in the mountains of West Virginia, it began to snow. Not much, or heavily, but fat, white flakes swirled down with the rain. Our ears popped. We talked about religion.

We passed into Pennsylvania. "TOWANDA!"

We passed animals. Dead animals. Roadkill, sprawled out along the side of the road. I counted eight dead deer with their backs broken and bodies folded; rabbits and groundhogs blasted apart by the force of semi tires.

Errol took a nap, and I listed to my road trip mix. We stopped for gas again and switched places. He drove and I made sandwiches in the front seat. The car was warm. I got a phone call from Rebekah.

"I'm standing by the Pacific Ocean! And I thought of you!"

I'm coming, I promised her.

We passed into West Virginia again briefly ("TOWANDA!") before moving into Ohio.

My mom called to ask how the trip was going. "Did anyone lose their pool privileges yet?" she joked, referring to the Wisconsin road trips we went on as a family when I was a child and how my frustrated father would start stripping privileges left and right as we poked each other, screamed, fought, and threw tantrums. Despite the threats, however, when we landed at the hotel on the first night, we always went into the pool anyway. "We had to get you tired for the next day, so you'd sleep in the car," Mom later explained.

"No one's lost their pool privileges," I said, smiling.

Errol drove and I took pictures*. I watched the drivers in the cars that we passed. People argued and talked and sucked away on their Big Gulps.

Indiana.

"TOWANDA!"

Around 5:30, having been on the road for approximately 11 hours, we made our way to Natalie and Michael's house in Bloomington. We had to wait for Natalie to get home, so we chatted with Michael and played with Charlie Rose the dog. After she got home, we went out for beer and burgers and a tour of the Indiana University campus (which is GORGEOUS! And also is where Kinsey did all his research!).

Back at the house, we met up with Sarah Brown! Who is lovely and awesome! We hung out and chatted and I gave her huge hugs to give back to the people in DC.

This post seems a little loopy, but that's cause I'm so darn tired. This was the longest day of the trip, and we passed through five states, and I need to get to bed.

I love you all. Good night, good night.


*pictures forthcoming, just not tonight

Last night, I said goodbye. I sat at a table in a bar with my friends, holding Anne on my lap, watching them laugh and talk and gesture, burying my face in her back, trying not to cry.

I've been in DC for four years. This city has shaped me in ways that I cannot possibly begin to describe or number. It has been the place of my education, my joy and happiness, my awakening, my life. The people who I have encountered here - and the people that I have encountered through the people here - mean more to me than words can possibly describe. I love them with every cell in my body. There is certainly no luckier person on the face of the earth.

Last night, I hugged everyone. I hugged them as if the sheer force of my love for all of them would carry them with me.

I think it will.

Jon Lipe kissed my forehead. Amy kissed my hands and cheeks. I grabbed Neal fiercely. "I love you, Neal. Don't you ever forget that."

Katie wrapped her arms around me and I clung to her for over a minute. She then put me at arm's length.

"Carmen," she said. "Remember that time on campus when we sat in the Tavern, and you told me that you were a mess? And I said that you were a beautiful mess?"

"Yes."

"Now, you're just beautiful."




We left the bar. I blew kisses to them as I left shakily, my fingers entwined in Anne's.

As I walked away from the table, my friends began to clap. The benediction carried me like a gentle wave out the door and down the street to my car.

I dropped Sam off at his apartment. "I love you," he said, hugging me tightly.

I didn't say much. I didn't have the words.



I'm leaving tomorrow, very early. Errol and I will be on the road for a long time. I will be updating (hopefully) at every stop every evening. If you're having issues with the website or the Facebook application, contact marnanel.

I love you all very much. I'll see you on the other side.

Hey everyone! Thomas has been working on The Next Great Adventure facebook application, and you should totally add it to your profile because it's awesome.

http://www.facebook.com/apps/application.php?id=12579724038

(I did tag some people in a note about it, but I reached my tag limit pretty quickly.)

Three days and counting. :)

I just spent five hours rearranging my giant CD book by:

1.) Road Trip Mixes
2.) MD, PA, WV, OH, IN
3.) IN, WI, MN
4.) SD, WY, CO
5.) NM, AZ, NV
6.) California!

There are also some other categories, like: Comedy/Spoken Word, Random Mixes, Random Albums, Movie/Musical Soundtracks, Classical, Natural Sounds

It took forever, but it looks great. Yay organization.

In one week, I'll be on the road to California.

*cue frantic scrambling set to fast Irish fiddle music*




(Thanks for the soundtrack for the next week, tamnonlinear!)

I WOULD LIKE TO SHARE WITH ALL OF YOU THE FACT THAT I AM PANICKING.

THIS HOUSE IS TOO MESSY, I HAVE TOO MUCH STUFF, I HAVE NOT ENOUGH MONEY, LIFE IS SO FREAKING SCARY.

I AM OVERWHELMED.

I'm putting together a community for The Next Great Adventure, and I want a referential post about Beatrice! So here I am posting two pictures of Beatrice, looking all lovely in the mottled sunlight. I also want to say that her voice sounds like Poe, she's the most sturdy, awesome car ever, and also, baby got back. As you can see from the pictures.

( pictures! )

This is a post about music. Why? Because I'm going to spend 11 days on the road, that's why!

I'm all about theme music. When I flew to California in 2005, I made up a whole playlist of all of the songs about California that I knew about and listened to it on repeat for the plane ride. But this trip is going to be longer. I want the themes to be broader.

First, I was going to post and say "Tell me every song you know that involves California!" But then I discovered the Wiki page that not only lists them all, but even has specific sub-lists for different regions (like San Francisco).

Here's the thing: I have no desire to download every single one of these songs to figure out if I love them or not. So! I am looking for song recommendations in the following categories:

1. Songs about California (ex: "Californication," "California Dreaming")
2. Songs about San Francisco
3. Artists/songs reminiscent of the following list (for the trip through South Dakota, Colorado, New Mexico, Arizona, Nevada, and into California): Hank Williams, Loretta Lynn, Dolly Parton, Conway Twitty, Tammy Wynette, Merle Haggard, Patsy Cline, Johnny Cash.
4. Songs about moving, traveling, changing places, seeking new things, etc.
5. Albums that conceptualize the cross-country trip (I'm thinking Scarlet's Walk here, but are there any others?)

Any recommendations?

1. I went back to AAA today, spoke with Edna again (she's seriously my hero; I'm going to send her postcards from every stop!), and got an updated itinerary. I also got a new map to put on my wall. On it, I've put the day-by-day route (not with roads yet, just general times) in green post it notes, where we're staying overnight in orange post it notes, names and addresses in yellow post it notes, and PICTURES because I am a HUGE VISUAL DORK.



2. My hero, my love, my awesome friend marnanel is working hard on making a section of my website exclusively for the trip. It's still rough, but it's ten kinds of sexy. The map on the right has markers that I can update. For example: click on "Washington, DC." I can put pictures and a link to the day's blog entry, mark any stops we make along the way, etc. Isn't that amazing? On the left side of the page, all of my entries the "The Next Great Adventure" tag will update automatically when I post to LJ.

3. I've created an LJ community, saleaway, for the purpose of selling my possessions. This weekend I will start posting with the books, DVDs, furniture, art, photographs, and other stuff that I'm going to be selling. When the time comes, I'll let you know.

4. I'll probably be talking more about this later, but I figure I should throw this out there now. If you're interested in donating to The Next Great Adventure 2008, I've put a "Donate" Paypal button in my profile. Donors will get all kinds of nifty stuff... which I haven't quite figured out yet (I'm thinking something like a hand-painted thank you card, a postcard along the way, an original print of a photo I take, etc.). But if you like my writing and photography and you want to read about the successful adventures of a strange twenty-one year old and her South American friend traveling across the wild and gorgeous United States, think about a donation (and if you want, mention this in your blog!). Every little bit helps. Your $20 could pay for a night at a hostel, 154 miles worth of gas, or a stop at The Boneyard.

5. Does anyone have any roadtrip-y or travel-y book recommendations?