Friday afternoon, Paul and I drove to Reno. I had never been across California that far north by car. It was utterly gorgeous, especially when a full moon came over the mountains.

We got into Reno late, went and ate at a buffet, and then I gambled a dollar in a Circus Circus slot machine, promptly winning thirty three fifty. Go me!

The next morning, we left Reno and headed into the desert.

After getting a teensy bit lost in Virginia City, we found ourselves at the US/Molossia border, where we were greeted warmly by His Excellency, The President.





We went to customs, where we paid in pocket change and surveyed the rules of Molossia.



A public square in Molossia.



Paul at the border!



( More photos here! )

We were quite sad to leave. It was such an amazing trip! The President was extremely kind and accommodating, the residents friendly (if loud barkers), and the land beautiful. I recommend that everyone make a trip to Molossia.

The Khamsin Molossia News covered our trip here.

After we left Molossia, we went back a different way, and stopped down near the south end of Lake Tahoe, which I have never seen. It was gorgeous.

Also, I've never seen clouds like this before. What are they called? They looked really odd.











It was a long and late drive back, but we got home to a very happy, silly Oliver.

Just until I get all of my Molossia pictures/stories up!

Had my pasta creation for lunch and it was absolutely delicious. Unexpected but awesome bonus: the little hard yellow heirloom tomato turned out to be this decadent, sweet variety that unbelievably delicious, especially with the savory basil/garlicky tang of the pesto.

(And when I Googled to see if I could identify the variety, I found out that there are a lot of kinds of yellow tomatoes. Wow!)

In other news, Paul and I will be venturing to The Republic of Molossia (which has now earned its own tag) this weekend. Pictures and stories of our adventure will be up here afterwards. I'm so excited! I've also never been to Reno.

My reply to the President of Molossia:

Greetings to His Excellency!

I cannot express the depth of my gratitude for the honor and privilege of your invitation. It was, indeed, I who wrote that blog entry regarding Molossia. I still remember that night - my roommate Amanda (who had discovered the website to begin with) and I spent many hours reading about Molossia, and then another few hours still plotting our own micronation.

(Incidentally, I informed her of your invitation, and she sends her best regards.)

I would be most honored to come and visit Molossia. September sounds like a wonderful time to visit. How do I go about making arrangements? May I bring someone with me?

One thing: during my visit, I would be tremendously excited if I would be able to play a rousing game of broomball.

I hope this reaches you in good health. My best wishes to you, your family, and your nation. I look forward to your reply.

Best,
Carmen Machado

And his response!

Hello, Carmen!

It is good to hear from you. I wasn’t sure if you were the author of the blog, and considering that is goes back a few years I wasn’t certain that you would recall the blog entry.

I am pleased that you are interested in visiting Molossia, and the honor is all mine. I most certainly encourage you to bring whomever you wish, just let me know how many will be in your party so that I can properly prepare. I am open to any weekend except that of the 12th and 13th; I will be out of the country that weekend. Even Labor Day weekend is fine, as are most Mondays. A visit to Molossia usually only lasts a couple of hours (we are a very small country), so you will probably want to combine your visit here with a stop somewhere else, such as Lake Tahoe and / or Virginia City.

I would be happy to arrange a Broomball Game. Honestly, we haven’t played Broomball in several years, ever since the boys grew out of it. I’ll have to chase down a new ball since the old one died long ago. In addition to that, your visit will include a tour of the nation, including stops at our Customs Shack, Post Office, using our new telephone system, visiting Republic Square, Norton Park, the Molossia Railroad, the Tower of the Winds and the Trans-Molossia Nature Trail (if it’s not too hot). I am planning to have our Space Monument done by then, which will afford you the chance to launch an air rocket and thus become a part of our space program. After the tour, we can relax in Norton Park and enjoy some cookie dough while we chat about Molossia, micronations and whatever else comes up.

Bring your camera, your passport (if you have one), some pocket change for Fred the Customs Guy, a couple of bucks (American) for postcards and a sense of humor. No tobacco, walruses, spinach, catfish or Texans, please.

Let me know what day you’re interested in coming and I’ll make sure we’re ready for you!

Warmest regards,
His Excellency President Kevin Baugh,
Republic of Molossia

I'm going! Squee!

You guys.

You guys. Oh my god.

My long-time readers may remember, back in 2005 (when I was a widdle baby college freshman), I posted about the hilarious and distinguished micronation of Molossia. Amanda discovered the website, and we spent hours pouring over it, laughing and making plans for our own micronation, right there in our dorm room. I remember being impressed by the thoroughness of the site, amused by the quirky eccentricity of the President, and generally excited about the idea of making your own country.

Last night, I was sitting at my computer when an email popped into my inbox. I opened it.

And blinked.

And blinked again.

Subject: An Invitation

Greetings.

Some four-plus years ago, you (at least I think it was you) commented very favorably regarding the Republic of Molossia on your blog. I don’t know how I missed it all these years, but I just noticed the entry this evening. I truly appreciate your kind words. Thus, I would like to invite you to come and visit our nation, located some four hours east of San Francisco, over here within the wilds of Nevada. I will gladly escort you around Molossia and show you the sights; it would be an honor.

If you are so inclined, let me know when you might wish to visit – I recommend September, as July and August can be a bit warm. I hope you will favorably consider my invitation and come see our great nation!

Warmest regards,
His Excellency President Kevin Baugh,
Republic of Molossia

I blinked again.

And then I started shrieking.

"Oh. My god. Oh. My god."

I tried calling Amanda, but it was late on the East Coast and she was already asleep, so I called Katie, and we squealed about it for a bit. I'm currently composing a response. Of course I'm going. It's so close, and so awesome. How could I say no?

Today is my one-year anniversary of arriving in California.

Wow.

I'm back from Washington, DC. I was there for Jon and Kelli's wedding. It was an amazing trip, and I will share stories and pictures when I'm back from work.

DC people - I miss you all so much already. I'm so incredibly happy that I saw you.

California people - I missed you so much, and I'm glad to be home.

Jon and Kelli - I love you both, and I hope you're having a wonderful, wonderful time at Disneyland.

If you haven't seen this, you should.

Where the Hell is Matt?

It's beautiful. I cried.

Also... does anyone know the song that's playing? Got it!

My friend Rachel has led me to this fantastic website called eLifeList, which is a way of compiling all of your life goals and checking them off as you do them. It's fun, and most excellent, and I've already filled it up with lots and lots of things that I want to do!

I'm dimethirwen there as well. If you make a list, friend me!

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.

I'm here.









(Days 10 & 11 travelogues and pictures tonight.)

The minute we left the Grand Canyon, Arizona seemed to change. The hot red earth lost some of its color, the vegetation because less sparse, and we headed toward a group of mountains (or, comparing it to the Rockies, hills, I guess) in the distance. We began to climb in elevation, whipping along at 80 mph and only occasionally crossing exits that led to small towns.











The Dixie Chicks are fantastic traveling music.

I've been a long time gone now / maybe someday, someday I'm gonna settle down / but I've always found my way somehow / by taking the long way / taking the long way around

As we continued to drive and emerged from the other side of the mountains, the landscape changed again. It went back to desert. But it was a different kind of desert. It was brown, and sideways slanting rock formations jutted up toward the sky. We hit another set of hills, and signs implored us to turn our radios to an AM frequency to hear the latest traffic reports around the Hoover Dam.

The station informed us that there was construction around the Dam, and we were to drive slowly, and also everyone would be required to stop at a security checkpoint before the dam and was subject to a complete and thorough search.

We turned the station off and continued to drive. My left arm was getting a bit sunburned from being in the sun, so we decided to switch places. We stopped at a Love's to get gas and lunch and the wind was INSANE. It whipped across the landscape and lifted my hat off my head and once we got back on the road, pushed poor Beatrice around and around. Errol had to adjust the steering for the wind.

Once Errol was driving, I switched CDs and buried my nose in the book that he'd been reading while I'd been driving - a morbidly fascinating book about deaths in the Grand Canyon. Every so often, Errol would touch my shoulder and I'd look up to see a lovely bit of landscape, which I would promptly photograph.

A few miles outside of the Hoover Dam, I put the book away. We pulled into the aforementioned security checkpoint. A large woman in an official looking outfit stood up from her chair. We rolled the window down.

"Hey."

"Hello." I looked as chipper as possible.

She looked at the back of Beatrice.

"You got a lot of treasure back there."

"I'm moving," I said. Visions of having to unpack Beatrice danced unhappily in my head.

"Ah." She gave me a long look, and then said, "Carry on. Have a nice day."

"You too."

We drove to the Hoover Dam. We parked the car and got out.







The Hoover Dam is much smaller than I would have thought. It's not small, by any means, just not as big as I'd always imagined. We got back in the car and drove down, down towards it, crossing over it and doing our best to avoid pedestrians.

There was some confusion over where the state line for Nevada was ("Look at that plaque! Is that it? Is it?) but we made a general "Towanda!" as we entered the second-to-last state on our trip.

We left the Hoover Dam and continued onward.

More desert stretched out before us. We went through a town and then more desert. It seemed to go on forever.

Then, I saw it. Rising out of the desert like some shimmery mirage, I could see buildings. Errol saw it too.

"Is that... is that Vegas?"

"I think so."

We began to get onto the highways that loop around the city, and I'm really glad Errol was driving, because it was INSANE. People cut us off, threatened to kick our ass, honked their horns, drove like maniacs, and by the time we pulled into a Kmart to ask for directions, I was just about ready to keep driving to California.

Inside the Kmart, people were sitting at slot machines. My brain almost shut down.

I managed to get directions. We headed to the hotel - Circus Circus.





It was hot. It was unbelievably hot. It was 102 degrees, and dry as anything, and windy, and I felt like I could just melt into the sidewalk. We dragged our luggage through a mall, an amusement park, a casino, and into the lobby.

The line to check in was about 100 people deep, so Errol and I traded off standing in line and sitting down with all of the luggage. By the time we got to our room, we were half dead with exhaustion.

After resting for a bit, we met up with Errol's very awesome friend Tony, a guy who used to live in Vegas. He gave us a full tour of the strip, taking us past all the hotels and then around to the airport. It was strangely beautiful in the twilight - the distant mountains were all dusty and lovely.

Tony then took us to the one thing I wanted to do in Vegas: a buffet. He treated us to dinner and we stuffed ourselves silly at Mandalay Bay. I had shrimp and scallops with butter and seaweed salad and crab legs and pasta and salad with mozzarella cheese and pot stickers and fruit and cake and little fruit tarts and chocolate mousse tarts and ohmygod. They practically had to roll me out of there. I felt vaguely guilty about eating after I was full (which is, I believe, the very definition of gluttony) but it was amazing! Here are Errol and Tony after the buffet.



We then went for a spin around the strip. Everywhere we walked, men with handfuls of shiny laminated cards tried to thrust advertisements for "GIRLS NOW" into my hands. Unbelievably beautiful people staggered around and talked loudly. It was garish and ostentatious and decadent and oddly enough, lovely. In its own bizarre way.





































































We stopped in the Wynn Casino and I gambled $2.50 on a game called Egypt. I didn't know how to play, so I just hit buttons and lost everything.



By the end of the night, I was dead. The dry wind and the smoke in the casinos had my eyes burning, and my feet hurt, and I was dehydrated, and I was exhausted. Vegas was nice, but I'd had my fill.

Tony dropped us back at the hotel. I crawled into bed and clutched the bedspread.

I'm not sure that Vegas agreed with me. But it was interesting, no doubt about that.

Today: Morro Bay, CA.

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.

It's a drizzly, gray morning in Madison. We're heading out in about ten minutes. Today is House on the Rock, the Summer Kitchen, and my aunt and uncle in Savage.

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