We've lived quite an interesting life over the last month. At some times, it feels like everyone in the world has done this type of thing; at others, it seems we are alone. And some times, just sometimes, we've stumbled upon a piece of insight so perfectly applicable to our situation that it's hard to ignore. This quote came to Julia from a friend, and since we've just lived it, I feel it's important to pass on to others.
Edward Abbey advises:
"One final paragraph of advice: Do not burn yourselves out. Be as I am -a reluctant enthusiast... a part-time crusader, a half-hearted fanatic. Save the other half of yourselves and your lives for pleasure and adventure. It is not enough to fight for the land; it is even more important to enjoy it. While you can. While it's still here. So get out there and hunt and fish and mess around with your friends, ramble out yonder and explore the forests, encounter the grizz, climb the mountains, bag the peaks, run the rivers, breathe deep of that yet sweet and lucid air, sit quietly for awhile and contemplate the precious stillness, that lovely, mysterious and awesome space. Enjoy yourselves, keep your brain in your head and your head firmly attached to the body, the body active and alive, and I promise you this one sweet victory over our enemies, over those desk-bound people with their hearts in a safe deposit box and their eyes hypnotized by desk calculators. I promise you this: You will outlive the bastards."
The red rock desert of southern Utah is Abbey country, and there are few (if any) he loved better. His attitude and spirit infused the red dust and rock of the place, and as I hiked I could almost hear Abbey muttering on the wind. I couldn't ignore the paved road that carried us from the Arches NP visitor's center to our trailhead in Devil's Garden, at the northern end of the park. That road was the very one Abbey tried to derail by pulling up survey stakes in the late 1960s, before Arches served as the destination for thousands of RV-bound tourists each year.
Terry Tempest Williams, too, may be heard on the wind. A more modern voice, she speaks from a different angle from Abbey but arrives at the same conclusion: Utah's desert and the remaining wild places on the Colorado Plateau are unique, the objects of deep love, and must be preserved. I challenge you to walk across the slickrock, ever vigilant to stay off the cryptobiotic soil, and feel disconnected from the place. If your eyes are open, your nose alert for the scent of juniper, your toes desperately wanting to curl in the soft sand, you will not miss the voices of Abbey, Williams, and others, including the land itself.
Sunday, February 22, 2009
We're Baaack!
The "By the Numbers" edition:
32 days
7,778 miles
20 states
12,500 ft. (highest elevation--top of Chair 15, Telluride, CO)
0 ft. (lowest elevation, Pacific Ocean)
0 speeding tickets
0 arrests
0 trips to the hospital
15 degrees (our coldest night outside)
85 degrees (our warmest day)
9 national/state parks and public lands
1 set of real, live dinosaur bones
5 girls back, safe, with thousands of fantastic memories, some of which we don't even believe actually happened
32 days
7,778 miles
20 states
12,500 ft. (highest elevation--top of Chair 15, Telluride, CO)
0 ft. (lowest elevation, Pacific Ocean)
0 speeding tickets
0 arrests
0 trips to the hospital
15 degrees (our coldest night outside)
85 degrees (our warmest day)
9 national/state parks and public lands
1 set of real, live dinosaur bones
5 girls back, safe, with thousands of fantastic memories, some of which we don't even believe actually happened
Saturday, February 14, 2009
Mea Culpa, and a Return to the Present
Our bad.
Though I guess the fact that we haven't updated the blog in a while means that we're constantly busy experiencing our travels, instead of communicating them. We'll go with that explanation.
So...Greetings from Telluride, CO! We're about to start the very last leg of our trip, that which heads home to the East. For the last few days, however, we've been basking in an unexpected dump of powdery snow. Tara's friend from age 9, Karissa, has been extremely gracious in welcoming us into her amazing mountainside home, and we've been taking full advantage [and picking up ski bum language. GAME: see how many times this post uses skier slang!].
The daylight hours have mostly been spent skiing, snowboarding, and generally crushing it. Our first day, Karissa and Justin took Tara and Rachel out for a locals' tour of the mountain. Luckily, our day at the Canyons in Park City, UT, had served as our ski-shock day, and we were mostly ready for the trees, deep snow, and hidden faces to which we were ably led. By the end of the morning, we felt significantly more comfortable on the mountain and even more so dealing with the varying terrain and snow styles of the Rockies. We met up with Annie for lunch, and the dynamic threesome spent the afternoon making turns in Prospect Bowl. Rachel, who has apparently become more of a powderhound than she would like to admit, spent most of her time seeking out the last vestiges of the recent storm. As most of these "powder" "stashes" involved some sort of uphill climb or slog through deep snow to get to them, Tara found her access unfortunately limited due to her snowboarding ways. In the meantime, Annie worked incredibly hard at getting her skiing legs under her and seemed vastly more skilled on her two fiberglass even from the morning to the end of the afternoon.
Muscles sore, various body parts hurting, Annie, Tara, and Rachel retired to the house to find Sara feeling considerably better (she had felt a little under the weather earlier in the day) and Julia gone on an exploratory trip down to the town of Telluride. Annie looked around the kitchen and instantly felt inspired by a bag of blue corn tortilla chips. "Nachos!" she may or may not have announced, very loudly. So we set about grating cheese, slicing olives, and dicing strawberries. YES, strawberries. The secret ingredient to incredible nachos. Though, unfortunately (?), now no longer a secret.
Post-delicious experience, we hot tubbed for a bit, including a dip in the snow, then proceeded to make dinner. Our plans to join the rest of the fabulous fivesome in town were derailed by overwhelming senses of tiredness and a report that downtown "seemed dead" on the Thursday night. An accidental good decision, as we were due for a few inches that night.
The next morning (Friday, 2/13), we woke bright and early with hopes for a powder day. We saw about 5 inches of new, fluffy, sparking snow as soon as we left the house. Not huge by Alta standards, but still exciting for those of us unlucky enough not to be there. Tara and Rachel skied the mountain sort of backwards, but were quite proud of themselves for finding Revelation Bowl, a wide open concave mountain face covered in snow. Due to their relatively late discovery (it was about 10:30am), the Bowl was fairly tracked out and a little crowded. The snow was still tons of fun, and the terrain felt huge. After charging pretty hard for most of the morning, quads burning with the effort of making beautiful turns through piles of snow, Tara and Rachel met up with Sara and Annie for lunch. Just as the day before, the newly conglomerated group skied together for a while. Sara, unfortunately, got a little separated from the others when the trail we had agreed to follow to Lift 5 didn't actually end up at Lift 5. That's what we get for not reading the map, I guess. We took some great intermediate runs that allowed Tara and Rachel to shoot off through trees in search of fun snow and still meet up with Annie at the bottom of the lift without too much waiting around.
Julia took advantage of a clear day to tour some of the other old mining towns in the area, including Ouray, Silverton, and another. She took a number of really cool pictures of the dusty towns turned cute, and brought back some sweet souvenirs. Most importantly, Julia SAW BIGHORN SHEEP. She even has pictures to prove it. The excitement was palpable when she told the rest of us, as we've been hankering to see them since Arches (but that story will come in a later post).
That evening, we actually ventured into town. A free gondola took us from Mountain Village (the village on the mountain, shockingly enough) to "downtown," i.e. the town of Telluride. Two officially separate towns, Telluride and Mountain Village have completely different vibes. The town nestles in the end of a box canyon, the walls of which are riddled with shafts from 19th century gold and silver mines. Historically, the lawless mining town had a horrendous reputation. Legend has it that the name originates from people yelling "To Hell you ride" after those who rode away for the rowdy mining town. The clapboard buildings lining Colorado Ave (the main street) included a number of brothels and saloons. The modern-day town has lost most of the lawless feel it once had, but has managed to retain a sense of grittiness that the multi-million dollar log homes of Mountain Village decidely lack. Just walking down Colorado Ave (the main drag) evokes a sense of timelessness, as if a drunk miner could be kicked out of the door to the New Sheridan at any moment. One can almost hear the clink of geologist hammers against the rock, feel the ragged desperation of men, women, and children whose very lives depend on extracted ore and the rise and fall of silver prices.
Telluride was practically dead by the mid-20th century. The mines were spent, the early dairies obsolete. Towns like Aspen and Vail had already boomed into the sprawling leisure centers that they are today. In the 1970s, ski promoters came to Telluride with a different vision (at least, according to how they tell it): to create a world-class ski resort without the urban sprawl, the fur shops, and the attitude linked with the outposts of Manhattan in Colorado ski country. Apparently, the plan as worked, though maybe with a few unforeseen twists: for at least the last two decades, Telluride has boomed. An empty lot in town doesn't sell for less than a cool million, and houses with six car garages seem to spring up every week in Mountain Village. Lift tickets are an outrageous $92 a day, and it is nearly impossible for community's working members to live anywhere close to their jobs.
And yet... The mountain is gorgeous. The town sits around 9,000 ft above sea level; the tallest lift reaches 12,500. Looking out from the chairlift, the gondola into town, the deck of Karissa's house, one feels on top of the world. The sheer faces of San Juan peaks flow into rounded shoulders where aspens stand in large, genetically undifferentiated clumps. The shoulders themselves are cut by the San Miguel River, creating a multi-tiered landscape that seems even more massive than it already is. Telluride is truly one of the most beautiful places on earth.
But back to our night on the town. We went to "The Buck," otherwise known as the Last Dollar Saloon, to check out the local crowd. Rachel had some pretty fond memories of the place from her stint as a travel guide writer, and the margaritas definitely lived up to them. Tara even spotted someone famous, though we're not exactly sure of his name. Some bald comedian with a gap between his front teeth. Any ideas?
We were pretty wiped from another bomber day on the mountain, so we headed back up the gondola in search of our beds. The timing almost worked so that our very own Julia could spend the first few minutes of her 24th birthday on the gondola, but alas, we were a bit too early. The magical moment happened instead in the Dial-A-Ride mondo-SUV that gave us a free ride from the gondola station to Karissa's house.
Day 3 (Saturday, Feb 14, Valentine's Day, Julia's Birthday!) of our Telluride experience started a little bit on the later side. Two hard skiing days at altitude were definitely catching up with us, and we all needed our sleep (besides Annie, who generally rises before the alarm, much to our general amazement). We all were hitting the slopes that day, even Julia! We were pretty excited to spend at least part of the day all together on the mountain. With our meet-up plans in place, the various parties split off to try their luck on the mountain. The wind was buffeting the mountain so much so that we could see snow being scoured from the unlucky faces. Tara and Rachel put their heads together and tried to figure out where, exactly, the snow was ending up. We guessed Revelation Bowl.
Tara and Rachel gazed over the rim of Revelation, trying to see if the bowl was as buffed as they thought it might be. After about a minute of standing in the nearly howling wind, they shrugged their shoulders, muttered something about how "there's only one way to find out," and went after it. As soon as Rachel's skis left the scoured cat track, they cut through the windbuffed snow ("buff") like a hot knife through butter. The bowl was perfectly situated for maxium buff: the wind blew away all evidence of previous tracks, just as it loaded the far side with snow. Sick turn followed sick turn alongside the screaming cries of protesting leg muscles. By the time we rode the lift back to the top, our tracks had been obliterated by the wind and fresh, creamy snow was again in our path. Free refills (sort of), baby. Definitely the best snow on the mountain at that point, and yet no one was skiing it. It seemed that the very force molding the amazing, creamy buff was also keeping away the faint of heart. Epic.
Various other skiing/snowboarding things happened...
The real excitement happened later that night, at the Rubiks Cube party. The scene: about 20 twenty-somethings (mostly locals, some randos like us) dressed only in the colors that appear on a Rubiks Cube. There are 6: red, yellow, orange, white, blue, and green. Very, very bold colors. The "goal" is to switch clothes with people so that by the end of the night, you are all one color. A lot of choice can be involved, so it's not nearly as sketchy as it sounds. It did lead to a number of hilarious exchanges, however, including Karissa's [male] friend walking around in a blue velour dress over black long underwear tights for much of the night.
That was last night. Annie got a head start on most this morning and tackled one of the more challenging parts of the mountain. Sara left early as well, rocking out to her iPod and shredding some gnar gnar on her board. Tara and Rachel, on the other hand, slept in a bit and decided it was finally time for the Day of Silly. They unsnarled an unnecessarily complicated logistical question of which equipment to wear where when, ate breakfast, and embarked upon a day of discovery.
Discovery of what, you may ask? Well, we aimed to discover whether Tara still knew how to ski and whether Rachel could pick up telemark skiing by watching people from the lifts (and desperately wanting to know how to do it). Rachel rented a pair of tele skis, Tara borrowed Rachel's groomer skis. At first, the experiment didn't seem to go so well. Rachel kept overbalancing, twisting her torso too much when she pole planted and not really bending her legs enough to create a real tele turn (or lunge, for that matter). Tara seemed to be doing okay, but early questions like, "How do I turn?" made for some serious hilarity. By the end of their second amazingly long green run (about 45 minutes for the first, about half an hour for the second), both seemed to have things more or less under control. Neither were to be speed demons at any point of the day, but Rachel definitely strung together a few nice looking turns and Tara began playing around on her edges like a pro. By mid-afternoon, however, exhaustion set in and informed the switch back to regular gear. Tara, Rachel, and Annie raced down groomers to their hearts' delight and until the very last chair. It was certainly one of the most fulfilling days spent entirely on green runs an experienced skier/snowboarder could imagine.
We leave Telluride bright and early tomorrow (Monday) morning and begin our monotonous trek east. We spent most of this evening packing and organizing, though we did take a break for a lovely meal of pesto and tomato pasta (and what was left of Julia's amazing birthday cake for which Annie made delicious homemade frosting). Needless to say, it will be very difficult to leave this gorgeous place full of wonderful people.
Though I guess the fact that we haven't updated the blog in a while means that we're constantly busy experiencing our travels, instead of communicating them. We'll go with that explanation.
So...Greetings from Telluride, CO! We're about to start the very last leg of our trip, that which heads home to the East. For the last few days, however, we've been basking in an unexpected dump of powdery snow. Tara's friend from age 9, Karissa, has been extremely gracious in welcoming us into her amazing mountainside home, and we've been taking full advantage [and picking up ski bum language. GAME: see how many times this post uses skier slang!].
The daylight hours have mostly been spent skiing, snowboarding, and generally crushing it. Our first day, Karissa and Justin took Tara and Rachel out for a locals' tour of the mountain. Luckily, our day at the Canyons in Park City, UT, had served as our ski-shock day, and we were mostly ready for the trees, deep snow, and hidden faces to which we were ably led. By the end of the morning, we felt significantly more comfortable on the mountain and even more so dealing with the varying terrain and snow styles of the Rockies. We met up with Annie for lunch, and the dynamic threesome spent the afternoon making turns in Prospect Bowl. Rachel, who has apparently become more of a powderhound than she would like to admit, spent most of her time seeking out the last vestiges of the recent storm. As most of these "powder" "stashes" involved some sort of uphill climb or slog through deep snow to get to them, Tara found her access unfortunately limited due to her snowboarding ways. In the meantime, Annie worked incredibly hard at getting her skiing legs under her and seemed vastly more skilled on her two fiberglass even from the morning to the end of the afternoon.
Muscles sore, various body parts hurting, Annie, Tara, and Rachel retired to the house to find Sara feeling considerably better (she had felt a little under the weather earlier in the day) and Julia gone on an exploratory trip down to the town of Telluride. Annie looked around the kitchen and instantly felt inspired by a bag of blue corn tortilla chips. "Nachos!" she may or may not have announced, very loudly. So we set about grating cheese, slicing olives, and dicing strawberries. YES, strawberries. The secret ingredient to incredible nachos. Though, unfortunately (?), now no longer a secret.
Post-delicious experience, we hot tubbed for a bit, including a dip in the snow, then proceeded to make dinner. Our plans to join the rest of the fabulous fivesome in town were derailed by overwhelming senses of tiredness and a report that downtown "seemed dead" on the Thursday night. An accidental good decision, as we were due for a few inches that night.
The next morning (Friday, 2/13), we woke bright and early with hopes for a powder day. We saw about 5 inches of new, fluffy, sparking snow as soon as we left the house. Not huge by Alta standards, but still exciting for those of us unlucky enough not to be there. Tara and Rachel skied the mountain sort of backwards, but were quite proud of themselves for finding Revelation Bowl, a wide open concave mountain face covered in snow. Due to their relatively late discovery (it was about 10:30am), the Bowl was fairly tracked out and a little crowded. The snow was still tons of fun, and the terrain felt huge. After charging pretty hard for most of the morning, quads burning with the effort of making beautiful turns through piles of snow, Tara and Rachel met up with Sara and Annie for lunch. Just as the day before, the newly conglomerated group skied together for a while. Sara, unfortunately, got a little separated from the others when the trail we had agreed to follow to Lift 5 didn't actually end up at Lift 5. That's what we get for not reading the map, I guess. We took some great intermediate runs that allowed Tara and Rachel to shoot off through trees in search of fun snow and still meet up with Annie at the bottom of the lift without too much waiting around.
Julia took advantage of a clear day to tour some of the other old mining towns in the area, including Ouray, Silverton, and another. She took a number of really cool pictures of the dusty towns turned cute, and brought back some sweet souvenirs. Most importantly, Julia SAW BIGHORN SHEEP. She even has pictures to prove it. The excitement was palpable when she told the rest of us, as we've been hankering to see them since Arches (but that story will come in a later post).
That evening, we actually ventured into town. A free gondola took us from Mountain Village (the village on the mountain, shockingly enough) to "downtown," i.e. the town of Telluride. Two officially separate towns, Telluride and Mountain Village have completely different vibes. The town nestles in the end of a box canyon, the walls of which are riddled with shafts from 19th century gold and silver mines. Historically, the lawless mining town had a horrendous reputation. Legend has it that the name originates from people yelling "To Hell you ride" after those who rode away for the rowdy mining town. The clapboard buildings lining Colorado Ave (the main street) included a number of brothels and saloons. The modern-day town has lost most of the lawless feel it once had, but has managed to retain a sense of grittiness that the multi-million dollar log homes of Mountain Village decidely lack. Just walking down Colorado Ave (the main drag) evokes a sense of timelessness, as if a drunk miner could be kicked out of the door to the New Sheridan at any moment. One can almost hear the clink of geologist hammers against the rock, feel the ragged desperation of men, women, and children whose very lives depend on extracted ore and the rise and fall of silver prices.
Telluride was practically dead by the mid-20th century. The mines were spent, the early dairies obsolete. Towns like Aspen and Vail had already boomed into the sprawling leisure centers that they are today. In the 1970s, ski promoters came to Telluride with a different vision (at least, according to how they tell it): to create a world-class ski resort without the urban sprawl, the fur shops, and the attitude linked with the outposts of Manhattan in Colorado ski country. Apparently, the plan as worked, though maybe with a few unforeseen twists: for at least the last two decades, Telluride has boomed. An empty lot in town doesn't sell for less than a cool million, and houses with six car garages seem to spring up every week in Mountain Village. Lift tickets are an outrageous $92 a day, and it is nearly impossible for community's working members to live anywhere close to their jobs.
And yet... The mountain is gorgeous. The town sits around 9,000 ft above sea level; the tallest lift reaches 12,500. Looking out from the chairlift, the gondola into town, the deck of Karissa's house, one feels on top of the world. The sheer faces of San Juan peaks flow into rounded shoulders where aspens stand in large, genetically undifferentiated clumps. The shoulders themselves are cut by the San Miguel River, creating a multi-tiered landscape that seems even more massive than it already is. Telluride is truly one of the most beautiful places on earth.
But back to our night on the town. We went to "The Buck," otherwise known as the Last Dollar Saloon, to check out the local crowd. Rachel had some pretty fond memories of the place from her stint as a travel guide writer, and the margaritas definitely lived up to them. Tara even spotted someone famous, though we're not exactly sure of his name. Some bald comedian with a gap between his front teeth. Any ideas?
We were pretty wiped from another bomber day on the mountain, so we headed back up the gondola in search of our beds. The timing almost worked so that our very own Julia could spend the first few minutes of her 24th birthday on the gondola, but alas, we were a bit too early. The magical moment happened instead in the Dial-A-Ride mondo-SUV that gave us a free ride from the gondola station to Karissa's house.
Day 3 (Saturday, Feb 14, Valentine's Day, Julia's Birthday!) of our Telluride experience started a little bit on the later side. Two hard skiing days at altitude were definitely catching up with us, and we all needed our sleep (besides Annie, who generally rises before the alarm, much to our general amazement). We all were hitting the slopes that day, even Julia! We were pretty excited to spend at least part of the day all together on the mountain. With our meet-up plans in place, the various parties split off to try their luck on the mountain. The wind was buffeting the mountain so much so that we could see snow being scoured from the unlucky faces. Tara and Rachel put their heads together and tried to figure out where, exactly, the snow was ending up. We guessed Revelation Bowl.
Tara and Rachel gazed over the rim of Revelation, trying to see if the bowl was as buffed as they thought it might be. After about a minute of standing in the nearly howling wind, they shrugged their shoulders, muttered something about how "there's only one way to find out," and went after it. As soon as Rachel's skis left the scoured cat track, they cut through the windbuffed snow ("buff") like a hot knife through butter. The bowl was perfectly situated for maxium buff: the wind blew away all evidence of previous tracks, just as it loaded the far side with snow. Sick turn followed sick turn alongside the screaming cries of protesting leg muscles. By the time we rode the lift back to the top, our tracks had been obliterated by the wind and fresh, creamy snow was again in our path. Free refills (sort of), baby. Definitely the best snow on the mountain at that point, and yet no one was skiing it. It seemed that the very force molding the amazing, creamy buff was also keeping away the faint of heart. Epic.
Various other skiing/snowboarding things happened...
The real excitement happened later that night, at the Rubiks Cube party. The scene: about 20 twenty-somethings (mostly locals, some randos like us) dressed only in the colors that appear on a Rubiks Cube. There are 6: red, yellow, orange, white, blue, and green. Very, very bold colors. The "goal" is to switch clothes with people so that by the end of the night, you are all one color. A lot of choice can be involved, so it's not nearly as sketchy as it sounds. It did lead to a number of hilarious exchanges, however, including Karissa's [male] friend walking around in a blue velour dress over black long underwear tights for much of the night.
That was last night. Annie got a head start on most this morning and tackled one of the more challenging parts of the mountain. Sara left early as well, rocking out to her iPod and shredding some gnar gnar on her board. Tara and Rachel, on the other hand, slept in a bit and decided it was finally time for the Day of Silly. They unsnarled an unnecessarily complicated logistical question of which equipment to wear where when, ate breakfast, and embarked upon a day of discovery.
Discovery of what, you may ask? Well, we aimed to discover whether Tara still knew how to ski and whether Rachel could pick up telemark skiing by watching people from the lifts (and desperately wanting to know how to do it). Rachel rented a pair of tele skis, Tara borrowed Rachel's groomer skis. At first, the experiment didn't seem to go so well. Rachel kept overbalancing, twisting her torso too much when she pole planted and not really bending her legs enough to create a real tele turn (or lunge, for that matter). Tara seemed to be doing okay, but early questions like, "How do I turn?" made for some serious hilarity. By the end of their second amazingly long green run (about 45 minutes for the first, about half an hour for the second), both seemed to have things more or less under control. Neither were to be speed demons at any point of the day, but Rachel definitely strung together a few nice looking turns and Tara began playing around on her edges like a pro. By mid-afternoon, however, exhaustion set in and informed the switch back to regular gear. Tara, Rachel, and Annie raced down groomers to their hearts' delight and until the very last chair. It was certainly one of the most fulfilling days spent entirely on green runs an experienced skier/snowboarder could imagine.
We leave Telluride bright and early tomorrow (Monday) morning and begin our monotonous trek east. We spent most of this evening packing and organizing, though we did take a break for a lovely meal of pesto and tomato pasta (and what was left of Julia's amazing birthday cake for which Annie made delicious homemade frosting). Needless to say, it will be very difficult to leave this gorgeous place full of wonderful people.
Tuesday, February 10, 2009
Sunday February 1st 2009:
In Paso Robles we connected with Route One, the Pacific Coast Highway, for a more scenic drive up to northern California. Rachel maneuvered the twists and turns of the road gracefully as Tara and I admired the dramatic cliffs, spectacular waves, and burned forests that lined the roadway. In San Simeon (the location of newspaper magnet William Randolph Hurst's famous mansion known simply as Hurst's Castle) we stopped to take a gander at the Elephant Seals. Thousands of these ten to twenty foot long giant blobs of lard (my best description of an elephant seal for anyone who has never seen one) gather to sun themselves on this beach right along the road. A half-mile stretch of beach was covered almost cliff to water in these giant seals whose name comes from the elephant's trunk like apendage of the male seals. The three of us watched in awe as they struggled to move their bodies even a few feet before collapsing on the sand for another rest. Many of the females used their flippers to coat their backs in a thin layer of sand. The giant males roared loudly as they struggled to make advances on various females. It was quite a sight! I recomend checking out some of Rachel's pictures to get a better idea of what a beach full of elephant seals really looks like. After this break we continued up the coast through Big Sur which was recently struck by wildfires. It was interesting to see the path of the fire along the hillsides. In the early afternoon we arrived in Monterey (which looked like a really cute town that I would like to return to with more time to explore) to visit the Aquarium which Rachel remembered loving as a child. The aquarium was certainly worth the stop with hundreds of different fish to admire, cool creatures such as a sea cucumber to touch, an aviary, and cute otters! We even had the chance to watch a feeding in the kelp forest tank. I felt like a small child in a candy shop as my attention was drawn from tank to tank by fascinating creatures big and small. As the sun set and the aquarium was about to close we headed back to the car to continue our journey north. Our next stop was Santa Cruz for a quick dinner with Rachel's aunt Diane who recently returned from a boat trip in Mexico. As Rachel and Diane caught up, Tara and I delved into a jigsaw puzzle and before we knew it dinner was over and we were back in the car on our way to San Francisco. After a long, full day on the road we finally arrived at Chez Yay in the Castro neighborhood of San Francisco where Rachel's friend Geoff and his roomates welcomed us with open arms. Before getting some much needed rest Geoff intoduced us to the wonders of DJ Earworm on YouTube. The mash-up of Billboard's Top 25 and another of many songs that use the same four chords are worth checking out. Before hitting the hay I asked Geoff about getting up to move the car in the morning to avoid a parking ticket. It is fine to go out to the car in your pajamas Geoff explained, you might even run into some naked people on your way back. I was fast asleep the second my head hit the pillow at the end of an epic day that felt more like three considering all that we accomplished.
In Paso Robles we connected with Route One, the Pacific Coast Highway, for a more scenic drive up to northern California. Rachel maneuvered the twists and turns of the road gracefully as Tara and I admired the dramatic cliffs, spectacular waves, and burned forests that lined the roadway. In San Simeon (the location of newspaper magnet William Randolph Hurst's famous mansion known simply as Hurst's Castle) we stopped to take a gander at the Elephant Seals. Thousands of these ten to twenty foot long giant blobs of lard (my best description of an elephant seal for anyone who has never seen one) gather to sun themselves on this beach right along the road. A half-mile stretch of beach was covered almost cliff to water in these giant seals whose name comes from the elephant's trunk like apendage of the male seals. The three of us watched in awe as they struggled to move their bodies even a few feet before collapsing on the sand for another rest. Many of the females used their flippers to coat their backs in a thin layer of sand. The giant males roared loudly as they struggled to make advances on various females. It was quite a sight! I recomend checking out some of Rachel's pictures to get a better idea of what a beach full of elephant seals really looks like. After this break we continued up the coast through Big Sur which was recently struck by wildfires. It was interesting to see the path of the fire along the hillsides. In the early afternoon we arrived in Monterey (which looked like a really cute town that I would like to return to with more time to explore) to visit the Aquarium which Rachel remembered loving as a child. The aquarium was certainly worth the stop with hundreds of different fish to admire, cool creatures such as a sea cucumber to touch, an aviary, and cute otters! We even had the chance to watch a feeding in the kelp forest tank. I felt like a small child in a candy shop as my attention was drawn from tank to tank by fascinating creatures big and small. As the sun set and the aquarium was about to close we headed back to the car to continue our journey north. Our next stop was Santa Cruz for a quick dinner with Rachel's aunt Diane who recently returned from a boat trip in Mexico. As Rachel and Diane caught up, Tara and I delved into a jigsaw puzzle and before we knew it dinner was over and we were back in the car on our way to San Francisco. After a long, full day on the road we finally arrived at Chez Yay in the Castro neighborhood of San Francisco where Rachel's friend Geoff and his roomates welcomed us with open arms. Before getting some much needed rest Geoff intoduced us to the wonders of DJ Earworm on YouTube. The mash-up of Billboard's Top 25 and another of many songs that use the same four chords are worth checking out. Before hitting the hay I asked Geoff about getting up to move the car in the morning to avoid a parking ticket. It is fine to go out to the car in your pajamas Geoff explained, you might even run into some naked people on your way back. I was fast asleep the second my head hit the pillow at the end of an epic day that felt more like three considering all that we accomplished.
As with All Good Things...Corrections!
Annie would like the following pieces of information added to the post entitled, "The Sun Continueth":
1. We did not leave Long Beach until 4:30 in the morning, and did not arrive at her house until the even more un-G-dly hour of 5:30am. So noted.
2. As we arrived at Annie's house, we did not necessarily have to "sneak in," as the scribe put it for dramatic effect. Instead, Annie's parents actually woke up and offered us breakfast. It was amazing. We politely (we hope) declined and fell asleep. But a HUGE thanks to Mr. Schulzinger and Mrs. Pennell for their humor and understanding of the situation. We hope it was definitely worth the story.
1. We did not leave Long Beach until 4:30 in the morning, and did not arrive at her house until the even more un-G-dly hour of 5:30am. So noted.
2. As we arrived at Annie's house, we did not necessarily have to "sneak in," as the scribe put it for dramatic effect. Instead, Annie's parents actually woke up and offered us breakfast. It was amazing. We politely (we hope) declined and fell asleep. But a HUGE thanks to Mr. Schulzinger and Mrs. Pennell for their humor and understanding of the situation. We hope it was definitely worth the story.
Monday, February 9, 2009
Directions, Misdirected
March 1st
Loaded up with home baked goodies and barely able to see out the back of the car, yet again, the three headed up the 5 towards Paso Robles. Rachel took the wheel this day after Annie had done her fair share of maneuvering through crazy LA drivers. However, there was some confusion at one point where Rachel was asking if she needed to merge onto the highway, and mid-merge, Annie replies “No, no”, when the answer should have been “Yes, you are correct in going this direction”. Rachel swerves back to avoid the approaching median and narrowly misses a car in the slow lane as well as a murder of crows careening towards the windshield.
Actually, we continued in a safe manner and made the merge onto the highway without problems.
LA Adventures, continued
Saturday January 31st
The terrible three-some of Tara, Rachel, and Annie awoke not so long after they had gone to sleep... Annie woke up earlier to make sure to have some quality mommy time and Rachel and Tara struggled to stay in bed longer as the sky light in the bedroom was blinding and conned them under the covers even though there was to be another B-E-A-utiful day outside.
Breakfast on this sunny morning was some delicious waffles prepared lovingly by Annie’s mother, Mrs. Pennell. There was new tea to choose from (the plastic bag in our food crate was getting old) and slices of grapefruit with the skins removed too! (read: very tasty) Clothes were changed (we got to do laundry!), directions were gathered, and the car loaded with Annie the LA driver/chauffer behind the wheel.
After winding our way down/over/along
With palm trees lining the streets on the way we finally turned onto that glorious strip of extremely overpriced stores fit for only those that work in the most boring places. Needless to say nothing was purchased except for a Pinkberry frozen yogurt treat before having dinner at The Newsroom later that evening. Rachel considered purchasing a glorious pair of leather riding boots in case she needs the gear for horseback riding, but Annie advised her that it we already are struggling to fit the rest of the “necessary gear” in the car as it is.
The Newsroom was a cozy little place and surprisingly empty for a Saturday night. Located right across the street from The Ivy (for those of you not up on your US Weekly, this place is THE place to get your picture taken by the papparazi) we kept our eyes out for Brad Pitt or any other cute male need-to-know. Dinner was delicious and
We waved goodbye to shopping heaven and headed back to the Schulzinger residence where we tried to pack up as much crap as we could the night before we were to rise early and make our way up the California coast towards San Francisco.
A Brief Visual Interlude
More pictures are up on the Picasa web album/slideshow to the right! Check those out for some scenic shots and group pictures. Below are a few that caught our eye or need a bit more explanation.
Happy Trails!
Happy Trails!
The fantastic results of our experiments with pitch darkness, headlamps, and an incredibly slow shutter.
Big Bend NP, TX.
The blogging process, in the front seat of Hank the All-American Hybrid.
Somewhere in New Mexico.
Hank's GPS system leaves a little to be desired. When it's not telling us we're in a "Off-Road Condition," as pictured above, it tends to place the magical yellow triangle in ponds, in the middle of city blocks, or refuse to recognize totally valid addresses. It has definitely made us appreciate the wonders of old-fashioned paper maps.
Rt. 1, CA.
Twirling Tara among the Coastal Redwoods. Notice the ghost of John Muir where the back of Tara's head should be.
Muir Woods National Monument, Mill Valley, CA.
Big Bend NP, TX.
The blogging process, in the front seat of Hank the All-American Hybrid.
Somewhere in New Mexico.
Hank's GPS system leaves a little to be desired. When it's not telling us we're in a "Off-Road Condition," as pictured above, it tends to place the magical yellow triangle in ponds, in the middle of city blocks, or refuse to recognize totally valid addresses. It has definitely made us appreciate the wonders of old-fashioned paper maps.Rt. 1, CA.
Twirling Tara among the Coastal Redwoods. Notice the ghost of John Muir where the back of Tara's head should be.Muir Woods National Monument, Mill Valley, CA.
Sunday, February 8, 2009
San Diego or Bust
Hello, my people! We are clean and sleeping in fresh beds at the moment - four days of not showering will really make you glisten.
Just a quick entry to dish on the highlights of Sara and I's journey into the land across from Mexico - San Diego. It was groovy. We stayed with Sara's friend Pace, who is a Maryland transplant who is the most chill person that has ever existed. He lives in Imperial Beach - a neighborhood run by Latinos and Asians - and he's an INCREDIBLY nice, smart guy who was a phenomenal host. Staying with him for 3 days was quite possibly the funniest/most awesome experience I have ever had, and the rundown of what happened went something like this:
We arrived at his house, a glorious building oozing of a laid-back, artistic, Cali surfer vibe, and during the first 10 minutes found out that he "designs life support systems for marine animals" for a living. Dude...what? Soooo I dug further and basically, he works with filtration systems and "makes the water blue" at aquariums and other facilities. HHAHA amazing. We later asked him how long he'd been at his place, and he said several months, and that when he first heard about the place, he didn't want to bother moving into it because "Did you see the 200 - lb fish tank downstairs?" So random. Oh yeah he also has piranhas in the living room.
So our first he took us down to Imperial Beach, where Sara and I dug our feet in the sand and seriously, it was like we had never felt sand before. WE MADE IT TO THE PACIFIC! Wheeeeeeee! We walked along the boardwalk, and about halfway through Pace hopped over the "Do Not Cross" railing and perched on a teeny-tiny little deck that, by the way, had no railings whatsoever. Sara and I followed, because I mean what the hell we are in San Diego, right? So we crossed, and we inched our way over to an even teeny-tinier segment where there was maaaaybe 2 feet of plank between us and being battered into little pieces of flesh by the Pacific Ocean. It was, needless to say, sketchy. But only the first of many sketchy things to be done whilst being toured by Pace....
The Pacific Ocean was INCREDIBLE, by the way, and we watched the waves crashing from behind which was a spectacular, mesmerizing experience. What lives down there? What is there right now? What does it feel like? How cold is it? SO MANY QUESTIONS AHH. I will say that after having gotten used to small bodies of water like the Chesapeake and the Chester River, it was pretty mind-blowing to see water on such a large scale. Kinda like when I ordered a large fountain soda and thought it was big, only to see a trucker the next day with a Big Gulp that was bigger than Annie's head. Yeah, kinda like that.
The next day we met up with Tara, Rachel and Annie and went animal perusing at the San Diego Wildlife Park. Saw some pretty beastly animals...California condor...fat rhinos...awkward giraffes. We got to pet some African gazelle in a petting corral (more or less), and Sara had no part in it. She does not do animals. On burgers and without cheese, but not when they are living.
DAY 2: LA JOLLA. Sketchy adventures Part Dos. Pace took us here without really telling us anything beforehand (which is pretty much how the whole SD trip went: Pace just kind of assuming we knew what he was talking about). We figured since we were going to a beach we might be going on a nice little stroll, which it started out as. Until, that is, he opened the gate and told us we had to crab-walk down the muddy, beach cliff. That worked out fairly well, and Sara and I did our thing, until we came to a steep spot where Pace told us "Alright, dude, see - this rope isn't gonna go anywhere. It's been here for a long time but you just gotta go down it as if it's gonna break on you any second. And if you fall, fall on your face. Cause if you fall on your back - it's all over. Ok?" If I could draw you a stick picture of this rope, it wouldn't take very long because it was just some old line that some person tied onto a rock years ago. Very frayed, but oh man no biggie, because it was tied to other ropes that were supporting it and were equally as frayed. This was shady. I'm sitting here writing this blog now so I made it out alive, and even though she slipped towards the end and dangled as she hung on, Sara totally made it too. It was all worth it, and we found a nice little spot in the sun next to the anemones...
(Earlier that day we also had lunch with Pace's roommate, OG, a super nice guy with long dreads and a funky demeanor. We talked to him for a while, asked him how he knew Pace, etc etc.
.....And then found out from Pace two days later that he's the percussionist for Slightly Stoopid. What!!??!) Anyways...
That night after the Beach Cliff Incident, Pace kept talking about "going to TG's", and again, just kind of assumed that Sara and I knew what he was talking about. He wasn't really talking to us about TG's, but more he was talking to his roommate so we never really had a great opportunity to ask what the hell TG's was. A bar? Someone's house? A restaurant? After much confusion we went and found out that it was a guy's house, and the house was a trip in itself. It was right on the beach, and was filled with surfing trophies and painted canvases. Everyone there - from the people our age to the people in their 50s - was welcoming to us, and the California-surfer-hippie scene was incredibly interesting. I soaked it up while I could....and on a side note, Pace definitely made a lot more sense after we met his dad and uncle. There were a lot of bizarre things that happened that night, but what was most random was that we had gathered for the purpose of watching a championship UFC match, which we did, and learned about. Did you know that in UFC, you can't gouge out eyes, or make any crotch shots? Other than that, it's allll open, men. I left early to pass out as I was exhausted, but Sara stayed at the chill UFC house and hustled some older men out of $80 in poker. Baller!!!
OOH yes, I forgot to mention that Pace also showed us his "Spooner Lab", which was a feast for the eyes. He, his uncle, and his friend started a company where they make, essentially, skateboards without wheels, that they sell as boards to ride on. He told us that the idea derived from when he, his buddy, and uncle were messing around one day and cut the top off of a dig igloo. It's a really creative invention, and he gave us two to take on our merry way. We tried it out at one of the National Parks...we dug it. This is the website: http://shop.thespooner.us/main.sc go! seek! the spooner!
So, that was pretty much it. Yeah, nothing much interesting happened at all. It was really dull.
Good thing we at least now know who to call when we need our whale shark tanks filtered.
xx, Julia
(PS - Everyone go to San Diego! It's muy bueno.)
Just a quick entry to dish on the highlights of Sara and I's journey into the land across from Mexico - San Diego. It was groovy. We stayed with Sara's friend Pace, who is a Maryland transplant who is the most chill person that has ever existed. He lives in Imperial Beach - a neighborhood run by Latinos and Asians - and he's an INCREDIBLY nice, smart guy who was a phenomenal host. Staying with him for 3 days was quite possibly the funniest/most awesome experience I have ever had, and the rundown of what happened went something like this:
We arrived at his house, a glorious building oozing of a laid-back, artistic, Cali surfer vibe, and during the first 10 minutes found out that he "designs life support systems for marine animals" for a living. Dude...what? Soooo I dug further and basically, he works with filtration systems and "makes the water blue" at aquariums and other facilities. HHAHA amazing. We later asked him how long he'd been at his place, and he said several months, and that when he first heard about the place, he didn't want to bother moving into it because "Did you see the 200 - lb fish tank downstairs?" So random. Oh yeah he also has piranhas in the living room.
So our first he took us down to Imperial Beach, where Sara and I dug our feet in the sand and seriously, it was like we had never felt sand before. WE MADE IT TO THE PACIFIC! Wheeeeeeee! We walked along the boardwalk, and about halfway through Pace hopped over the "Do Not Cross" railing and perched on a teeny-tiny little deck that, by the way, had no railings whatsoever. Sara and I followed, because I mean what the hell we are in San Diego, right? So we crossed, and we inched our way over to an even teeny-tinier segment where there was maaaaybe 2 feet of plank between us and being battered into little pieces of flesh by the Pacific Ocean. It was, needless to say, sketchy. But only the first of many sketchy things to be done whilst being toured by Pace....
The Pacific Ocean was INCREDIBLE, by the way, and we watched the waves crashing from behind which was a spectacular, mesmerizing experience. What lives down there? What is there right now? What does it feel like? How cold is it? SO MANY QUESTIONS AHH. I will say that after having gotten used to small bodies of water like the Chesapeake and the Chester River, it was pretty mind-blowing to see water on such a large scale. Kinda like when I ordered a large fountain soda and thought it was big, only to see a trucker the next day with a Big Gulp that was bigger than Annie's head. Yeah, kinda like that.
The next day we met up with Tara, Rachel and Annie and went animal perusing at the San Diego Wildlife Park. Saw some pretty beastly animals...California condor...fat rhinos...awkward giraffes. We got to pet some African gazelle in a petting corral (more or less), and Sara had no part in it. She does not do animals. On burgers and without cheese, but not when they are living.
DAY 2: LA JOLLA. Sketchy adventures Part Dos. Pace took us here without really telling us anything beforehand (which is pretty much how the whole SD trip went: Pace just kind of assuming we knew what he was talking about). We figured since we were going to a beach we might be going on a nice little stroll, which it started out as. Until, that is, he opened the gate and told us we had to crab-walk down the muddy, beach cliff. That worked out fairly well, and Sara and I did our thing, until we came to a steep spot where Pace told us "Alright, dude, see - this rope isn't gonna go anywhere. It's been here for a long time but you just gotta go down it as if it's gonna break on you any second. And if you fall, fall on your face. Cause if you fall on your back - it's all over. Ok?" If I could draw you a stick picture of this rope, it wouldn't take very long because it was just some old line that some person tied onto a rock years ago. Very frayed, but oh man no biggie, because it was tied to other ropes that were supporting it and were equally as frayed. This was shady. I'm sitting here writing this blog now so I made it out alive, and even though she slipped towards the end and dangled as she hung on, Sara totally made it too. It was all worth it, and we found a nice little spot in the sun next to the anemones...
(Earlier that day we also had lunch with Pace's roommate, OG, a super nice guy with long dreads and a funky demeanor. We talked to him for a while, asked him how he knew Pace, etc etc.
.....And then found out from Pace two days later that he's the percussionist for Slightly Stoopid. What!!??!) Anyways...
That night after the Beach Cliff Incident, Pace kept talking about "going to TG's", and again, just kind of assumed that Sara and I knew what he was talking about. He wasn't really talking to us about TG's, but more he was talking to his roommate so we never really had a great opportunity to ask what the hell TG's was. A bar? Someone's house? A restaurant? After much confusion we went and found out that it was a guy's house, and the house was a trip in itself. It was right on the beach, and was filled with surfing trophies and painted canvases. Everyone there - from the people our age to the people in their 50s - was welcoming to us, and the California-surfer-hippie scene was incredibly interesting. I soaked it up while I could....and on a side note, Pace definitely made a lot more sense after we met his dad and uncle. There were a lot of bizarre things that happened that night, but what was most random was that we had gathered for the purpose of watching a championship UFC match, which we did, and learned about. Did you know that in UFC, you can't gouge out eyes, or make any crotch shots? Other than that, it's allll open, men. I left early to pass out as I was exhausted, but Sara stayed at the chill UFC house and hustled some older men out of $80 in poker. Baller!!!
OOH yes, I forgot to mention that Pace also showed us his "Spooner Lab", which was a feast for the eyes. He, his uncle, and his friend started a company where they make, essentially, skateboards without wheels, that they sell as boards to ride on. He told us that the idea derived from when he, his buddy, and uncle were messing around one day and cut the top off of a dig igloo. It's a really creative invention, and he gave us two to take on our merry way. We tried it out at one of the National Parks...we dug it. This is the website: http://shop.thespooner.us/main.sc go! seek! the spooner!
So, that was pretty much it. Yeah, nothing much interesting happened at all. It was really dull.
Good thing we at least now know who to call when we need our whale shark tanks filtered.
xx, Julia
(PS - Everyone go to San Diego! It's muy bueno.)
The Sun Continueth
After our freezing night in New Mexico, we continued to be shocked by the amazingly warm weather in southern California. We split up, with Sara and Julia spending most of their time in San Diego while Annie, Tara, and Rachel used Annie's parents' house as a base.
The LA threesome's most epic adventure began as any other day would, except with delicious peeled grapefruit sections, tasty tea, and homemade granola. We ventured south to meet up with Julia and Sara at the San Diego Wild Animal Park, where we were met with the raucous calls of African jungle birds in the aviary. As soon as we were all together, we wandered down to the "Journey into Africa" tram, basically a glorified people transporter that you might see at Disney World or Six Flags. This one, however, took us through huge open enclosures teeming with African wildlife, not between the parking lot and the park's entrance gate. We saw countless types of antelopes, and learned more than we really wanted to know about the various mating habits of giraffes. One antelope in particular caught our eye: the springbok. The dominant male spends most of his time chasing away the less dominant males from his herd of females. Not only do they run, but they sort of hop on four springy legs. Quite hilarious to watch. After our approximated safari experience, we wandered around and looked for more animals. Our park visit ended with a ride on the "Conservation Carousel," a few minutes before the park closed.
We parted ways with the San Diego crew again, and headed to Solana Beach for incredible pizza (garlic and some other veggies) and delicious beer (an amazing in-house ESB) with Rachel's friend Jessie. We thoroughly enjoyed the SoCal surfer scene, though it was a little weird to be watching snowboarding on the TVs interspersed around the noisy, vibrant restaurant. After dinner, we wandered down to the beach (Rachel, to Jessie: "Is there a beach here?" Jessie: "It's called Solana Beach"). We felt right at home down on the beach, above which a "failing bluff" kept watch.
These activities already would make for a pretty full and satisfactory day. But no, it wasn't enough. Tara still wanted to connect with her friend Robbie, who it seemed would be in the Long Beach area at some point later that night. So after parting ways with Jessie (and Annie getting New Hampshire for her license plate list!), we headed up to Long Beach. We arrived without knowing where, exactly, in Long Beach Robbie was supposed to arrive. So we took Jessie's suggestion and stopped for the delectable concoction of frozen yogurt and random toppings that has turned into a nation-wide fad. It was quite delicious.
Suddenly, in the midst of our yogurt, we received the info we needed. We went down to the apartment and met up with Robbie and Ben, two Sandy Spring guys, and some others. As soon as we walked into their apartment, a high speed chase broadcast on the TV demanded our attention. It seemed that this crazy guy was trying to outrun a set of cops on SURFACE STREETS in LONG BEACH. Surface streets on which we had just been driving. We, needless to say, felt pretty connected to the whole thing. From high speed chase, our night only got better with a trip to a divey-yet-sceney Long Beach bar. A pretty sweet band was playing, we stood around for a while talking, and generally had a good time. Until last call. Around 2am. And we were still in Long Beach. About an hour away from our beds.
We all walked back to Ben's apartment, and continued talking. We somehow got involved in some pretty in-depth conversations about string theory, fractals, and gay rights. Somehow they all related to each other. Needless to say, it took a while to unravel the intricacies involved, and so we didn't end up leaving until about 4am. Annie, Tara, and Rachel had a pretty giddy and surprisingly alert ride back to Studio City, where sleep awaited. We arrived a little after 5am, giving at least Rachel (and probably Annie and Tara as well) the novel experience of sneaking into a house that late. It was definitely one for the record books.
The LA threesome's most epic adventure began as any other day would, except with delicious peeled grapefruit sections, tasty tea, and homemade granola. We ventured south to meet up with Julia and Sara at the San Diego Wild Animal Park, where we were met with the raucous calls of African jungle birds in the aviary. As soon as we were all together, we wandered down to the "Journey into Africa" tram, basically a glorified people transporter that you might see at Disney World or Six Flags. This one, however, took us through huge open enclosures teeming with African wildlife, not between the parking lot and the park's entrance gate. We saw countless types of antelopes, and learned more than we really wanted to know about the various mating habits of giraffes. One antelope in particular caught our eye: the springbok. The dominant male spends most of his time chasing away the less dominant males from his herd of females. Not only do they run, but they sort of hop on four springy legs. Quite hilarious to watch. After our approximated safari experience, we wandered around and looked for more animals. Our park visit ended with a ride on the "Conservation Carousel," a few minutes before the park closed.
We parted ways with the San Diego crew again, and headed to Solana Beach for incredible pizza (garlic and some other veggies) and delicious beer (an amazing in-house ESB) with Rachel's friend Jessie. We thoroughly enjoyed the SoCal surfer scene, though it was a little weird to be watching snowboarding on the TVs interspersed around the noisy, vibrant restaurant. After dinner, we wandered down to the beach (Rachel, to Jessie: "Is there a beach here?" Jessie: "It's called Solana Beach"). We felt right at home down on the beach, above which a "failing bluff" kept watch.
These activities already would make for a pretty full and satisfactory day. But no, it wasn't enough. Tara still wanted to connect with her friend Robbie, who it seemed would be in the Long Beach area at some point later that night. So after parting ways with Jessie (and Annie getting New Hampshire for her license plate list!), we headed up to Long Beach. We arrived without knowing where, exactly, in Long Beach Robbie was supposed to arrive. So we took Jessie's suggestion and stopped for the delectable concoction of frozen yogurt and random toppings that has turned into a nation-wide fad. It was quite delicious.
Suddenly, in the midst of our yogurt, we received the info we needed. We went down to the apartment and met up with Robbie and Ben, two Sandy Spring guys, and some others. As soon as we walked into their apartment, a high speed chase broadcast on the TV demanded our attention. It seemed that this crazy guy was trying to outrun a set of cops on SURFACE STREETS in LONG BEACH. Surface streets on which we had just been driving. We, needless to say, felt pretty connected to the whole thing. From high speed chase, our night only got better with a trip to a divey-yet-sceney Long Beach bar. A pretty sweet band was playing, we stood around for a while talking, and generally had a good time. Until last call. Around 2am. And we were still in Long Beach. About an hour away from our beds.
We all walked back to Ben's apartment, and continued talking. We somehow got involved in some pretty in-depth conversations about string theory, fractals, and gay rights. Somehow they all related to each other. Needless to say, it took a while to unravel the intricacies involved, and so we didn't end up leaving until about 4am. Annie, Tara, and Rachel had a pretty giddy and surprisingly alert ride back to Studio City, where sleep awaited. We arrived a little after 5am, giving at least Rachel (and probably Annie and Tara as well) the novel experience of sneaking into a house that late. It was definitely one for the record books.
Wednesday, February 4, 2009
Vegas, Baby!
From our frigid campsite in NM we traveled to its polar opposite: Las Vegas, NV, a city warmed by brilliant neon and the fervent hopes of irrational gamblers. We stayed with Julia's sister in an impressive gated subdivision filled with sandstone-colored houses that looked nearly the same. Still, we had a great time.
The early evening featured tunnel crawling, Spiderman fighting, and watching dinosaurs on TV with Julia's two itty-bitty, adorable nephews. We moved from there on to much-needed showers, and an equally as-needed dinner. Finally, around 10pm, we were ready for the Strip.
We took advantage of the free parking at the Bellagio to start our journey among the throngs of tourists and cardsharks. We were very impressed by the large topiaries in the forms of giant pandas, a huge ox, and various other Chinese-themed imagery. From the Belagio, we traveled to Paris, where our luck did not seem so good. We were definitely taken aback by how different the atmosphere in Paris seemed from the Bellagio, and then again at the Planet Hollywood casino. Each was very intentional at catering to a specific clientele, and making them feel comfortable. We ended our tour of both high-end and somewhat seedy casinos in the Imperial Palace, probably more on the latter side of the spectrum. There we found $5 blackjack tables and, much to the group's delight, celebrity look-alike dealers. Over the course of the night, both Michael Jackson and Toby Keith paused their card dealing and took the stage in order to harangue the midnight gamblers with their hit songs. Michael was fairly good; Toby was decidedly not. By the end of the night, our two blackjack fiends, Julia and Sara, were both up money. Tara and Rachel tried one slot machine, once, but to no avail. We left the casino in good, though exhausted, spirits, after a fantastic night of people watching and playing the odds.
The early evening featured tunnel crawling, Spiderman fighting, and watching dinosaurs on TV with Julia's two itty-bitty, adorable nephews. We moved from there on to much-needed showers, and an equally as-needed dinner. Finally, around 10pm, we were ready for the Strip.
We took advantage of the free parking at the Bellagio to start our journey among the throngs of tourists and cardsharks. We were very impressed by the large topiaries in the forms of giant pandas, a huge ox, and various other Chinese-themed imagery. From the Belagio, we traveled to Paris, where our luck did not seem so good. We were definitely taken aback by how different the atmosphere in Paris seemed from the Bellagio, and then again at the Planet Hollywood casino. Each was very intentional at catering to a specific clientele, and making them feel comfortable. We ended our tour of both high-end and somewhat seedy casinos in the Imperial Palace, probably more on the latter side of the spectrum. There we found $5 blackjack tables and, much to the group's delight, celebrity look-alike dealers. Over the course of the night, both Michael Jackson and Toby Keith paused their card dealing and took the stage in order to harangue the midnight gamblers with their hit songs. Michael was fairly good; Toby was decidedly not. By the end of the night, our two blackjack fiends, Julia and Sara, were both up money. Tara and Rachel tried one slot machine, once, but to no avail. We left the casino in good, though exhausted, spirits, after a fantastic night of people watching and playing the odds.
Saturday, January 31, 2009
Playing Catch-up
Dear faithful reader,
As you may have noticed, we are not really "caught up" on the blog as compared to real life. Our map shows us in San Diego and LA, while the last post of note left us on the doorstep of Big Bend National Park. Have no fear! We fully intend to provided you with detailed blow-by-blow accounts of our activities. But for now, here's a brief outline of our recent activities:
Big Bend National Park
Potentially one of the most out-of-the-way national parks in the country, Big Bend offered a peaceful respite in the wilderness in the midst of some pretty hectic driving days. We spent our first night in a backcountry car campsite (oxymoron? it turns out they actually exist!) pretty much in the middle of the desert, with no one around for miles. The next day, we got a small taste of the desert when we hiked to a gigantic balanced rock, precariously perched on two other equally massive boulders. We ran into a retired couple from North Dakota who turned out to be much friendlier than they at first appeared. The hike left us dusty, hot, and a little tired, so we moved camp up to the mountains and hung out in the established campground cradled by the impressive peaks of the Chisos range. It was a little weird going from having no one around to being surrounded by RVs and retirees, but what can you do.
The following morning, we woke up extra early, packed our daypacks, and set out on a 12+ mile hike up to and along the South Rim of the Chisos Mountains. The hike was absolutely spectacular, and we were treated with perfect weather. The views of the Chisos Basin (where the campground is located) on the way up to the ridge were stunning, but we were wholly unprepared by the sheer grandeur of the view that met us at our lunch spot. Julia and Sara were ahead; Annie, Tara, and Rachel were a little farther behind. As the last three approached a trail junction, they noticed they were about to crest a rise in the hillside. The sky opened in front of them, and there were Sara and Julia sitting on a ledge overlooking fifty miles of desert flats, the Rio Grande, and Mexican mountains. Perigrine falcons and other birds surfed the thermals wafting up along the face of the immense cliff atop which we lunched. It was stunning, to say the least.
That night, those unwashed members of the troupe were treated to a glorious sunset seen through the notch in the range surrounding the Basin (see picture in previous post). We ate a hodge podge dinner of scrambled eggs, pancakes, Ramen noodles, and cereal as our sore muscles protested most positions we asked them to assume.
The Coldest Night
We realized that Big Bend to Vegas was quite a ridiculous trip to make in one day, so we decided to split it up and camp somewhere in New Mexico. At the previously mentioned rest area, we realized that we could press on to a much farther campsite, thus cutting the driving hours of the following day. What we didn't realize, however, was that pushing forward meant going higher. So when we were about 20 minutes away from our campground (Bluewater Lake State Park, about 40 miles east of Gallup, NM), and Tara radioed to Annie, Rachel, and Julia to "Guess the temperature," Annie replied, "45."
Tara: "Lower."
Rachel: "37?"
Julia: "34."
Tara: "Lower."
Annie: "27?"
Tara: "Lower."
Rachel, Julia, and Annie: "Crap."
It turned out that Sara's car read 23 degrees outside. And that was at 8pm. There was frozen snow on the ground as we turned into the state park.
We made a plan of attack and were fairly deliberate in our preparations. We camped as close to the bathroom as possible, and while everyone else worked on setting up the tent, Rachel boiled water from the showers to make everyone a hot water bottle for their sleeping bags. We bundled in all of our warm clothes, fished out sleeping bag liners and extra sleeping bags. In fact, we were as prepared as we could hope without having specific winter gear. It was a cold night, and some were definitely colder than others, but we lived to tell the tale.
The next morning we treated ourselves to a delicious breakfast at El Rancho Hotel in Gallup, where Sara ordered "water and hot water," making it clear that the warmth of the tea she actually wanted was all she cared about.
From New Mexico we ventured to Vegas via the Hoover Dam, but more on that later. Rantings on the Hoover Dam deserve their very own post.
Adventurously yours,
Us.
As you may have noticed, we are not really "caught up" on the blog as compared to real life. Our map shows us in San Diego and LA, while the last post of note left us on the doorstep of Big Bend National Park. Have no fear! We fully intend to provided you with detailed blow-by-blow accounts of our activities. But for now, here's a brief outline of our recent activities:
Big Bend National Park
Potentially one of the most out-of-the-way national parks in the country, Big Bend offered a peaceful respite in the wilderness in the midst of some pretty hectic driving days. We spent our first night in a backcountry car campsite (oxymoron? it turns out they actually exist!) pretty much in the middle of the desert, with no one around for miles. The next day, we got a small taste of the desert when we hiked to a gigantic balanced rock, precariously perched on two other equally massive boulders. We ran into a retired couple from North Dakota who turned out to be much friendlier than they at first appeared. The hike left us dusty, hot, and a little tired, so we moved camp up to the mountains and hung out in the established campground cradled by the impressive peaks of the Chisos range. It was a little weird going from having no one around to being surrounded by RVs and retirees, but what can you do.
The following morning, we woke up extra early, packed our daypacks, and set out on a 12+ mile hike up to and along the South Rim of the Chisos Mountains. The hike was absolutely spectacular, and we were treated with perfect weather. The views of the Chisos Basin (where the campground is located) on the way up to the ridge were stunning, but we were wholly unprepared by the sheer grandeur of the view that met us at our lunch spot. Julia and Sara were ahead; Annie, Tara, and Rachel were a little farther behind. As the last three approached a trail junction, they noticed they were about to crest a rise in the hillside. The sky opened in front of them, and there were Sara and Julia sitting on a ledge overlooking fifty miles of desert flats, the Rio Grande, and Mexican mountains. Perigrine falcons and other birds surfed the thermals wafting up along the face of the immense cliff atop which we lunched. It was stunning, to say the least.
That night, those unwashed members of the troupe were treated to a glorious sunset seen through the notch in the range surrounding the Basin (see picture in previous post). We ate a hodge podge dinner of scrambled eggs, pancakes, Ramen noodles, and cereal as our sore muscles protested most positions we asked them to assume.
The Coldest Night
We realized that Big Bend to Vegas was quite a ridiculous trip to make in one day, so we decided to split it up and camp somewhere in New Mexico. At the previously mentioned rest area, we realized that we could press on to a much farther campsite, thus cutting the driving hours of the following day. What we didn't realize, however, was that pushing forward meant going higher. So when we were about 20 minutes away from our campground (Bluewater Lake State Park, about 40 miles east of Gallup, NM), and Tara radioed to Annie, Rachel, and Julia to "Guess the temperature," Annie replied, "45."
Tara: "Lower."
Rachel: "37?"
Julia: "34."
Tara: "Lower."
Annie: "27?"
Tara: "Lower."
Rachel, Julia, and Annie: "Crap."
It turned out that Sara's car read 23 degrees outside. And that was at 8pm. There was frozen snow on the ground as we turned into the state park.
We made a plan of attack and were fairly deliberate in our preparations. We camped as close to the bathroom as possible, and while everyone else worked on setting up the tent, Rachel boiled water from the showers to make everyone a hot water bottle for their sleeping bags. We bundled in all of our warm clothes, fished out sleeping bag liners and extra sleeping bags. In fact, we were as prepared as we could hope without having specific winter gear. It was a cold night, and some were definitely colder than others, but we lived to tell the tale.
The next morning we treated ourselves to a delicious breakfast at El Rancho Hotel in Gallup, where Sara ordered "water and hot water," making it clear that the warmth of the tea she actually wanted was all she cared about.
From New Mexico we ventured to Vegas via the Hoover Dam, but more on that later. Rantings on the Hoover Dam deserve their very own post.
Adventurously yours,
Us.
Thursday, January 29, 2009
Live Map!
View Larger Map
With this amazing new-fangled technology they call the "Internet," and a portion of it mysteriously named "Google," we are able to bring you a LIVE UPDATING version of the Google Map of our route. Green marks indicate places we've been already, blue markers show where we hope to wind up in the future. Red indicates where we are right now (at least, at the time of the most recent update!).
Wednesday, January 28, 2009
Visual Aids
We figured it might be a little difficult to visualize all of the cool things we've been seeing, so here's just a taste. More pictures to come!
The first is brand new, a shot of the Colorado River as it empties from the Lake Mead (after passing through the gargantuan Hoover Dam).
The next is the obligatory group shot at the entrance to Big Bend.
The third is the sunset from our second campsite in Big Bend on our last night there.
To Big Bend! (Day 4)
We left Austin under the cover of darkness, just as we had entered (though minus the ridiculous confusing of Sara and Rachel’s arrival). On the road (Rt. 290 W) at 7am, we had already eaten up considerable mileage by mid-morning when we passed through Fredericksburg, which reminded us, as Julia put it, “Of being on a movie set.” The adorable Texan town apparently had been settled by a bunch of Germans, as “eichen” (and other random German words that Rachel didn’t just make up) appeared on more than a couple of street signs, and multiple restaurants advertised “American and German food.” Fredericksburg saw the continuation of Post Office Chicken. The riders in Hank tried to radio to those Liberty and ask for the input of a post office into the more intelligent GPS system, to the consternation of both parties because Hank’s radio would cut out before the message was done. Increased yelling, it turned out, did not increase the ease of comprehension. We put two and two together and switched the batteries. Normal level communication ensued. It took us a couple more rounds of Post Office Chicken to realize that we had run out of small towns along Rt. 290; the interstate was fast approaching. It wasn’t until we were stopped at a Phillips 66 station on I-10 W that genius struck Annie: gas stations receive and send mail too! She ran in with a stack of Netflix DVD’s, postcards, and letters. Annie: 1, Post office: 0.
Since leaving Austin, Rt. 290 and I-10 had proclaimed that we were driving through “Texas Hill Country,” and it was easy to understand why. Every so often, huge cuts in the approaching hills would open and swallow the interstate. The rounded mesa formations were stunning, and offered the most interesting topography since West Virginia. The sheer flatness of our surroundings over the last couple of days made the appearance of these hills even more remarkable. This country significantly differed from the ups, downs, twists, and turns of West Virginia, of course. Here was vast, open sage brush country with no end in sight. No roads crossed the expanse save ours, and the tiny asphalt tracks met the interstate at widely spaced exits with a lonely gas station to mark the occasion. Ranch land lined the edge of the roads, and it wasn’t just any ranch land. Our eyes peeled for legendary longhorn Texas cattle, we were taken by complete surprise when we saw the first band of pygmy goats huddled in the shade. Really? Pygmy goat ranches? There must be a reason Texas is so touchy about people messing with them...
Later, we began to see white toothpicks sticking up from a couple of mesas rising in the distance. Their indistinct forms became recognizable as windmills, and not solitary ones. They stood in shoulder-to-shoulder ranks across the broad mesas, forming vast windfarms that must have covered hundreds, if not thousands, of acres. The night before, Rachel had predicted that the drive across central and western Texas would bring sights of oil rigs pumping the hillsides across gigantic oil fields. It was therefore strangely gratifying to be met first with a vision of such heavy investment in renewable energy, especially in Texas of all places. We did eventually come across some oil rigs slogging away, but nothing to the scale of the new technology that overlooked them from the hilltops.
We stopped in Fort Stockton, a depressing 50s-era National Park gateway town, for groceries and gas. Stocked with food, we headed south towards Big Bend National Park, our first park of the trip.
After 127 miles, we paused to take the requisite park entrance sign photos, and even took one for a Korean family who had stopped behind us. We snaked through agave (century plants) and other species impressively adapted to and thriving in desert life. We detoured briefly to an exhibit describing the Big Bend area of the late-Eocene. We saw fossil replicas of various swamp-style animals, including mini-hippos and the like, as what was now desert had then been a luscious swamp. The exhibit even pointed out the layered gray shale that resulted from the compression of layers of Eocene swamp mud (yes, Rachel took pictures). The short trail led to an incredibly windy promontory, where we experienced a bit of the wind’s erosive scouring power.
We headed to the Panther Junction Visitor’s Center, and talked to a very nice and helpful park ranger who set us up with a backcountry car camping site and some pretty sweet hike ideas. Backcountry permit in hand, we filled every available vessel with water. Even our plastic chicken, which suffered from a condition called “too-many-holes,” saw its fair share of water after receiving a thorough duct tape treatment.
Our campsite was located along the dirt Grapevine Hills road, about 4 miles from pavement. It was smack-dab in the middle of the desert scrub with incredible views of the Chisos Mountains to the south and other highlands to the north. The sun set a bit to the east of the Chisos range, casting a beautiful bruise-colored tint on the haze before the mountains as it dropped below the horizon. An amazing band of cliffs peeked out just above a small rise to the northeast.
Nothing, however, could compare to the stars. The sun’s glow still lingered in the southwestern sky when we could see as many stars as we can see on the darkest night at Echo Hill. As the light faded, more and more appeared out of the darkness, filling in Orion so well that he seemed to don hunting furs as the traveled across the sky. The Milky Way was a majestic wash of light arcing across the sky. We all spent the better part of the night post-dinner and pre-sleep feeling powerless to resist the urge to crane our necks skyward and absorb the sights all around. For the spectacular stars were not merely above us; pricks of light flooded in from all directions. Venus even reflected enough light on its own to brighten a widening arc beneath it towards the horizon, washing out all but a few stars in the vicinity. As we sat in near silence, our patience was treated with shooting star sightings and the Big Dipper’s slow progress as it rose vertically from the horizon, one handle star at a time.
We succumbed to tiredness eventually and reconvened in the tent. As most of us drifted off to sleep, a lonely howl drifted across the open desert. Another howl answered, and soon we could hear yapping back and forth. Apparently a pack of coyotes were celebrating the night sky as well. They are not nearly as eerily haunting as wolves, which we seem to be genetically coded to fear, but coyotes are still just as cool to hear in the wild. They seem so gregarious, yapping and napping at each other like monkeys. Those of us in the tent hoped Sara wasn’t crapping her pants right then, as she was outside by herself.
Since leaving Austin, Rt. 290 and I-10 had proclaimed that we were driving through “Texas Hill Country,” and it was easy to understand why. Every so often, huge cuts in the approaching hills would open and swallow the interstate. The rounded mesa formations were stunning, and offered the most interesting topography since West Virginia. The sheer flatness of our surroundings over the last couple of days made the appearance of these hills even more remarkable. This country significantly differed from the ups, downs, twists, and turns of West Virginia, of course. Here was vast, open sage brush country with no end in sight. No roads crossed the expanse save ours, and the tiny asphalt tracks met the interstate at widely spaced exits with a lonely gas station to mark the occasion. Ranch land lined the edge of the roads, and it wasn’t just any ranch land. Our eyes peeled for legendary longhorn Texas cattle, we were taken by complete surprise when we saw the first band of pygmy goats huddled in the shade. Really? Pygmy goat ranches? There must be a reason Texas is so touchy about people messing with them...
Later, we began to see white toothpicks sticking up from a couple of mesas rising in the distance. Their indistinct forms became recognizable as windmills, and not solitary ones. They stood in shoulder-to-shoulder ranks across the broad mesas, forming vast windfarms that must have covered hundreds, if not thousands, of acres. The night before, Rachel had predicted that the drive across central and western Texas would bring sights of oil rigs pumping the hillsides across gigantic oil fields. It was therefore strangely gratifying to be met first with a vision of such heavy investment in renewable energy, especially in Texas of all places. We did eventually come across some oil rigs slogging away, but nothing to the scale of the new technology that overlooked them from the hilltops.
We stopped in Fort Stockton, a depressing 50s-era National Park gateway town, for groceries and gas. Stocked with food, we headed south towards Big Bend National Park, our first park of the trip.
After 127 miles, we paused to take the requisite park entrance sign photos, and even took one for a Korean family who had stopped behind us. We snaked through agave (century plants) and other species impressively adapted to and thriving in desert life. We detoured briefly to an exhibit describing the Big Bend area of the late-Eocene. We saw fossil replicas of various swamp-style animals, including mini-hippos and the like, as what was now desert had then been a luscious swamp. The exhibit even pointed out the layered gray shale that resulted from the compression of layers of Eocene swamp mud (yes, Rachel took pictures). The short trail led to an incredibly windy promontory, where we experienced a bit of the wind’s erosive scouring power.
We headed to the Panther Junction Visitor’s Center, and talked to a very nice and helpful park ranger who set us up with a backcountry car camping site and some pretty sweet hike ideas. Backcountry permit in hand, we filled every available vessel with water. Even our plastic chicken, which suffered from a condition called “too-many-holes,” saw its fair share of water after receiving a thorough duct tape treatment.
Our campsite was located along the dirt Grapevine Hills road, about 4 miles from pavement. It was smack-dab in the middle of the desert scrub with incredible views of the Chisos Mountains to the south and other highlands to the north. The sun set a bit to the east of the Chisos range, casting a beautiful bruise-colored tint on the haze before the mountains as it dropped below the horizon. An amazing band of cliffs peeked out just above a small rise to the northeast.
Nothing, however, could compare to the stars. The sun’s glow still lingered in the southwestern sky when we could see as many stars as we can see on the darkest night at Echo Hill. As the light faded, more and more appeared out of the darkness, filling in Orion so well that he seemed to don hunting furs as the traveled across the sky. The Milky Way was a majestic wash of light arcing across the sky. We all spent the better part of the night post-dinner and pre-sleep feeling powerless to resist the urge to crane our necks skyward and absorb the sights all around. For the spectacular stars were not merely above us; pricks of light flooded in from all directions. Venus even reflected enough light on its own to brighten a widening arc beneath it towards the horizon, washing out all but a few stars in the vicinity. As we sat in near silence, our patience was treated with shooting star sightings and the Big Dipper’s slow progress as it rose vertically from the horizon, one handle star at a time.
We succumbed to tiredness eventually and reconvened in the tent. As most of us drifted off to sleep, a lonely howl drifted across the open desert. Another howl answered, and soon we could hear yapping back and forth. Apparently a pack of coyotes were celebrating the night sky as well. They are not nearly as eerily haunting as wolves, which we seem to be genetically coded to fear, but coyotes are still just as cool to hear in the wild. They seem so gregarious, yapping and napping at each other like monkeys. Those of us in the tent hoped Sara wasn’t crapping her pants right then, as she was outside by herself.
Of Knees, Strangers, and Mustaches (Day 3)
The third day of the trip started bright and early to the raucous Krrrrr-ing of woodpeckers, busy after who-knows-what insects in the nutall oaks surrounding our campsite. In the light of day, we learned that we had camped right next to the
One new species greatly impressed itself upon our minds: the cypress tree. They wade in the water like children afraid to fully submerge and stand resolute in their conquest of a very narrow niche. Their knobby knees stick out of the water—allowing the roots to breathe—while the rest of the root plunges into the shallows—anchoring the trunk and sucking nutrients from the murk. Imagine the process whereby an organism would develop such a specific strategy to outsmart encroaching rivers and a crowded water’s edge. Pretty epic.
From
We stopped in
Ten minutes later, we munched on delicious sandwiches in the parking lot. A woman took in the scene from her car, and upon parking inquired, “Girl scout troupe or sorority?” We chuckled, and replied that we were neither but in fact simply a group of friends. She must have noticed the Obama and Hillary bumper stickers on Hank the All-American Hybrid’s backside (i.e. the trunk of the Escape), and started confiding in us as if we were long-lost friends. “The people down here just don’t understand. I’m not from here originally; I’m a transplant. I was talking to a lady in my church, and she made a big stink about him going to Harvard, and it was probably because her husband could only get into UT...blah blah blah.” It was pretty incredible. We were still munching away when the same woman returned. Before she left, we learned that her college roommate had gone to Sara’s high school and various other pieces of her biography.
We returned to the road with full bellies and passed into
Our road ended in
By the time we returned to David’s apartment, it turned out to be our latest day yet. Rachel couldn’t resist the internet, though, and spent a little while reading it (and updating the blog). We fell asleep tired, full, and happy, and a couple of us were even clean.
Tuesday, January 27, 2009
New Mexico!
Greetings! Under time pressure! We're stopped at the New Mexico Welcome Center rest stop, which has free Wi-Fi! We couldn't pass up the opportunity to post to the blog, so we're racing battery charge and team patience.
Real updates soon, from either Vegas or LA!
On to Blue [something] Lake State Park in NM tonight!
Go team!
k bye.
Real updates soon, from either Vegas or LA!
On to Blue [something] Lake State Park in NM tonight!
Go team!
k bye.
Friday, January 23, 2009
On Selling Your Soul to the Devil
From the blue grass of Kentucky, we hit the road west and south towards Clarksdale, MS, home of the legendary "Crossroads," where guitar-picker Robert Johnson reputedly sold his soul to the Devil in return for amping up his guitar-picking skills. Though Robert Johnson doesn't still stand there with his guitar and can of Budweiser, Abe's Barbeque stands as a magnetic beacon to hungry travelers craving the spicy tang of Mississippi sauce.
A random Shell fueling station along I-40 W witnessed the momentous transition from hiking boots to flip flops (for most of us--Annie's still holding out). By the time we reached Abe's, it was positively balmy.
As soon as we crossed into MS from TN, the sheer flatness of the landscape struck us immediately. Compared to the gentle hills of central Kentucky and the 9% grade of Rt-50 in West Virginia, the empty air where land should have been cradling the road seemed a little spooky. Tara radioed from the other car (yes, we have walkies. and two cars) to explain that we were now in the flood plain of the awesome Mississippi River, and that the "hill" to our let was in fact the natural levee created by the river's historically unfettered flow. Now, however, the US Army Corps of Engineers has straightened the Big Muddy's banks, dammed its waters, and "controlled" its natural flood habits so that the plain no longer receives its nutritious alluvial deposits.
Fields lined both sides of the road, despite the lack of natural fertilizer. Tara again radioed from the other car:
Tara: Name that crop!
Rachel (joking): Sorghum!
Tara: No, cotton!
Rachel, Annie, and Julia: Holy crap!
Thus we northerners set our eyes on our first fields of cotton. The winter sun beat down through our windshield, making us uncomfortably warm. We all agreed that we couldn't imagine how terrible it would be to have to work those fields in the dead heat of summer.
We closed in on the Crossroads to the soundtrack of rumbling stomachs. I'm sure that if any of us had been offered a delicious barbeque sandwich in return for our everlasting souls, it might have been a tough decision for some of us. Luckily, we weren't forced to make the choice, and we rolled into Abe's in prime condition to enjoy one of this trip's simple pleasures: fantastic, cheap, locally-specific food. As we ate, four men at the table behind us talked crops, winter wheat harvests, and water pumping, all while scribbling notes on yellow legal pads and chomping numbers with handheld calculators. A high-powered business meeting in Clarksdale, it seemed.
Bellies contentedly full, we left Abe's and headed to our fourth and final state of the day, Arkansas. We crossed over the Mississippi, looped around to the north, and camped in Lake Chicot State Park, near Lake Village, AR. Lake Chicot is an oxbow lake, and we thoroughly enjoyed that fact (I don't know how, exactly, but we did). Our arrival was timed perfectly to not only coincide with pitch darkness, but also so that we would miss the Visitor's Center's hours of operation by a full 2 hours. We drove around for a bit, decided to wing it, and ultimately pulled into a random campsite and called it home for the night. Setting up camp turned out to be fairly easy, and we curled up in Tara's giant 8 person tent to the sound of each other's scribbling pens and the wind rustling our tent flaps.
Thursday, January 22, 2009
Tuesday, January 20, 2009
we tried to leave but we had too much stuff
THUS, begins the beginning of our trip of trips. It all started one very chilly day (today), as nothing much was happening in the greater Washington, D.C. area. Really, nothing of note. No one was there, the city cried out painfully in its emptiness and loneliness. The plaintive town's cries echoed from coast to coast, across great gulfs and deep divides until, one day (today), they were answered.
BY whom were they answered, you might ask? By some Messianic agent of change sprung from the forehead of Abraham Lincoln himself? By a brilliant, honest public servant who has practiced a calm serenity for most of his life in anticipation of this moment? No. That would be crazy.
WE, instead, answer the city's call, and not just that one. The call of every town big and small across the country. From our home bluff to yours, we will travel miles and miles in search of place, people, and popsicles. Yes, even in winter. Because we [heart] popsicles. (POPSICLES? who writes this stuff?)
STAY tuned, for today's momentous events do not end with the setting sun. Nay, our work will continue much longer (for about 4.5 weeks), and will bring us from sea to sea, across vast plains, and through mountainous mountains.
Happy trails,
New Kids on the Bluff
BY whom were they answered, you might ask? By some Messianic agent of change sprung from the forehead of Abraham Lincoln himself? By a brilliant, honest public servant who has practiced a calm serenity for most of his life in anticipation of this moment? No. That would be crazy.
WE, instead, answer the city's call, and not just that one. The call of every town big and small across the country. From our home bluff to yours, we will travel miles and miles in search of place, people, and popsicles. Yes, even in winter. Because we [heart] popsicles. (POPSICLES? who writes this stuff?)
STAY tuned, for today's momentous events do not end with the setting sun. Nay, our work will continue much longer (for about 4.5 weeks), and will bring us from sea to sea, across vast plains, and through mountainous mountains.
Happy trails,
New Kids on the Bluff
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