r o a d t r i p p i n . o r g

The next 60 pages comprise an effort to capture the experience within the framework of my limited mastery of the English language. I’m willing to bet a very small percentage of you will make it through the entire thing; it’s a lot of reading. Perhaps it’s best to read it incrementally rather than tackling the entire body. Plus it starts out a bit rocky. I found it exceedingly difficult to get into a groove at first; writing while parked on the side of the road. Or maybe it’s mostly because I can’t write. *shrug* It gets pretty good around the halfway mark.
I considered and actually went forth with some serious editing, but eventually reverted back to the near original transcript. These words were written while immersed out there and I didn’t want to risk somehow tainting that with retrospective polishing.
So.. here goes..

6.24.03 [1530] – It begins. Who was it that said anticipation was the purest of all emotions? How true that is. In anticipation, it’s all laid out before me, waiting. Here I come.

This shade feels really nice after all that sun, legs stretched out on fresh cut grass. A cold coke in my hand. 10 hours to get here. We got onto 95 in Groton around 5:30 and just arrived in Columbus, OH. What a peculiar thing it is, for my feet to be lifted off the rock parking lot of Bluff Point, and in a blur of time later be planted at some randomly selected gas station in Pennsylvania, and now, Ohio.
Its 3:30. I’m sitting here waiting until at least 5:30 when the gates open. Gates for what.. well.. a Pearl Jam concert! Show starts at 7:30, so I have some time to burn. Way I figure it, I had to get to at least one of the great bands touring this summer. Ideally it would have been a band that I’ve dug for more than 6 months, but you can’t go wrong with a selection like this
Everything has gotten off to a good start thus far. Today’s drive was smooth; minimal traffic, weather is absolutely beautiful. Those weeks of complaining about colder than normal temperatures have been silenced; it has to be above 90 here. The car is running per spec, staying at normal temp which is definitely good. I’m still a little concerned with the electrical system. Yesterdays drain on the battery might cause problems later on.
Still haven’t completely determined the route/time table out of here. I think after the show I’m going to drive until I’m tired enough to go right to sleep and then see what happens. Perhaps it’d be best to get to the western side of Indianapolis to circumvent any potential traffic problems tomorrow. Between that and the Chicago sprawl, my no-traffic luck may not last.
It seems to be the smallest things that make up the essence of an experience. It’s the minute details that normally are steamed past in ones daily life that make something memorable. The vibrations in the road, the shimmering of backlit leaves, the moisture of damp grass beneath me.
Route: 95 to 287 to 80 to 76 to 71

6.25.2003 [0027] I have never heard so many people singing simultaneously in perfect harmony. Going on 36 hours with one hour of sleep. Heading towards the western side of Indianapolis.
Pearl Jam, Germaine Amphitheatre, Columbus, OH (complete show)

6.25.2003 [0230] Parked at a rest area off 76W. Set the alarm for 6:30 to see how I feel. I’d like to get on the road early tomorrow and maybe find a better place to sleep for tomorrow night. Driving tired wasn’t in the plan, but man, those long stretches of straight highway with nothing more than my headlights. The cool night air, clear skies.. it’s irresistible.

6.26.03 [0130] A long day I’d say. Roughly 1300 miles, just stopped in the middle of nowhere North Dakota, about 20 minutes from the Montana line. We haven’t picked up 2 yet, but we’re close.. really close.
Today has been all about trying to keep the sails full of wind, so there hasn’t been much time for me to stop and make the sort of entries I’d like. I have however been keeping little scribbles of thought whenever they strike me.
Darkness precludes an anticipated view of high grasslands outside my windshield. This is quite a change from just 24 hours ago when I sat amidst endless fields of corn. Nondescript, as defined in the dictionary, should have a picture of the endless rows of crops that line the highways of Indiana and Ohio. Tt becomes engrossing somehow to watch it fly by. This can be dangerous when you’re the only one in the car..driving.
From there it was into Wisconsin and Minnesota. The tracts of land that line the interstate are similar to what I see back home; hilly, dense pockets of trees.
One of the small joys of being on a road trip was discovered while stopped for lunch somewhere in Wisconsin; I don’t recall the name. This is why I should be making these entries as they occur. But anyways, stopped for lunch at some gas station. It’s inexplicable to me at the moment, but there seems to be an attraction to ones’ sense of freedom, sitting on a picnic table with a can of cold chili and a spoon. A frame pack leaning up against the car, enjoying a break from the monotony of the road. What a delicious feeling.
Ahh the billboards of out West. While I’ve yet to see the old favorite “Wear Fur,” I have been passing numerous little poems on the side of the road spouting pro-gun sentiment. Combine that with the anti-abortion signs, and I get the distinct feeling that there aren’t many democrats out here. Here’s one: “Be who your dog thinks you are…”
“We Do Cows!” (slogan for some vet company) Two questions come to mind: 1) How much did they pay their advertising company.
2) What exactly do they mean *raised eyebrow*

“aight, I’ve got ole Betsy n here fer her second rund of vaccinations…*pause* and you know wha, why dun you guys gi ahead and take care of her. *wink* she’s been a good cow lately.”

Ok, enough of that.
On through North Dakota.. with all the latitude gain through Minnesota, it got cold. 24 hours previous I sweated while waiting for Pearl Jam to come on stage, now during a late day gas stop I need to dig out a jacket just to pump. North Dakota, the land of towns built around interstate fueling stations.
There appears to be a lot of similarity between North Dakota and South Dakota, the green rolling hills that pop up out of nowhere when you cross the Missouri, and a truly unbelievable sky. A sky that invites the wasting of film in vain attempts to bottle it for transport back home. Driving out of Bismarck we exited from under a cloud bank that lasted most of the Minnesota and drove into a setting sun burning a hole through a broken sky. Simply amazing.
By the way, when a sign in North Dakota says “depressed tire grooves” for X number of miles what they are effectively saying is that a sign was a cheaper alternative to repaving and you need to take X miles multiplied times 3 to get the actual wear on your struts.
Today feels as though it was very productive. Was on the road before the sun came up, watched the earth rotate halfway around itself, and then drove sun back down. 58 hours now with 4 hours of sleep.. maybe that’s why it feels good; I get to go to sleep now underneath a blanket of stars that only greet you out west.
Route: 70 to 74 to 39 to 94 to 85

6.26.2003 [0619] I’m IN MONTANA!!!!!
I don’t know why it feels so good to say that, but it does.. Route 2 appears to have been a good choice *pats self on back* Single lane, speed limit 70. The soil of Montana has supported my weight twice previous, both times traversed via the southern interstate. This road is the way Montana is supposed to be experienced. A ribbon of gray cutting through endless hills of green.
Currently sitting in a town called Culbertson. You stop for gas with over a half a tank sloshing around on this stretch of road. I don’t know how many of you have ever read Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance, but that feeling of “quality” that the author speaks of; this town seems to have an almost palpable sense of it.
A truck pulls up next to me pausing before heading onto the blacktop. Instead of offering a suspicious eye to an out of state driver parked very crooked, he gives me a wave and a smile. A different world out here.

6.26.2003 [2108] Still enough daylight to see clearly, but the sky is finally starting to get the orangish tint of a days descent behind the horizon. I am currently sitting a couple spots away from where we camped at Glacier National Park last year. The familiarity is weird.
Weather is a lot nicer. No rain, partly cloudy skies. The broken clouds give a sense of depth and magnitude to these incredible mountains. The 30 degree temperature difference between mid day and mid night left me shivering while I struggled to find warmer clothing in a tired stupor last night in the middle of North Dakota. At first a source of welcomed warmth, the sun became an annoyance. Well alright, it was just my stupidity for not packing the sunscreen, my arm is cherry red right now. Ill have to pick some up tomorrow.
Well lets get into the scribbled notes of the day.
Continuing on route 2 I began to notice two things. 1) The road is perfect. Not in surface condition, not in route design, just perfect for northern Montana. The old “main street usa” is alive and well in the railroad towns of northern Montana. Real streets beyond the facades that some well off towns back home tend to legislate into reality. 2) I was dodging an disproportionate amount of chipmunk things. I have no idea what species they really are, but I was actually swerving at 80 mph because they stay completely still. I also noticed that most ‘local’ trucks tend to have cow catchers installed on them akin to the metal guards you find on the cross continent trucks in Australia. I guess perhaps they have a chipmunk problem in northern Montana.
The camera mount must look like someone waving to oncoming traffic in the early morning sun. I got waved to about 10 times before I realized that it wasn’t just ultra super friendly people feeling compelled to offer a hand gesture while passing at an effective 160 mph.
The same landscape change that we witness transitioning from South Dakota to Montana is transposed north. Complete with psuedo-Bandland formations in some spots. Folded green hills that gradually give way to prairie and scrub brush of the high plains.
I found the Moose Drool! Now this beer is a good beer, but its real appeal is in the novelty that I can only get it out here. Hence, a case now rests in my trunk. As if the rear springs were bearing enough weight. Might need to dump some food now.
Turning a 12 hour trip into 8 hours was me fux0ring pwning this state highways. Got to East Glacier ahead of schedule, and then decided that I might as well push through Glacier and set up camp on the opposite side.

Coming down route 2, you catch just a subtle darkness on the horizon. The haze, the distance; its hard to discern that it’s just not a cloud bank. A little further down the road you pull over. You say to yourself, we’re here.

Route: ND85 to 2 to 89 to GNP

6.27.2003 [1830] Today it happened. I lost complete track of date and time… such a good feeling.
Woke up early today, 4ish and headed into the park to try and catch a sunrise. I Discovered that most of the interior of Glacier doesn’t get much early sun. I did snag some good stuff over Lake Mcdonald though. Spent the rest of the morning pow-wowing around, mostly above Logan Pass. Hiked Hidden Lake trail, and then did some off trail snow field exploring. It struck me then: this place, seeing these things, the task of trying to describe it can only be likened in my mind to.. the task of trying to describe being in love with someone. Hopelessly and beautifully ineffable.
I had intended to depart for the Cascades after watching the sun come up, but I decided to spend another day here; the beauty of no itinerary. In making that decision I think I overcame a wall.. There was a rush to get out here. Granted there isn’t much to see along the way, but success was measured in miles. That attitude is the diametrically opposite to what’s required to experience these regions. Aside from the morning 5 hours of hiking, I drove into Kalispell and picked up some supplies (read: a portable battery pack in case the Accent decides it doesn’t like electricity anymore in the middle of WA 20) and then went back into the park to just sit. Sit and read amongst some of the most beautiful mountains this continent has to offer.
People ask me, why do you want to go out there? People who haven’t been out here ask me I should say. All that driving, the inconveniences of being on the road. And in a complete loss of descriptive abilities mostly I just mumble “its just..just..just.. I dunno.” I think I've figured out what I shall say from now on. Being out here, it just feels good. That’s it. Through and through.
Tomorrow I intend to wake up even earlier (so far its been 3 hours of sleep, 4 hours of sleep, and 6 hours of sleep) around 3 so that I can drive to East Glacier and try to get a sunrise over there. After that I’m going to start the drive into the Cascades. I have no idea what to expect over there and that’s a good feeling.
Thus far the whole being alone thing is going ok. There have been plenty of times when I’ve wanted someone to stand next to, look out and be silent with me. And camp is definitely a lot lonelier than ever before, especially backlit by past years compatriots. But all in all, working out ok.
Speaking of going insane, today I killed two butterflies with my car. Now normally I wouldn’t mention it, I probably wouldn’t have even noticed , except I saw these friggin things tumbling through the air in my mirrors. I felt bad. I felt bad about killing an insect. *shakes head*
Dinner tonight: Two peanut and butter sandwiches, and two moose drools. Nourishment fit for royalty.

6.28.2003 [2039] A well maintained campsite in the Northern Cascades is were we sit tonight; drinking a home brew beer from the Jeep driver across the street. Excellent stuff, a bitter brown; with yeast on the bottom and everything.
Long day of driving.. not mileage wise, but impact wise. I think it was the heat that did it. That and getting up at 3am to watch the sun rise in East Glacier. Sort of weird feeling looking in the mirrors as I drove away from the Glacier National Park sign. I’ve been there three times now, and wonder if I’ll get back. Driving through the western section of the Cascades this afternoon I looked up at the snow capped peaks and waterfalls and thought to myself “pssh.. that doesn’t have anything on Glacier.” Perhaps in retrospect it wasn’t a good idea to visit the best park first.
The road from GNP took me through Kalispell. Stopping to get gas before heading out into the more remote areas of route 2, I was greeted by a familiar *click click click* while trying to start the car back up. Using the handy battery pack, drove to Wal-Mart and picked up a new battery. 40 bucks down the drain for a car that’s getting sold when I get back. But the battery was 7 years old, so it failing is perfectly within the realm of normalcy. Hopefully it solves the problem and I don’t actually have obfuscated alternator issues.
Snow capped peaks to lower altitude mountains, to hills densely populated with pine to arid scrub brush. I cannot believe how hot it got, how much the landscape changed, or how much western Washington state is like what I remember the southwest to be. The last 100 miles or so of Rt. 2 in Montana I had to panic stop on three separate occasions to avoid colliding with deer. I mean, apply-enough-pressure-so-that-the-tires-are-giving-that-subtle-whine-of-impending-lockup-to-get-maximum-braking type panic stop. And they aren’t crossing the road, they’re standing there.. looking at you as you squeal up on them. Friggin animals. I wish I had a Mack truck. With one of those snow V-plows. Or better yet, big huge spikes.
I’m very much living on Vanilla Coke this trip. Whenever I stop for gas, the tank gets replenished and so does the then empty bottle of coke. And I’ve decided that I like cross country pedal bikers. Since the first bunch I saw over the Montana line on Rt 2, these insane people who pedal across vast tracts of land like they’re Forest Gump or something, all return my wave as I pass them at 80.
Speaking of speeding. I GOT PULLED OVER! Ha! 71 in a 55 in some Washington town. Let me ask you, what’s better? 26 over with a 86 dollar ticket last year in the Grand Tetons, or 16 over with a “I can give you a lecture or a 200 dollar ticket; which do you want?” this year? I had the cop giving me directions and recommending areas to hike in before he left. We shook hands and I was off, albeit driving a little slower.
Tomorrow I’ll be mucking around in this area. Figure sleep in a little and catch up on 5 days worth of deprivation. Head out to do some hiking, then move a little bit closer to Seattle before camping.. Ciao.
Route: Going to the Sun road ->89 ->49 ->2 -> 211 -> 20

6.29.2003 [1827] I am parked behind a yellow Mustang on a ferry that’s taking me to Bambridge Island and to Kin’s house. This trip brings me to yet another new adventure: Seattle. Of course since I’m here there was some sort of baseball game going on that clogged up traffic quite nicely; taking me about 30 minutes to get from the highway to the ferry station that was in sight most of the time.
This morning I woke up at 7. Stupid time zone differences. I open my eyes, it feels late. I look at the clock while I open my pop-tart and coke. Someone is cooking bacon somewhere in camp.
Spent the morning and into afternoon around the Eastern Cascades area. The Cascades come across very similar to the region that Glacier is located in; rock flour water, snow capped rocky peaks. The only major difference is that it’s much more open. I went on a hike down to Ross’s Dam when the weather turned unfriendly. Decided to start working my way over to the Seattle area. I wasn’t planning on being in the city until tomorrow, but staying the night at Kin’s will save me the cost of camping out and will be fun to head out into town with him.
Tomorrow, beyond getting over to Alpine Ascents for a visit, I have no idea what ill be doing. But ill be sure to tell you tomorrow night.

6.29.2003 [2300] The weather out here is more unpredictable than anything I’ve ever seen. They say in new England if you don’t like the weather wait 15 minutes. Out here it’s more like 15 seconds. Rain, sun, rain, sun. Interesting to note though, even when its down pouring, almost always you can see the edge of the cloud and some sunlight blue poking through. Things don’t seem as gray because of it and it’s a nice feeling. Thought of a good analogy for this picking-destinations-the-night-before thing. Its like throwing your sail up into the wind and just being blown around wherever it happens to take you.
Stopped over at AA midmorning and spent an hour or so there. <envy> They have this marker board and on it written in different colors are : Elbrus, Kilimanjaro, Denali, Ranier, and Everest along with expedition dates and party sizes. They talk in the office about traveling to other countries and adventures that are big enough for one persons entire lifetime like I discuss weekend plans with friends. </envy>
From there it was through the Olympic peninsula where I was treated to a beautiful cacophony of scents. Fresh cut wood from harvesting farms, the aroma of burning wood, all combining with the smell of wet forest being dried by the sun. It was intoxicating, and seemed to be pervasive every where I went.

< huge grin> I just watched the sun set… OVER THE PACIFIC OCEAN. There are times in my life, and I’m fairly certain it’s universal, where a particular sight or smell or any combination of senses enters directly into long term memory as an indelible experience. Perhaps it’s some big presentation that the edge of nervousness leaves one hyper-aware, the moment right before a car accident, the feeling you get after hearing really good news maybe it’s the first time you turn around and really see someone for the first time. Tonight, I rounded a right hand bend past a sign that said Ruby Beach. I then hiked a short way down to a large rock beach. There I watched one of the most beautiful sunsets I’ve ever seen.
Route: 3 -> 16 -> 5 -> 101 -> 12 -> 8

7.01.2003 [1753] She just popped back out of the clouds. I’m sitting in a turnoff below Mt. Ranier who has been playing a game of hide and seek with a perpetually present white veil. She’s beautiful though.
Drove last night to a rest stop on Rt 8, 20 miles west of Olympia. Used a blocker most of the way. Not for cops, but for deer and elk. Hitting one of those things at 70 doesn’t sound very appealing and it’s a big concern of mine while night driving.
Anyways, slept at the rest stop. The Accent, with stuff appropriately moved around, actually is fairly comfortable to sleep in. From there drove into Ranier NP. Very cold at elevation. Went onto Sunset Ridge before heading to the south side of the park to hike Panorama Point. This hiking brings me through landscape marked with a distinct sense of surreal. The snowfields blend with the rock faces which all blend with this odd blue sky. Its just simply amazing. Feeling the altitude while hiking too.
The roads in Ranier are.. disconcerting. At this point in the trip 15 mph switchbacks are not new, but on these roads there are dips and rough edges and potholes that are big enough to throw you off the road; over one of those 500 foot drop offs.
Time to start working back to the Pacific.
Route: 8->5 ->405 -> 410 -> 123 -> 706 ->12 ->5 -> 30 -> 101

7.02.03 [2125] “I think I flooded it. Usually it starts right up” *whuu-uuuuu-uuuu-uuuu-uuu*. The starter motor whines at a constant moan as the prop spins in front of us. Every few seconds the motor will sputter and disengage the starter only to die again. Finally in a puff of blue smoke from underbody vents, the 9 cylinders of the Lycoming Radial come to life.
“ What’s this switch do, I’ve never seen it before?”
“ That’s the prop anglet”
Sure enough, I pull it and the plane torques to the right and the rpm’s fall as the prop bites into the air. I’ve never flown a variable prop plane before. Hell, I’ve never flown behind a radial motor nevermind a tail dragger.
This morning I went up with a guy named Larry in an old Stinson V77 Gullwing, the “Spirit of Tallimook.” Our flight path took us over the logging areas, clam fields, and rocky shoreline that comprise the Three Capes region of Northern Oregon.
The word surreal has become meaningless. For example, right now I’m looking at Mt Theisen near Crater Lake in Oregon with the yellowish blue after light of a set sun. The sliver of a moon is set perfectly against the snow fields across the lake. I wish I had a good manual camera and someone that knew how to use it. If you got the exposure and shutter settings correct this would be a hell of a shot. This morning I woke up next to the Pacific Ocean; its waves crashing a hundred feet below me on rocks sending a picturesque spray dozens of feet into the air. Hours later I was a few thousand feet above it all piloting a plane over some of the most scenic coastline in the nation.
I spent most of today getting acquainted with the Pacific Ocean. Driving down the Oregon coast; hitting viewpoints and short hikes. What has struck me most about it thus far is the wind. Especially on the sand dunes, it felt like I was sticking my head out of a car moving at 40 mph.
Seemingly inundated with strips of tourist attractions between viewpoints. 101 is a bit too commercial for my liking. Tourist attractions complete with the people that run them; people who resent the source of their livelihood. However, the tourists themselves all seemed to be pretty nice. More than a few times people would come up, see the dirty car with Connecticut plates and a weird camera rig hanging from the window and make conversation.
Around Coos Bay I headed east back inland to where I now sit, within a stones throw of Crater Lake. Hooking up with a Stratus SXT on the Umpqua highway, a two lane sweeping road that brought us here, seemed to pass the time.
Tomorrow it’s off to Crater Lake for sunrise, then who knows where. This machine analogizes this trip, two weeks ago was sputtering to life. Now.. it’s running at wide open throttle. *looks up at the mountain and moon reflecting off Diamond Lake* yeah.. wide open throttle.
Route: 101-> 42 ->5 ->138

7.03.03 [0603] Woke up at 3:30 this morning. Well no. 3:30 shouldn’t be called morning. It’s too damn early. Was planning on breaking camp and heading up to Crater Lake, but ended up just going straight up there. The stars were too incredible to miss. It was cold. Air temp was below 40, and the wind was crazy. Sunrise isn’t the most stable time, especially at >7000 feet. Wearing three layers of jackets, hands feeling like they had a thick rubber glove on, but still stinging, I watched a little red tangerine sphere peak up over the horizon. Ok. It was worth it.
Reminded of those times working at the carnival. When tear downs would run late into the light of dawn and the guy you were working the ride with would just stop. See you have quite the interesting cross section of society working at a carnival. Mostly from the outer fringes.
“ Hey man, come on. We have to hussle.”
and then this 30 year old guy says “I’ve never watched the sun rise a before”
So I stop, and the ride can wait for a few minutes.

7.03.2003 [2133] Fact 1: route 1 after it branches off from 101 in northern California is comparable to Deal’s Gap. Fact 2: The nose of my car is slightly overhanging the cliff viewing down onto a seething blue ocean. Watched the sun go down and have been sitting here reading since. Gonna spend the night and wake up to the sound of the waves.
Back to this morning; that hot shower felt good after freezing. Nice campground that was; Diamond Lake if anyone is in the area (north entrance to crater lake) After breaking camp I headed back up to the caldera. Drove the rim while there was hardly anyone up and then did some scrambling up to Hillmans Point. The trail was closed because of snow, so I went up the rockface. More then once did I ask myself what exactly I was thinking, and more than once did my footing give way to some precarious situations, but I’m here typing so.. cest la vie. Beautiful view from up top. Probably be the highest altitude of the trip, around 8100. The color of that water is like nothing I’ve ever seen before. I guess that’s a reoccurring trend on this sojourn, using the that phrase. I Was out of the Crater Lake area before 11 and heading through some canyon roads and scrub land of southwestern Oregon before finally getting into California. Was quite the feeling to see that welcome sign. Took 199 through the redwoods area. Did a couple short hikes and drove the Avenue of Giants or whatever its called, down 101. Ended up here. And what a place ‘here’ is.
There seems to be a certain amount of memory by which one uses to gauge the immediate. I noticed today that mine is filled up in its entirety with memory from the trip thus far. This leaves me feeling very disconnected from life back home. I’m surprised it has taken this long.
I’ll be in San Francisco tomorrow. For tonight.. I’m going to look skywards and try to figure out a way to describe it for people back home.

Route: 62 ->234 -> 5 -> 199 -> Stouts Grove (rally) ->101 ->1

7.04.2003 [2212] We daring few who have braved the posted 9 pm closing. We who have survived the wind and the cold. We who stand mid-Golden Gate bridge and await fireworks over the bay. I stand here with the tingling in my lips of 4 Guinnesses (is that the plural?) and a shot with Jaime the bartender fading away. I lean against the railing and feel the cars go by on the deck surface. I wonder why I put so much trust in an engineer with whom I’ve never met and a steel worker who 70 years ago piled rivets into this metal. I wonder how long I could last in the water below; scratch that, I’d never survive the fall.
I should be interested in the fact that I’m standing half way along what is debatably the most famous bridge in the world. Overlooking San Francisco, one of the milestones of this odyssey. Instead I’m totally fascinated with the people around me. Lets see. We have the an elderly American with the baseball cap that reads ‘Air Power Day’ with a Japanese and American flag fading into one another. He is accompanied by a man of similar age of oriental descent. The two talk to each other with an odd manner. Reserved, which I suppose isn’t uncommon for people of their age, but something else.. one can only imagine when they may have met in the past. Then there is the father, mother, and 12 year old girl standing next to me. The dialect sounds to be eastern bloc. I ask “Do you speak English?” The little girl replies in a very New York Accent “yup.” The mother and child are from New York City, the father south of San Francisco immigrated from the Czech Republic. We shake hands and the girl and I discuss how it’s not supposed to be this cold in California on the Fourth of July. Such an incredible cross section of people on this bridge. I have a brief conversation of English suffesed with Spanish with the Hispanic family to my left about the hope our Bridge Patrol wont kick us out of our nice spot. The 3 or 4 year old child that pulls from her parents grasp to stick her head and as much of her torso as she can through the vertical uprights of the railing. Such a sense of adventure at that age.. rather, a lack of sense of outcomes. There is an entire assortment of languages floating through the air. People from all over the world either by boat or plane, or by generation, and here we are all sitting together watching a fireworks display.
I flip up the collar of my fleece, glad to have grabbed it before heading out, to try and shield my neck from the western wind that’s wrapping around this massive column I’m leaning against; one of the main stays for the bridge. The fireworks start on the north side of the bridge behind a valley. Then some more far out in the east, and then the two barges waiting 5 miles or so away in the Bay light their payload. This is probably the coldest I’ve ever been on a Fourth of July, and its probably one of the most interesting displays I will ever see.
Back up: 1:30 am, I wake up at the dirt turnoff where route 1 meets the ocean. A car passing by has awakened me. That and the god awful position I seem have to kinked my neck into. I happen to look out the window. Before I went to bed I mentioned something about trying to explain them.. the stars..now with the light of the sun completely away, and even the light of the moon sunk below the horizon.. I am at a complete loss of words. The shooting stars, more than I had wishes for. The galactic plane so clearly defined that it spanned horizon to horizon. It was something that I wish I had someone with me to lay next to and experience with. These stars have been shining like this for millions of years, but I can’t pull myself back into the car to get some sleep for 45 minutes, I keep thinking I’ll miss something.
Drove down 101 through a coast utterly socked in with coastal fog. Not so much that it obscured the waves crashing below me, but enough that you couldn’t see much beyond that. The road took me through some interesting towns. Areas where the number of residents was smaller than the elevations on the city limit signs. Keep in mind I was right on the coast. You could tell there was money; I don’t even want to know how much the property taxes were, but most of these buildings looked as if they couldn’t afford a coat of paint.
Grooves of conifer trees lined the route in some places. The smell of ocean air mixing in high humidity with the smell of a conifer forest is beautiful. Along with the Redwoods there also seemed to be a lot of a type of a species of tree that the bark looks to be able to be pulled off in long stringy strips. *looks to Ray to tell me what kind it is*
Cars seen on rt 101/1: several Porsches including a few 911 T’s, two early 70s Camaros, one 70 Chevelle, a handful of Minis, a new STi, countless S-series and Beamers, and old school Ferrari roadster, and of course, we cannot forget the almost California coast obligatory old panel truck with a surf board on top.
Off 1 I headed into San Francisco to explore, finally relenting halfway through and purchasing a street map, I walked with no real destination other than to get back to the bridge in time for fireworks. Grabbed some pizza; the first prepared, heh.. even hot food I’ve had in 10 days. Interesting seeing the transition from upper echelon, obviously affluent neighborhoods to areas where I walk by a woman among a crowd of similarly dressed people sitting on some steps shooting up. On the way back, stopped at a bar along 101 for a Guinness. Got to talking to the bartender about where I was from and what I was doing. Turned out he was someone who also felt the wanderlust that pulls me out to a parking lot on the south side of the Golden Gate. He told of a 7 month trip he and his friends took when he was 19. Excellent stories! He mentioned a stop in Iowa where for the first time he put his hands into black soil. A shot of whiskey later (along with 4 non complimentary but 2 dollar happy hour pints of Guinness) we parted with a hand shake, a picture, and an exchange of email addresses.
Well it appears that traffic has died down. So I’m going to pull out my map and try to figure out a way to Yosemite. I want to get outside the city for tonight, then finish the drive tomorrow.

7.05.2003 [1031] Just got into Yosemite. Far too many people here, and I’m afraid it’s going to detract from this park. The drive out of SF took nearly 2 hours with insane traffic. 101 cuts directly downtown, so I had minimal alternatives. My clutch hates me now; the stop and go traffic wasn’t enough, it had to be on those famous San Francisco hills. Heading out of the city through the lower level of the Bay Bridge was cool. Had 5 lanes of traffic, sparsely filling each lane all traveling at approx the same speed. This gave a sense of non-movement, which stood directly opposed to the bridge rafters flying by over head at 70. The blue from my headlights reflecting off the white lines while the amber from the mercury lights filled the area above. Techno music playing on a good SF station.. anyways.
Still in the outskirts of the metro area when I woke up. Those distinctive long faces of people in a city was starting to get to me. In an almost sympathetic response I see myself beginning to reflect them and I don’t like that at all.
580 is flat. And straight. And traffic moves at 80-90. I was left wondering whether I was in Montana of California. There was this peculiar scent in the air as well. Most of the way, never did figure out what it was. Best I could figure it was the farm fields that lay at the edges of the highway with irrigation canals cutting across reclaiming the land from the dehydrating sun.
The car seems to be doing ok thus far. Tire wear is noticeable on the rear tires. Must be all that weight and those mountain roads. I have some lifter noise; I think I’m going to try and find some additive tomorrow to free it up. Gas prices started heading down from the 2.10 or so I was paying around San Fran to 1.80 outside of the Yosemite area. Of course I just paid the most I’ve ever for gas: 2.39.
Saw an accident on the highway portion of 120. Ford Fiesta rolled over in the median. Everyone appeared to be ok, and there where already about 5 cars pulled off watching, so I pulled back onto the highway. No need to make that scene any more unsafe than it already is. I got to use my phone in Emergency Mode. It must send a little bat signal up or something because it’s a pain to get it out of that mode and you cant do anything else while in it. Called 911, ‘single car MVA rollover blah blah’ they already knew about it. I hang up and look at the phone, it was on roaming. Verizon charged me for roaming while calling 911. *shakes head* Well, gonna head into the Yosemite valley and do some hiking.

[1854] The amount of people in Yosemite is crazy. I figured it out while waiting in _traffic_ and listening to the sounds of electric radiator fans actuating and the smelling the scent of over heated brakes from the long descent into the valley: the looks on these faces are of people looking to be entertained. Yosemite, generally considered to be one of the best parks the US has to offer, and it’s just an alternative to Disneyland for them. Needless to say I could not wait to get into the backcountry. I had wanted to do Half Dome. But that’s a 12-14 hour hike and I got there too late. Plus the last 400 vertical feet are a technical section; and I think that you need ascenders.. which I don’t have. I ended up taking the next most strenuous hike on the chart, upper Yosemite falls. Tough hike.. about 2000 vertical ft elevation gain over about 4 miles. The trail consists of rocks.. and more rocks, so it makes for slow going. That and there aren’t many flat spots, mostly just constant switchbacks up a cliff face. Up top it was great. Had a pretty good view down onto the valley, and the spray from the waterfall slamming against the cliffs offered up a nice full spectrum rainbow most of the time. The entire trip up the air suspended these large water droplets. You couldn’t even see the falls, but if you looked up at the sun you’d see them floating in the wind.
Just before the falls, the river formed a series of small pools. Now I can say that I swam in the waters of the 5th largest waterfall in the world. And what a godsend those cool waters were. Spent a half hour floating around, then got out and laid in the sun to dry off before trekking back down. Amusing: on the way down a father and her two early teenage daughters with whom id been conversing with on the way up started down before me. As I came up from behind, I heard them talking about the simply massive rockface directly ahead. One of the girls yells “OOO EMME GEEE” The father inquires, ‘you mean like the commercials, ING?’ The girl replies, “Nope, like OMG, OH MY GOD” I had to keep from “LOLing”
Met a few more nationalities on the trail. A Spainard, an Italian, and on the bus (yes.. bus..ugh) from the trailhead to parking I talked in broken english to a Greek girl with amazing Mediterranean eyes around my age visiting with her mom and grandmother. Greek women..sheesh.
Right now I’m about to go watch the sun go down at Glacier Point. This parking lot is packed. I don’t imagine it will be different at the point. Gonna head into town and find someplace to sleep, then get up early and head back into the valley when there aren’t as many people. After that ill jump onto 120 and head out the East side of the park through Tioga pass. Which.. unfortunately is going to become the new highest point at nearly 9200 feet. Sort of sucks that ill be hitting it in the car…

7.06.2003 [1255] I knew that somewhere along 395 outside of Bishop there was some sort of radio telescope array. So I headed out over Tioga Pass after touring some more of Yosemite, sans the hoards of people, and drove into Bishop. The road there, 395 is great. The Sierras, with snow still in her crevices fill your right peripheral vision, and the Pines on the left create an eastern border to the Owens Valley. As I take in this panorama, a good Lynyrd Skynyrd comes up in rotation on the laptop, and you know what, this is the life.
“ Sure I know where it is, just head down out of town, when you see the big white dishes just take the next left. No signs or anything.”
Of course this leads me to an unmaintained sand road. After plodding around for 30 minutes I keep hitting dead ends. The sand was getting pretty deep in some spots and a couple times I had to rock to get going. Finally I decided to abandon the idea and head out. On the way out a rancher in an ATV pulls up. Every breath is stifling with the dust mixed in thin, heated air. I’ve got a big stupid grin on my face, I know what I must look like standing next to Hyundai Accent covered in dust on these roads. We talk for a few minutes about what I’m doing, and he gives me some directions to get back to the array. 15 minutes later, and across a river.. I’m there. The rally Accent prevails.
On the way back through Bishop the bank thermometer reads 97 degrees. 97 and Bishop is still at 4000 feet. I’ve been looking at exit routes from the west coast and as of now that most viable one is taking me through southwest desert.. hot. I notice the black surfaces in the car are all getting hot to the touch; I’ll have to find something to cover the laptop and OBDII box with. Take a quick look at the map and figure out that the best way to get back to the Pacific is through Yosemite, so I steer the helm north. The climb to recover the 5500 feet of different between Tioga Pass where I sit now, and Bishop was an exercise in limiting air plenum turbulence… ie, wide open throttle in 2 and 3 all the way up. Certainly gave those hamsters under my hood a workout. Good news: water temp didn’t seem to jump at all. Payoff maybe from flushing the system before I left. It’s amusing to see these F-150s and Chevy 1500s, no doubt overweight with 30 foot campers, trying to climb these inclines. It’d be a tough for them normally with the small v-6s and mid to lower displacement gas motors they come with stock, but were at nearly 10000 feet. I believe that translates into about 1/3rd less oxygen than at sea level. Well from here it’s off through Yosemite and heading back to the coast. I’m enjoying this brief reprieve from the heat offered by the altitude as I know it will be shortlived.

7.07.2003 [1018] The paper receipt that is taped to my windshield reflects how the later part of yesterday went. Check in time: 8:58 pm. Ended up in Manresa State park to camp. The 4 hour journey from Yosemite back to the coast ended up being over 6 hours. I neglected to account for the fact that this weekend was a holiday. An oversight paid for by taking my spot in the long line comprising the exodus from the national parks and resorts of the east to the population centers of the west. Combined with the heat, the traffic got to me. All I wanted to do was just set up camp and get to bed. Of course, upon arriving and paying the 16 dollars I find that the campground is pitifully designed; parking a 10 minute walk from the campsites. Fumbling to set up my tent in the dark a fellow late arriver walks by and invites me over for a beer. A few beers later and some good conversation with him and his girlfriend I finally make my way back to the tent and crash hard, more than happy just to be on flat ground again.
The road from Yosemite to I-5 was the same I took there. This probably added to the discontent. I don’t like backtracking, especially 3000 miles from home. But once we hit I-5, it opened up into some beautiful rolling fields covered in golden grass. It looked like a giant yellow Chia pet. A scorched black hill directly next to the highway explained the network of pre-dug firebreaks that populated the hills the rest of the way to the coast.
Montana speeds again! 85 and I’m not even keeping up with the pack of AMG S55s, Lexus SCs and ISs that guarantee me protection from the CHP *CHiPs theme music* I’ll have to keep an eye on the car at these speeds. She drinks oil, and if it’s even possible for a 1.5 liter, guzzles gas.
I’m sitting in front of a KOA laundry station, waiting for my clothes to get done and trying to prevent the feeling of idleness from getting to me. Overcast skies should have burned off by now, but still this grey lights pervades. It’s nice to be showered and shaved. Cleaning oneself in sinks and mountain streams loses its novelty after a short while. A car with a golden retriever puppy has just pulled up. I’m going to go play with her.

[1101] Holy sunburned back batman. I figured it wouldn’t be that bad, but I woke up this morning in pain from laying on my back, and now I just tried to sling a backpack over my shoulder and quickly set it back down. It better go away quick otherwise ill be ?
Upon further inspection, the Accent did not fare as well as thought on the desert foray yesterday. It appears that I popped a bushing on the passenger front stabilizer. So now when weight is taken off, or put onto that tire, it goes *pop* Not too much I can do about it until I get a new bushing, but it doesn’t appear as though it will be anything more than an annoyance *crosses fingers* so it’ll have to wait till I get home.
Laundry is done, so I’m going to go break camp, and then try to find this boardwalk thing in Santa Cruz before working my way down to Big Sur. Hopefully this cloud cover breaks.

[2136] “So where are you anyways? You’ve got us worried going out by yourself”
“ Well.. I am currently walking down the boardwalk in Santa Cruz, California.”

Conversation with my boss when I called to let him know that I’m going to be out for another week. SC was a nice area, stereotypical beach area, but still nice. Walked the pier, stopped at the end for some lunch (clam chowder bread bowl…mmm).
Upon further inspection of the broken stabilizer joint, I realized it was a little more serious of a problem than previously assessed. Somewhere between Manresa and Santa Cruz, the entire assembly had come out of the lower a-arm. So it was off to try and find the correct 8mm nut in the middle of the city. Then jacking it up and pulling off the tire to try and get this thing back together. Right now it’s together but still loose without the bushing. So we are back to it popping again.
Driving south the weather seemed to clear right up and by the time I got into Big Sur, you couldn’t ask for it to be better. I’m very glad that I took the recommendation to come down here. I don’t believe I could dream up a better coast line. And such varying scenery! The water is turquoise to azure to deep deep blue depending on where you are. Stop at this cove and the waves gently wash over the sand; walk down to Pfeiffer beach and you are leaning into the wind just to stay upright. The caps of the breakers sprayed 15 feet into the air. Such tremendous power.. it was disquieting at first just being near it.
I did some hiking today, but this area’s strong points are not in its trails. Watched another sunset with some people from Chicago. We all didn’t say too much, but as the last sliver of red ducked behind an outcropping in front of us there was a simultaneous mouthing of “wow.” Right now I’m sitting once again off the side of the road with the Pacific Ocean crashing below me. (you know its funny how the first time I slept in the car it was by necessity, now I prefer this to those crowded campgrounds)
Tomorrow we are probably going to end up waiting for the coastal fog to clear up which could potentially bring us past noon. I still have the southern Big Sur area to head through and if its anything like the north has been, I’m not going to hit it when you can’t see more than 15 feet in front of you. After that, its down to LA. Right now, it’s off to sleep.

7.08.03 [2246] *bdeeep—bdeep—bdeep* “what the..” oh yah. Its midnight, I set the alarm to get up and check out the stars. The moon is still too bright though. Ill just reset it for a couple hours. 1:30 rolls around and I wake myself up out of the weirdest dream. I was witnessing the launch of a big ‘ole Atlas 5 rocket from an impossibly close vantage point. The colors, the sounds, the smells; all more real than reality. I guess that’s a common trait to dreams, being more real than reality. Most dreams anyways. Above, in the real world, the sky is once again utterly beyond description. I wonder to myself as I lay and watch, if this is perhaps the highlight of the trip.
Several hours later I awake at 730 to the sound of seals barking. No fog! I quickly check the oil, stretch and take in the waves crashing below me before firing up the car. It appears that I am not the only one using these turnouts for slumber. All along the entire coast there is a fleet of VW Vanagons and old RVs.
Time to finish up Big Sur. The little book I bought that gives suggestions on what to see along the coast describes the Big Sur region as follows, “Like the Grand Canyon and other larger-than-life natural wonders, Big Sur boggles the mind and, in an odd way, can be hard to handle..” That about hits it on the head. There are turnouts about every ½ mile. These are necessary. Not because of traffic, but because the vistas that are continuous through the entire course are so breathtaking that without a place to stop one may very well cause an accident. The early morning sun barely peaks over the mountains in which the road is carved. A highly contrasted yellow illuminates the tree tops and gradually works its way down as I drive further south.
Out of the Big Sur region 1 meets 101 and then ducks out a few times. It’s very agricultural land around here. Old 1940’s flatbed trucks dot massive fields with a dozens of latino workers picking fruit. That’s a job I don’t know that I could do. I’d be incessantly scheming of ways to automate the process so I could not be doing it.
Stopping at Guadalupe I fill up on gas and take advantage of the restroom to wash up, shave, brush my teeth, and change clothes. I refill the cooler with ice and some soda, and its off to LA.
You can tell that you’re approaching LA on rt1 first by the increase in cars. And lanes.. and houses. Then out of nowhere you’re in Malibu, and then… Santa Monica where you park your car for 7 dollars and throw a backpack over your shoulder and head out.
Bike rental: 10 dollars. Riding down Santa Monica and Venice Beach, priceless. Or something like that. Figured the easiest way to take it all in was using a bike on the well paved bike path that rides the eastern edge of the beach. Not a lot of people out, it is a Tuesday, but its still fairly busy. Little over an hour later its time to take a swim.
The Pacific Ocean is incredible. When I first stepped into the water I was almost literally taken off my feet by the backflow current. In fact the only thing that kept me near shore for the remainder of the day was the push of the next big wave coming in. I have never seen waves so big that close to shore. These things were 3 feet above my head while I was standing up to my thighs in water. And the power.. amazing. You feel it when it comes and hits you square in the back; you feel it all over. Being tossed around like a rubber ducky in a child’s bath tub tsunami.
Time to walk the beach. Head back down toward Venice, take a stroll down the pier. Grab something to eat. Stop and talk to Sheila and her dog for a little bit. Convince her to let me take a picture of her with a letter. Turn around and head back toward northern Santa Monica. Amazing to see this cross section of society. You have the bums in their dirt clothing gathered around the bathrooms on the beach, and then 50 yards away you have people in suits and nice dresses drinking wine in Santa Monica’s famous restaurants, separated from the rest of us by a little white fence. Stop off for a drink and talk with a guy from South Africa. Then.. watch the sun go down for the last time over the Pacific. Get up, brush the sand off and put away the Kerouac novel (having finished Krakeur earlier in the day). Say goodbye to the ocean. Turn around and starting walking across a sand expanse pot mocked with countless previous footsteps, not looking back.. well.. maybe just once.
Its off into the desert, Fear and Loathing style.. minus the drugs..and revolver..and convertible. I nudge the bow into the inky black darkness that shrouds a desert waiting for me come morning. Now over the Bernadinos, Los Angeles fades into a Halloween orange glow in the sky; the Pacific Ocean which has been at my right side for over a week, begins its fade into a memory.

Route: 1/101 -> 710 ->105 -> 605-> 10 ->15 -> 395

7.09.2003 [2230] After kicking some ass on Los Angeles’s grid network of mega highways, I arrived onto 395. Immediately I get a bad feeling. Too many cops on this road for it to be safe. So I drive to the hill just before Ridgecrest and pull off for some sleep.. I look out before slipping into a dreamless sleep and watch the lights of the town below twinkle in the warm night air.
The mountains surrounding me are backlit by a cascade of blue, orange, and red. I quickly glance at the alarm clock, 5:00. Still too early to get up. I ease my head back down onto my rolled up fleece and catch another couple hours. The alarm is set for 730, but by 700 I’ve bolted upright in my seat, started the car, and am on my way into Ridgecrest. 20 miles down the road, getting to the outskirts of Death Valley we descend down into the Searles Valley. Before I even get around the bend I can smell a very distinct sulfur smell. The small town of Trona and its IMC Chemical plant lay before me. I don’t know what happy substance they make at this plant, but the smell of sulfur permeated the entire drive. People are out before 8am performing their daily tasks. I see one guy roofing his house, another is tooling a wrench on an old D9 Caterpillar. Trying to escape the heat I guess. Up and over pass and were in Death Valley.
I move the thermometer to someplace that I can see it in the shade. Right now its reading 85, before 9am. Driving through the desert one is immersed in an aura of hostility. You’re constantly aware that every single component of this vehicle which is carrying you at 75mph is under some of the most stress its ever going to be subjected to. The cooling and lubrication systems are working overtime, the brakes have difficulty exchanging heat with the outside air, the tires pick up a tremendous amount of heat from the road surface. You also have an awareness that should this car break down, the temperature in the sun is over 120 degrees. Without proper hydration and clothing, exposure will quickly incapacitate. The closest gas station is 70 miles away. There is no shade. Cars pass about every 30 minutes during the peak of the day, who knows how often at night. But even being aware of all this, the desert holds for me a terrific beauty. There exists some strange and undeniable attraction to its starkness. I just wish I had some other vehicle to fully explore the area. A jeep, or a lifted f350, or better yet, a STi.
I stop at the visitors lodge to flash my park pass card and get a map. The outside thermometer shows 110 in the shade and 125 in the sun. This is around 10am. Even sitting in the shade at that temperature one is consumed with lethargy. In the sun? forget it. The heat of this place has already transcended being uncomfortable, it’s become just part of the experience. For some reason, the White Stripes playing on the stereo seems to fit this landscape.. /me shrugs.
Badwater basin; lowest point in the United States. The surface is literally salt. Large grains of salt. When you walk it crunches under your feet. 20 minutes into a hike out I realize something; silence. This is incredibly silent, no noise whatsoever. It’s like being in a sound proof room. The mountains rise 7,000 feet above you on all sides and the desert floor runs flat to meet them. Its.. incredible.
Out of Death Valley a quick stop at a gas station to refuel the car and re-ice the cooler. I do not believe I’ve ever had an iced tea that tasted so good. An hour down a hot desert highway and Las Vegas comes into view. I see it and immediately think I’m almost there, but with the distances you can see out here, I don’t arrive for another half hour.
It’s here that I rejoin the route of a past trip; Chad, Jacob, and I back in 98. I take a turn onto Las Vegas blvd. instead of getting right on the highway. This all looks vaguely familiar. Follow the transmission lines out to the city to the Hoover dam where I’m stopped by security.
“ Why’d they send you over here?”
“ They said you need to check out my load”
“ Oh.. got any guns or gasoline?”
“ Nope,”
“ K.. you’re all set”
^-- /me shakes head
Traffic was ridiculous, parking was limited to one particular spot, and all because of new security restrictions. This whole façade of national security, if its needed to make the soccer moms feel safe then so be it. But when it starts detracting from a place like the Hoover Dam.. the amount of explosive necessary to cause catastrophic failure of this damn couldn’t be transported in by a car.
I remember driving down this road in 98. It was the hottest I’d ever been. In Pennsylvania we discovered the air conditioning didn’t work so it was 2*75 cooling the whole trip. Here, with the windows down, it felt like the heat was on full blast in your face. Close the windows and instant greenhouse. The radio is saying 117-121 for tomorrow. I put my hand outside of the car to catch some air and have to bring it back inside after a few seconds; it’s started to burn.
Limited radio stations out here, so I settle in with an oldies station. Keeping beat to the music with the crevices in the roadway. Soon some clouds appear on the horizon.
“ That’s gotta be flagstaff” Mount whatever. Sure enough Flagstaff exits begin to slide by. I stop at a gas station to keep the tank above ½. The last thing I need is the fuel pump to over heat. I wonder where Gundy is. Go into the bathroom to splash some cold water on my face. After a days driving on hot desert roads, the water feels like its washing away sun and miles. I head north working my way toward the Grand Canyon.
Finding a spot at Desert View camp, the same campground I stayed at 5 years ago, I snag some water with the jug and take a camp shower, have some chili for dinner with a couple cold sodas, and then climb into bed.
Route: 395-190-127-178-372-160-lv blvd-93-40-89-64

7.10.2003 [841] Stupid time differences. I bumbled resetting the clock, I thought Arizona was two hours different from Nevada since you cross a time zone and Arizona doesn’t observe daylight savings. Wrong. 4am the alarm goes off. The sun should have been just illuminating the night sky, stealing away all the stars. Instead it was the middle of the night. So I sleep another hour and then head out to watch the sun rise.
I had forgotten just how beautiful it is out here.

Now I’m sitting at the Desert View general store about to go get some ice and head north. After briefly visiting the south rim this morning, its time to head up to yet unexplored land in Utah. After that, it’s into Colorado to get some altitude and some latitude and escape the clutches of this saturating heat.

[2218] Its hard to leave a place like the grand canyon. It was hard back in 98 after spending 4 days there; it was hard this morning after spending 4 hours there. If you dwell on it too much, these amazing places will get a killer hold on you. They already have a permanent grasp upon first sight, you never forget, and it’ll always be there. It gets in your blood.

We’re leaving Bryce Canyon now to try and get as much mileage towards Colorado before I have to pull over to sleep. All fueled up, cooler is full of cool drinks, and I’ve got a little bag full of fireballs to keep me awake. There is an odd excitement all of a sudden to this. Disc 2 of Hendrix at Woodstock just went in and I’ve got miles and miles of open desert road ahead of me. Beautiful. This is a great feeling. Just so great. With the sun falling to a shallower and shallower angle, the air is getting cooler and cooler. I quickly look down at the thermometer, 120. huh? That’s not possible. I look again, its broken. Must have popped back in Death Valley.

After leaving the Grand Canyon I headed north towards Glen Canyon and Lake Powell. The radio station blaring on the loudspeakers at the petro station said that the high today was going to be a scorching 110 and that I should jump into Lake Powell at its constant summer time temp of 80. The problem with this heat is that everything in the car melts. Deodorant, peanut butter..human flesh. Well maybe not so much the last one.
Pushing on we arrive at Zion. Desert landscape at first is pretty engrossing, but after hours and hours of it, the attraction begins to fade into normalcy. What’s that saying? Familiarity can blind? Well anyways, pulling into the Zion region you are instantly struck by the massive geological formations laid out before you. The park isn’t very photogenic, at least in my opinion. It is one of those areas like the Grand Canyon, or the Pacific coast, that no matter how many pictures you try to take or how much video you shoot, it’ll never be brought back with you.
The park uses a propane powered bus shuttle system to limit pollution. Riding up the canyon floor I’m looking at the map and decide that I’m going to do the Hidden Canyon hike. Second toughest according to this booklet, and in the description “not for people who are afraid of heights.” That tag line makes it irresistible. Get off the bus.. wait a second. I have so far drank two cans of coke today. And on me I have 8 oz of water. The map lists this as a three hour desert hike. Moron. Still, I venture forth. In an attempt to conserve water I try breathing through my nose. Within 25 yards my nasal passages and throat are on fire. So I breath out of my mouth. The three hours end up being not much more than one, and I hike on some of the most interesting surfaces I’ve ever seen. Did you know that you can get sunburn bad enough for it to blister? Hey, neither did I. Nonetheless ignorance did not take the place of sunscreen and my shoulders are going to be hurting when I put a pack on this weekend.
Oh and as much as I think deer are annoying, the little bambii wanna-be with its white spotted coat crossing the road today was kinda cute.
--
I’m trying to put as much distance between me and Bryce as I can before I lose light. This region I’m traveling through is amazing under these shades of color. Up over the Kaiprowits Plateu and there sprawled out before me is this massive desert vista of hulking red rock resting with blocks of green specked tan. I look out to my left as I travel on this ridgeline and get a final glimpse of today’s sun.. red, and sinking quickly below the horizon. Whoa slow down there chief. Through a 20mph set of switchbacks the tires start to squeak. If you go off the road its not into a cow pasture, it’s down a 100 foot escarpment on both sides of the road. And there hasn’t been a car seen in 30 minutes so you’d be down there a long time.
--
From Zion it was onto Bryce. Now the photogenic qualities that were lacking at Zion were ready with full flare at Bryce. The landscape looks a lot like the Badlands in a lot of ways. Maybe more the Badlands mixed with the Grand Canyon. If you know the geological processes that formed Bryce, that’s actually not a bad description. The 20 mile road that comprises the park which charges people 20 bucks to get in, is mostly the same scenery over and over again. It’s just that too, scenery. Hardly any day hiking. In fact most “viewpoints” are just clusters of the same view a hundred yards apart or so. Still, it’s a very beautiful area. My senses are just dulled by desensitization to this stuff. That and my eyes are burnt.
--
I hate night driving in free range area. *hate* it. It is one of the very few things that make me nervous behind the wheel. You can literally have absolutely no chance to react to a situation no matter what your speed or vehicle attitude. And it makes me nervous, did I say that already? I power up the MFs (mutha-foggers) with a hope of decreasing reaction time. We must be climbing out of the Escalante River valley. These high rock walls are starting to look eerie in this light. 3rd gear wide open throttle. I am really beating the hell out of this motor. Today when I went hiking in Zion, I came back three hours later and the needle was still registering temperature. And with my temp gauge, that means it was at least still 180.
Uh oh. 10% grade downhill left turn, big ole tan cow sitting dead center in the road. Slam on the brakes, of course, the right front locks up. Modulate back a little pedal pressure, ok, can feel the wheels spinning. Tires are howling, good.
“ Maximum braking occurs just before lock up” Jim says as I’m testing driving the Intrepid at 115. I drive around the cow at 5 mph, it’s still walking up the hill. *clump dee clump dee clump* Staring at me. I decide that tomorrow I’m going to have a hamburger.
Driving out of Bryce I begin to plot out in my head an exit from the west. Way it stands now ill head into somewhere in Colorado backcountry and just relax for a few days. Then start moving east and see what kind of time I can make. I get to thinking… is it all coming to an end? I wont say that it feels like it just started. I assure you I can feel three weeks on the road. But is it almost over? I know what awaits. The first hundred or two hundred or on a bad day three hundred miles you’re in a state of mild depression. Looking in your rearview you know what you’re leaving and you know how uncertain return may be. Then somewhere along the middle of the journey you begin to think, well maybe it’ll be good to get back home. Friends, a bed, showers, normal life. Man I could use a nice long shower right now, it’d feel insanely good. But then as you approach the state line for Connecticut, the depression returns, except.. its edgy. Now the things you have to do when you get back roll through your head: Register the intrepid, get plane ticket for NC, make sure to get end of month bills out as SOON as you get home. The countless household chores. And then, you get home. And the trip comes to a close.
But not yet! I’m sitting behind a closed gas station in Utah where I fueled up 20 minutes ago. NOT CONNECTICUT. Quick look at the map tells me we are about 1.5 hours from I70 which is my minimum destination for tonight. I hook up the laptop and plug in the aux cable; these desert roads are lonely enough without lacking some good tunes. Onward!

[0102] Glad I got gas. You know that map of the light pollution in the US? Well this is a black area. And most of the rural gas stations are closed at night.
Getting ready to catch some sleep here at a rest area on 70. That route ended up being a good choice especially for the time of night. Aside from my constant scanning of the side of the road for the evil eyes of cattle, the moon is almost full. So it was reflecting quite brightly off the rock formations along the way. Those formations driven past during the day would have been just more white hot rocks seen through sunglasses or squinted eyes. But with the stars offering a backdrop, tonight it was surreal.

Hmm.. since it got dark any reflective or lit surface has had streaks in my vision. I’m tired, been up for 22 hours now, but that stuff shouldn’t start happening for hours yet in sleep deprivation. I wonder if I really burned my eyes today. Oh well.. time to get some sleep before it gets too hot in the am. I remember this stretch of highway..

Route: 64-89-9-89-12-24-70

7.11.2003 [1213] I awake to the sound of a diesel engine cranking over. It’s a long distance F350 hauler sitting next to me. I look up to see the sun 8 fingers high in the sky. I must have been really tired. I once considered buying one of those haulers. A 85 F350 with a 6.9 diesel in it. These trucks have sleepers built in, 100 gallon fuel tanks. I have no idea why on earth I was even thinking of buying one.
My memory served correct. This area is about as barren as barren gets. And it’s already starting to get hot. 75 is the speed limit on I70 in Utah and Colorado. I do 80. I’m a 22 year old male, no sign is gonna tell me what to do.
As you cross over into Colorado the landscape begins to change very gradually. If you don’t pay attention you’ll end up in the Glenwood Canyon and not have any clue how you went from stark desert to this. Stop over in Fruita to fill up with fuel and ice. Use the restroom to change, wash up, and shave. The car is down a half quart. It’s that driving at 80. The gas station doesn’t have any synthetic so I’m forced to use organic. Not good. That’ll increase the pressure on seals used to running synthetic. Oh well. We’re back in the real west. Not the tourist west. You can tell because people say good morning to you when you smile at them walking by instead of looking at the ground.
70 follows the Colorado river through its valley in high plateaus. The Flattops region of CO extends down this far apparently. The Colorado River, talk about influence on an entire region.
I jump off the highway in Glenwood Springs. Too much interstate driving. Decide to take 82 up through the heart of the Colorado Rockies, past Aspen. Leaving town I see three signs saying “Independence Pass OPEN.” Hmm.. quick look at the map. Independence pass, elevation 12093 about 20 miles outside of Aspen. Awesome! I’m currently at 6000 feet, almost higher than anywhere out East, and I’m going to double my elevation in the next 45 miles.
Through Aspen and a multitude of Land Rovers and Audis. Resort town. For some strange reason, the Sinatra that’s playing over my speakers syncs perfectly with this main street lined with hot girls. I think I’m going to rename my mix folder to ‘eclectic.’ Hmm.. my lips are dry. I should prolly stop drinking so much caffeine. Not only is it a diuretic, but it’s an alkaloid. And I’m already not eating enough and creating quite a calorie deficit. The last thing I need are those effects.
The climb starts. 4 hours ago I was in the desert, now I’m watching the aspens change into pines. At the top of the pass I take a quick hike through sub alpine meadows. The small ponds that form at this altitude are beautiful. Usually no bigger than 20 feet across, at least in my experience, they offset the snowy meadows above perfectly. 15 minutes or so later I am trying to absorb the feeling of breathing rarified air and listening to the high pitch howl of the wind blowing through valleys.
Walking back down to the car I pass an elderly man struggling to ascend what I hadn’t noticed was a steep incline. I spot a USMC hat on his head. Judging by his age, he was no doubt in the war. He returns my nod with a slight wave. Odd how paths cross in life.
[2142] Well.. go ahead and think about where the worse possible place for a car to break down could be. Ill give you a hint. How about Comanche Peak Wilderness in Colorado! I was intending to do some backcountry camping to sort of unwind, but as I’m heading down this 20 mile dirt road.. I notice the gauge illumination is getting dimmer. Maybe its just my imagination. 5 minutes later, headlights start getting dimmer. ‘This is.. no good’ I say to myself. I start considering a backout plan, if it gets worse I turn around and try to get to the road. A minute or two later the air bag light comes on and gauge illumination goes down further. Having already turned the MFs off, I kill the high beams and turn around. If I stall it, I’m stuck out here.
The battery pack I have in the trunk might give me one start.. maybe. It struggled last time and hasn’t been charged since. I know there are people down this road, but I passed them about 10 minutes ago.. that means *counts in head* about 4 miles.
And then it happens.. motor dies. Luckily I’m on a hill right now. So come tomorrow morning I can try to pop start it. This appears now to be an alternator problem. I would say that the MFs are doing it since I drove much of last night with them on. But it did the same thing in Glacier after a days worth of driving at high rpm. Well.. I guess all I can do is laugh eh?
/picture me laughing as I sit in the dark Colorado wilderness. I am fairly certain I won’t be seeing anyone tonight, so ill just crack a chem. light and do some reading.
Route: 70-82-24-91 70-40-34-287-14-dirt road (!)

7.12.2003 [1340] What a day! I awake from dreams about the car breaking down. Dreams where it’s a simple fix to solve the problem. ‘Oh I’m such an idiot, all I had to do was flick this switch and look at that, we’re good to go.’ As I take in the cool morning air the sun is already above the horizon.
‘ Well, lets make a go of it.’ I start pushing the car down the hill to get some speed up, then I jump in, put it in gear, and pop the clutch. The motor comes to life. OK, lets get her into town so we can figure out what’s going on.
The car never makes the 50 mile trip though. Once more it sputters to a stop. I cycle the key to the off and then on position, and pop start again. She starts, but the airbag light is on already which is a sure sign I don’t have long. I try to get as close to the road as possible. Finally the car sucks the last bit of life from the battery and slowly crunches on the dirt forward, then backward a couple feet, and stops. This.. is going to be interesting. I get out of the car and go over my options in my head. As it stands the best bet is going to be to try and hitch into town and get an alternator (which I suspect to be the culprit, then hitch back.
A dusty purple ranger STX pulls up slowly along the left side and comes to a stop about 15 feet ahead of me.
“ Do you have help coming?”
“ As a matter of fact, I don’t.”
And this is how I meet Amy. Her and her husband take care of a ranch up the road called the Lazy D. She says she’s headed into Fort Collins for some errands and can drop me off at a parts store. On the way down through Poudre Canyon I quickly discover that the person giving me a ride is not only kind hearted enough to have stopped, but also very intelligent. I find myself in the midst of a conversation about what it’s like out west in both broad philosophical terms, and in much more personal aspects that only someone living in a national forest could adduce. The day begins to get a lot better.
“ Your surroundings will change you. You may as well choose the best surroundings you can.” -Amy
The first parts store can get the alternator in two days. Hmph. I take a quick walk up the road to Autozone. They show on their computer that a sister store about 20 miles away has the alternator. A quick call to confirm reveals an erroneous inventory; the closest one is in Denver, 50 miles south.
50 miles away sitting on a metal shelf is the item that will hopefully get the car back on the road. Instead of doing some good backcountry hiking, I’m sitting in an Autozone parking lot going over what I should do next. I give a quick call to local rent-a-car places. Under 25? Sorry. Remembering that CSC has a special rate code with some car rental places that waives the under 25 restriction, I make the round of calls again. No dice, all of the companies that do have an agreement with CSC are entirely booked. I get on a waiting list with Enterprise. Ok, option 2. Hitch a ride to Denver and go from there. Then one of the salesmen comes out.
“ We found your part across town”

They’d been calling around to local parts stores to try and find it. Great bunch of guys the people in the northern AutoZone in Ft Collins. Advance Auto had one in stock and was on their way bringing it to me. 234 bucks later I have my part… I have my part sitting next to me in the parking lot wondering how to get back up to the car, 50 miles away.
A few minutes pass and I look to my left to see Amy, come back to see how things went. She says shed be happy to give me a ride back up there, but she still has several hours’ worth of errands to run. She’ll drop me off in old town Ft. Collins and I can keep busy down there.
I feel this weird sort of excitement. I have no idea how this is all going to work out. But the challenge of it all.. getting rides places, being out on the road like this.. I don’t know how to explain it. It was almost liberating.
Fort Collins is a beautiful city. Amy drops me off around 9am at a Starbucks. We agree to meet back at the same location at 2:30. This should give her enough time to take care of her errands. I run inside Starbucks to treat myself to a cappuccino and pick up a copy of the New York Times. Hmm.. ‘National Edition’ I don’t know if I’ve ever seen one of these.
I wander down the streets for a few blocks until I come across the public library. Now in Moosup, we don’t exactly have a public library per say for close to 15 miles. I discover in short time that libraries are as dangerous as bookstores. I sit down with my coffee and newspaper in a quiet corner. The first two articles are about a military demotion for a sex scandal, and the second, Iraqi resistance still killing Americans. I put the paper down on a table and walk away. Not right now, no.
Within 2 hours I’ve read an entire book on Zen Meditation and have perused subjects ranging from local history to quantum physics to Latin. Alright, enough is enough, I’m not going to spend my whole time in the library.
“ The world of reality is that of lemon and maples trees, of mountains and rivers. If you see it, it is present in its complete reality. If you do not, it’s a world of ghosts and concepts of birth and decay.” – Thich Nhat Hanh

I find my foot tapping automatically to the piano jazz that’s leaking from the speakers outside Starbucks. Who is this, it sounds very familiar. The vocals come in. The sidewalk rumbles beneath my feet. Colorado must be the off road vehicle capital of the world. A Jeep with rock lights sits in front of me waiting for the light to change. Not just jeeps though, really nice jeeps, and late model pickups with lift kits that must cost close to 10 grand, land rovers, hummer, you name it. I recall Amy telling me about the 6.5 FEET of snow they got mid spring. I guess those vehicles are somewhat essential.
Earlier in the day during my walks around Fort Collins I noticed a few -- stop in the middle of the sidewalk and just stare – Chevelles driving by. Then a couple of 455 Rockets. I can’t recall the last time I saw a 455. I walk by a guy climbing out of a Viper.
“ Nice car.”
“ Thanks.. there’s a car show going on if you didn’t know. Down the road a ways.”
It’s beyond walking distance, but I keep hoping hell offer me a ride. No dice.
I head back north into the old town square and into a used bookstore. After 10 minutes browsing I settle on Bach’s Illusions. (excellent book, second time reading it) and The Right Stuff. Total cost: 3 dollars. I need one of these stores around me. I leave the streets of Fort Collins, the tinkling glasses of the street restaurants and the campus smoke shops, in high spirits. Amy pulls up and we head back onto the dirt road.

The alternator goes in without issue. Amy has my battery back at the ranch, and is intending to swing by in the morning to drop it off. Late model alternators have very sensitive diodes that if started on less than 12 volts, will burn out. I don’t need to burn out my 234 dollar piece of metal. The car is _covered_ in dust. A quick look at the alarm clock.
“ hmm.. about 5 hours of daylight left.” I set up the folding chair and start reading some Kerouac.

“Matt? Hi I’m TJ, Amy’s husband.” A hour or two after finishing up the install TJ pulls up in his Chevy 1500. He tells me he thinks the battery has a dead cell and isn’t taking a charge, and that I’m more than welcome to sleep in one of the meadows on the ranch if we can get the car started. Drop the battery in, and the car starts right up. I follow the plume of dust that chases his truck, at times blinded, to the Lazy D. The multimeter shows the battery was taking a charge from the alternator, albeit a small one. Still down just below 13 volts. We decide to leave it on the trickle charger over night and see what comes of it.
This marks the beginning of a portion of the trip that is really too much to transcribe completely here. Spending the evening with Amy and TJ was excellent. I assisted Amy in taking care of some wounds on the front legs of their new 4 year old horse. Beautiful animal who, by the horse snot on my shirt, seemed to like me. Their dogs, Griz, Cody, and the neighbor’s Timberline all were welcome play. The conversation was non stop for hours ranging from domestic politics, to foreign policy, to water conservation, to the idea of fate, to some pretty private conversations about spirituality. I had bought a bottle of wine in Ft Collins as a thank you for Amy. We drank ¾ of the bottle and stayed up until the moon was well above the tree-line. John, who lives down the road from them was up with TJ in the garage looking for a particular machine screw, lest he make the 100 miles round trip into town to get it. John appeared to be in his early 60s, and said he’d just returned from Afghanistan doing communications work. We talk about how it’s pretty neat that things lined up in such a manner that I am standing on this ranch talking with them.
Conversation leads to what I was doing, where I had gone, and inevitably what draws people out west. John tells a story about a children’s book he read, and it’s a book that his children and grandchildren have read. It’s a story about a child who is on a boat that shipwrecks on a remote desert island. This happens at night, so she waits until morning to explore. As she is walking up this large mountain in the middle of the island to try and gather her surroundings, she stops. Standing still she closes her eyes and decides to get a different view, one acquired with only her nose and ears. Then she continues climbing. Once atop she peers out onto a beautiful vista that now, she has twice experienced. John says he thought of that story while he was eating dinner in the low sun that makes the green of the valley even brighter than normal. I stand there, blown away. I’m over 2000 miles from home, yet I don’t feel the distance at all amongst these people.
After a promise of eggs in the morning, I head out towards the field to climb into bed. A mountain ridge, known as the White Mummy range, is in the back ground. Brightly lit by the white moon above me.

7.13.2003 [1429] I wake up at 6:15, alarm is set for 6:30. I dare not even attempt to out sleep the sun on a farm where the residents are up and about at 5:30. I break down the tent and start to carry it back towards the car. The hood is already up. Sure enough TJ is out and about and has already installed the battery and thrown some oil additive in to try and fix the lifter tick that came back.
“ Good morning, friend.” He says
“ g’mornin”
We go inside and get to talking. And then he starts to make breakfast as I change. The night before I took the luxury of a shower. The simplest things feel SO good after this much time on the road.
A delicious meal of eggs and pancakes, the first non-pop tarts/soda meal I’ve had the entire trip. Afterwards I help TJ and Amy set up a corral with some portable fencing. The day’s chores beckon both of my hosts, so after a picture and an exchange of email addresses I’m off!

On my right hand side sitting under dark clouds with virga streaming beneath, is Longs Peaks. On the way through Estes Park the bank digital thermometer read 99. I chuckle to myself. Last night I woke up from a dead sleep to put on a knit cap because I was so cold in my 30 degree sleeping bag. The air is dry, it doesn’t appear that any rain is making it to the peak.
The car appears to be doing ok. I have about 100 miles since departing Amy and TJ. While in town, when the radiator fan would kick on the motor bogged. This is disconcerting as it was one of the symptoms I noticed yesterday before she died on me.
Tomorrow I head home. I’ve decided such. But not without one last adventure! I’ll spend the rest of today sitting in this dusty turnoff and wake up tomorrow morning around 2. From there I’ll make the short drive to the Longs Peak trailhead where I will attempt to get as high up the mountain as I can. They’ve had a bad year for snow, so the Trough is still technical. But well see how far I can get. After that, I steer back east.
This expedition, search for direct experience will find its way into conclusion. I hope the hike tomorrow morning will provide ample time for it all to sink it. Memories of driving through Montana are already getting fuzzy and glassed over. This has been.. one hell of a trip.
Route: dirt road – 14-287-34-7

7.14.2003 Longs Peak: *click-click* My headlamp lights up the trailhead. I sign into the small register that sits beneath placarded lightning warnings. It’s roughly 3am. You have to leave this early for a summit bid to get up and down before the 1pm storms come. We’re off. The sound of darkness is amazing. Hiking up this trail, I feel very much alone. I stop, turn off the headlamp and just look around. The moonlight trickles in between the trees around me. I try to focus on the countless sources of noise that make up the ambient sound of night. The crickets, the trees gently swaying in the wind. Further on down the trail the sound of my footsteps is gradually replaced by the sound of rushing water. Soon its enveloping. I can’t see the water, but I can feel it in the air and its all I can hear now. Exhilarating. Something that during the day you take for granted, the sound of a rushing mountain stream.
Past another lightning warning sign I enter the alpine tundra that will bring me to Longs Peak. It’s a full moon, and without the trees it’s almost bright enough to walk. I shut down the headlamp again. After my eyes adjust the landscape appears almost surreal. The granite rocks and dirt reflecting back a soft bluish tint. I see a half dozen little bobbing spots of light along the path. Climbers ahead of me.
The sun begins to rise behind the horizon. First a brownish red encroaches on pre- dawn blue, then oranges and yellows. Just as the tip of a fiery red globe breaches the horizon I look down one of the valleys to see the moon setting. What an incredible birthday present.
Up through the brightening landscape to the Boulderfield. This marks the first actual portion of Longs Peak. The sun is above the horizon now, everything shakes off the evening cold and absorbs the warmth of every last ray of light.
Pick a route through the boulders and work up to the Keyhole; a small opening that connects the west face to the east face on a thin ridge. The view of the valley down below on the west side, still shrouded in shadow of a low sun, combined with the view down the Boulderfield and tundra is astounding. Not too much time spent there though, the Keyhole appears to be a natural wind concentration point.
Follow the bull’s-eyes, that’s what you do on the Ledge. Ostensibly this time of year an ascent on Longs Peak should be entirely non-technical. However the late snow and cold temps that Amy was telling me about, have left the Trough still inundated with ice. I follow the yellow and red bull’s-eyes along the face of the mountain until I get to the mouth of the chute. Ice. I begin to try and scramble up the left side getting a fair distance up the Trough. Then I run out of room to maneuver. I am close to the top, I can feel it. Some crampons and this ice wouldn’t be a problem. But without those, or at least a pick to self-arrest should I start to fall, its time to turn around. I make my way back down to the Ledge. Climbing back to the Keyhole I think I see a line up to the ridge that might get me closer to the summit. I start to scramble up it. The climbing gets harder and harder. The frame back on my back, while not bulky or heavy, is rigid. It begins to inhibit my abilities to climb. I lash up some rope and lower it down 40 or 50 feet to a landing. Without the pack I can use my back to get up some crevices. This is like nothing I’ve ever done before. I use a sense of insulation, some odd sense that I know nothing is going to happen to me, to guide my actions. I suppose it’s somewhat universal in youth, but sometimes that blanket goes away, and I know then its time to stop what I’m doing. It’s always worked in the past. I wish I had a picture of myself right now, just to see what it looks like. Wedging from crack to crack with a 3000 foot drop into the valley floor below me. Sooo many people would yell at me. Eventually, after trying a few different routes in a particularly sticky spot, I make it to the ridge and surprise two people already up there having a snack. I stop and absorb the unparalleled view that sits in a complete panorama around me.
Well I guess I should head back down. As I begin to leave I notice the two guys start working towards the summit along the ridge. They’re taking a line I hadn’t seen before. One is wearing hiking boots like myself. I follow.
Shortly after heading out, the feeling of insulation goes away. I find myself with my feet on a two inch ledge and my hands wedged into a crevice above me, shimmying out. What the hell am I doing? I listen to intuition, get all melodramatic and pat the rock next to me to say “enough is enough. thanks” to the mountain, scope out a descent line and head back down to the Keyhole. Just.. amazing.
The tundra is a completely new landscape in the high morning sun. Wildflowers everywhere. Brown green grass. Incredible. It’s like that story that John told at the Lazy D, where I received twice the experience hiking in the night and now day.
14 miles around trip later, I’m back at the car, and even though the summit bid was unsuccessful, the smile stays on my face.

It’s time to really say goodbye now. I pack up the car and make myself a small breakfast before heading towards Denver. Taking E470, I come up to the intersection of 70. This road heads directly due east. As I ease the nose towards the high plans that await me, I stare in my mirrors for the next 5 minutes. I watch, as the Rocky Mountains which greeted me 3 weeks before fade slowly into a sea of haze. And then they’re gone.
The first gas stop in Kansas I put the multimeter on the battery, 13.4. Good, I put on the stereo and have music for the first time in days. Trying to find my Linkin Park cd, but end up throwing in Yield. Having good tunes adds a new life to these miles and miles of non-descript wheat fields flying by, named only by my odometer. I look up at a thunderhead that consumes 30 degrees of view. Saline, 154 miles. Only 2 hours until page two of the Kansas map. I see clumps of trees in thousands of acres of nothing and I wonder to myself. How many picnics have taken place under those trees; how many of them have been climbed and made forts out of; how many couples have made love under them.
The highway hums under my tires. Tonight I’ll drive until I cant drive anymore. Hopefully get into Missouri.

7.15.2003 We head into Louisville to visit my old upstairs neighbor. She could use her spirits brightened since moving <accent> down south </accent>
I arrive around 3 in the afternoon, come off a run straight from a Missouri rest stop an hour outside St. Louis that provided me with 4 hours rest. We head out into Louisville for some food and spirits. I have a phenomenal burger at what turns out to be a very odd restaurant. It appears the owners, or whoever is in charge of decoration, actively searches for the weirdest pieces of décor and subsequently embraces them. The Belgium they had on tap was far too fruity, and it was necessary to wash it down with Guinness. On to a psuedo-Dave and Busters for drink and pool. The evening is wrapped up amidst lightning storm with very warm and enjoyable rain.
70-270-55-51-3-149-13-57-64

7.16.2003 Waking up in the guest bedroom, on a bed for the first time in 3 weeks, to the sound of Laura’s father on a conference call in the next room. *yawwwn*
Today I’m going to head into North Carolina. For shame! This means ill have to traverse Deal’s Gap. /me grins. First though, we head to Mammoth caves. Second time in less than a year that I’ve been there, but Laura had never been, and it’s a really awesome place.
I entertain the notion while descending the 300 feet into the Frozen Niagara section of the caves that I’m some sort of spelunker venturing into the depths of the earth. Then I look down. The staircase I’m using on my “adventure” cost nearly a million dollars to install. Uh… huh.
The 55 degree temps provide natural air conditioning.
After that brief foray, I say goodbye to Laura and begin to make my way toward Nashville. A close call with a cop and then I’m into the Deals Gap area. For some reason on this trip, the shadow of bad timing that typically hangs over me bringing inauspicious results was replaced by an uncanny sense of when to leave and when to arrive. A storm had just moved through the area. The roads are still slick, but predictable. And there won’t be an falling water. The forest in the Smokies is one of the most lush I’ve ever seen. It’s as if someone took textured paint of the brightest, most full green and painted everything right up to the blacktop.
A road following the coast of Fontana Lake brings me out of Deal’s Gap. A lake formed by the creatively named Fontana Dam, no doubt a TVA project. The mountains, the carpets green on both sides of the road, everything reflecting the soft pink glow of sunset. Over a fog hovering above the lake, and mountains surrounded by the pervasive mist of the Smokies, the sunset seems to have been drawn by pastel watercolors. A striking blue with streaks of orange brushed through it.
Fireflies. I’ve never seen them like that before. Lining the road, high up in the trees, streaking by the car in 7 foot long strings of light. It was almost dream like. Out onto the Great Smokey Mountain Expressway heading towards 40. An easterly cloud bank is internally lit by lightning, producing colors ranging from sunset imitating orange to the purest LED white. You could watch the lightning jumping from cloud to cloud lighting off a massive firework display.
I head toward Lewisville to surprise my mom, and hopefully brighten another person’s day.
Route: 65-155-40-321-95-411-129-28-74-40-421

7.19.2003 A sticky morning dew saturates the air, contrasted by the cool, dry, air conditioned interior that I awake from. Its 3am and I’m getting ready to leave my mom’s house in North Carolina. Spent the past couple days winding down. Played with my dog some, went out to the movies and lunch with my mom, took care of some around the house type work.
I begin to watch the memories of the trip gel into what I will recall for the rest of my life. You hear music played over and over again, but it’s an inexplicable process how a certain song gets attached or glued to a certain time or landscape. Or how the oddest most inane things tend to capture the essence of a place. But now it’s time to make that final drive northward and bring the trip into conclusion.
Onto 220. Anyone who has driven down here with me knows how much this road *begs* to be driven with a Porsche 911T or a Z06. Long sweeping turns mated with quick elevation gains and losses with surprising decreasing radius curves tossed into the mix. It’s nighttime as I take it though. And with a heavily loaded Accent rolling on blistering rear tires, I’ll take it slow.
An unwise move on my part, putting on some blues after-hours music as I jump onto 81, the interstate that will bring me the bulk of my journey north. To the west the predawn clouds are being lit up with amber strikes of lightning. But directly to the east a small break in the grey clouds that ride over the black ridgeline of the mountains lets through the colors of a new day in full effect. And the Blues radio station is a bad idea because the realization strikes me that this is the last sunrise of the trip.
Into Virginia grey morning. In a state notorious for its speeding tickets you stay in a pack of speeders; not just a blocker. The subtle white lines that stretch perpendicular to the flow of traffic aren’t there for decoration. A heavy tonnage wrecker comes past at 80, its turbo breathing heavy through the side air canister. We get into Pennsylvania and a good song comes onto the radio. After 12,000+ miles, halfway around the world, behind the wheel of this car, and a good song comes on the radio it still just feels so good to have those guardrails snaking past and the white broken lines keeping beat.
Finally. Welcome to Connecticut. A sea of familiar blue and white plates surrounds me. I’m home. 2 hours of traffic soaked 95 await me ahead, but I’m home.

7.21.2003 I sit out in the car in front of CSC. The car is off but the key remains in the accessory position and my stereo plays on. I open up the glove box and dig around to pull out my badge. I pause for a second with it just in my hand, a month ago I remember throwing it in and making a point to remember that act, for I was sure to remember pulling it back out. The ring where the camera mount was suctioned to the windshield is noticeable. I look around the car, now empty and cleaned.
Last night was a great way to be welcomed back. Typically coming off a road trip you get dropped off with your belongings and undergo a tremendous crash. Instead I pull directly hot of the road into Bro’s driveway to be greeted with a pint of Guinness, a burger, and a dozen friends. After a brief delay at that staging point we wandered to Bidwell’s for food and drink; mostly drink. It feels like the crowd singing to the end of a good concert.
Walking through the main entry doors at CSC and flashing the security guard my badge as he checks my bag, I realize how utterly crushing it is to be back here so soon with my head still spinning from the trip. Time to go log in.

Some thoughts to close with. The road is out there for everyone. An entire country of unique experiences laid out as a poem, or a story, to be read by the hum of tires on stretches of summer pavement, or the crush of rock under ones feet. It’s all right there just for you.
Drive Fast. Take Risks.