The Last Stop

I made it back to Maryland! The last day of the trip, I drove straight home from Chicago, stopping only to fill up on gas and take two 15-minute power naps. Even with hitting a little traffic here and there, I made it home in less than 12 and a half hours. The last 200 miles were the same as the drive home from Pittsburgh, so I got a second wind when everything began looking familiar. Nonetheless, what a drive! With three cross-country road trips under my belt, I feel like a long-haul pro. Here are some more pictures.

The sun began to set behind the Rocky Mountains as I watched a ballgame in Denver. (left) The Rockies won 8-2, and I then went on to dance my pants off at the Michael Jackson tribute concert. All in all, this was the best night of the whole trip.

The previous night, however, also ranks high on the list. Reuniting with old friends, meeting new ones, and enjoying a backyard BBQ is hard to beat. Plus, Greg and I discovered this random dude, who has an eerie resemblance to another guy I know who wears a red (ketchup) hat. (right) His t-shirt says it all.

Driving across the plains is always dangerous because I get distracted by the crazy clouds. Luckily, someone else was driving while I snapped this photo of a fledgling storm. (left)

And how could I forget to include a pirated copy of the fan photo I had taken at Wrigley Field in Chicago? This was my first visit to Wrigley, so I went cheesy-tourist-mode all the way. The Cubs won 12-3. I had a fantastic time, especially since I sat next to this adorable retired couple who filled me in on all the good Wrigley traditions, helped me keep score of the game on my souvenir scorecard, and basically made me fall in love with Chicago all over again.

On the Road Again...

Sometimes it's hard to find something worth writing about. Other times, it's as easy as driving across Nebraska.

I finished up my Master's program at Simon Fraser University in Vancouver, BC on July 17. That was almost one whole month early. Since I had been pushing myself to beat every deadline while writing my MA Project research paper, I felt I deserved to celebrate on each of the last few days I was in Vancouver (read: trying new bars, sunset picnic on the beach -- see photo at left --, dinners with friends, lots of time staring at the mountains...) It was lucky that my last night in Vancouver coincided with the kickoff of a huge international fireworks contest. Vancouver hosts it every year, and every year the biggest competition occurs between Canada and China, who each design huge displays that explode over English Bay. Sadly, I wasn't able to see China's show since only one country competes per day, but I did see Canada kick the whole thing off in style. Simply put, it was the best fireworks show I have ever seen. And thanks to a couple pals with a primly located apartment, I think my friends and I had one of the best views in the city!

I said goodbye to Vancouver on Thursday morning and spent the next 11 hours hauling my way across Washington state, then cutting across the northwest corner of Oregon and heading into Idaho. I stayed the night with a friend of a friend (thanks couchsurfing.org) in Boise, Idaho. Driving along the interstate, you'd never know that Boise is a beautiful mountain town. Technically it is located on the high plains, I suppose, but it's just blocks from enormous foothills that in my Appalachian-trained mind qualify as mountains all by themselves. Dan, my host in Boise, showed me around town. A glacier-fed river runs right through downtown, and large trees shade the cozy neighborhoods throughout the city. Lucky for me, Dan is not only a great tour guide but also a superb gardener. His backyard produced basically everything I ate while I stayed there. Between the orchard, berry bushes, bean plants, squash patches, and the beautiful herb spiral it seemed he could have fed the entire town! (see photo at left) What's more, Dan's killer garden was topped off with an outdoor bath and shower. After 11 hours in a car (in which I didn't use the A/C to save on gas despite the fact that at one point my dashboard thermometer read 103 degrees), nothing could have been better than taking a hot bath in the cool night air under a zillion stars.

Friday morning, I woke up early (although not as early as I thought since my cell phone was still on Pacific time and I was in the Mountain time zone). I drove another 11 hours to Laramie, Wyoming, which is where I rest as I write this. The drive was beautiful, and it gave me my first glimpse of Red Rock mountains since I was in northern Wyoming last year during the drive west to Vancouver (see photo below). My college friend Greg is hosting me in Laramie, the home of the University of Wyoming where he works for the athletic department. (I feel compelled to tell you that now in order to avoid the obvious "Why would your friend live in Wyoming?" question.) Friday night I saw a bit of the town, and then Saturday morning we woke up and took a stroll around a mountain in Vedauwoo, one of the best rock climbing spots I have ever seen. Out of the high plains (over 7,000 feet) on which Laramie rests, towering piles of boulders rise so high, they can only be referred to as mountains (see photo at bottom). It was a stunning sight to see. I also enjoyed the hoards of chipmunks that inhabit the area, as well as a lot of beautiful wildflowers and alarming neon colored butterflies.

Saturday afternoon, Greg and I drove to Denver, Colorado. We went to a Rockies game at Coors Field. Despite some iffy weather, we lucked out and saw a good game that the Rockies ended up winning 8-2. Afterwards, we met up with some of Greg's friends and went to a club called Cervantes. A local funk band called The Motet put on a Michael Jackson tribute show. They brought in extra musicians including a horn section and three singers for the event. You know that moment during a concert when an amazing band starts to play the first few notes of a cover song that everyone in the crowd loves? Well this entire show was like that. I danced more than I have ever danced in my life. I've never seen a happier crowd. Honestly, it may have been the best show I have ever been to. It definitely deserves a spot in the top 5.

On Sunday, Greg and I went to another baseball game (this was really my ideal weekend!). The weather was better, and the Rockies won again! When we got back to Laramie last night, I met Greg's "Sunday family" (a group of co-workers who have dinner together every Sunday), and enjoyed a most delicious homemade meal. But all the driving, dancing, being in the hot sun, etc. really wore us out, and we both went to bed early last night. Now I've got a whole day ahead of me in Laramie. I think I'll get on my bike and see some of this town, and if the weather cooperates and I still feel good, I may go back to Vedauwoo. Tomorrow, it's back to the road. I'll say goodbye to Greg, and try to make my way across Nebraska before dusk. With cruise control on a flat interstate, tomorrow should be the easiest day of the whole trip!


Check out that rock in the upper left, does it look familiar to you? I think it looks like a woman in wearing a head scarf. Greg said maybe it's Rafiki the baboon from The Lion King.

El Diaro Che

Poverty is forced passiveness. To be wealthy is to be able to live life aggressively.
And this kind of wealth should never be forsaken and unappreciated, wasted, or lost.

Ernesto "Che" Guevara as a pop culture icon bothers me. My adoration of Guevara is not based on the concept of him as a counter-culture, fuck-the-man, martyred-by-the-CIA figure. Guevara is a symbol of what it means to explore, to set out on the open road, and to be touched by people. He is the one who said "Let the world change you, and you can change the world." And he did. He really did change the world. It was for a short time, but he fought and won a revolution. He led resistance in the Congo and in Bolivia. He was the ultimate destroyer of systems, ignorer of structures, inspirer of masses. It was convenient that the slang of his country allowed him to wear such a populist nametag as che -- dude, buddy, friend. At how ironic that such a name would always highlight his roots in South America's most European country. How fitting that he wore that badge, the blood of the Spaniards so strong in his veins, while fighting for the cause of the single, mestizo race of Latin America.

Guevara was the ultimate traveler, couchsurfer, idealist, visualizer, thinker, dirtbag. He should be studied for his thoughts, his journal-keeping, his experiences, his goals. He is not a lesson in failed populism, CIA intervention, halted revolution, or narrow-minded idealism. Guevara is a lesson in the value of the journey, the importance of the daydreamer, the power of the open heart. Those lessons would do everyone a lot of good.

He changed the world, and it all started with a backpack and the road.

A Penciled Plan

I leave for Vancouver in less than 8 weeks. My friend Jess is coming along for the adventure. This is our first rough plan for a 6-day route. We'll stop along the way wherever it catches our fancy to do so, and hopefully get a brewery tour at Big Sky in Missoula, MT:


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Road Trip Retroactive Journal

I left Pittsburgh on Wednesday at 2:00 in the hopes of beating most of the rush hour traffic upon arrival in DC. It surprisingly worked. I got to Jess' house in Mt. Pleasant at 6:20 and had dinner with her and Adam. We hung out, traded travel stories (they're headed to Turkey on Friday for a week), and I stretched my legs. I go to 1619 Espey Lane (Quinn's house a.k.a. "the Speasy") around 10:00/10:30 that evening, watched some baseball, and went to sleep early. The next morning, all the regular residents of the Speasy went to do the work thing, so I took a monstrously long walk all over McLean in search of something redeeming about the place. I didn't find anything outstanding.

At 5:00, I picked up Greg from the Metro, and then he and Rachel and I went on a torrid shopping spree at Giant for much needed RV-style snack foods. We settled on a plethora of elementary school-style packed lunch items (chips, cold bagels, snack packs, etc.). When we returned to the Speasy, the RV had arrived. It was enormous.

When you walked in, the driver and passenger seats were to your right. Mounted in the ceiling above the center of the dashboard was a 13" flat screen TV with a built-in DVD player. Immediately behind the passenger seat, there was another chair that could swivel to face front or face the couch across from it. That couch folded out into nearly a queen-sized bed. Three people could sleep on it together. Beside the couch was a set of booths ("the dining room"), with a table centered between them. The table folded down and the booths folded out into a bed for two. Across from the dining room, there was the kitchen, which featured a double sink, tons of drawers and cabinets, a microwave and oven, a refrigerator and freezer, and a pantry. This whole area expanded out when the RV was parked to allow for more floor room, so someone could sleep on the floor. Past that, to the left was a big closet and across from that was the sizable bathroom with an enclosed shower, toilet, sink, and more cabinets and drawers. Behind the bathroom was another drawer/cabinet/closet-filled room with an enormous bed. This bedroom also expanded when the RV was parked, and the bed could sleep four people across.

At 8:00, we departed the Speasy with 10 in tow.We crossed the Tennessee state line some time around 12:30 in the morning and continued straight through the night into Alabama and Mississippi, and we finally got to Louisiana in the early afternoon on Friday, May 4. It took 18 hours and 9 minutes to get from McLean to New Orleans. When we arrived, it was raining like an Indian monsoon. Upon entering the city, we followed the directions to City Park, where we were told there was RV parking. We found City Park, but it was the most deserted place I have ever seen. We saw only 2 cars parked in the three or four miles we drove around the area. We went back into the middle of the city, looking for more parking, but we found nothing. We passed the park where Jazz Fest was taking place, and it looked like it was happening, despite the downpour. Finally we asked a cop where to park and he said, "City Park." We decided that having the hookups for plumbing in the RV was something we could do without, so we pulled along side the curb behind the art museum in the middle of City Park, and settled in for the weekend.

As we began to file off of the RV, the rain stopped -- a miracle! Still confused as to why the park was so deserted, we began walking to the Jazz Fest, beers in hand. We passed lots of people going the other direction, looking depressed and talking about how there was no music. Aaaargh. We had not come all this way for Jazz Fest to be canceled. But it wasn't! We got in easily and grabbed food on our way to the main stage. We were late, but not too late to see Better Than Ezra and the Counting Crows, the two headliners. On the way to the stage, I got a craw fish and gator po' boy sandwich (awesome!), and happily sloshed through the mud. I have never seen a place as muddy as New Orleans. What people say about the land being like an over saturated flower pot is true - with every step water seeps up from the ground. But it was hot and having cool, wet feet felt good.

The music was awesome, although BTE didn't play "Good' as we all thought they would. The Counting Crows had a New Orleans love fest and during their fantastic encore sang "Holiday in Spain," but Adam couldn't bring himself to sing the last line ("this city's a drag"), so everyone just cheered until our throats hurt.

After the Fest, we got a cab to Bourbon Street. Well "cab" is a loosely used term, I suppose. We jumped into some guy's pick up truck (which he called the Truckin' Cab) and got jostled until we thought we were going to die as he sped through the streets of Nawlins at an unbelievable rate. At one stop light, he got out and started talking about Tai Chi in the middle of the road. What?! When we finally stopped near Bourbon Street, he jumped out of the truck and ran away. We hadn't even paid him yet! I don't know if he stole that truck or was just crazy, but we found him in a souvenir shop and gave him his $30, despite the fact that the cops were looking for him (we didn't ask why. I don't even want to know.)

We went to Bourbon Street and did the drinking in the streets/seeing lots of crazy people/dancing like maniacs thing for a while. But it had been a long day and we were all exhausted, so no one felt bad about going back to the RV around 1:30am.

The next morning, we awoke to find City Park packed with cars. The skies had cleared, and people were back in the mood for the Festival. We didn't have more tickets (each one is only good for one day), so I spent the day in the French Quarter with Quinn, Rachel, Ross, and Anna. We went to the flea market, listened to the music on the streets, did some sight seeing, ate awesome food, etc. We went back to the RV around 5:00 to drop off the goodies we had purchased, but all 5 of us ended up sleeping for like 2 hours. We got ourselves out of bed in time to head over to Frenchman Street (we took the trolley down Canal) to see Washboard Chaz at the Spotted Cat, a small blues club. It was fantastic. Surprisingly, he has a MySpace page, so check him out if you can.

We spent most of the night on Frenchman, talking to the locals who were cooking food on the street. One guy sold 1,000 BBQ drumsticks the previous night! And another had been making roadside BBQ for 12 years! We saw more live music, including a punk band (which was a surprise), and just chilled out. I was so impressed with how welcoming and good-spirited all the locals were. Everyone was so freakin' nice and the vibe was awesome. I never say this when I travel, but I think I could live in New Orleans. Sure there were a lot of areas that were still very devastated by the hurricanes, and some houses still had the markings on them to announce how many bodies were found inside, but the vibe was unreal. Positive energy flowed from the people like the raging Mississippi through the Delta. Everyone was chilled out, happy, looking for fun and good food. Their priorities were in line: fun, food, and family. Young and old, rich and poor: everyone partied together. I've never been anywhere like that before. And I've been a lot of places!

We went back to Bourbon Street to meet up with the rest of our gang, but it was so intensely crazy that we didn't last too long. That night, I slept on top of the RV in my sleeping bag and awoke with the sunrise, which was spectacular. The sky glowed orange almost like a Caribbean sunset. We departed New Orleans around 7:00am, but just outside the city ran into a huge traffic jam. In a way that I had never before witnessed, the jam cleared itself out -- all the cars and trucks ahead of us drove clear over the median strip and exited the highway. Not knowing how to get back onto the highway if we followed suit, we just pulled forward until we were only about 30 cars back from the accident. From my perch on the edge of the passenger-side window, I could see the cops and tow trucks working to clear the scene. We were on our away again after 45 minutes.

Three more hours of driving took us to Jackson, MS where we parted ways with Anna, who had to catch a flight to Baltimore so she could get back to school for a final on Monday. A few hours after that, we arrived in Memphis. I wasn't nearly as impressed with that city as I was with the first. It looks all right, but the people weren't that great and the Beale Street Music Festival seemed to be a the happenin' hang out for drunk high schoolers. The crowd wasn't very diverse, and the vibe wasn't that great. But the food was delicious and the Barenaked Ladies played the best set I have ever seen on the main stage. They were followed by (who else?) the Counting Crows, who talked more about New Orleans than they had two nights earlier in that very city. They were fantastic as usual, and once again sang "Holiday" as the encore, but this time Adam belted out the last line.

We left Memphis that very night and drove straight through 'til morning. I slept and slept and slept as Dennis, who was pumped full of No-Doz just kept on driving. We arrived in McLean around 2:30 and stopped for gas so we could return the RV with a full tank. The gas station dude was an idiot, so filling up took forever, but we were still back at the Speasy by 3:15.

This past weekend was a blurry haze of fun, music, beer, and adventure. I feel like I packed more into it than I had in many weekends past, and somehow still managed to travel 2,310 miles. I still have to get myself back to Pittsburgh today, and I return to work tomorrow. We're all dumping our pictures on a shared Flickr website, so go here if you want to see them. Don't be surprised if one of my future posts is written to you from New Orleans, I'm fighting the urge to drop everything and go there: what's one more option in my wide open future? I have no idea what I'm doing with my life, but at some point, I will make myself go back there. Top three towns in the U.S.A. (no particular order): Pittsburgh, PA; Boulder, CO; New Orleans, LA. WHOOOO HOOOO!