Go West Young Men (and Frances)!

We actually made it 3 weeks ago...or so. I've lost track of time since then and am currently in Washington state working at Sunfield Farm and School, a private 501c3 Waldorf school and farm....but back to the road trip.

Driving from the Peninsula to Portland, we met one of Nick’s friends from Williams for dinner at a local, organic Mexican restaurant with massive burritos for $6. After dinner, we headed to Eugene to meet the infamous Leo Lober-Tracy, Zack’s best friend tracing back to elementary school. Leo gave us directions to his frat and stood on the corner of his street, anticipating our arrival with the same eager impatience to greet the world just as Zack did. A huge grin on his face, he darted over to the jeep to give a hello hug to Nick and meet Micah, Matt, and I for the first time. I had heard so much about Leo, particularly in reference to “Hurricane” Katrina as well as the classy hit song “Nuttin It II” with his fellow band members, The Eunochs. He was happy to give us a place to sleep, but unable to pass the evening with us as he had finals. As it was, we were tired and went to bed almost immediately with plans to meet him for breakfast.


Sneaky Francy Pants entertains herself in less creepy ways than Matt on the last few hours of the road trip by taking photos of people she knows.

It was a beautiful thing. Four people who had impacted Zack and who had been impacted by Zack in some wonderful way or another quietly, but contentedly ate their breakfast together. We didn’t talk much, but there was no real need. I was completely content, happy to enjoy the company of four friends. Also, Matt Quarles had Soysage (an epic and hilarious moment since soy lacks the greasy, salty, tough skinned fatty goodness of real sausage)—it was a local, organic, vegan breakfast joint which had a sign that all cell phone conversations must be taken outdoors and a Bush-isms poster in the bathroom. My two favorites…(upon viewing a world map): “WOW, Brazil is REALLY BIG”. My other favorite (stated while addressing a single mother with 3 kids): “Wow, that’s so uniquely American of you to be working 3 jobs. That’s just wonderful!” Alas, the old white bastard isn’t in his pretty white house anymore—rather he’s not just hangin’ at his vacation home in Texas. MOVING ON….


Meat Fuck BBQ Sauce

After breakfast, we hit the road. Jumping on I-5, we booked it, first to In-N-Out Burger just south of Shasta, arriving in Piedmont around dinner time—just in time for the traditional Sieben Sunday dinner, in fact. Making a quick detour for a pre-sunset view of the Bay area from the Oakland hills, we absorbed the incredible sight, spotting the Golden Gate and Bay bridges, San Francisco, Oakland, Berkeley, Piedmont, Alcatraz, the Marin Headlands, etc.


Zachary's Berea Broobs

Raring to see the Sieben’s and ready to eat, we climbed back into the packed jeep (for the last time!) and drove down the hills to the sweet blue house on Olive Lane which was bound to be packed with family and friends—and it was, of course. Bobbie, Louie, Kayla, Elizabeth, Lauren, Orli, Lorrie, Brian, Allie, TT, Sue, and Greg were all present and ready to greet us with warm hugs. Snagging grilled corn and ribs, our brilliant meal was complemented by Greg’s delicious home brew: Zachary’s Berea Broobs. Of course. Topping my ribs with “Zachary’s Atomic Nasty BBQ Sauce” of the Meat Fuck variety (also created by Z7), my meal could not have been any better—great food and amazing people make the best dinners.

Soupy Cilantro Salad

The next morning we hit the road, our final destination of the day only 3 hours from Seattle. Catching the ferry just minutes before its departure, we enjoyed the brief ride to Bainbridge Island. It was incredibly windy on the water and fairly chilly, but we sought shelter in a glass enclosed room warmed by the sun and out of the wind. The horn sounded, signaling the passengers to return to their vehicles in the lower holds of the ferry. Realizing that we still had ten or so minutes before actually disembarking from the massive boat, I began to walk around the platform, snapping photos of the shoreline. Nick decided that this was an opportune moment to listen to techno (at full blast), inspiring Matt Quarles to have a solo dance party. Leaping out of the jeep and running amongst the cars, dancing in peoples windows with a tacky grin on his face, Quarles ran about the platform. After a couple minutes of his cantankerous glee, he realized the cars were beginning to pull off the boat and sprinted back to the jeep.


Ferry to Bainbridge

Back on the highway, headed north to Port Angeles we passed various memorable streets and small towns, our favorites of which were Lovgreen Road, Kitchen-Dick Road, and Humptulips, WA. The invasive, but beautifully bright yellow flowered bush, Scots Brush, lined the roadways with various evergreens towering overhead. A wide shoulder reserved as a bike lane lined the road all the way to Port Angeles as we drove past small port towns all of which claimed to have the best shellfish on the Peninsula. Stopping for a nutritious lunch at the Taco Bell in Port Angeles and picking up supplies for chile verde at the grocery store, we headed for my friend, Will Minehart’s house on the shore of Lake Crescent in the Olympic National Park. The octagon shaped house was previously owned by the government, but was given to the Olympic Park Institute in order for OPI’s outdoor educators to have a place to live. Located within the park, no one can argue that the idyllic home is not one of the most amazing places to live in the USA.


Lake Crescent

Basking in the sunshine on the dock, we kicked back for a while, bundled in fleece jackets and pants. Later I cooked a pot of chile verde, a rich stew of pork chops, kidney beans, cumin, tomatillos, and cilantro, which filled our bellies as we stood on the porch with Will, chatting and shooting rocks into the lake with the three-man slingshot. Unfortunately I was distracted in the midst of cooking and forgot to add the cilantro. When I did add it, I added the entire bunch (without having chopped it well) to the stew after most of it had been eaten so it tasted much like a cilantro salad for those who returned for seconds. All I’m going to say about that is that I really like cilantro, thank you very much!


Family Photo, Lake Crescent

We left early the next morning and drove straight to the Western coast for a trip to the beach. This was an epic moment since it was Matt’s first time seeing an ocean. After placing bets on whether or not he would be able to see Russia like Sarah Palin (Quarles has killer eyesight and could read road signs a ½ mile before anyone else in the car), Micah led him across the rocks and trees to the sandy shore. Quarles grinned the second he opened his eyes. The beach, though gray and cold that morning, was quite beautiful. It’s dark sand, smooth gray rocks, and hundreds upon hundreds of down, weather worn tree trunks lined the shore, creating the most amazing natural playground I’ve ever seen in my life.

Being a rather devious friend, I encouraged Quarles to go play in the waves for a few minutes, even if just to his knees to avoid wetting his pants. I might have failed to audibly mention the Alaskan currents which carry the ocean waters to Washington. Mere seconds after coming into contact with the frigid water, he was quick to leave, scowling (but grinning ruefully) at me for my sly pranks. Shortly after, Micah and Quarles filmed an infomercial which asked people to donate money to educate stupid people. Surprise! The commercial was directed at me. I had no idea what they were filming and chose, with ill-timing, to make monstrously ridiculous faces which distorted my eyes and mouth when they directed the camera at me. Ever since then, they’ve been throwing quarters at me for every foolish thing I’ve said or done. Though I’ll note that once we reached the Bay area, the majority of the flak went from me to Lauren. She wanted to buy an adult sized tricycle with her quarters, but didn’t have enough so bought a candy bar instead.


Hoh Rainforest

Exploring the Hoh Rainforest in Olympic National Park was absolutely incredible—the experience was made wonderful by valuable interactions with a certain charming American tourist. Jabbering in a one-ended conversation balanced with Nick’s intermittent “Mmm, yes’s”, I admired the curious subject, noticing first his glowing white hairless kankles, then evaded catching sight of his what appeared to be a small mammal sticking out from under his tacky green Hawaiian print shirt but was actually his hearty sized belly. His eyes were obscured from sight by his ill fitted clip-on sunglasses (which framed his well-kept mullet quite nicely) but his toothy gray grin stretched a mile wide as he related his experience in the wilds of the West Yellowstone RV park, television and all. “My wife and I like to live comfortably,” he said with his straight shooting chum tone of voice, mistaking our complete disinterest for genuine curiosity about the best RV camping in the west. I might call him innocent were he not hiding behind his clip-ons while in a gray Peninsula rainforest. I feel fortunate to be traveling with three fantastic friends and not some backwards (yet typical) tourist. I’m not sure how we managed to escape him. It may have been his impatient wife, an apple shaped woman with bleach blonde hair and sparkly kittens on her shirt. I found them to be the classiest of folks. Don’t you agree?


Hoh Rainforest

The Hoh Rainforest was one of my favorite places in the US. Our footsteps seemed muffled by the mosses coating the North face of the trees and entire trunks in other parts of the forest. Evergreens several hundred years old stood, grand yet docile amongst Fiddler’s Ferns and small grasses. The forest was surprisingly clear, even for an old growth, which allowed for fairly good vision under the canopy. At one point, Nick and I came within 60 feet of a female elk—a relatively respectable danger at the time since they were birthing and nursing heavily those two weeks in early June. Several tourists had been charged and trampled that season from approaching the elk. Bear in mind, we did not intentionally approach the large wild animal (larger than a horse!). We simply rounded a curve in the path and stopped mid-step, breathless to see such a beautiful, large mammal at such close range. Naturally we wanted to move closer, but thought better of it and chose to leave the heavy elk in peace as she ambled through the forest munching on her favorite greens. The best way to describe this forest is to have you go see it yourself. But since that’s not possible for most folks, I’ll just encourage you to picture yourself in such a place when you look at the photographs I took under the shady canopy. I didn’t use a tripod, but leaning against trees works pretty well for low-light photography.

Hit and Run: Idaho to Seattle (with ice cream to keep us going)

Leaving the Tetons (somewhat sadly) late that afternoon, we headed for the wilds of Idaho, a book of hot springs in my hand. I found several appealing springs which ran around 100-110 degrees F that were accessible even during the spring floods. Many of the springs could only be reached by crossing rivers fed by snowmelt or are often washed out until the water table falls later in the summer. Once within two hours of our chosen destinations, Nick picked up the book to begin selecting which roads would be best to take. Though he noticed something I had not…. A small paragraph at the beginning of the chapter detailed the 45 miles of off-road travel we would have to undertake before traveling between the springs. Suddenly we were much less keen to visit the mystical waterfalls and bubbling springs I had so carefully chosen. Finding a spring about two hours off the interstate which could be reached by paved roads, we altered our plans (again). (It seems almost, that it’s a game—how long can we keep a plan or arrive “on schedule” before changing our minds or realizing what’s realistic?)


Eating in Downtown Seattle


Did I mention how crowded the jeep is? We are champion packers.

Avoiding herds of mule deer and winding through dry pine forests in Southern Idaho, we parked the jeep at a small campground as directed by the book. We walked ¼ mile down the road becoming wary of the sound of a large body of rushing water which was likely to wash away our hopes which had built over the past few hours. I felt a bit meek as I was the one who had selected this spring which we had driven two hours off the route (one way) to find. The boys descended the bank on one side of the river while I crossed over tensely hoping to spot a telltale cloud of steam or step in hot water. I needn’t have looked far, because I identified small pools lined with hand built walls of river stones from the swiftly moving river fed by spring floods. Steam began to rise as if on cue and the nearly full moon reflected off the dark river water. There were no stars, but only because the moon was so brilliant. Though the spring was directly next to the road, it was 1 a.m. and we felt that there was no risk of being seen by any by passers flying through the relatively straight section of road above us. I tossed my jeans and shirt on the bank, but decided to keep my undergarments nearby just in case—after all I consider myself an experienced skinny dipper. Nick also kept his boxers on the bank next to the pool he had selected, but Quarles and Micah left their clothes next to the bridge.
We relaxed in our chosen pools, cold at times because the water was only a few inches deep so we had to lay flat to stay warm, but then jets of hot water would erupt mysteriously from the ground nearly scalding us—some awesome “geothermal shit” as the boys were fond to call it. A pair of headlights pulled up to the bridge in the midst of our peaceful bath, and we looked through the steam at each other with wide eyes wondering what we should do. I shrank down quietly, Quarles hissing that a ranger was about to bust us, while two figures emerged from the running vehicle and walked to the bridge, flashlights in hand. Shining the lights in our direction, I offered a friendly hello, but neither responded, increasing our tension—we felt a little vulnerable to say the least. They spotted the pile of clothing and quickly descended the bank toward it. Nick leapt quietly from his pool, snagged his boxers and began to run toward the mysterious party. Seeing him run toward them, the two young men sprinted for their car, but Nick was faster and accosted them before they could escape. Claiming that they were looking for their friends, they glared contemptuously, less for being unfriendly and more for being caught trying to steal innocent skinny dippers clothes. Micah and Matt were quick to leave the pools for the safety of their clothing while I figured the kids wouldn’t dare return and relaxed a bit longer in the spring…before jumping in the jeep for the overnight drive to Seattle.


Micah and his people, Downtown Seattle park next to Pike's Place Market

Micah and Matt, determined to arrive in Seattle by lunch time from the Idaho wilderness, drove through the night, downing countless energy drinks and caffeine pills and telling stories from here to the moon to stay awake. Nick and I had been more inclined to camp in Idaho and do a hot spring tour to some waterfalls the next day before driving to Washington. Though we were entirely uninterested in driving straight to Seattle, it worked out fairly enough since we slept for several hours instead of driving. Waking early, perhaps it was 7, we stopped at a gas station for oil and coffee. Ready for breakfast, Nick and I carefully selected the best ice cream: one pint of Ben and Jerry’s Brownie Batter. Delicious and nutritious, a breakfast of champions. We were ready to take over the wheel!


The Space Needle looks cooler in neon colors. Photoshop ROCKS.

Flying through the mountains of Northern Oregon and Southern Washington, we arrived in Seattle for lunch, directions to a fabulous Mexican roach coach in hand. Gorging on tacos, enchiladas, burritos, and carrots soaked in jalapenos, we rubbed our full bellies in the shade of the taco bus, El Asadero. Heading into the city, we located the Space Needle for an afternoon in the park. Realizing that it cost $16 pp to go to the top of the needle (what college student is going to pay $16 for a view?!?!) we wandered around the park, playing hacky sack and discussing our options. We decided to wander in the Science Fiction and Music Museum for a few hours—mostly so we could fire the Death Star (which I was the first to do to the chagrin and jealously of Matt Quarles). It was a bit anti-climactic, but I was drawn to the Jimi Hendrix exhibit in the music museum. The exhibit featured a mixer which allowed the user to increase or decrease the level of singing, drums, lead guitars, back up guitars, bass guitars, etc. with Purple Haze and other Hendrix favorites. It showed how Jimi would spend hours in the studio layering sounds, meticulously complex, organized chaos which made Hendrix so famous. The man was a genius.
Staying with Will Siebolt, a Piedmont graduate, we entered a world of fraternities and sororities. Will’s house was modest and well used, shared with a few other friendly University of Washington students. It was a safe haven from the chaos ensuing behind their neighbors’ doors. We arrived in the evening, relaxing in the living room for a while before heading out to explore the campus and go to some mysterious destination the housemates referred to as “Gasworks”.


The Science Fiction Museum

The walk to Gasworks was long and dusty and felt like it would never end. Traffic, broken glass, grass growing in sidewalk cracks, and desperate tension flooding from bars of college students in their last week of class trying to drown their stresses and sorrows in cheap beer and raucous talk, hoping to find love and friendship in a school of 40,000. I walked quietly behind our small group soaking in the unease and leery attentions of the fraternities and hang-outs thinking about how fortunate I am to be a part of a true community in Berea. A community brought together not only by common interest, but genuine compassion for the earth, each other, and the sake of community itself. My community and each of the individuals within my beautifully inclusive group would not be the same without Zack. We were not always as inclusive or passionate about life or food or nature. I often find myself saying “Thank you, Zack”. Thank you for bringing us closer together as a community. Thank you for your contagious excitement about EVERYTHING. Your people. Your optimism. Your passion. I attribute so much of the beauty in my life to you, the extent of which I realized only in your absence. I understand though, that you are with us in more ways than any of us comprehend.
A windy, water-side oasis, Gasworks drew me away from the fast-moving mentality of the concrete jungle. Sprinting ahead of the group up a small but steep grassy hill, I stopped at the top, breathless for a moment—though not from the run. The hill was a Zack spot. It allowed a pristine view of Puget Sound, crowned with sparkling city skyscrapers, peaked with the iconic Space Needle, and encircled by the snow-peaked Cascades. The moon illuminated white speed boats weaving through the cold choppy water. Slipping my knees into the cavity of my blue fleece I began to appreciate the 2 mile walk through Seattle’s litter strewn side-streets which lead us to this precious place. It reminded me so much of the places Zack had spoken of and shown me in Oakland—particularly the little-known overlook of the Bay area where his ashes rest.

And we drive....

Who wants to go to the Tetons with me???

Bundled in our sleeping bags, beanies covering our ears, we woke to the breeze of the cool air drifting over Jenny Lake (JENAYY!). Nick boiled water for tea and oatmeal while we puttered around the campsite, preparing for another day. Ready to explore, we wandered down a wood-chipped path toward the lakeshore. It was fairly gray, but the sun peeked through the clouds just often enough to keep us smiling. Snow peaked mountains lined the lake edge, rocketing to the top of the sky from the flat Wyoming plains. Looking carefully, we could just spot a couple of backcountry ski tracks traversing down the bare rocky mountain left by some brave but talented soul. Too steep and harsh for most trees, I can’t imagine trying to ski or board down the beautiful peaks. Sitting on a large rock at the edge of Lake Jenny for 30 minutes, we quietly absorbed the beauty of the Tetons, breathing the clean, crisp air and stretching the stiffness of atrophy from our legs and arms.


Family Photo Time


Writing on the edge of Jackson Lake while Nick cooked Quinoa for lunch.


Exploring Our Nosies

We headed for Jackson Lake, skipping stones on the water watching bright blue patches of sky flirt with the clouds trying hard to be noticed and appreciated. After dumping oil in the jeep and grabbing some basic amenities (pork rinds, post cards, and quinoa), Nick cooked lunch, finishing just as the clouds finally covered the sky and rained marble sized drops of water upon our heads. Seeking shelter in the jeep, we passed around our community style cooking pot to each other after two or three bites. Around and around it went as it does during each meal; we only had two spoons and never bothered to grab plastic spoons from the store. Perhaps it seemed silly and inefficient, but I enjoyed our communal meal. We all did. Mealtime was always slow and easygoing. We usually conversed about one thing or another, joked about parts of our day, or made a game plan for the next few hours. It was hard to plan farther ahead than a few hours as it was. Yet traveling that way is far more flexible and fun than sticking to a strict itinerary. Zero obligations and a heightened sense of adventure from having few but not too few plans allowed us to interact with environments and people for as much or as little as we wanted. I can hardly consider traveling any other way—I’m ready for something even slower now such as a nice bike trip or a pilgrimage! We shall see where the world finds me next…


Some cool twisting trees....

Yellerstone: WAFFLE FRY BASIN

Artists Paint Pots, somewhere in Yellowstone

It felt like we were crawling—the speedometer read 45 mph though we were used to cruising a bit…faster…than that. Yet it was the perfect speed for the drive through Yellowstone. Taking charge of the wheel, I played chauffer for the day, thrilled to drive the scenic winding roads, toes ready to tap the brakes in the event that a herd of 3,000 lb bison stand in our curvy path. Eight foot snow drifts lined the roadway though it was only in the 50’s, cloudy and cool. Finding a secluded picnic table under the Lodgepole pines next to the river, we munched on salami and cheese and melted chocolate.


Micah's Inner Bear is released upon his discovery that we're eating salami for lunch.

After a quick game of Hacky sack, we piled into the jeep to explore the Artists Paint pots, Dragons Mouth, mud baths, and other colorfully smelly boardwalk lined “geothermal shit”. Ponds send 3 foot boils of water shooting into the air, steam billowing thicker than LA’s infamous reeking smog.


Lodgepole Pines


Clay Pots

Ready for dinner, we headed for Ol’ Faithful to set up the camp stove and heat a pot of Zatarains rice and beans with hot sauce and chips. Nick, our faithfully domestic travel companion, cooked dinner while Micah played some mellow tunes on the baritone ukulele and I wrote, trying to salvage memories for the consistently behind the times blog. Quarles, being a bit of a creeper, walked around taking photos of random tourists with my camera. We were a spectacle, drawing attention from awkwardly bored tourists strolling along the boardwalk, pretending to care about the famous geyser despite the gray, cold, drizzling weather. Then again we would have been a spectacle regardless of peoples interest in Mother Nature—what isn’t entertaining about a group of kids like us? Spunky, energetic, a bit irreverent yet good humored. Not to mention the power of music to draw a crowd.


Mas Yellerstone

Old Faithful was certainly spectacular and deserves the respect she’s earned since her discovery in 1871. Since we are mere travelers and not beastly explorers, we had to stand on a boardwalk with benches, 150 feet from the geyser, thus making the experience slightly less exciting than that of the men who first came across the natural phenomenon. Nathaniel P. Langford (one of the men who discovered the geyser) wrote of her power….

Judge, then, what must have been our astonishment, as we entered the basin at mid-afternoon of our second day's travel, to see in the clear sunlight, at no great distance, an immense volume of clear, sparkling water projected into the air to the height of one hundred and twenty-five feet. "Geysers! geysers!" exclaimed one of our company, and, spurring our jaded horses, we soon gathered around this wonderful phenomenon. It was indeed a perfect geyser. The aperture through which the jet was projected was an irregular oval, three feet by seven in diameter. The margin of sinter was curiously piled up, and the exterior crust was filled with little hollows full of water, in which were small globules of sediment, some having gathered around bits of wood and other nuclei. This geyser is elevated thirty feet above the level of the surrounding plain, and the crater rises five or six feet above the mound. It spouted at regular intervals nine times during our stay, the columns of boiling water being thrown from ninety to one hundred and twenty-five feet at each discharge, which lasted from fifteen to twenty minutes. We gave it the name of "Old Faithful."


Yellow-Headed Blackbird. It's call resembles that of an Oropendula...very interesting...any ornithologists care to explain the connection?

Sheridan’s men (of that same expedition) also used the geyser as a laundry. They found that by placing cottons and linens (woolens were shredded) in the crater during quiescence, the garments were ejected and scalded, thereby cleaned by the force and heat of the eruption.


The plan was to go to Glacier National Park...we went to the Tetons and hit up a hot spring in the Idaho wilderness instead.


He was taping the circus scene we created at Old Faithful

Driving to the Tetons which border the southern edge of Yellowstone National Park, the boys sound asleep, I listened to Micah’s music, tapping my hand on the worn steering wheel, keeping the beat. “I’m for the Lord and the Lord won! I’m for the Lord and the Lord won! I’m for the Lord and the Lord won!” Micah woke from his slumber and I asked him who we were listening to—after all, the song seemed a bit outside our interests despite its heavy beat and strong voice. He responded, “The Clash, you fool! You know…”I fought the law and the law won!” So…we definitely were not listening to gospel. At least the gospel for the Lord. I’m sure many consider The Clash to be the gospel in its own respect. For me, it was a wonderful way to stay awake after a long, but beautiful day in Yellowstone.

Of the Wilds in Wind Cave, South Dakota

Making a brief stop in Wind Cave we gave hell to the tour guide. By ‘we’ I mean that Micah made several brilliant moves and comments which made Nick and I melt with laughter each time any of us made eye contact while Quarles cried inside, smothering his face with his hands. The guide gathered the group in the first large room and began to discuss the history of the cave pointing out that people lacked the technology that we have today. Rather than just saying that spelunkers used oil lanterns and candle boxes in the 1800’s she asked the group what technologies we have today that we didn’t have during that period. Micah, being a clever and slightly too loud smart ass, answered “LASER GUNS!” Choicely ignoring his comment (while we tried desperately to contain our hysterical giggles…though not with much success) she continued her speech in her irritatingly perky tour guide voice explaining that when people explored this cave in the 1800’s they wore much nicer clothes—women even wore skirts and high heel boots. I communicated my horror at the thought of wearing dress clothes instead of cotton jeans and Chacos, and Micah (in another too loud, shining moment) said “Well you know what else was different… they also shaved their armpits, Frances.” The snickers from the random people behind us only provoked him further.


Boxwork
In the final room of the tour a 9 year-old boy clad proudly in a Pokémon jacket went and stood shyly on the step next to the guide, Noelle. She paused, smiling at the child who suddenly became aware of his conspicuous location in front of the entire group as if he hadn’t realized where his adventurous feet had carried him. Abashed but grinning, he darted behind his mother’s khaki pants to avoid the bemused gaze of the tour group. Moments later, Nick nudged Micah’s elbow, indicating that he stand next to the guide as the young boy had done. Shuffling his feet in a slow yet purposeful manner, Micah sidled behind the guide, a wily grin just cracking at the corners of his eyes and mouth. Noelle’s face twitched as she fought the inevitable temptation to allow this to distract her while on the job. Matt, Nick, and I could hardly breathe as we tried to keep from laughing out loud at the sight of 6 foot Micah dwarfing the 5 foot guide as if to put forth the idea that Micah could be as innocent as the 9 year old who stood there only moments ago. The best part of all…Micah recorded the entire tour, laser gun comment and all, on his video camera.



Oh yeah…so the cave formations were great. They had ‘cave bacon’ and boxwork. I’ll just let the photographs (sorry…I don’t use a flash so they’re a little out of focus since caves don’t usually have much light) do justice to the actual cave sights. IT MIGHT BE GOOD TO KNOW…that you can click/double click on the photos to enlarge them.

Day One and then some (Who keeps track of time on a road trip?)

Nick arrived at Berea on some Wednesday or another after finals had finished and the humid summer haze began to set in—though I might mention he told me he was arriving on Thursday and sheepishly called me 4 hours in advance, realizing that two days from Monday night was actually Wednesday afternoon and not Thursday. We lived a Berea lifestyle in fast forward, residing in the SENS house, jamming some rock and bluegrass, eating copious amounts of college pork, beef, greens, and pizza from the newly built fire-heated dome oven, and hiking to Anglin Falls and the wooded hilltop where we released Zack’s ashes.

Anglin Falls, Berea KY

Packing the Grand Jeep Cherokee to the gills, we realized we would have to put one of the back seats down to fit our gear (Nick also had all of his things from Williams)…this meant that one person would have to ride in the bitch seat. Ironically, it turns out that the most comfortable seat in the car is the bitch seat because you can stick your legs between the front seats. As we are the kindest of souls who think only of others, we kept offering to take one for the team and ride in the bitch seat (by the way, we are Team Group Poop and we put our backs together…I might explain later).

Team Group Poop...and the stuff...close quarters (stinky feet not pictured)

Aiming to leave at 8 a.m. on Saturday morning and so we could leave at 9, we left Berea, KY at 10 a.m. marking the beginning of our epic ultra adventure. First stop: Frankfurt, KY. Stopping by the Farmers’ Market in the quaint capital of Kentucky, we met the Quarles family. Mr. Quarles was the sort of person that captured our attention and commanded our respect without even talking to him—just standing near him we knew to keep our shirts tucked and our shoulders straight. He shook each of our hands, Quarles first (“Nice to see you, Boy.”), then Micah (“You must be the respectable one.”), then Nick (I don’t believe he said anything…he just gave a friendly nod and raised his eyebrows at his bare feet), and then me (“You must be the cute one.”). Each family member—there were five—told us to keep Quarles out of major trouble. I might mention that multiple other friends and professors had similar words of advice solely for Quarles.


Chicago

We arrived in Chicago and I (yes me, no not Quarles) immediately proceeded to break the law as I led the way out the parking garage. It was an accident…a matter that was simply out of my small hands (or eyes rather) because the “Alarm will sound” sign was above eye level. Wandering around Millennium Park, we admired the sculptures made by Chinese artists. The highlight was the giant piece of smoothly polished stainless steel in the shape of a bean. The skyline curved drunkenly along the sides of the bean, wrapping the peaked skyscrapers in a C over our own reflection. Gorging on Giovanni’s deep dish pizza and topping our meal with Inteligencia’s rich cappuccinos of the Mayan gods, we walked to the edge of Lake Michigan to watch the seagulls and shoot the breeze. We left Chicago at 9 and drove to Aaron Ford’s lake house just south of St. Paul, arriving bleary eyed yet still giddy from the excitement of our trip at 4 a.m.

Chicago


Chicago

The drive to St. Paul was an adventure in itself. We took turns driving down the empty interstate wary of our tendency to speed while listening to Modest Mouse and The Doors. We told the tale of Haulin’ Ass from start to finish using our brilliant minds to invent the epic tale of the very unhappy conservative cheese-heads who were under attack by the Godzilla of Godzillas, Super Hanky Man and an army of Shitlings. Sir Lee (Surly) had 400 Kenyan babies to defeat the army of Shitlings, however all but one was killed by Super Hanky Man. The survivor became Master Chief of Kenyans. Keeper of All Things Mystic (Micah) and Sir Neck Beard (Quarles) and Midget (Me, of course) all had pivotal roles in the tale as well involving super powers, phase shifting, and large weaponry.




Stopping to watch the sunrise on a chilly morning somewhere in South Dakota.



We woke at noon and wandered leisurely down the stone path to the breezy lake to admire the means by which we would spend our day: waterskiing, tubing, and a jet ski (so…not exactly environmentally friendly but certainly conducive to an exciting time…). Nick had water-skied once and had a clean ride on his first try—us land-locked Kentucky folks had a more interesting time with the skis. Though I am the official tubing champ as I had the highest shot in the air (being 130 pounds might have something to do with that): a solid 10-15 feet. Bobbing to the surface, I was not a particularly happy camper. My purple knuckles, skinned elbows and knees, bruised shin, and whip lashed neck and limbs distracted me (though only momentarily) from realizing how much fun tubing is. Pumping my fist in the air and whooping the boat picked me up and we returned to the house for dinner (after I had two more rides on the tube of course) and a nap before our overnight drive to the Badlands.

More Badlands (our view from breakfast)


A super awesome black magpie (I think)

The night sky began to color as we flew across South Dakota at 85 mph at 5 a.m. Taking a break at a rest stop, we watched the sun roll slowly over the endless rolling Dakota hills. Green pastures dotted with cattle and billboards for Wall Drug, Mount Rushmore, the Black Hills, and the Badlands covered such a colossal expanse of land that I doubted it could ever end. It reminds me of how small I really am.

And not just because I’m a midget.



Badlands




Note the innocent Prarie Dog. Nick MERCILESSLY ran over one. (Not really merciless, but it was better him than us...sorry dude).


Practicing what one should do upon encountering a grizz.
Leaving I-90 for the first time in two or three hundred miles, I pulled the Jeep GRAND Cherokee south for the scenic drive through the Badlands at 6 a.m. Gathering granola, milk, and dried mango from the trunk we ate our simple breakfast at the edge of the eroding cliffs which crumbled dramatically into the river valley. The Badlands consist of a series of dynamic cliffs and peaks which the harsh Dakota elements unforgivingly strip. Each year the cliffs weather more and more, though I see no danger in running out of land in this vast state.

Badlands=Badass
Stopping briefly at Wall Drug in Wall, South Dakota, we filled ourselves with homemade doughnuts and the well advertised 5 cent coffee and free ice water which profoundly changed the future of the measly 1930’s general store into a metropolis of “Made in China” and AMERICA! paraphernalia that it is now. Admittedly, I was struck by how fun the arcade game, Big Game Hunter, really is…and also amused to note that our token city kid creamed Quarles. Sorry—I have a correction—according to Quarles, the game was rigged and Nick had a better rifle.


Goin' on a Hunt
Handing Nick’s annual parking pass (parking cost $30!) to the purple eye-shadowed and white curled hair attendant, Neoma, we laughed wondering if anyone in the country (except Nick) would visit Rushmore more than once in the same year (or lifetime). Well worded Micah summarized our experience best. “These hills would be a lot prettier if they didn’t have so many dead presidents on them.” The gift shop and café were far more crowded than the walkway to view the stoney gaze of bearded Lincoln, Teddy, Jefferson, and Washington.





Grabbing a cheap motel (the only one in town that was open on that dark, rainy night) after driving through snow and ice in the mountains, we passed out as soon as our sleeping bags spread lightly on the floor. Oatmeal with raisins and walnuts along with hot cups of cheap motel coffee mixed with my Abuelita hot chocolate mix provided an excellent road breakfast as we drove at a comfortable clip through the Wyoming countryside. Floating at 85 mph, we could hardly tell how fast we were truly going as the road stretched in a ruler straight line, disappearing not in a curve but beyond the pearly illusions wobbling drunkenly in the horizon. The west has a way of making one feel rather insignificant. Majestic snow peaks, snaking glacial melt rivers, casually grazing herds of 3,000 pound bison, and sweeping green plains are simply “average” sights. LAAAAME.