wake early and leave
tom gets ticket
dinner at my place
late night construction (jeff's driving)
home sweet home
ps - we beat the other DU's home
Day Twenty Five: National Heroes (on tour)
Drive to St. Louis
"Check in" at hotel, shower, start drinking
Mingle with DU's, say hey to our chapter
Free Hooters
party (LSU DU with loser room mate)
"Check in" at hotel, shower, start drinking
Mingle with DU's, say hey to our chapter
Free Hooters
party (LSU DU with loser room mate)
Day Twenty Four: A PhD in Kansas Bars
Drive to Kansas City
see Rachael Tindall and ????,
go to the many overpriced bars with bitchy women and rich preppy MD's
Skinny dipping drunk at apartment (climbing down from 2nd floor)
see Rachael Tindall and ????,
go to the many overpriced bars with bitchy women and rich preppy MD's
Skinny dipping drunk at apartment (climbing down from 2nd floor)
Day Twenty One: Gods' Homegrown Veggies
Left gunnison
Drove to Alamosa, ate at #1 green chili place in CO, locked out of car
Great Sand Dunes
CO Springs, ate at Panera
Garden of the Gods
Aunt Kat (aversion to animals, showers)
Sleep
Drove to Alamosa, ate at #1 green chili place in CO, locked out of car
Great Sand Dunes
CO Springs, ate at Panera
Garden of the Gods
Aunt Kat (aversion to animals, showers)
Sleep
Day Twenty Three: Lazy Boulder
Drove to Boulder(saw Kellt O's family, street performer)
Gonna drive to Estes, weather sucked, we all pass out on way to Lee's house
Rent Hot Fuzz, eat dinner, pass out
Gonna drive to Estes, weather sucked, we all pass out on way to Lee's house
Rent Hot Fuzz, eat dinner, pass out
Day Twenty Two: Trampede!!
Air Force Acadamy (trunk bombs, museum, not interested)
Denver (walked around downtown, watched Simpsons, escaped yet another parking ticket, wincoup happy hour, walked around for a bit)
Rebecca Lee (dinner? lost in Golden, Trampede)
Denver (walked around downtown, watched Simpsons, escaped yet another parking ticket, wincoup happy hour, walked around for a bit)
Rebecca Lee (dinner? lost in Golden, Trampede)
Day Twenty: Monumental Tourism
I woke predawn (and by that, I mean I opened my eyes around that time, cause "sleep" could not describe what was going on) and waited for the booth to open so we could pay too much to enter the park and await the coming dawn. We were in luck, however, in that sunrise was magnificent. In addition, there was very little little traffic, so we had full run of the place and got all the views and photos we wanted, took our time driving through the park, and then continued North to Natural Bridges National Monument. Here is a small video of sunrise:
(btw, I am laughing cause no one slept the night before, so "good morning" is kind of a joke)
During the first 30 minute stretch outside of Monument Valley, the ground rose up and a huge expanse of land unfolded in front of my windshield. As we rose out of the mesas onto the plateau, I had this immense sense of belonging. It was overwhelming, the connection I felt with the ground and clouds and sunbeams and greens and browns and tans and blues and reds and reeds and horizon and the imaginary connection between it and the sky and the ground and me...and I am not afraid to admit, I started crying. I don't know exactly what was so sad and so beautiful about what was happening, all I know is that I had to pull away from it, cause I was about to fully break down into a full sob. Nothing wrong with that, it is just that I was still driving, and I had to think about doing that for a minute, and when I came back to what was in front of me, the moment had gone.
I can only describe it as being taken out of perspective. A "disassociated" experience if you will, as if you were playing a video game on flat screen all your life and suddenly you were given a full, wrap around system. Suddenly you have a peripheral that is infinite, yet you can't move for a fear of losing this total, naked view of the world around you. I became an eyeball with no lens, no iris, and no body, just one big pupil, taking it all in and learning so much new information that the brain is bypassed and the soul learns directly what the Universe is teaching...or something like that. You kinda had to be there, and if you have been, then you know; and if you have not, then pray that someday you will.
So we then drove up a cliff to get to Natural Bridges National Monument. It is hard to keep saying "no exaggeration" after every descriptor, but seriously, it was a cliff. The grade was around 10-12%, much of the road was unpaved, and I had my doubts about making it up the 1000 vertical foot climb to the top of the plateau. Luckily, the car is a beast, and she made it up just fine and we were on our way to Bridges. Once there, brochures in hand, we drove to the first two overlooks, which by this time in our trip and where our bodies and minds were in terms of wear and tear, they did not seem so impressive. However, it was impossible to get any kind of scale, considering the Statue of Liberty could fit under the first one we saw, but from half a mile away, the scale became so skewed that even knowing how tall it is was a moot point, cause there was no way to visualize it. Anyhow, we walked down to the third bridge, took pics, took a pause for some needed rest, and then back to the car and off to the Canyonlands.
Anyhow, I couldn't drive anymore, so after we filled up on gas and had lunch at a Subway, Tom took over and led us into the Canyonlands. The approach was surreal: the road follows a gorge bottom that is surrounded by these massive cliffs that seem to go on forever. The landscape takes on an alien feeling, as if we were on some distant planet that has yet to be discovered by any being. Of course, this is how Tom and I would probably describe it. Jeff couldn't describe it if he wanted to. Not that he lacks the artistic ability, he was just sleeping through it all...again. So we make it to the Visitor Center, get a map, and drive around looking at all the tourist spots for a bit. We get out for about an hour and climb around at a dead end for a bit, and I came to realize how easy it was to get lost and confused in that place. We only went a few hundred yards in, on well-used "trails" and on the same rock formation, but get just one formation over, and everything looked the same, and it was near impossible to find the parking lot just a few hundred yards away. That was some pretty scary stuff, luckily we were too tired to do anything more than the drive-thru experience (which I am not proud of, but seriously, give us a break, this trip is getting long!) And once again, to the car and off to Arches National Park.
Here is a small view of Canyonlands:
If my writing seems like it is getting a little halfhearted, I assure you it is only a reflection of the writer's attitude at the time. At this point in our journey, we had visited 18 states in 20 days, hiked and visited around 13 national parks and monuments combined, countless state and national forests, and untold mileage to our retinas in terms of shear volumes of scenery...it is no wonder we were getting a little jaded. This is no more evident than at Arches. We already debated just not going there at all, but after some deliberation we entered the park, and after seeing the first few attractions without having left the car, we decided to get out to see Delicate Arch in all of its iconic familiarity, and we left the park as fast as we had come, walking only 100 feet outside the car to see an attraction: the real American Dream. Anyways, goodbye Utah.
So it was off to Gunnison, CO, where Marie Humenczuk had said she would hook us up with a shower and suggest a place to crash. Well, we ran into trouble right after eating at a Taco John's in Montrose, CO. We were supposed to take 50 into Gunnison, but we missed the turn and continued down 550 for about 30 minutes. Well, we were already running out of daylight when I noticed that the 14,309ft Uncompahgre Peak seemed a lot closer than the last time I was in Gunnison. That's when I asked our driver if he knew where we were, which he did not, and then I realized our mistake, and suddenly our 9pm ETA became 10pm. Well, night came and the mountain roads are taking longer than expected, and we arrive at Marie's nearing 11pm. After showering, we head out to a campsite she suggested, we decide to break the rules and camp at the parking lot (what would they do? Make us leave in the morning?) and we fight the swarm of mosquitoes to set the tents up and pass out happily under a wooden canopy.
(btw, I am laughing cause no one slept the night before, so "good morning" is kind of a joke)
During the first 30 minute stretch outside of Monument Valley, the ground rose up and a huge expanse of land unfolded in front of my windshield. As we rose out of the mesas onto the plateau, I had this immense sense of belonging. It was overwhelming, the connection I felt with the ground and clouds and sunbeams and greens and browns and tans and blues and reds and reeds and horizon and the imaginary connection between it and the sky and the ground and me...and I am not afraid to admit, I started crying. I don't know exactly what was so sad and so beautiful about what was happening, all I know is that I had to pull away from it, cause I was about to fully break down into a full sob. Nothing wrong with that, it is just that I was still driving, and I had to think about doing that for a minute, and when I came back to what was in front of me, the moment had gone.
I can only describe it as being taken out of perspective. A "disassociated" experience if you will, as if you were playing a video game on flat screen all your life and suddenly you were given a full, wrap around system. Suddenly you have a peripheral that is infinite, yet you can't move for a fear of losing this total, naked view of the world around you. I became an eyeball with no lens, no iris, and no body, just one big pupil, taking it all in and learning so much new information that the brain is bypassed and the soul learns directly what the Universe is teaching...or something like that. You kinda had to be there, and if you have been, then you know; and if you have not, then pray that someday you will.
So we then drove up a cliff to get to Natural Bridges National Monument. It is hard to keep saying "no exaggeration" after every descriptor, but seriously, it was a cliff. The grade was around 10-12%, much of the road was unpaved, and I had my doubts about making it up the 1000 vertical foot climb to the top of the plateau. Luckily, the car is a beast, and she made it up just fine and we were on our way to Bridges. Once there, brochures in hand, we drove to the first two overlooks, which by this time in our trip and where our bodies and minds were in terms of wear and tear, they did not seem so impressive. However, it was impossible to get any kind of scale, considering the Statue of Liberty could fit under the first one we saw, but from half a mile away, the scale became so skewed that even knowing how tall it is was a moot point, cause there was no way to visualize it. Anyhow, we walked down to the third bridge, took pics, took a pause for some needed rest, and then back to the car and off to the Canyonlands.
Anyhow, I couldn't drive anymore, so after we filled up on gas and had lunch at a Subway, Tom took over and led us into the Canyonlands. The approach was surreal: the road follows a gorge bottom that is surrounded by these massive cliffs that seem to go on forever. The landscape takes on an alien feeling, as if we were on some distant planet that has yet to be discovered by any being. Of course, this is how Tom and I would probably describe it. Jeff couldn't describe it if he wanted to. Not that he lacks the artistic ability, he was just sleeping through it all...again. So we make it to the Visitor Center, get a map, and drive around looking at all the tourist spots for a bit. We get out for about an hour and climb around at a dead end for a bit, and I came to realize how easy it was to get lost and confused in that place. We only went a few hundred yards in, on well-used "trails" and on the same rock formation, but get just one formation over, and everything looked the same, and it was near impossible to find the parking lot just a few hundred yards away. That was some pretty scary stuff, luckily we were too tired to do anything more than the drive-thru experience (which I am not proud of, but seriously, give us a break, this trip is getting long!) And once again, to the car and off to Arches National Park.
Here is a small view of Canyonlands:
If my writing seems like it is getting a little halfhearted, I assure you it is only a reflection of the writer's attitude at the time. At this point in our journey, we had visited 18 states in 20 days, hiked and visited around 13 national parks and monuments combined, countless state and national forests, and untold mileage to our retinas in terms of shear volumes of scenery...it is no wonder we were getting a little jaded. This is no more evident than at Arches. We already debated just not going there at all, but after some deliberation we entered the park, and after seeing the first few attractions without having left the car, we decided to get out to see Delicate Arch in all of its iconic familiarity, and we left the park as fast as we had come, walking only 100 feet outside the car to see an attraction: the real American Dream. Anyways, goodbye Utah.
So it was off to Gunnison, CO, where Marie Humenczuk had said she would hook us up with a shower and suggest a place to crash. Well, we ran into trouble right after eating at a Taco John's in Montrose, CO. We were supposed to take 50 into Gunnison, but we missed the turn and continued down 550 for about 30 minutes. Well, we were already running out of daylight when I noticed that the 14,309ft Uncompahgre Peak seemed a lot closer than the last time I was in Gunnison. That's when I asked our driver if he knew where we were, which he did not, and then I realized our mistake, and suddenly our 9pm ETA became 10pm. Well, night came and the mountain roads are taking longer than expected, and we arrive at Marie's nearing 11pm. After showering, we head out to a campsite she suggested, we decide to break the rules and camp at the parking lot (what would they do? Make us leave in the morning?) and we fight the swarm of mosquitoes to set the tents up and pass out happily under a wooden canopy.
Day Ninteen: Enriched Loathing Since Las Vegas
I wake up much later than Jeff and Tom. They had attempted to wake me up before (at around 8pm, I feel), but I was having none of it. Anyhow, I wake at 10 and start to move out (after a few chugs of the Jager, of course). I wander around for a bit, realize that although we found the cheap food, I had still not eaten near enough of it to make up for the past week or so. So I watch a round of the Bellagio water works, get a hold of Tom and tell him I will meet them at the food place. No mention of the dogs or the name of the bar, I just said "Tom, I am hungry, wanna get some food?" and he responded "Yeah, we'll meet you there." That's it, we all knew where to meet. Well, I get there first and as they attempt to walk in, one of the greatest things I had ever seen happen: the bar's bouncer told them they had to "finish [their] drinks on the street" before they could come in! Only in Vegas would someone tell you to finish your beer "outside" before getting more in that establishment. Well, we conversed and had our Miller Lights and cheap dogs with the new attractive bartender on shift, bought our roadies and headed out.
Jeff had a mission to make it to the Mirage, so we started what would end up being a trek of epic proportions, leading through numerous casinos, penny slots, beers, rum and cokes, throngs of hot Asian girls, exhaustion, passing out on handrails and finally, sweet, sweet sleep. Who knows what time it was then, but it was definitely today...
So we wake up at 11am, somehow, and have to be out of the room by Noon (well, either 11:30 or Noon, the point is that the Vegas hotels understand if you can't move before 11. Hell, they may not even be up fully by that time!) This was the day that I needed to get an oil change, and we were to drive all the way to the South Rim of the Grand Canyon. Well, a Noon start did not help, and slow service at the Jiffy Lube delayed our leaving Vegas till 2:30pm. Heavy construction traffic at the Hoover Dam delayed us even further, till we finally reached a Wendy's in Arizona at around 5pm.
Back up: Tom had barely moved, much less spoken this whole time. He was having a helluva time getting over his hangover in the sunny, blast-furnace temperature conditions of the back seat. Not being able to move around or put any fluids down cause of the constant motion of the car, we could visibly see his unease turn to pain then into agony right there in his private little Hell that was the ride into Arizona.
Anyhow, now that Tom's unforgiving pain had receded into an incessant dull throb, we somehow, unknowingly, entered the Twilight Zone. I am not kidding here. As we entered the line in Wendy's, the three of us shattered beings just stood still and spoke not a word for about 10 minutes. During that time I don't think I had but 5 thoughts go through my head, and none of them were complete, that's for sure. I was in a dazed state, utterly depleted and basically in survival mode: no unnecessary motions, actions, words, or thoughts that did not pertain directly to survival. I have no doubt that my companions were in the same state of mind for, after 10 minutes of standing in the exact same spot in the line, we all seemed to come out of the haze and notice our surroundings. (Later, no one could recall exactly how long it SEEMED like we were in line. Although the timeline works out to 10 minutes to that point, I could have sworn it was either 10 seconds or 2 hours, if those two accounts didn't contradict each other) At this point, I look at the time (again, having no idea how long we have been there), and realize no one has moved. We start to observe the actions of the employees: there seemed to be 3 cleaning the dining area, but at such a rate that the dust could accumulate faster than they could clean it; there were two managers standing behind the counters, also doing nothing; one employee was stocking cups into a front bin that already had around 100 in it; one woman was working the register (if you could call it working); one woman was on the drive-thru; and two men were on the line. Count it: 9 employees in the store, and no one had been served in about 10 minutes. This is no exaggeration, for the line of 10 or so people that were behind us when we had entered was now down to 1 besides ourselves. We would have left earlier, but as I said, we were in no state for rational thought. Around 10 more minutes pass before we get our food (along with a host of other unbelievable employee actions, too many to list even in this huge post), and we leave around 45 minutes after arriving, swearing off Arizona fast food forever.
So now I drive North up to the South Rim main entrance, and the weather and daylight start to turn for the worst. By the time we reach the Visitor Center, get some food and a bathroom break, the sun had begun to set. So we blitz as many outlooks as we can, taking pics and enjoying the mild weather. We don't make it to Lookout Tower before it is pitch black outside. After another small break, we decide that we might as well move on to Monument Valley that night, hoping that they will be open so we can throw out our tents and crash. As we leave the Canyon, it is so dark outside that at one point we stop and turn off all the lights in the car, and can't see our hands in front of our faces. However, the moon is full and the clouds eventually part to reveal a ghastly landscape of pillars mesas and buttes and mountains that loom in the indeterminable distance. I leave Arizona wondering if their motto "God Enriches" is from a better time, before fast food and campers. I am sure this is the case, and try to warm up to the idea of Utah.
Monument Valley is closed, and we park next to another late arriver (or early, depending on how you look at it), and we attempt to sleep in the car. It didn't happen, but that's tomorrow's story.
Jeff had a mission to make it to the Mirage, so we started what would end up being a trek of epic proportions, leading through numerous casinos, penny slots, beers, rum and cokes, throngs of hot Asian girls, exhaustion, passing out on handrails and finally, sweet, sweet sleep. Who knows what time it was then, but it was definitely today...
So we wake up at 11am, somehow, and have to be out of the room by Noon (well, either 11:30 or Noon, the point is that the Vegas hotels understand if you can't move before 11. Hell, they may not even be up fully by that time!) This was the day that I needed to get an oil change, and we were to drive all the way to the South Rim of the Grand Canyon. Well, a Noon start did not help, and slow service at the Jiffy Lube delayed our leaving Vegas till 2:30pm. Heavy construction traffic at the Hoover Dam delayed us even further, till we finally reached a Wendy's in Arizona at around 5pm.
Back up: Tom had barely moved, much less spoken this whole time. He was having a helluva time getting over his hangover in the sunny, blast-furnace temperature conditions of the back seat. Not being able to move around or put any fluids down cause of the constant motion of the car, we could visibly see his unease turn to pain then into agony right there in his private little Hell that was the ride into Arizona.
Anyhow, now that Tom's unforgiving pain had receded into an incessant dull throb, we somehow, unknowingly, entered the Twilight Zone. I am not kidding here. As we entered the line in Wendy's, the three of us shattered beings just stood still and spoke not a word for about 10 minutes. During that time I don't think I had but 5 thoughts go through my head, and none of them were complete, that's for sure. I was in a dazed state, utterly depleted and basically in survival mode: no unnecessary motions, actions, words, or thoughts that did not pertain directly to survival. I have no doubt that my companions were in the same state of mind for, after 10 minutes of standing in the exact same spot in the line, we all seemed to come out of the haze and notice our surroundings. (Later, no one could recall exactly how long it SEEMED like we were in line. Although the timeline works out to 10 minutes to that point, I could have sworn it was either 10 seconds or 2 hours, if those two accounts didn't contradict each other) At this point, I look at the time (again, having no idea how long we have been there), and realize no one has moved. We start to observe the actions of the employees: there seemed to be 3 cleaning the dining area, but at such a rate that the dust could accumulate faster than they could clean it; there were two managers standing behind the counters, also doing nothing; one employee was stocking cups into a front bin that already had around 100 in it; one woman was working the register (if you could call it working); one woman was on the drive-thru; and two men were on the line. Count it: 9 employees in the store, and no one had been served in about 10 minutes. This is no exaggeration, for the line of 10 or so people that were behind us when we had entered was now down to 1 besides ourselves. We would have left earlier, but as I said, we were in no state for rational thought. Around 10 more minutes pass before we get our food (along with a host of other unbelievable employee actions, too many to list even in this huge post), and we leave around 45 minutes after arriving, swearing off Arizona fast food forever.
So now I drive North up to the South Rim main entrance, and the weather and daylight start to turn for the worst. By the time we reach the Visitor Center, get some food and a bathroom break, the sun had begun to set. So we blitz as many outlooks as we can, taking pics and enjoying the mild weather. We don't make it to Lookout Tower before it is pitch black outside. After another small break, we decide that we might as well move on to Monument Valley that night, hoping that they will be open so we can throw out our tents and crash. As we leave the Canyon, it is so dark outside that at one point we stop and turn off all the lights in the car, and can't see our hands in front of our faces. However, the moon is full and the clouds eventually part to reveal a ghastly landscape of pillars mesas and buttes and mountains that loom in the indeterminable distance. I leave Arizona wondering if their motto "God Enriches" is from a better time, before fast food and campers. I am sure this is the case, and try to warm up to the idea of Utah.
Monument Valley is closed, and we park next to another late arriver (or early, depending on how you look at it), and we attempt to sleep in the car. It didn't happen, but that's tomorrow's story.
Day Eighteen: What Happened here...
Morning comes all too quickly considering passing out does not count as sleep...Anyhow, we grab some beers to go (after finishing a few in the room while getting ready) and head out on the town around 11am. We realize very quickly that we had not had food since returning to Lone Pine at lunch the day before. And before then we did not eat much because of the altitude. And before that morning, we had drank all night. Our tummies were upset with us, mostly due to our choice in first calories of the day: beer. The motto for the day quickly became "Food. We have to find food."
We were looking for the cheapest food in town, but kept getting sidetracked by the many, many sights and sounds of Vegas. The fountains of the Bellagio? Awesome, but afterwards we needed food. The casinos Cesar and Flamingo? Awesome as well, but still no cheap food. Back to the Bellagio, where we encountered a group of about 8 men that looked like they could help us. Tom approaches and asks if there is any cheap food around. No one helps out at first, but then the man of the hour speaks up, "Uhhh, there is a dog and a beer for $2.50 down the street"
Bingo. We descend onto the bar like it was a wounded animal, and we were a pack of wolves midwinter. It is my kinda bar: 80's rock, cheap beer (in every way), and a decent looking bartender who gave us shit for being "lightweights" in her eyes. Well, needless to say we fell in love with the place fast. After our dogs and beers, we bought "roadies" (God I love Vegas!) and hit the strip again. From there the drinking started to take its toll. We were at the Flamingo and Tom needed to use the restroom. Jeff and I stayed right outside the bathroom for what was surely an hour, when I gave up and went into the bathroom and could not find Tom anywhere. We called him, but his phone was dead. So, at this point Jeff and I continued on for a while, hopping casino to casino, getting our drinks and moving on for two hours or so, until finally I call Tom once more, and lo and behold, he had gone back to the hotel and charged his phone.
Well, by this time we were at O'Malley's or O'Charlie's or O'Henry's...doesn't matter, cause there was beer pong there. I waited outside for over 30 minutes for Tom to arrive, then he and I had to go find Jeff, who also did not have a phone. We walk into the Irish Bar and Casino, find the beer pong tables, and take a seat at the bar. Right way we observe some terrible beer pong technique that these women are using that are apparently playing two-on-one against this guy, and I start to make my opinions heard about their elbows and arc. They may be bad, but not deaf, and catch on quick, asking me if I am criticizing them. "Yeah, I am talking about you two" I say matter of fact, and before they can show how offended they are, Jeff walks out of nowhere and joins the other side of the table, grabs a ball, and throws. Tom and I are speechless that not only did he walk right by us, and not only is he playing on the table against the women I was badmouthing, but he took a pee break? Well, that was too much. "Jeff!!!" Tom and I yelled out. He jumped two feet in the air and spun around to see us sitting right behind him.
Well, the afternoon from there went swimmingly. Jeff got laid and Tom and I tried to learn how to play craps. However, Tom and I each took a pitcher of beer with us out of the Irish pub to the next casino, so we are not reliable witnesses as to how to play craps. There are dice, that's about all I can recall about it. I think I made money...
So Tom and I walk back to the hotel, where Jeff is busy so we finish our now-warm pitchers by the pool. After that we rejoined our conqueror, Jeff, in the hotel room to pound some alcohol and take a nap....
So from here it is hard to tell where I should finish Today's commentary, considering it is today and tomorrow and the next day all at the same time during this period....So I will add it to "Tomorrow's" day.
We were looking for the cheapest food in town, but kept getting sidetracked by the many, many sights and sounds of Vegas. The fountains of the Bellagio? Awesome, but afterwards we needed food. The casinos Cesar and Flamingo? Awesome as well, but still no cheap food. Back to the Bellagio, where we encountered a group of about 8 men that looked like they could help us. Tom approaches and asks if there is any cheap food around. No one helps out at first, but then the man of the hour speaks up, "Uhhh, there is a dog and a beer for $2.50 down the street"
Bingo. We descend onto the bar like it was a wounded animal, and we were a pack of wolves midwinter. It is my kinda bar: 80's rock, cheap beer (in every way), and a decent looking bartender who gave us shit for being "lightweights" in her eyes. Well, needless to say we fell in love with the place fast. After our dogs and beers, we bought "roadies" (God I love Vegas!) and hit the strip again. From there the drinking started to take its toll. We were at the Flamingo and Tom needed to use the restroom. Jeff and I stayed right outside the bathroom for what was surely an hour, when I gave up and went into the bathroom and could not find Tom anywhere. We called him, but his phone was dead. So, at this point Jeff and I continued on for a while, hopping casino to casino, getting our drinks and moving on for two hours or so, until finally I call Tom once more, and lo and behold, he had gone back to the hotel and charged his phone.
Well, by this time we were at O'Malley's or O'Charlie's or O'Henry's...doesn't matter, cause there was beer pong there. I waited outside for over 30 minutes for Tom to arrive, then he and I had to go find Jeff, who also did not have a phone. We walk into the Irish Bar and Casino, find the beer pong tables, and take a seat at the bar. Right way we observe some terrible beer pong technique that these women are using that are apparently playing two-on-one against this guy, and I start to make my opinions heard about their elbows and arc. They may be bad, but not deaf, and catch on quick, asking me if I am criticizing them. "Yeah, I am talking about you two" I say matter of fact, and before they can show how offended they are, Jeff walks out of nowhere and joins the other side of the table, grabs a ball, and throws. Tom and I are speechless that not only did he walk right by us, and not only is he playing on the table against the women I was badmouthing, but he took a pee break? Well, that was too much. "Jeff!!!" Tom and I yelled out. He jumped two feet in the air and spun around to see us sitting right behind him.
Well, the afternoon from there went swimmingly. Jeff got laid and Tom and I tried to learn how to play craps. However, Tom and I each took a pitcher of beer with us out of the Irish pub to the next casino, so we are not reliable witnesses as to how to play craps. There are dice, that's about all I can recall about it. I think I made money...
So Tom and I walk back to the hotel, where Jeff is busy so we finish our now-warm pitchers by the pool. After that we rejoined our conqueror, Jeff, in the hotel room to pound some alcohol and take a nap....
So from here it is hard to tell where I should finish Today's commentary, considering it is today and tomorrow and the next day all at the same time during this period....So I will add it to "Tomorrow's" day.
Day Seventeen: The Highs and Lows of It...
So sleeping at 12,000ft is tough to do when two days before you were at sea level. The full moon and no clouds does not help as well. Being dehydrated is probably the worst thing you could do to compound the situation...however, knowing all this did not help prevent all three of us from succumbing to the side-effects of AMS. We all had a very restless sleep, I personally ended up getting perhaps 3 hours of sleep, 2 of which were good, solid hours. Unfortunately, those two hours started at around 2:30am, which means I woke up at around 4:30, about 30 minutes later than we wanted to be hitting the trail. So we break camp as fast as possible, and hit the trail at 5.
"What happened to the food?" you ask? Well, nothing at all. No marmots, bears, or other mini-bear critters got a hold of it. Of course not, it is us we are talking about...right? Nothing bad ever happens to Team Smell Bad.
Only two groups were ahead of us (from our side of the mountain), and we could see the winding trail that led up to the pass via headlamps of the other groups. As the hike progressed, pre-dawn light made it possible to hike without headlamps. We had to stop a few times for drink and food breaks...well, and for air. It was like we were swimming underwater and holding our breath: there was just no air. Every time we would stop it seemed like we could not catch our breath. This had a lot to do with being out of shape, a lot to do with being dehydrated and succumbing to AMS, and even more to do with there being no air at 13,000ft.
Sunrise was the most spectacular thing I think I have ever seen. Just rows and rows of mountains stretching out as far as the eye can see. The sky was blood-red, foretelling a hectic afternoon, so after a few pictures we pressed on toward the summit. After passing one of the two crews in front of us, we hit the pass, located at 13,600ft. Fatigue was really setting in, and I realized I had not eaten enough food, nor drank enough water because I was feeling too nauseous. This was obviously a sign of AMS, but I have too much pride, and shoved down a few granola bars and Slim-Jims with a few swigs of water and braved the sickness. Jeff, on the other hand, could not brave the sickness and yaked all over the trail, leaving a strong doubt in Tom and myself whether or not Jeff was going to be able to continue.
Well, he toughed it out, and soon enough on the 2 mile traverse to the summit, the end was in sight. It still took way too long to get there, but we summited at 8am. No one spoke for a while up at the summit, just trying to take it all in, both the view and the air. I laid down and took a 5 minute nap on the freezing cold rock right on the summit. It was glorious. After 30 minutes (which passed in seconds, it seems) we realized we needed to start moving down. Here is the view from the Top:
"What happened to the food?" you ask? Well, nothing at all. No marmots, bears, or other mini-bear critters got a hold of it. Of course not, it is us we are talking about...right? Nothing bad ever happens to Team Smell Bad.
Only two groups were ahead of us (from our side of the mountain), and we could see the winding trail that led up to the pass via headlamps of the other groups. As the hike progressed, pre-dawn light made it possible to hike without headlamps. We had to stop a few times for drink and food breaks...well, and for air. It was like we were swimming underwater and holding our breath: there was just no air. Every time we would stop it seemed like we could not catch our breath. This had a lot to do with being out of shape, a lot to do with being dehydrated and succumbing to AMS, and even more to do with there being no air at 13,000ft.
Sunrise was the most spectacular thing I think I have ever seen. Just rows and rows of mountains stretching out as far as the eye can see. The sky was blood-red, foretelling a hectic afternoon, so after a few pictures we pressed on toward the summit. After passing one of the two crews in front of us, we hit the pass, located at 13,600ft. Fatigue was really setting in, and I realized I had not eaten enough food, nor drank enough water because I was feeling too nauseous. This was obviously a sign of AMS, but I have too much pride, and shoved down a few granola bars and Slim-Jims with a few swigs of water and braved the sickness. Jeff, on the other hand, could not brave the sickness and yaked all over the trail, leaving a strong doubt in Tom and myself whether or not Jeff was going to be able to continue.
Well, he toughed it out, and soon enough on the 2 mile traverse to the summit, the end was in sight. It still took way too long to get there, but we summited at 8am. No one spoke for a while up at the summit, just trying to take it all in, both the view and the air. I laid down and took a 5 minute nap on the freezing cold rock right on the summit. It was glorious. After 30 minutes (which passed in seconds, it seems) we realized we needed to start moving down. Here is the view from the Top:
Going down always proves to be much faster than going up, but no less pain. The pain is different, but just as bad. Our legs, knees, and feet start to ache maddeningly with each step. We want to stop, but would rather stop at the bottom, where there is no more hiking to done. As the hike progresses, the switchbacks never seem to end, and the heat just rises and rises as we descend into the desert and into the afternoon. Once back at the car, packs drop, legs drop, and altitude quickly drops on the way back into Lone Pine.
The usual Double Cheeseburger and soda were awaiting us at McDonald's (I hate the food and the company, but dang they are cheap!). Into Death Valley we sped headlong, until we hit mountain range after mountain range in my badly wounded vehicle. The car had not had an oil change YET on the trip, which put around 6500 miles of really hard, overloaded, rough driving on the engine with no lubed relief. Oh, and did I mention it was driving through Death Valley? So after we passed our lowest point in the trip (altitude-wise) at -190 ft below sea level, the car could not negotiate the mountain ranges and the 120+ degree heat...and the needle began to rise. Immediately the AC was turned off. The air was being circulated in the car, so it stayed cool...for about 4 minutes. As we climbed higher, the temperature inside the car also rose, and the speed of the vehicle dropped inversely to the temps, and was peaking at around 25mph. Finally we topped a pass, and it was all downhill into Vegas...
But not without a stop in Paducah. That's right, Paducah, NV: a small, quaint desert town that has too many rednecks and not enough cowboys (that are sober). As we roll in, the decision is made to put at least 2 quarts into the engine, which is undoubtedly running on sand as lubricant at this point in time. At the first gas station we encounter, oil is purchased, and the restroom of the adjacent bar is utilized. Inside which, I found all the cowboys in the town (it was 5 o'clock somewhere, I am sure), and as I left the following scene played itself out:
A woman was on her cell phone near a broken-down camper. A truck pulls into the parking lot squealing like a bat out of Hell. A man and a woman jump out of the truck, inspect the camper, and then the man approaches the woman that was on the phone. The exchange heats up quickly, fingers are pointed, obscenities are yelled, and something about "knowing where you live" was shouted. During this, the other patrons of the gas station had stopped pumping their gas and were just watching the scene unfold. We were doing no such thing. As soon as the conversation became audible to us, we moved like a fine-tuned machine to get the oil in the engine, gas topped off, hood closed, and car out of the lot in 20 seconds flat. There was one unifying thought that was running through all of our minds: I do NOT want to die in Paducah Nevada. Well, we didn't.
A little while longer and the Vegas skyline came into view. We drove right onto the Strip, jaws on the floor as we ogled the shear extravagance of the city. Before we knew it, we were checked into our hotel, beer was purchased, and we were already hitting the town. However, because of all the excitement of the day (summit, desert, Paducah, Vegas!), we neglected to eat any food. This will continue well into the next day...
So we go to the first casino we see and order a round of Jager Bombs. Jager for two reasons: One, it is the best liqueur ever made. Two, we needed a little wake-up after the drive. We were also under the impression that it was cheap to drink in Vegas. Well, when the bartender said "that is $11 apiece" we thought we must have truly misheard him. Apparently not. Well, we coughed it up and hit the casino floor a little miffed. Oh well, that was soon forgotten when we learned the secret to Vegas: nickel and penny slots. Why, you ask? Well, because if you are gambling, the waitresses will bring you FREE drinks. Don't go to the bar to drink, they want you to gamble. Well, now that the cat was out of the bag, we drank for cheap the rest of the night, until I left for the Hooters casino, won a few bucks there, then jumped a few fences through construction sites and evaded some police to make my way back to the hotel to pass out.
Day Sixteen: Team Smell Bad, to the Rescue!
The drive back to Lone Pine was fairly quick, and since we knew we were only hiking 6 miles that day, that there was no real rush to get to the trail head. So after the ride to Lone Pine, a quick stop at the visitor center for directions and water, and of course two McDonald's double cheeseburger's for 99cents apiece....mmmm, good...we headed up to the trail head.
Of course, the car could only hit 30mph tops, but no biggie, we were in no hurry. A lot of people underestimate how fast we hike. Everyone we passes on the way up to Trail Camp, our destination for the night, looked at us like we were crazy for starting so late (2pm). Well, we were only hiking to 12,000ft, we were not hiking on any ridges, and the storms had pretty much missed us. There was a little rain, but we heard no thunder or anything, and many of the people coming down said it would take us 6 or more hours to get up there. HA! Although, no lie, it was tough as hell hiking up that mountain. I am not exactly what people would call a symbol of health, and we are low-landers, so the altitude and physical exertion are killing us. And the heat. It was 100 degrees at 8500 feet. That is hot. We were glad for the rain, it made the hiking a little more bearable. On our way up, we run into some people from the day before and the permit lottery. They looked like they were having a swell time...
Now, we were surprised at how many people were still coming down the mountain at 6pm. We figured that the people would have wanted to get off the mountain by 1pm tops. We were right outside Trail Camp, 4.4 miles from the summit, and there were many people still coming back from the top at 6pm. It seems to me that someone should know that you can't be up on a 14'er that late in the day, especially in late July, when it thunderstorms everyday up there. No wonder there is a large plaque that warns against lightning strikes...stupid yuppies...
Anyhow, that was about the time we ran into some people who were looking for cell reception. We did not help them out with that (although ours may have worked), and we then learn that there was an elderly woman, in her late 60's, suffering from hypothermia about a quarter mile from us. This gave us a little adrenaline boost as we rushed to her aid. She had about 4 people trying to help her eat and drink fluids. But after assessing the situation and interviewing the help, I see that the woman is in a bad spot. Quick rundown: she is in an emergency blanket, but is wet from a hailstorm earlier in the day; her clothes are wet; she has been sitting for half an hour and had not felt rested; she is shivering and can stop on command, but only momentarily; she is at 12,000ft; it is 6pm and the sun is setting; she is not able to eat or drink much; she is as old as time itself. Not a good situation. So, we drop packs, get a pot of water heated, fill it with half-strength Gatorade, get it in a Nalgene and against and in her belly in 4 minutes flat. We instruct her to eat, and with warm fluids she is able to eat easier, and within minutes we have her up and walking, with help, but walking down in elevation regardless. A job well done for Team Smell Bad (a whole other story if you don't know it. I may go into it at a later date).
So our campsite (thankfully pointed out to us by our nice neighbors) was pretty sweet. Flat spots made by people many years ago by removing tons of rocks and making really nice wind shelters with them. We filled our water in the most pristine mountain lake I have ever seen, with a vanish point view of the sky right over the Eastern edge of the lake...just absolutely amazing. After filling water, we cook an amazing dinner of Ramen and chicken in a can, we realize that I have brought way too much food to fit it all in the bear canister. We figure what are the odds of a bear up here? Although we all know it is high, the food is stashed under a massive rock and is wedged in with the bear canister. We would see if that worked...
Then after a little wondering around, we hit the sack, prepared to wake before the crack of dawn and hit the trail by 4am.
Of course, the car could only hit 30mph tops, but no biggie, we were in no hurry. A lot of people underestimate how fast we hike. Everyone we passes on the way up to Trail Camp, our destination for the night, looked at us like we were crazy for starting so late (2pm). Well, we were only hiking to 12,000ft, we were not hiking on any ridges, and the storms had pretty much missed us. There was a little rain, but we heard no thunder or anything, and many of the people coming down said it would take us 6 or more hours to get up there. HA! Although, no lie, it was tough as hell hiking up that mountain. I am not exactly what people would call a symbol of health, and we are low-landers, so the altitude and physical exertion are killing us. And the heat. It was 100 degrees at 8500 feet. That is hot. We were glad for the rain, it made the hiking a little more bearable. On our way up, we run into some people from the day before and the permit lottery. They looked like they were having a swell time...
Now, we were surprised at how many people were still coming down the mountain at 6pm. We figured that the people would have wanted to get off the mountain by 1pm tops. We were right outside Trail Camp, 4.4 miles from the summit, and there were many people still coming back from the top at 6pm. It seems to me that someone should know that you can't be up on a 14'er that late in the day, especially in late July, when it thunderstorms everyday up there. No wonder there is a large plaque that warns against lightning strikes...stupid yuppies...
Anyhow, that was about the time we ran into some people who were looking for cell reception. We did not help them out with that (although ours may have worked), and we then learn that there was an elderly woman, in her late 60's, suffering from hypothermia about a quarter mile from us. This gave us a little adrenaline boost as we rushed to her aid. She had about 4 people trying to help her eat and drink fluids. But after assessing the situation and interviewing the help, I see that the woman is in a bad spot. Quick rundown: she is in an emergency blanket, but is wet from a hailstorm earlier in the day; her clothes are wet; she has been sitting for half an hour and had not felt rested; she is shivering and can stop on command, but only momentarily; she is at 12,000ft; it is 6pm and the sun is setting; she is not able to eat or drink much; she is as old as time itself. Not a good situation. So, we drop packs, get a pot of water heated, fill it with half-strength Gatorade, get it in a Nalgene and against and in her belly in 4 minutes flat. We instruct her to eat, and with warm fluids she is able to eat easier, and within minutes we have her up and walking, with help, but walking down in elevation regardless. A job well done for Team Smell Bad (a whole other story if you don't know it. I may go into it at a later date).
So our campsite (thankfully pointed out to us by our nice neighbors) was pretty sweet. Flat spots made by people many years ago by removing tons of rocks and making really nice wind shelters with them. We filled our water in the most pristine mountain lake I have ever seen, with a vanish point view of the sky right over the Eastern edge of the lake...just absolutely amazing. After filling water, we cook an amazing dinner of Ramen and chicken in a can, we realize that I have brought way too much food to fit it all in the bear canister. We figure what are the odds of a bear up here? Although we all know it is high, the food is stashed under a massive rock and is wedged in with the bear canister. We would see if that worked...
Then after a little wondering around, we hit the sack, prepared to wake before the crack of dawn and hit the trail by 4am.
Day Fifteen: I Can't Drive...35?
We leave Josh's in the wee morning hours--around 7 or so--and make our way back up the state towards Lone Pine, CA. Lone Pine is located right in between Death Valley (the lowest point in the US) and Mt. Whitney (the highest point in the lower 48 states). We arrive in Lone Pine around 11am, with no permits to climb Mt. Whitney and no idea where to get them if there are any available. The visitor center sounded like a good plan, and we arrive just in time to enter the lottery for available permits to climb the mountain. With much undo suspense, we receive overnight permits for the next two days.
However, no one wants to hang around Lone Pine for the night, so without much hesitation, the car keeps its heading and finds our campsite for the night: Yosemite. On the way into Yosemite, we had to drive through Tioga Pass, which is at 9945 feet above sea level. Well, my car was way overloaded, way overheated, way over on an oil change, and way underpowered to make the climb needed to pass through Tioga Pass. With the gas pedal fully depressed, the car refused to go more than 30 miles an hour. Many of the cars that were passing us on the uphills, we had passed earlier doing twice their speed, now they were doing twice ours. Damn you 1.5 liter Mazda engine! Yeah, it was slow...
Once through Tioga Pass, we drove straight to the campsite and prepared for a quick little jaunt through the woods. Again, thanks to Backpacker Magazine's "Wildest Day Hikes" info, we avoid all the crowds and hike straight to North Dome--an easy 8+ mile round trip--and enjoy a full panoramic view of Half Dome, El Captain, and the rest of the valley. After a hour long, mostly quiet sit on the North Dome, we head back to our campsite at Porcupine Creek. Here was the veiw from North Dome:
Tom and Jeff cook up some Ramen and I attempt to read some before bed when suddenly: BEAR!! Tom yells and looks into the forest where a pair of eyes is watching us from the bush. We stare, it stares right back, we stare more...this goes on for a full minute before finally...the eyes bend down and pick up some grass in their mouth and start chewing it. Damn Mule deer! Anyhow, bedtime came not a minute too late.
However, no one wants to hang around Lone Pine for the night, so without much hesitation, the car keeps its heading and finds our campsite for the night: Yosemite. On the way into Yosemite, we had to drive through Tioga Pass, which is at 9945 feet above sea level. Well, my car was way overloaded, way overheated, way over on an oil change, and way underpowered to make the climb needed to pass through Tioga Pass. With the gas pedal fully depressed, the car refused to go more than 30 miles an hour. Many of the cars that were passing us on the uphills, we had passed earlier doing twice their speed, now they were doing twice ours. Damn you 1.5 liter Mazda engine! Yeah, it was slow...
Once through Tioga Pass, we drove straight to the campsite and prepared for a quick little jaunt through the woods. Again, thanks to Backpacker Magazine's "Wildest Day Hikes" info, we avoid all the crowds and hike straight to North Dome--an easy 8+ mile round trip--and enjoy a full panoramic view of Half Dome, El Captain, and the rest of the valley. After a hour long, mostly quiet sit on the North Dome, we head back to our campsite at Porcupine Creek. Here was the veiw from North Dome:
Tom and Jeff cook up some Ramen and I attempt to read some before bed when suddenly: BEAR!! Tom yells and looks into the forest where a pair of eyes is watching us from the bush. We stare, it stares right back, we stare more...this goes on for a full minute before finally...the eyes bend down and pick up some grass in their mouth and start chewing it. Damn Mule deer! Anyhow, bedtime came not a minute too late.
Day Fourteen: Surf's Up!
More days that need to be described with exclamation points...apparently. Anyhow, awoke late in the morning, put on swim trunks, and followed Josh to the airport to return his rental car. Almost died on the way, damn traffic, I had to quickly change lanes doing 90, miss a van, and yank back to make an exit. It was fun.
So, back to Josh's, all in my car now, and we hit up an In N' Out again. Again, amazing. We all got our stuff Animal Style, which is not on the menu, also known as a secret item. It is where you are able to order a second and third heart attack with one order! Think of the possibilities!
Then to Redondo Beach we went. It was pretty cool, we walked a long way down before deciding to turn back, then swim. The tide was coming in and the undertow was very strong, but the waves were perfect for body surfing. I have never been in such good surf. Although, there was one downside: uneven ground. One second you would be in waist high water, the next second you could not touch the ground and were inhaling the entire wave that has engulfed you...that, and the undertow kept pulling you out, even if you wanted to stay. But, we were fine, body surfed for a while, then made our way back to the car. We drove around the mansions that line the cliffs on the Pacific for a bit, then went back to Josh's apartment to get ready for dinner downtown.
We went to _(insert name of eatery here)_ , and after we were seated and looked at the menu, we all kinda realized that it was somewhat out of our price range. So, a consensus and reached pretty quickly: split two large platters between the four of us. The waitress recognized right away that we were hungry, poor young adults, and she quickly brought us some bread. It did not survive long. The platters came, and we went at them like Tasmanian Devils. In 20 minutes flat, we were in and out of the restaurant, full and happy. We walk around towards the docks for a while, then head back to the car. None of us drink too much back at the apartment, and sleep comes quickly.
So, back to Josh's, all in my car now, and we hit up an In N' Out again. Again, amazing. We all got our stuff Animal Style, which is not on the menu, also known as a secret item. It is where you are able to order a second and third heart attack with one order! Think of the possibilities!
Then to Redondo Beach we went. It was pretty cool, we walked a long way down before deciding to turn back, then swim. The tide was coming in and the undertow was very strong, but the waves were perfect for body surfing. I have never been in such good surf. Although, there was one downside: uneven ground. One second you would be in waist high water, the next second you could not touch the ground and were inhaling the entire wave that has engulfed you...that, and the undertow kept pulling you out, even if you wanted to stay. But, we were fine, body surfed for a while, then made our way back to the car. We drove around the mansions that line the cliffs on the Pacific for a bit, then went back to Josh's apartment to get ready for dinner downtown.
We went to _(insert name of eatery here)_ , and after we were seated and looked at the menu, we all kinda realized that it was somewhat out of our price range. So, a consensus and reached pretty quickly: split two large platters between the four of us. The waitress recognized right away that we were hungry, poor young adults, and she quickly brought us some bread. It did not survive long. The platters came, and we went at them like Tasmanian Devils. In 20 minutes flat, we were in and out of the restaurant, full and happy. We walk around towards the docks for a while, then head back to the car. None of us drink too much back at the apartment, and sleep comes quickly.
Day Thirteen: Just Our Luck
Up and at 'em in San Fran. Looks like it may be another dreary day, but by the time we hit the Presidio, the sun is out and it begins to look like a great day. We hang out in the park for a while, then head to downtown to find the Beatnik bookstore and Chinatown. We decide to find the curviest street in the world, Lombard Street. We miss our first turn, so we take the second which leads up up a very steep hill (the car was crawling at this point, so overloaded and no horsepower), and at the top of the hill, alas, was Lombard street directly to our left...we miss it the first time. No worries, Tom makes an easy u-turn, and we simply take a right onto Lombard.
Well, I say simply. That's how it happened, but I am the only one who sees the mile-long line of cars waiting on Lombard street to go down it. But, as we approach the road, we have right-of-way, take our right-hand turn, and cut off hundreds of people wanting to turn down the road...oh well, just like with the hikers in Glacier: you snooze, you lose. Especially because anyone could have found out that the Lombard does not carry the right-of-way and they could have chosen to go our way. But, once again, we prevail and park at the bottom of Lombard and make our way south down Columbia. We pass Little Italy, we pass some historic landmarks (thoughtfully pointed out to us by a passing tour bus, whose driver was on a loud speaker. As he passed us, he jokingly told us it would be $5 for the info), we start to get hungry as we pass more and more restaurants. The decision is made to eat at a small Italian place, where we get lunch specials, and it is the best Italian we have ever eaten (we were hungry, mind you). So from there we browse City Lights, aka the Beatnik Bookstore. It is where Bob Dylan, Jack Kerouac, and Allen Ginsburg would hang out. It is the largest collection of Beat literature in the world. It was pretty sweet, and I should have bought a book. But oh well, I am sure I will return.
We move on to Chinatown, through it, and back again in search for the Golden Gate cookie factory, which was closed that day. So we leave Chinatown and its busy streets and good smells, and head back for the car, which is and hour overdue in its two hour spot. No worries, cause once again we have escaped a ticket. We move the car a block or two down to the wharfs. They were okay, lots of people, lots of tourist traps, not a whole lot to do without spending money. We get back to the car after an hour of meandering and looking through a spy shop, then drive on to LA.
Traffic blew. We left SF at 2 or so, and it took 3+ hours to get through Oakland to Hwy 15. Then several more hours into LA. We saw one of the best sunsets of the trip on the into LA. Then LA traffic was awesome, 55mph speed limits, traffic going 80+mph, no one caring about the speed limit. It was sweet. Show up at Josh's at around 11 or so, we eat the best burgers I have ever had, and pass out on his floor cause he has no furniture as of yet.
Well, I say simply. That's how it happened, but I am the only one who sees the mile-long line of cars waiting on Lombard street to go down it. But, as we approach the road, we have right-of-way, take our right-hand turn, and cut off hundreds of people wanting to turn down the road...oh well, just like with the hikers in Glacier: you snooze, you lose. Especially because anyone could have found out that the Lombard does not carry the right-of-way and they could have chosen to go our way. But, once again, we prevail and park at the bottom of Lombard and make our way south down Columbia. We pass Little Italy, we pass some historic landmarks (thoughtfully pointed out to us by a passing tour bus, whose driver was on a loud speaker. As he passed us, he jokingly told us it would be $5 for the info), we start to get hungry as we pass more and more restaurants. The decision is made to eat at a small Italian place, where we get lunch specials, and it is the best Italian we have ever eaten (we were hungry, mind you). So from there we browse City Lights, aka the Beatnik Bookstore. It is where Bob Dylan, Jack Kerouac, and Allen Ginsburg would hang out. It is the largest collection of Beat literature in the world. It was pretty sweet, and I should have bought a book. But oh well, I am sure I will return.
We move on to Chinatown, through it, and back again in search for the Golden Gate cookie factory, which was closed that day. So we leave Chinatown and its busy streets and good smells, and head back for the car, which is and hour overdue in its two hour spot. No worries, cause once again we have escaped a ticket. We move the car a block or two down to the wharfs. They were okay, lots of people, lots of tourist traps, not a whole lot to do without spending money. We get back to the car after an hour of meandering and looking through a spy shop, then drive on to LA.
Traffic blew. We left SF at 2 or so, and it took 3+ hours to get through Oakland to Hwy 15. Then several more hours into LA. We saw one of the best sunsets of the trip on the into LA. Then LA traffic was awesome, 55mph speed limits, traffic going 80+mph, no one caring about the speed limit. It was sweet. Show up at Josh's at around 11 or so, we eat the best burgers I have ever had, and pass out on his floor cause he has no furniture as of yet.
Day Twelve: Scrimshaw!
Rise and shine at the hotel, pack the car, get it dropped off at the garage by noon...and we decide to take a stroll around Ft. Bragg. When out of left field comes a brewery. And not just any brewery, but the West Coast Brewing Co. You know, Scrimshaw and Red Seal and such? Well, if you don't know, now you know. We talked to the nice, weird old man from Georgia. He told us all the secrets of the company, his favorite brews, the diamonds in the rough to look out for, and of course, where to find the 11-beer on-tap sampler, which was...right across the street.
So, it was past noon (I have scruples, whatever that means), and we drink two sample packs between the three of us. After the drinks, we walked a little further, then back to the car and a long, foggy drive into San Fran. Near the Golden Gate Bridge, Tom spots the one place he had been pining for on the opposite side of the highway: In N' Out Burger. We cross 5 lanes of traffic right onto the exit ramp at 80+mph, squealing tires the whole way. The exit was confusing, and it took us 5 or so minutes to find our way to the other side of the highway. But oh was it worth it. After eating food that Adam and Eve must have surely eaten in Eden, we hit the road.
Through San Fran, down to South San Fran, to the hotel. Once at the hotel, a quick few drinks and then bedtime...not a real busy day.
So, it was past noon (I have scruples, whatever that means), and we drink two sample packs between the three of us. After the drinks, we walked a little further, then back to the car and a long, foggy drive into San Fran. Near the Golden Gate Bridge, Tom spots the one place he had been pining for on the opposite side of the highway: In N' Out Burger. We cross 5 lanes of traffic right onto the exit ramp at 80+mph, squealing tires the whole way. The exit was confusing, and it took us 5 or so minutes to find our way to the other side of the highway. But oh was it worth it. After eating food that Adam and Eve must have surely eaten in Eden, we hit the road.
Through San Fran, down to South San Fran, to the hotel. Once at the hotel, a quick few drinks and then bedtime...not a real busy day.
Day Eleven: California! (is good to the homeless)
We wake to rain. It never ends. Our car leaves the campground on Oregon's coast at 6am (really this time) without paying our mandatory $15--cheapest place to put a tent on the ground on all of Oregon's coastline, screw that--and it drives until it needs its last tank, which, unfortunately, has to be filled in Oregon.
You can't fill you own tank in Oregon. You can't even swipe your card. Some schmuck comes to your window and does something that most people don't mind, and others even enjoy (at times): he pumps your gas. What a lame law. More importantly, gas is more expensive so it can pay for their pumpers' salaries, and you are expected to give a tip. Well, the only gratuity our pumpers got was the ability to be in our presence, because we don't have the dough to pass out to every bum that can hold a handle down.
Still raining. Then we hit the California border, and it was like coming to the promised land: sunshine. Kid you not, the sun was shining within 20 miles of the Cali border. Oregon? HA! what a lame state...then came the Redwoods. Giant pillars of living tissue that tower over our insignificant, short-lived existences. They are old, they are big, they have seen more than we can ever hope to see, and all in a quiet reserve that can only be found in...well, trees. They were cool, we drove through one, it was also cool.
Then the brakes in the car gave way. Completely. It was overloaded by 1000+ pounds, was being driven fast, and was going through the mountains. The pads melted completely off. All we could hear was caliper-on-rotor grinding, and it was not the pleasant kind of grinding. So the trip temporarily stopped in Ft. Bragg, CA., to get the rotor replaced. All was not lost, nay, all was gained! The beach was at our disposal, wi-fi Internet and beds were found at my dad's credit card's disposal, and showers were had by all. We got food and beer, drank and ate, hit the beach, hit eachother, then hit the sack...all-in-all a good day.
You can't fill you own tank in Oregon. You can't even swipe your card. Some schmuck comes to your window and does something that most people don't mind, and others even enjoy (at times): he pumps your gas. What a lame law. More importantly, gas is more expensive so it can pay for their pumpers' salaries, and you are expected to give a tip. Well, the only gratuity our pumpers got was the ability to be in our presence, because we don't have the dough to pass out to every bum that can hold a handle down.
Still raining. Then we hit the California border, and it was like coming to the promised land: sunshine. Kid you not, the sun was shining within 20 miles of the Cali border. Oregon? HA! what a lame state...then came the Redwoods. Giant pillars of living tissue that tower over our insignificant, short-lived existences. They are old, they are big, they have seen more than we can ever hope to see, and all in a quiet reserve that can only be found in...well, trees. They were cool, we drove through one, it was also cool.
Then the brakes in the car gave way. Completely. It was overloaded by 1000+ pounds, was being driven fast, and was going through the mountains. The pads melted completely off. All we could hear was caliper-on-rotor grinding, and it was not the pleasant kind of grinding. So the trip temporarily stopped in Ft. Bragg, CA., to get the rotor replaced. All was not lost, nay, all was gained! The beach was at our disposal, wi-fi Internet and beds were found at my dad's credit card's disposal, and showers were had by all. We got food and beer, drank and ate, hit the beach, hit eachother, then hit the sack...all-in-all a good day.
Day Ten: Rain, Rain, Go Away!
I wake to the sound of car doors closing, check my watch: 6:15am. We are late. I hurriedly pack my stuff and grab the guys and we make a quick breakdown. That's when we realize: we've no water. Between the three of us, about two and a quarter liter. Well, that won't do at all, and there are no facilities around us to get water. But alas, eureka! There is snow in them thar' hills, and therefore there must be water, we naively thought.
So, caution into the wind, we head out and put tread to trail, with three-quarter liter apiece. No problem, I said, we will stop at the first stream we cross, and the second and third if necessary, for I thought if this was anything like Glacier, there will be too much water for us. Well, the entire mountain is made of pumice and sand. That's it. Imagine trying to get water out of a sandcastle and a rock. Well, it wasn't happening. So we packed snow into our water bladders, and hoped that our hiking and sloshing around will help melt some more water into our systems. Which it did, but in no where near the needed quantities...but that was a problem for later.
So we start up the mountain proper, and we realize we are second-in-line on trail for the summit...easy pickings for men the likes of us. We quickly pass our neighbors in front of us (they are from Portland, so they are practically locals. Again, useful later). So we make our way up into the clouds...before we were in open space and could see Mt. Rainer and the other surrounding peaks, but now we are quickly being shrouded in a cold, wet, white blanket of fog. As the fog thickens, the temps drop, and as the air thins, the temps drop faster, and the wind picks up, at which point the temps drop even more (do you get the picture yet? IT GETS COLD). The trail markers--8 ft. tall wooden posts located every 100+ feet or so--become hard to follow, then impossible. We meander in the whiteness until a post is spotted, head to it, and meander again. Then, a possible sign of hope. We find a seismic station. At this point, we throw on a few more layers (I still go in shorts, the most telling sign of a fat-man, shorts in a snowstorm), we eat a bit, and have no idea where to proceed from here.
Along comes the Portlanders, who give us some beta on the trail ahead, and they take their much needed rest and recuperation before their final push. We move on. the rock fields drop away below us and we climb what could only loosely be called a scree field. Anyone who has hiked above treeline in the west knows what a real scree field is, and is not it. This is sand. Lots of sand, as a matter of fact, Mt. St. Helen's is probably the Nation's largest sand hill. The going got tough, and the tough got slow and winded. The cold mist and driving wind did not help either. Being low (or out, in my case) on water did not help, as well. But we trudged on, one foot in front of the other, and suddenly, although we could not prove it through any amount of visual evidence--visibility was 25' at best--we were on the rim.
It was, well, intense. The landscape dropped away from us on all sides, the wind bore into us at a bracing 60mph, and frost was forming on the edges of my facial hair (which had long since lost its "goatee" definition, and was now on its way to an odd beard-goat hybrid). We all knew there was only one thing to do: take video.
As the cameras came out, it became one more of those things where we all realized it was a perfect opportunity for something, but only one of us had the words to describe it. Here is my video on youtube.com:
We made quick work of the sand hill below us. Running at full speed, one can make it down in minutes the same mountain that took over an hour to come up. Soon we had passed our Portland counterparts, and were back in the white-out rock fields. Halfway down, no one knows if we are on trail or not. Footprints are rare and scattered, which is no help because most of the trail is on rock anyhow. Then I hear voices way to my left, and, thinking they were coming up a snowfield, I decided to investigate and see how their trek was fairing. But, after a minute or so, it became evident that they were not on the snow, but on a trail a hundred yards from us on the other side of the snowfield. We had somehow placed a large snowbank between us and the trail! Some sly footwork and a few close calls later, we were on our way back to the car on the main trail once again.
By the time we got to the car, it was raining in almost full force, at noon. (oh yeah, it seems my watch was still an hour ahead, and we started at 5:30, not 6:30...oops). And it did not stop raining, even as we arrived at our campsite in southern Oregon at almost midnight. At which point, the mosquitoes were as thick as the rain, and we made camp and fell asleep quickly.
So, caution into the wind, we head out and put tread to trail, with three-quarter liter apiece. No problem, I said, we will stop at the first stream we cross, and the second and third if necessary, for I thought if this was anything like Glacier, there will be too much water for us. Well, the entire mountain is made of pumice and sand. That's it. Imagine trying to get water out of a sandcastle and a rock. Well, it wasn't happening. So we packed snow into our water bladders, and hoped that our hiking and sloshing around will help melt some more water into our systems. Which it did, but in no where near the needed quantities...but that was a problem for later.
So we start up the mountain proper, and we realize we are second-in-line on trail for the summit...easy pickings for men the likes of us. We quickly pass our neighbors in front of us (they are from Portland, so they are practically locals. Again, useful later). So we make our way up into the clouds...before we were in open space and could see Mt. Rainer and the other surrounding peaks, but now we are quickly being shrouded in a cold, wet, white blanket of fog. As the fog thickens, the temps drop, and as the air thins, the temps drop faster, and the wind picks up, at which point the temps drop even more (do you get the picture yet? IT GETS COLD). The trail markers--8 ft. tall wooden posts located every 100+ feet or so--become hard to follow, then impossible. We meander in the whiteness until a post is spotted, head to it, and meander again. Then, a possible sign of hope. We find a seismic station. At this point, we throw on a few more layers (I still go in shorts, the most telling sign of a fat-man, shorts in a snowstorm), we eat a bit, and have no idea where to proceed from here.
Along comes the Portlanders, who give us some beta on the trail ahead, and they take their much needed rest and recuperation before their final push. We move on. the rock fields drop away below us and we climb what could only loosely be called a scree field. Anyone who has hiked above treeline in the west knows what a real scree field is, and is not it. This is sand. Lots of sand, as a matter of fact, Mt. St. Helen's is probably the Nation's largest sand hill. The going got tough, and the tough got slow and winded. The cold mist and driving wind did not help either. Being low (or out, in my case) on water did not help, as well. But we trudged on, one foot in front of the other, and suddenly, although we could not prove it through any amount of visual evidence--visibility was 25' at best--we were on the rim.
It was, well, intense. The landscape dropped away from us on all sides, the wind bore into us at a bracing 60mph, and frost was forming on the edges of my facial hair (which had long since lost its "goatee" definition, and was now on its way to an odd beard-goat hybrid). We all knew there was only one thing to do: take video.
As the cameras came out, it became one more of those things where we all realized it was a perfect opportunity for something, but only one of us had the words to describe it. Here is my video on youtube.com:
We made quick work of the sand hill below us. Running at full speed, one can make it down in minutes the same mountain that took over an hour to come up. Soon we had passed our Portland counterparts, and were back in the white-out rock fields. Halfway down, no one knows if we are on trail or not. Footprints are rare and scattered, which is no help because most of the trail is on rock anyhow. Then I hear voices way to my left, and, thinking they were coming up a snowfield, I decided to investigate and see how their trek was fairing. But, after a minute or so, it became evident that they were not on the snow, but on a trail a hundred yards from us on the other side of the snowfield. We had somehow placed a large snowbank between us and the trail! Some sly footwork and a few close calls later, we were on our way back to the car on the main trail once again.
By the time we got to the car, it was raining in almost full force, at noon. (oh yeah, it seems my watch was still an hour ahead, and we started at 5:30, not 6:30...oops). And it did not stop raining, even as we arrived at our campsite in southern Oregon at almost midnight. At which point, the mosquitoes were as thick as the rain, and we made camp and fell asleep quickly.
Day Nine: A Little Bit O'Sunshine
Morning at the Terry(i)'s consisted of packing the car, and saying goodbye--for the moment--to Jeff, who was sticking around the house to visit with the relatives (his Grandparents were making visit as well). So Tom and I hit the town, and Seattle did not disappoint. We found easy parking mid-day, walked around and found the greatest little sushi restaurant (Shiro's, for the inquisitive), and then started on the town. There are tons of great sights, like the Pioneer Square, which is packed with lots of large and small sculptures and works of modern art. Or move onto the Science Fiction Museum and Hall of Fame and the Music Hall of Fame (both in the same building that seems to have been inspired by the Guggenheim). Or, if it is too pricey for you (as it was us, we were content to just walk by it and get a little relief from an afternoon shower), then just next door is the 1962 World's Fair area, now an arcade, small amusement park, and the Space Needle are all that's left of the post-World War, mid-Cold War distraction.
Speaking of distractions, if you are looking to hit on some hot single moms, arcade halls are the way to go. We just stopped in for a second, and were suddenly surrounded by hot moms with kids, or hot babysitters with kids, or just hot women that happen to stroll in areas where kids frequent...either way, lots of very attractive women there (not all older women either, but some).
So, enough of being distracted, after stopping by a Quick 'E Mart (that's right, Simpson's fans, if you don't know about them, then Google(TM) it, cause I know you will anyway), we made a few wrong turns back to the car (attempting to pay the man...the meter man) and after a long round about walk, made our way back downtown. Our new mission: coffee. Famous Seattle coffee. None for me of course, but Tom was jonesing, so we made our way to the most local-looking shop (and not that one famous Seattle coffee place either, we can get that anywhere...and we don't get it then anyway). After finding a "cafe", we head back to the waterfront...
...and follow the music in the air to the madhouse that is the Pier area. Shops, stores, restaurants, and people, hundreds of people, are packed, stacked, and racked in a tiny strip of real estate that is the Seattle Pier area. Think of Egyptian bazaar, or, if you want a more vivid thought, Indian bazaar or Turkish bazaar (why more vivid, you ask? I don't know, but I bet you did think of a more vivid place...and that was the point). So Tom and I shuffled our way through the crowds, not willing to spend more money, and realize we are glad we did not find this place earlier, for we have to go find Jeff, and are glad to be pulled away from that madness.
After much confusion, we find Jeff (or he finds us, whatever story your mind may find easier to digest) and hit the road for Mt. St. Helen's. Not too bad a drive, be pick up our climbing permits at a local store, and move on to find food. We happen upon a nice little place called the Cougar Bar in none other than Cougar, WA.
Well, we were only slightly disappointed by the severe lack of advertised "cougars," but the food and beer met our caloric and spiritual needs and we hit the road again towards our campsite. Once at camp, we packed all our gear for an early morning summit bid. But, before any good night's rest could be had, I apparently had passed out too soon, and was snoring loud enough to illicit the complaints of the neighboring campsites. Once Tom yelled enough to wake me, I denied all allegations, and promptly went back to sleep. Well, prove I was snoring? You can't, and I rest my case, and eyes, for tomorrow.
Speaking of distractions, if you are looking to hit on some hot single moms, arcade halls are the way to go. We just stopped in for a second, and were suddenly surrounded by hot moms with kids, or hot babysitters with kids, or just hot women that happen to stroll in areas where kids frequent...either way, lots of very attractive women there (not all older women either, but some).
So, enough of being distracted, after stopping by a Quick 'E Mart (that's right, Simpson's fans, if you don't know about them, then Google(TM) it, cause I know you will anyway), we made a few wrong turns back to the car (attempting to pay the man...the meter man) and after a long round about walk, made our way back downtown. Our new mission: coffee. Famous Seattle coffee. None for me of course, but Tom was jonesing, so we made our way to the most local-looking shop (and not that one famous Seattle coffee place either, we can get that anywhere...and we don't get it then anyway). After finding a "cafe", we head back to the waterfront...
...and follow the music in the air to the madhouse that is the Pier area. Shops, stores, restaurants, and people, hundreds of people, are packed, stacked, and racked in a tiny strip of real estate that is the Seattle Pier area. Think of Egyptian bazaar, or, if you want a more vivid thought, Indian bazaar or Turkish bazaar (why more vivid, you ask? I don't know, but I bet you did think of a more vivid place...and that was the point). So Tom and I shuffled our way through the crowds, not willing to spend more money, and realize we are glad we did not find this place earlier, for we have to go find Jeff, and are glad to be pulled away from that madness.
After much confusion, we find Jeff (or he finds us, whatever story your mind may find easier to digest) and hit the road for Mt. St. Helen's. Not too bad a drive, be pick up our climbing permits at a local store, and move on to find food. We happen upon a nice little place called the Cougar Bar in none other than Cougar, WA.
Well, we were only slightly disappointed by the severe lack of advertised "cougars," but the food and beer met our caloric and spiritual needs and we hit the road again towards our campsite. Once at camp, we packed all our gear for an early morning summit bid. But, before any good night's rest could be had, I apparently had passed out too soon, and was snoring loud enough to illicit the complaints of the neighboring campsites. Once Tom yelled enough to wake me, I denied all allegations, and promptly went back to sleep. Well, prove I was snoring? You can't, and I rest my case, and eyes, for tomorrow.
Day Eight: The Terry(i)'s
We woke up and got out of the hotel right at checkout (another attractive woman at the counter, God bless Montana!) And we drove…all the way to Seattle. Very little stops because, well, there is nothing on the East side of Washington. In Seattle, we met the Terry(i)’s. They are Jeff’s Aunt and Uncle, Terri and Terry respectively. They are pretty nerdy.
They both play video games on huge individual LCD TV's.
They have automatic salt and pepper shakers.
They have automatic toilet seats that wash and bidet you, automatically.
They were living proof that the apple does not fall far from the tree.
So we were able to wash clothes there, and have a good dinner. So, what's the big deal with automatic salt and pepper shakers you say? Well, by automatic, I mean electric. Loud, electric motors which Terry liked to use, tactfully, when Terri was speaking as to drown out her voice. He had a satisfied, sly smile about him when he did this. They liked to argue, and had an odd, playful humor that I can only attribute to living in the Northwest. Interesting people overall, and they let us sleep there and that means they are good people in my book.
So we hit the town that night, just walking around in a stiff breeze up and down the streets of Seattle, looking for fun and trouble. Well, it is too cold for trouble, and the fun was to be found in one bar, which we drank at, left, and eventually returned to because it was our first love...or something like that. We (I) have a hard time finding bars that I (We) like. Trendy, dark bars are not for us (unless it is a Jazz club, but that is obviously not what I am referring to here, keep up). Pubs are more our nature, and naturally we gravitate towards them. Then into them. Then back to the Terry(i)'s for a good night's rest.
They both play video games on huge individual LCD TV's.
They have automatic salt and pepper shakers.
They have automatic toilet seats that wash and bidet you, automatically.
They were living proof that the apple does not fall far from the tree.
So we were able to wash clothes there, and have a good dinner. So, what's the big deal with automatic salt and pepper shakers you say? Well, by automatic, I mean electric. Loud, electric motors which Terry liked to use, tactfully, when Terri was speaking as to drown out her voice. He had a satisfied, sly smile about him when he did this. They liked to argue, and had an odd, playful humor that I can only attribute to living in the Northwest. Interesting people overall, and they let us sleep there and that means they are good people in my book.
So we hit the town that night, just walking around in a stiff breeze up and down the streets of Seattle, looking for fun and trouble. Well, it is too cold for trouble, and the fun was to be found in one bar, which we drank at, left, and eventually returned to because it was our first love...or something like that. We (I) have a hard time finding bars that I (We) like. Trendy, dark bars are not for us (unless it is a Jazz club, but that is obviously not what I am referring to here, keep up). Pubs are more our nature, and naturally we gravitate towards them. Then into them. Then back to the Terry(i)'s for a good night's rest.
Day Seven: A Saga in One Part
We wake at 6 and pack for a long day. Well, we woke and packed, the rest came to us later. Tom drove the hour to get to Lake McDonald inside West Glacier NP, hoping to catch an early bus up to Logan's Pass. While approaching the lake we pass a shuttle, and it happens to be our shuttle and to catch we must hurry to the pick-up, which no one knows where it lies. As we pull into the parking lot, there are around 6-7 people waiting at a corner, and we assume this is the pick-up and hurry to it. Turns out, as the shuttle comes by, this is not the pick-up, he just missed his turn and only has room for 3. As the people there start to explain that they have been waiting an hour for a bus because they were misinformed as to the whereabouts of the shuttle pick-up, we assume they are all mostly together and won't fill the 3 seats because they won't want to spit up their crew. We were wrong in this assumption...and now Jeff and I have a price on our heads and Tom, of course, has gotten away scott-free from the angered, lone hiker who we displaced on the first shuttle-run. Let's just hope we don't see him again!
So we ride up to the pass on a tiny little road made in the late 20's. It was really impressive for being that old. We climbed and we climbed, up to Logan's Pass. Once off the shuttle, we started on the Hidden Lake Trail. Here is a little video of the beginning:
I was out of breath from the altitude and the running we were doing. We jogged the last half of the trail down to Hidden Lake, crossed a little river, and circled around to the south side of the lake. Which turns out to be encircled with cliffs. Our Backpacker "Wildest Day hikes in America" guide did not tell us exactly where to go. So as we hike further and further into the dead-end that is the south side of the lake, we see a small window of hope: a waterfall in the southwest corner of the cirque.
Still, the outcome looks bleak. Even if we get through the waterfall, there is no guarantee that we can still scramble up the cleft in the cliff that is hidden from our view. It is a gamble, and we figure we can get a little wet...so we do. The water was...let's just say all the cold showers for the rest of my life have nothing to worry about; they won't even get close. And lo, the cleft was only a class 4 scramble and we were out. Before us lay the biggest, greenest, wettest(?) meadow we have ever seen. Glacier run-off fed scores of tiny streams and created a lush, vibrant underbrush and alpine grass meadow. After doing our best Sound of Music impressions (Jeff's, admittedly, is better than mine), we ate some lunch. I did not eat enough, this would come back to bite me in the arse*.
So we climb to the continental divide (albeit, a little too far to the east). We encounter a large, 2000+ foot cliff. It was surprising in the least, considering we thought we were going to be heading that direction (oh Backpacker, again!). We head back south down the divide and find a point to "drop" into Floral Park. If we had enough of a running start, we probably could have fallen the full 2000 feet right into the park. Instead, once we go down around 500 vertical, we clear the trees and decide to traverse the hill to avoid dropping 300 or so and having to climb it again...
Bad Idea. With Capital Letters. We learned our lesson that day: climbing up and down off trail is 1000 times better than attempted a multi-mile traverse of 40+ degree slopes. We will never forget this lesson, for the pain runs too deep to be washed away by any means.
Once this lesson was learned, we climbed down to Floral Park, and then back up to the glacial plateau that Sperry Glacier was perched upon. At about this time, disaster struck. We had noticed earlier at the Divide that we were taking a long time getting anywhere off trail in this wilderness. Suddenly it was 2pm, and we were completely exposed on the glacier, at 8000+ feet, with no ability to find cover if any storm where to come upon us. But, that was not the worst part.
Have you ever seen a star athlete cramp up and you just yell at the screen, "Suck it up! I have had cramps in sports before and I just dealt with it!" Well, I now know how it is to have debilitating cramps. Both my quads seized up fully, and no matter how hard I tried to force my way through, it was just not happening. So I rested about 5 minutes and took in some Gatorade, ate some fruit and jerky, and my legs felt better. For another 10 minutes. Then the same thing all over again. 5 min rest and eat and drink, 10 minutes of hiking, cramps again. This went on for a long time. I am stubborn, I refused to admit to injury and just kept forcing myself forwards. After about an hour of slow progress, I finally found a rhythm that allowed me to eat, drink, and walk with only mild cramping. So I went forwards, as time went forwards, in a crawl. Not literally, but effectively enough. 4 o'clock comes and goes, and we are a hundred yards from Corneau Pass. We have seen the thunderstorms building since 3. We blitz the top. The storms pass over us to our North, and we are, for the moment, safe.
Real quick, I know you have been reading a while (hell, we hiked a while, I just am trying to give you a taste of the pain), I would like to tell you a little about when to hike up to a peak or other exposed place like a ridge or a pass: do not attempt to hike up if there are storm clouds coming. Out West, pretty much anytime after 1 and before 6 is off limits. So imagine our surprise when we see 3 groups of people attempting to hike to Corneau Pass when there are storm clouds above. We justify our climb because we had really no choice and had to get off the mountain, but these people were day hiking! Anyhow, do not climb above 8000 feet on exposed ground where there are storm clouds above, it is a bad idea.
So then we start our long, harrowing 10 mile hike out of the park. It was all downhill. Our feet were soaked from snow, runoff, and sweat by this time and had what can only be called trench foot. Every step was painful, and we were totally exhausted. This is also when we had the most danger for running into Grizzly bears. Because the trail was so heavily vegetated, we ran the risk of startling a bear if we were to happen upon it. It was also dusk, so visibility was poor, and we could not see a bear off trail even though we were looking. So we made up "bear songs." Basically, normal songs where bear was substituted for random words. Once we were too tired to attempt these mutterings, we would just yell "BEAR!" before every switchback in hopes of alerting any non-informed bear of our approach.
Eventually, we arrive back at the car: bruised, bleeding (I cut my ankle pretty bad on a rock on the glacier), and totally wasted. We then decided not to drive all the way to Seattle that night, and to find a hotel in Kellispiell, MT. First, don't ever get a hotel there in the height of tourist season, because you can't anyway. Second, do get one because they are all staffed by really attractive teenage woman. The long search for a hotel--which we eventually found--was well worth seeing all the good looking help. Sleep was glorious, the shower was better, and I even got a cot for free....God bless Montana.
*for you, Mother
So we ride up to the pass on a tiny little road made in the late 20's. It was really impressive for being that old. We climbed and we climbed, up to Logan's Pass. Once off the shuttle, we started on the Hidden Lake Trail. Here is a little video of the beginning:
I was out of breath from the altitude and the running we were doing. We jogged the last half of the trail down to Hidden Lake, crossed a little river, and circled around to the south side of the lake. Which turns out to be encircled with cliffs. Our Backpacker "Wildest Day hikes in America" guide did not tell us exactly where to go. So as we hike further and further into the dead-end that is the south side of the lake, we see a small window of hope: a waterfall in the southwest corner of the cirque.
Still, the outcome looks bleak. Even if we get through the waterfall, there is no guarantee that we can still scramble up the cleft in the cliff that is hidden from our view. It is a gamble, and we figure we can get a little wet...so we do. The water was...let's just say all the cold showers for the rest of my life have nothing to worry about; they won't even get close. And lo, the cleft was only a class 4 scramble and we were out. Before us lay the biggest, greenest, wettest(?) meadow we have ever seen. Glacier run-off fed scores of tiny streams and created a lush, vibrant underbrush and alpine grass meadow. After doing our best Sound of Music impressions (Jeff's, admittedly, is better than mine), we ate some lunch. I did not eat enough, this would come back to bite me in the arse*.
So we climb to the continental divide (albeit, a little too far to the east). We encounter a large, 2000+ foot cliff. It was surprising in the least, considering we thought we were going to be heading that direction (oh Backpacker, again!). We head back south down the divide and find a point to "drop" into Floral Park. If we had enough of a running start, we probably could have fallen the full 2000 feet right into the park. Instead, once we go down around 500 vertical, we clear the trees and decide to traverse the hill to avoid dropping 300 or so and having to climb it again...
Bad Idea. With Capital Letters. We learned our lesson that day: climbing up and down off trail is 1000 times better than attempted a multi-mile traverse of 40+ degree slopes. We will never forget this lesson, for the pain runs too deep to be washed away by any means.
Once this lesson was learned, we climbed down to Floral Park, and then back up to the glacial plateau that Sperry Glacier was perched upon. At about this time, disaster struck. We had noticed earlier at the Divide that we were taking a long time getting anywhere off trail in this wilderness. Suddenly it was 2pm, and we were completely exposed on the glacier, at 8000+ feet, with no ability to find cover if any storm where to come upon us. But, that was not the worst part.
Have you ever seen a star athlete cramp up and you just yell at the screen, "Suck it up! I have had cramps in sports before and I just dealt with it!" Well, I now know how it is to have debilitating cramps. Both my quads seized up fully, and no matter how hard I tried to force my way through, it was just not happening. So I rested about 5 minutes and took in some Gatorade, ate some fruit and jerky, and my legs felt better. For another 10 minutes. Then the same thing all over again. 5 min rest and eat and drink, 10 minutes of hiking, cramps again. This went on for a long time. I am stubborn, I refused to admit to injury and just kept forcing myself forwards. After about an hour of slow progress, I finally found a rhythm that allowed me to eat, drink, and walk with only mild cramping. So I went forwards, as time went forwards, in a crawl. Not literally, but effectively enough. 4 o'clock comes and goes, and we are a hundred yards from Corneau Pass. We have seen the thunderstorms building since 3. We blitz the top. The storms pass over us to our North, and we are, for the moment, safe.
Real quick, I know you have been reading a while (hell, we hiked a while, I just am trying to give you a taste of the pain), I would like to tell you a little about when to hike up to a peak or other exposed place like a ridge or a pass: do not attempt to hike up if there are storm clouds coming. Out West, pretty much anytime after 1 and before 6 is off limits. So imagine our surprise when we see 3 groups of people attempting to hike to Corneau Pass when there are storm clouds above. We justify our climb because we had really no choice and had to get off the mountain, but these people were day hiking! Anyhow, do not climb above 8000 feet on exposed ground where there are storm clouds above, it is a bad idea.
So then we start our long, harrowing 10 mile hike out of the park. It was all downhill. Our feet were soaked from snow, runoff, and sweat by this time and had what can only be called trench foot. Every step was painful, and we were totally exhausted. This is also when we had the most danger for running into Grizzly bears. Because the trail was so heavily vegetated, we ran the risk of startling a bear if we were to happen upon it. It was also dusk, so visibility was poor, and we could not see a bear off trail even though we were looking. So we made up "bear songs." Basically, normal songs where bear was substituted for random words. Once we were too tired to attempt these mutterings, we would just yell "BEAR!" before every switchback in hopes of alerting any non-informed bear of our approach.
Eventually, we arrive back at the car: bruised, bleeding (I cut my ankle pretty bad on a rock on the glacier), and totally wasted. We then decided not to drive all the way to Seattle that night, and to find a hotel in Kellispiell, MT. First, don't ever get a hotel there in the height of tourist season, because you can't anyway. Second, do get one because they are all staffed by really attractive teenage woman. The long search for a hotel--which we eventually found--was well worth seeing all the good looking help. Sleep was glorious, the shower was better, and I even got a cot for free....God bless Montana.
*for you, Mother
Day Six: Yogi Jellystone
Woke up to a nice, home cooked breakfast in the Wind River range. We hit the road around 8 or so, a little later than we had the previous days, and made our way towards the Grand Tetons. Now, you would think that during the height of tourist season, road construction on the main road to the Tetons and Yellowstone would be at least efficient, much less somewhat convenient for the travelling tourist. But, alas, this was not the case. It took FOREVER to get even near the Tetons, which, of course, puts us back in my timetable (I don't understand it, everyone knows we have 10,000 miles to go in 25 days on this trip, but time for some reason is not a factor, and they are not willing to drive all night...we'll see...).
So we get there, pay too much for bear spay (again, saw that coming), and hit the Jenny Lake loop trail. This trail leads to Hidden Falls and Inspiration Point. We are hiking much faster than most the people there, stopping only once to take a closer look at the fattest marmot we have ever seen. Then after a short stint to the falls and the point, we jump onto the ferry that takes us back across Jenny Lake to save us an hour's hike, and hit the road to Yellowstone.
Yellowstone is huge. Really huge. Yellowstone has a park-wide 45 mph speed limit...or less, when indicated. This means it takes a long time to get through the park. Luckily the first place we hit, Old Faithful, is on our timetable and we see the ever cyclical eruption within minutes of our arrival...we move on to see many more geysers, springs, pots, mud puddles, and slow tourists to fill any vacation.
We then drive all night to Glacier NP, Montana. On the way we stop by a Walmart to find bear bells, where we learn that they are not only ineffective, but almost dangerous to wear. Good things to know considering Tom and I already had ours and were planning on wearing them. We are told to just sing and talk loudly instead, and will be able to use this advice soon enough. It is 2am when we arrive at the "campsite." It is an RV site, the only real "camping" Americans do these days apparently, so there are no spots for our tents, and we set up at the picnic table, in bear country. Needless to say we did not sleep well that night...
So we get there, pay too much for bear spay (again, saw that coming), and hit the Jenny Lake loop trail. This trail leads to Hidden Falls and Inspiration Point. We are hiking much faster than most the people there, stopping only once to take a closer look at the fattest marmot we have ever seen. Then after a short stint to the falls and the point, we jump onto the ferry that takes us back across Jenny Lake to save us an hour's hike, and hit the road to Yellowstone.
Yellowstone is huge. Really huge. Yellowstone has a park-wide 45 mph speed limit...or less, when indicated. This means it takes a long time to get through the park. Luckily the first place we hit, Old Faithful, is on our timetable and we see the ever cyclical eruption within minutes of our arrival...we move on to see many more geysers, springs, pots, mud puddles, and slow tourists to fill any vacation.
We then drive all night to Glacier NP, Montana. On the way we stop by a Walmart to find bear bells, where we learn that they are not only ineffective, but almost dangerous to wear. Good things to know considering Tom and I already had ours and were planning on wearing them. We are told to just sing and talk loudly instead, and will be able to use this advice soon enough. It is 2am when we arrive at the "campsite." It is an RV site, the only real "camping" Americans do these days apparently, so there are no spots for our tents, and we set up at the picnic table, in bear country. Needless to say we did not sleep well that night...
Day Five: Next of Kin
Did you know that the sun rises at 4am in the Badlands? Well, we learned quick, but that was okay with us, cause we got an hour head start on the day. Packed up camp, drove an hour to the trail head, and started hiking in the Badlands Palmer Creek unit by 6am. Our first hiking excursion was an omen for the rest of the trips in the coming days (or, it should have been seen that way from the start. Hindsight is good for these things). After a few miles of anxious hiking, waiting to “drop into the belly of the beast” according to our hiking guide (oh Backpacker, we have to talk!), we decide to follow a creek bed into the hills. After climbing the first “hill” and scraping ourselves up getting down, a whole new world lay ahead of us. Well, another valley and another ridge line of rock that needed to be scaled. And another. And another. For as far as we could see, this is all the Badlands were—ridges of seemingly impassible (and actually impassible, later) rock that went on forever. Eventually, we climbed the largest one we found, hoping to see if we could continue in that direction. Alas, we could not, because everything looked like a cliff, because it was. Cliffs. Everywhere. So, while debating a course of action: choose a cliff to go down to continue, go back, or find another route. Well, in the course of this decision, Jeff chooses to try a cliff that looks passable for at least the first half...but the rest was pretty sketchy. Jeff assured us he could make it. Well, about halfway across the traverse, Jeff started to slide, and to our horror, he slid about 6 feet, digging his elbows and knees and hands in the rock, leaving him with many scratches. Well, at the end of the slide, we realized no one could help him back up or down...he was now on his own.
This became a huge divide for us. We could not help him without seriously putting ourselves in danger. So we encouraged him to climb his way out to the ridge line, then down to us. Which he did, and we were all very grateful because if he were not able to do this, we don't know exactly what we would have done, for he would have been stuck wilth cliffs all around him. Well, live and learn, right?
At this point we realize we have already been hiking several hours, and need to turn around to be able to stay on time, but more importantly to beat the storm back to our car. We get sprinkled on a little, but all in all make it back okay, and then it was on to Mt. Rushmore.
Mt. Rushmore: you've seen it, we've seen it. Moving on.
8 hour drive to Wind River Range in Wyoming to Momma and Bubba Sparks cabin, which has the best front yard of all time. Seriously right in the Wind River range. Drank and passed out...long day.
This became a huge divide for us. We could not help him without seriously putting ourselves in danger. So we encouraged him to climb his way out to the ridge line, then down to us. Which he did, and we were all very grateful because if he were not able to do this, we don't know exactly what we would have done, for he would have been stuck wilth cliffs all around him. Well, live and learn, right?
At this point we realize we have already been hiking several hours, and need to turn around to be able to stay on time, but more importantly to beat the storm back to our car. We get sprinkled on a little, but all in all make it back okay, and then it was on to Mt. Rushmore.
Mt. Rushmore: you've seen it, we've seen it. Moving on.
8 hour drive to Wind River Range in Wyoming to Momma and Bubba Sparks cabin, which has the best front yard of all time. Seriously right in the Wind River range. Drank and passed out...long day.
Day Four: Ta Tonka!
We leave Chicago at 7am on our way to the Badlands, SD. I-90 is not too bad to drive down, as long as it is not in Wisconsin. For some reason, there were more waterparks there than I have ever seen in my entire life. I thought it was cold there most of the year...things don't always make sense in this great nation of ours. Including the fact that there was more traffic in that state than in any other state. For no reason. The people on that road had, in all honesty, no reason to be there. Well, at least no apparent reason. Hours of bumper-to-bumper traffic on I-90 in Wisconsin. What more can I say?
It is no surprise to those who drive through Minnesota and South Dakota that we are the bread basket of the World. That is all there is: corn and hay and wheat. Not much to say here, except that they harvest the grass on the side of the roads out there, which is pretty cool.
Oh yeah, and in South Dakota we visited the CORN PALACE!! Please try to get the severity with which I am trying to convey this point. WE VISITED THE MOTHER-F*&%#@ CORN PALACE!!!! What is the Corn Palace you ask? Well, first off you should already know, there is only one in the ENTIRE WORLD. Second, how many palaces in the United States do you know of? None, because you don’t know anything if you don’t know about the Corn Palace.
It is lame. Really, really lame. Because of this, it is awesome. People come from miles around to see how lame it is. They are not disappointed. The entire front is has a façade made of corn, scenes and words and phrases spelled out in corn ears. They change it every year. They don’t say it is because the corn rots, but that is why. We now rate everything in terms of “Corn Palaces.” Chicago traffic, for example, is a 1 of 10 Corn Palaces, while Steve Miller was a 6 of 10 Corn Palaces. We bought t-shirts and postcards.
Moving on. Driving. Lots of it. We arrive at Wall Drug at 8pm, right outside of the Badlands. The water was terrible, they advertised it for miles: Free Ice Water! Only at Wall Drug! The water was terrible. It was worth repeating.
Mostly because we totally filled around 6 gallons of water capacity for our next few days’ worth of adventures in the Badlands and beyond. So we leave Wall Drug and grab a National Parks Pass at the gate of the Badlands. We drive through sunset and see some of the most beautiful sculpted landscapes we have ever seen...suddenly we see what shall shape our trip to South Dakota forever: Bison. Ta Tonka. Just one solitary male Bison is standing on the side of the road. We freak out and start attempting to take pictures, but the light quality is too poor and no one is able to get a good picture. We start to move on because there is another car approaching, when suddenly, just around the next bend, BAM! an entire herd of Bison is just standing in the road—and won’t move. We are not in a huge car, and there are around 50 of them, just staring at us, face to face, in an almost true-to-life Mexican standoff. We quickly abandoned trying to take pictures, and moved on to video. We sound like frightened little kids, because that is what we are. We all have visions of our car being crushed by thousands of pounds of Turner Burgers. For some inexplicable reason, the Bison would not move for our car, so we let a truck pass and urge them to let the vehicles pass. Following their lead, we pushed through a second herd right outside of the campsite. Here is a video of the first herd;
(Note: Foul language only because of absurdity of situation, and better video could not be uploaded to youtube.com because it was too large. If you prefer the other Bison video to this one, take it up with youtube.com, not me)
We found the first open “site” which consisted of a lean-to and a picnic table. Once we set up our tents…
Jeff purchased a two person JUNIOR tent. That’s right, a child’s tent. He did not even realize it until setting it up, and realized it looked a little small. Well, apparently he fits in it fine, which only confirms our theory that he is just a large child. But not really, we just can't help ourselves...
…and then sleep for the next long day.
It is no surprise to those who drive through Minnesota and South Dakota that we are the bread basket of the World. That is all there is: corn and hay and wheat. Not much to say here, except that they harvest the grass on the side of the roads out there, which is pretty cool.
Oh yeah, and in South Dakota we visited the CORN PALACE!! Please try to get the severity with which I am trying to convey this point. WE VISITED THE MOTHER-F*&%#@ CORN PALACE!!!! What is the Corn Palace you ask? Well, first off you should already know, there is only one in the ENTIRE WORLD. Second, how many palaces in the United States do you know of? None, because you don’t know anything if you don’t know about the Corn Palace.
It is lame. Really, really lame. Because of this, it is awesome. People come from miles around to see how lame it is. They are not disappointed. The entire front is has a façade made of corn, scenes and words and phrases spelled out in corn ears. They change it every year. They don’t say it is because the corn rots, but that is why. We now rate everything in terms of “Corn Palaces.” Chicago traffic, for example, is a 1 of 10 Corn Palaces, while Steve Miller was a 6 of 10 Corn Palaces. We bought t-shirts and postcards.
Moving on. Driving. Lots of it. We arrive at Wall Drug at 8pm, right outside of the Badlands. The water was terrible, they advertised it for miles: Free Ice Water! Only at Wall Drug! The water was terrible. It was worth repeating.
Mostly because we totally filled around 6 gallons of water capacity for our next few days’ worth of adventures in the Badlands and beyond. So we leave Wall Drug and grab a National Parks Pass at the gate of the Badlands. We drive through sunset and see some of the most beautiful sculpted landscapes we have ever seen...suddenly we see what shall shape our trip to South Dakota forever: Bison. Ta Tonka. Just one solitary male Bison is standing on the side of the road. We freak out and start attempting to take pictures, but the light quality is too poor and no one is able to get a good picture. We start to move on because there is another car approaching, when suddenly, just around the next bend, BAM! an entire herd of Bison is just standing in the road—and won’t move. We are not in a huge car, and there are around 50 of them, just staring at us, face to face, in an almost true-to-life Mexican standoff. We quickly abandoned trying to take pictures, and moved on to video. We sound like frightened little kids, because that is what we are. We all have visions of our car being crushed by thousands of pounds of Turner Burgers. For some inexplicable reason, the Bison would not move for our car, so we let a truck pass and urge them to let the vehicles pass. Following their lead, we pushed through a second herd right outside of the campsite. Here is a video of the first herd;
(Note: Foul language only because of absurdity of situation, and better video could not be uploaded to youtube.com because it was too large. If you prefer the other Bison video to this one, take it up with youtube.com, not me)
We found the first open “site” which consisted of a lean-to and a picnic table. Once we set up our tents…
Jeff purchased a two person JUNIOR tent. That’s right, a child’s tent. He did not even realize it until setting it up, and realized it looked a little small. Well, apparently he fits in it fine, which only confirms our theory that he is just a large child. But not really, we just can't help ourselves...
…and then sleep for the next long day.
Day Three: It’s Miller Time!
I can’t help myself with these puns…oh well, live with it. We left Michigan at around 10am to start our traffic-filled driving time in Chicago! After what seems like a year’s worth of driving (thanks to you, Jeff) we make it to downtown Chicago and park right by Lake Michigan. We walk towards downtown for a bit, at which point tom breaks his camera somehow, and of course, in true Tom fashion, gets impatient with it and smashes it against his hand and truly breaks it. It may be been fixable beforehand, but now it is beyond repair. So, after lunch at a little no-name pizza restaurant that is filled with mafia and undercover agents (and is freezing as well, but no connection to the mob I think), we make our way through the Chicago Stock Exchange and on towards the Sears Tower. After a long, unneeded wait in line for a fairly lame movie intro, it was on to the elevator to go up 103 floors. Well, you can see a lot from 1000 feet off the deck…but nothing really worth seeing in my opinion. That is the last tall building I pay to go to the top of. After taking several pictures, we make our way back to the car via an alternate route to see more of Chicago, which seems like it could be an interesting city to live in, but not if you have to commute.
I cannot stress this enough: traffic in Chicago blows. It sucks. It sucks and blows. Never, ever, drive to Chicago. I don’t know how else you are going to get there (besides by lake, which is not a bad idea), but do not drive to get to Chicago. Ok, I think I have made my point.
So, we wasted a few hours to take pictures of Jeff in front of his childhood home and park, I mean we wasted around 4 hours to take around 6 pictures. It was his hometown, ok, I get it. REALLY, I do. We will be driving MINUTES from my hometown, but why go there? I lived there 12 years ago, I know what it looked like then, Google EarthTM can show me what it looks like today…I don’t understand it. But, with 4 hours wasted and a timeline quickly approaching, we made our way to North Chicago, got dinner and beer and made it to Stephanie’s (Rebecca’s friend) house just in time to make it to the train downtown.
Ok, now let’s rant together on bad directions. Or, may I say, poorly designed cities. It should not take more than 10 turns off an interstate to make it to one’s house. Ok, 15 at most, but that is pushing it. It took 16 turns to make it to Stephanie’s house, and from there to the train took at least 15 more. Screw the sprawl! Thus endeth this rant.
So, the train’s destination you ask? Well, to Steve Miller Band of course! (and for those of you diligent readers out there, the title of this post has made itself evident to you, without the benefit of this little reminder) The venue was like nothing I have ever seen in NC, not to say it does not exist. We packed a cooler with two cases of beer, salsa, and brought some chips. We walk in and there are several thousand people sitting around in a huge flat lawn, all with coolers and blankets and chairs. Everyone is partying. Does not matter the age, everyone is having a good time, and as the night progresses, the good times only continued at a higher level. We could not actually see the band, because they played in an amphitheater pit that was below the lawn level, but due to a huge system of outdoor speakers, we could all enjoy the band from our lawn party. Near the end of the night, the classic Dance Party broke out, and the 10 or so of us (including Steph’s friends that we met there) danced to “Dance, Dance, Dance” and then we get a ride to a house party that was held by one of the guys there. Decent party, we walked home, I pass out immediately. If you want to know the rest, ask them.
I cannot stress this enough: traffic in Chicago blows. It sucks. It sucks and blows. Never, ever, drive to Chicago. I don’t know how else you are going to get there (besides by lake, which is not a bad idea), but do not drive to get to Chicago. Ok, I think I have made my point.
So, we wasted a few hours to take pictures of Jeff in front of his childhood home and park, I mean we wasted around 4 hours to take around 6 pictures. It was his hometown, ok, I get it. REALLY, I do. We will be driving MINUTES from my hometown, but why go there? I lived there 12 years ago, I know what it looked like then, Google EarthTM can show me what it looks like today…I don’t understand it. But, with 4 hours wasted and a timeline quickly approaching, we made our way to North Chicago, got dinner and beer and made it to Stephanie’s (Rebecca’s friend) house just in time to make it to the train downtown.
Ok, now let’s rant together on bad directions. Or, may I say, poorly designed cities. It should not take more than 10 turns off an interstate to make it to one’s house. Ok, 15 at most, but that is pushing it. It took 16 turns to make it to Stephanie’s house, and from there to the train took at least 15 more. Screw the sprawl! Thus endeth this rant.
So, the train’s destination you ask? Well, to Steve Miller Band of course! (and for those of you diligent readers out there, the title of this post has made itself evident to you, without the benefit of this little reminder) The venue was like nothing I have ever seen in NC, not to say it does not exist. We packed a cooler with two cases of beer, salsa, and brought some chips. We walk in and there are several thousand people sitting around in a huge flat lawn, all with coolers and blankets and chairs. Everyone is partying. Does not matter the age, everyone is having a good time, and as the night progresses, the good times only continued at a higher level. We could not actually see the band, because they played in an amphitheater pit that was below the lawn level, but due to a huge system of outdoor speakers, we could all enjoy the band from our lawn party. Near the end of the night, the classic Dance Party broke out, and the 10 or so of us (including Steph’s friends that we met there) danced to “Dance, Dance, Dance” and then we get a ride to a house party that was held by one of the guys there. Decent party, we walked home, I pass out immediately. If you want to know the rest, ask them.
Day Two: The Tubes
Ha, more "not's"....this one is not referring to the so named band, but instead describes the day in one word: tubes. Lots of 'em, all day, at high speed. If you have not caught on yet, we went tubing a lot. My day when somewhat differently then the rest, so for their story, ask them, duh!
The first part of my day started with waking up and seeing sunrise over the lake, then sleeping until 8 and getting the boat ready to ride. Once everyone else was up, breakfast was eaten, and we all (the four main characters, and the three sisters) waited for Tom's Uncle to show, for he was our chauffeur for the day. After Tom and I ran two very successful knee-board runs (while the rest of the people where on the pontoon boat) I put my full weight down onto an up-turned screw point that drove straight into my knee-cap. It hurt a little, and bled more. So I assisted Kim (the eldest sister) in returning the pontoon to the dock while the others ran a few runs on the knee-board. Once we all got back together, a long round of tubing began. At one point, Jeff and I were on one tube, while Kim was on another. Jeff had never tubed before, Kim was apparently the master, and I had shorts on that came off in the slightest breeze. So, it was interesting. Lots of slipping, flipping, and ripping as we three tubed along. But, alas, this had to end so I could embark on a solo excursion to see Dave Rybacki, a good friend of mine as a former Crew Leader at Philmont and I was his ranger.
I left the lake house at 12:15, en route to St. Joseph, MI. 45 minutes later, I am parked outside a 9,000 sq. ft. house which sits right on Lake Michigan. Dave greets me with a smile and shows me around the bottom floor and his wing of the house. That's right, not just his room, his wing of the house. Full size living room, fully functional kitchen, accessible from the garage, full bath and master-bedroom size bedroom...Huge to put a nice word for it. Excessive to put a different tone on it. So, after a while there, we head to Chili's, where we talk politics, war, guns, mercenaries, and hot waitresses (St. Jo's did not have the same lack of women as all of Ohio...go figure). Along the way, we had Presidential Margaritas with a kicker of Disaronno, which made the drink oh so smooth. I will never go back. Then, after a short ride back to his house in his tricked-out Jeep Wrangler, we toured his neighborhood on the golf cart, then I had to head back for dinner. Oh yeah, did I mention he is living there by himself because it is only his family's lake house? I think I like the Shack better, but for different reasons...
Once back at the Grandparent's place, more knee-boarding ensued. The board was so old that the Velcro no longer worked, so I did a run without the strap, which was interesting in its own right. But then came dinner, with awesome chicken and salad, which was just what the doctor ordered. Once dinner was over, the Tube Wars commenced, pitting man vs. man and man. vs woman for the undisputed tube championship. Two tubes enter, one tube leaves (with a person still on it, cause both tubes technically still leave together...) Tom proved himself to be the champ, but I still held my own even with pants that fell off every round and throwing up the dinner I stuffed myself with.
Well, after the wars, ice cream was served and most people went to bed very quickly compared to the past few nights...except for your loyal narrator, who diligently stayed awake to bring you this story, with little concern for his own welfare. But don't let that get you down, dear reader, for I am going to see Chicago (the city) and Steve Miller Band (the band) tomorrow in concert, so I think I will survive!
The first part of my day started with waking up and seeing sunrise over the lake, then sleeping until 8 and getting the boat ready to ride. Once everyone else was up, breakfast was eaten, and we all (the four main characters, and the three sisters) waited for Tom's Uncle to show, for he was our chauffeur for the day. After Tom and I ran two very successful knee-board runs (while the rest of the people where on the pontoon boat) I put my full weight down onto an up-turned screw point that drove straight into my knee-cap. It hurt a little, and bled more. So I assisted Kim (the eldest sister) in returning the pontoon to the dock while the others ran a few runs on the knee-board. Once we all got back together, a long round of tubing began. At one point, Jeff and I were on one tube, while Kim was on another. Jeff had never tubed before, Kim was apparently the master, and I had shorts on that came off in the slightest breeze. So, it was interesting. Lots of slipping, flipping, and ripping as we three tubed along. But, alas, this had to end so I could embark on a solo excursion to see Dave Rybacki, a good friend of mine as a former Crew Leader at Philmont and I was his ranger.
I left the lake house at 12:15, en route to St. Joseph, MI. 45 minutes later, I am parked outside a 9,000 sq. ft. house which sits right on Lake Michigan. Dave greets me with a smile and shows me around the bottom floor and his wing of the house. That's right, not just his room, his wing of the house. Full size living room, fully functional kitchen, accessible from the garage, full bath and master-bedroom size bedroom...Huge to put a nice word for it. Excessive to put a different tone on it. So, after a while there, we head to Chili's, where we talk politics, war, guns, mercenaries, and hot waitresses (St. Jo's did not have the same lack of women as all of Ohio...go figure). Along the way, we had Presidential Margaritas with a kicker of Disaronno, which made the drink oh so smooth. I will never go back. Then, after a short ride back to his house in his tricked-out Jeep Wrangler, we toured his neighborhood on the golf cart, then I had to head back for dinner. Oh yeah, did I mention he is living there by himself because it is only his family's lake house? I think I like the Shack better, but for different reasons...
Once back at the Grandparent's place, more knee-boarding ensued. The board was so old that the Velcro no longer worked, so I did a run without the strap, which was interesting in its own right. But then came dinner, with awesome chicken and salad, which was just what the doctor ordered. Once dinner was over, the Tube Wars commenced, pitting man vs. man and man. vs woman for the undisputed tube championship. Two tubes enter, one tube leaves (with a person still on it, cause both tubes technically still leave together...) Tom proved himself to be the champ, but I still held my own even with pants that fell off every round and throwing up the dinner I stuffed myself with.
Well, after the wars, ice cream was served and most people went to bed very quickly compared to the past few nights...except for your loyal narrator, who diligently stayed awake to bring you this story, with little concern for his own welfare. But don't let that get you down, dear reader, for I am going to see Chicago (the city) and Steve Miller Band (the band) tomorrow in concert, so I think I will survive!
Day One: The Drive
No, not the classic Elway miracle...but close. We hit the road at an astonishing 4am, meaning we left on time for once. I opted to drive the first leg of the trip, which we decided to have each "leg" mean a tank of gas...or every 340 miles or so.
Dawn approached on my favorite part of I-77, right in the beginning of the mountains, where all of Eastern North Carolina lies at your feet, with the sun peeking through the clouds at 6am. Once the first tank of gas was through, we pulled into a Hardee's in West Virgina, right down the road from the much discussed and oft remembered Southern Exposure (every spring break we talk about going, and somehow never do). Up to this point, only Tom and I have been awake. Jeff and Rebecca have slept likes babes in the back. So, as we eat our breakfast and discuss the copious amount of sleeping that is occurring in the back seat, Jeff lets out this little nugget of wisdom concerning his role on this trip: "On this trip, I am going to just wake up, do something stupid, and go back to sleep...sounds like the rest of my life so far..." Of course, we rolled over laughing, not just because it is funny, but because he feels it is mostly true. Ahhh, college life...
Anyhow, back on the road, rain. Rain. And more rain. During the first half of Ohio (a deceptively large state, apparently) rain was coming down so hard that it was forcing the weak off the road. After Akron, however, the sun came out and and was azure skies and Simpson's clouds all the way to Michigan.
(Side note about Ohio: the people are ugly as Hell. Ugly as sin. Ugly as yo momma. No kidding, not a hot girl in sight, and we were in the state for 6 hours, not including eating lunch in the most disgusting Wendy's ever. Just a heads up for all those planning on driving through this God-forsaken place.)
Once at Tom's Grandparent's house (which is huge, on a lake, and masterfully built and decorated...I wish it was mine) dinner was amazing. Nothing like a home cooked meal to feed the soul. Tom's Aunt and Uncle came by with their 3 daughters, who where the nicest, most energetic sisters I have ever met. After a great dinner and a long, intense, and physical game of Spoons, Tom, Jeff, and I relaxed in the study downstairs, drank a beer, then immediately passed out, eagerly awaiting the 8am wake-up call for breakfast and a day on the lake.
Dawn approached on my favorite part of I-77, right in the beginning of the mountains, where all of Eastern North Carolina lies at your feet, with the sun peeking through the clouds at 6am. Once the first tank of gas was through, we pulled into a Hardee's in West Virgina, right down the road from the much discussed and oft remembered Southern Exposure (every spring break we talk about going, and somehow never do). Up to this point, only Tom and I have been awake. Jeff and Rebecca have slept likes babes in the back. So, as we eat our breakfast and discuss the copious amount of sleeping that is occurring in the back seat, Jeff lets out this little nugget of wisdom concerning his role on this trip: "On this trip, I am going to just wake up, do something stupid, and go back to sleep...sounds like the rest of my life so far..." Of course, we rolled over laughing, not just because it is funny, but because he feels it is mostly true. Ahhh, college life...
Anyhow, back on the road, rain. Rain. And more rain. During the first half of Ohio (a deceptively large state, apparently) rain was coming down so hard that it was forcing the weak off the road. After Akron, however, the sun came out and and was azure skies and Simpson's clouds all the way to Michigan.
(Side note about Ohio: the people are ugly as Hell. Ugly as sin. Ugly as yo momma. No kidding, not a hot girl in sight, and we were in the state for 6 hours, not including eating lunch in the most disgusting Wendy's ever. Just a heads up for all those planning on driving through this God-forsaken place.)
Once at Tom's Grandparent's house (which is huge, on a lake, and masterfully built and decorated...I wish it was mine) dinner was amazing. Nothing like a home cooked meal to feed the soul. Tom's Aunt and Uncle came by with their 3 daughters, who where the nicest, most energetic sisters I have ever met. After a great dinner and a long, intense, and physical game of Spoons, Tom, Jeff, and I relaxed in the study downstairs, drank a beer, then immediately passed out, eagerly awaiting the 8am wake-up call for breakfast and a day on the lake.
Summer Exravaganza '07!!: Hit the road, Jack!
It is 1AM the morning of our big trip (7/11), dubbed Summer Extravaganza '07!, and I am not able to sleep a wink...I feel like the kid on the Disneyland commercial, "I'm too excited to sleep!" Anyhow, hope we have fair weather and traffic and no more mishaps on this first leg of the trip (Tom, cutting yourself before we even leave, shame!)
Oh yeah, for those that don't know, the people going on this excursion include:
Adam Hosterman
Tom Forbes
Jeff Harke
and introducing Rebecca Rolfe, who will be with us for the first few days in Chicago.
Well, more to come on the characters, plot, and outcome of this tale, so stay tuned, and look for us in the following (tentative) locations:
Itinerary
7/11 - Leave for Chicago (Tom's Grandparent's House)
7/12 - Lake @ Grandparent's
7/13 - Chicago/Steve Miller/Friend's House
7/14 - Black Hills, SD
7/15 - Wind River Range, WY
7/16 - Yellowstone, WY
7/17 - Glacier, MT
7/18 - Seattle, WA
7/19 - Mt. St. Helen's, WA
7/20 - OR Coast
7/21 - SF
7/30 - SF/Yosemite (From here it is really flexible, so I will update on our progress)...
8/5 - Raleigh, NC
P.S. - pictures will be posted on both Facebook.com and on picturetrail.com/athoster.
Oh yeah, for those that don't know, the people going on this excursion include:
Adam Hosterman
Tom Forbes
Jeff Harke
and introducing Rebecca Rolfe, who will be with us for the first few days in Chicago.
Well, more to come on the characters, plot, and outcome of this tale, so stay tuned, and look for us in the following (tentative) locations:
Itinerary
7/11 - Leave for Chicago (Tom's Grandparent's House)
7/12 - Lake @ Grandparent's
7/13 - Chicago/Steve Miller/Friend's House
7/14 - Black Hills, SD
7/15 - Wind River Range, WY
7/16 - Yellowstone, WY
7/17 - Glacier, MT
7/18 - Seattle, WA
7/19 - Mt. St. Helen's, WA
7/20 - OR Coast
7/21 - SF
7/30 - SF/Yosemite (From here it is really flexible, so I will update on our progress)...
8/5 - Raleigh, NC
P.S. - pictures will be posted on both Facebook.com and on picturetrail.com/athoster.
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