The National Parks Pt. 1

We left Seattle late on Sunday evening, determined to make it to Glacier National Park in Montana by the next morning and catch the sun rise. Our hosts (Doug and Susan) had been so incredibly gracious and knowledgeable (as have our other hosts throughout this trip) and we left refreshed and eager once again to see something new. We crossed the Cascades a few hours after Seattle and the landscape changed drastically. What was once a vast green wilderness became a barren desert, with the occasional rocky peak and miles and miles of windmills, silent sentinels that monitored our passage. We made it to Spokane shortly before midnight, and got out of there as quick as possible. I’m sure there are nice places in Spokane, but they certainly are not under the freeway overpass in the dead of night. Never go to Spokane. Ever. Leighton (like a Sir) drove most of the way and we got into Glacier around 6 in the morning, just as the sun rose. Ned and Chris were refreshed from a full night’s sleep, while I sat in the back complaining that we needed to find somewhere to lay down (I’m not proud of this, but I don’t function well on 1.5 hrs sleep). Despite my frustrations, I forced myself (begrudgingly) to appreciate the monumental snow capped mountains and waterfalls that bordered the road, the Highway to the Sun. We finally got to the campsite a little after 7, sleepily set our tents up and crashed into a heavily breathing heap on the ground.

                Waking a few hours later we emerged from the tent and noticed our surroundings. The tent site bordered a grassy meadow and was backed up by a sheer cliff with a glassy lake boasting the reflections of tall mountains and billowy clouds. It made the whole overnight trip worth it. After a bear warning from the resident park ranger (THE Michael Lambert) we gathered ourselves and piled in the car for a trip up the road to Many Glacier. The 30 minute drive to the trail head was one of the finest so far as we raced past trickling creeks and racing streams. Hills and mountains rose out of nowhere and everything was in bloom except for the thousands of white dandelion seed puffs from who knows where, that drifted towards the ground until the hood of the truck caught them and they would race up the windshield and scoot under the roof rack where they exploded into the sky, free once more.

                The trail that we took was a long one, abundant with views and wildlife, and twice we unwittingly came within feet of a grazing deer, but they didn’t seem to mind. The halfway point in the trail was a powerful set of waterfalls where we enjoyed the cool mist after a couple of miles walking. Jackson and Chris however were not satisfied, they were determined to swim in this glacial river and got their chance a little ways up the trail. The current was strong and the rocks were razor sharp, but Chris and Jackson would not be deterred and seeing them yell and shiver somehow convinced me to go in also. After 30 seconds in the water your feet go numb and you can no longer control where your steps land. The rocks were sharp but I forced myself in, fully submerged and turned around as quick as my clumsy feet would allow, scampering up the boulders to dry in the sun. Jackson had that look in his eye though, and having skinny dipped in two oceans and a few rivers, decided this glacial flow was next on the list. It was a quick one (and who could blame him) but it counted and frozen or not he was a champion.

                We shared some nacho’s and onion rings to go along with a drink at a little restaurant on the way back to the campsite, we had to leave room for the dinner we would be cheffing up. That dinner is our famous slop, which has filled us up on many occasions this trip. What started as a crunchy bowl of rice has been fine tuned, perfected and eventually (at the end of a long day) desired.   An interesting mixture of rice, beans and some type of canned vegetables, we added beef sausage this time to go with the perfect ratio of Lawry’s Seasoned Salt to various other spices and had a classic stick to your ribs meal. After getting a little scare from “Off-Duty Ranger” Michael Lambert about a bear wandering through the campsite, we decided there was nothing to do but play a little music (Leighton playing guitar, myself and Chris taking care of percussion and everyone singing). As the night went on the rest of the campground went silent, and taking the cue we halted the music. The fire roared on and we chatted around it and, of course, DIDN’T play with it. The late night trip to the lake shore was cut short when we saw what we presumed to be bear droppings at the water’s edge. It didn’t seem worth it to get a good view of the stars and get chased by bears in the process so we turned back to camp and fell asleep quickly with the cool mountain breeze sweetening the air in the tent and singing through the trees.--A 

It's Always Sunny in Seattle

Leaving the ferry near Seattle, the five of us set off for the beautiful home of Doug and Susan, my (Jackson’s) extremely hospitable cousin and his wife, in the University district. It was a beautiful, sunny weekend, confirming my mom’s theory that residents of Seattle just tell people it’s rainy all the time to keep Californians from moving there.

Doug and Susan immediately offered all of us water and beer and the seven of us had a powwow in their backyard to bring them up to date on our travels (because of our terrible record on blog updates) and determine what we wanted to do in the city. We went out to their local spot, Kate’s, for dinner and drinks, and after dinner we split off from them to explore the University district and the nightlife it had to offer. The next day we took the car in to fix some brake issues we’d been having, and took a bus downtown to check out the classic tourist attractions. We saw the Seattle Center and the Space Needle, Pike Place Market, the Gum Wall, walked along the waterfront, got some local food, and saw a Mariners game. Then we got a bus back, picked up our shiny, fully functional car, and hit the local, extremely cheap burger joint Dick’s before returning to the house to rest up. Dick’s was the most well-oiled machine I’d ever seen; we got our food within a minute of ordering it. It’s this great service, solid food, and ridiculously low prices that make Dick’s a local necessity. That night, Ned, Leighton, and Chris went to the High Dive to listen to live music and celebrate Ned’s birthday, while Alex and I walked around Fremont Street to see more local sights like a giant statue of Lenin. We also got a second helping at Dick’s and headed back, leaving the others to walk home from the bar a few hours later.

The next morning we went down to Volunteer Park to hang out for a little bit, then checked out the Gay Pride Parade that was going on that day. The Seattle Center, at the end of the parade route, was full of a very interesting assortment of people. When we got there, we saw an anti-gay protester get tackled and beaten up while his sign got destroyed and stolen, soon resulting in an arrest. There was music and dancing everywhere, and the whole area was packed. With all the attractive women there, I started to wonder why I hadn’t gone to any Gay Pride parades before. Afterwards, we decided it would be better to do the long drive to Glacier that night, so we packed our stuff, said goodbye to Susan, and got ready for about 13 hours of straight driving. -J

Between the Bay and the Sound: How to Encourage Catastrophic Break Failure in Your Favorite Vehicle

           JUNE 25- With the sky looking dreary, we left San Francisco across the Golden Gate Bridge and bid civilization adieu for the day. Our first stop along the PCH was in Bodega Bay, just to antagonize some birds. The harbor was cold and grey, not a soul was seen amongst the sharp rocks that littered the seascape and the parking lot was vacant except for our own White Whale. We hopped back in car and continued through the rain up the coast, ever wary of our new winged friends. Further up the coast, we pulled off at a cliff overlooking the Pacific Ocean- a perfect spot for hitting rocks into the sea. We brought out our yellow wiffle ball bat and swing after swing, rained pebbles down on the cresting waves. Our energy quashed for the time being, we piled back into the car and continued north towards the Redwoods. It was late afternoon by the time we arrived at Humboldt Redwoods State Park, which left us just enough time to explore the forest. Our first pull-off from the Avenue of the Giants led us right below a grove of magnificently tall trees, and tumbling out of the car we ran into the woods towards a stream. We deftly crossed the stream along a fallen giant, came back, and continued up the road along the Eel River. After about another half an hour of driving, we pulled off again at the top of a boat access road and went down to explore the river. The water was beautiful, winding amongst giant trees and edged by weathered stones- prime for skipping. We all worked up a sweat throwing rocks and skipping stones, and before any of us knew it Jackson was swimming in the river. Recognizing a good idea when we saw one, each of us followed suit as the daylight began to fade. Followers of this blog may be aware of the enormous inflatable boat that occupies our rooftop carrier. None of us had ever inflated it before, so we neither knew how big the boat was nor how long it took to inflate. Without a campsite reserved however, the other side of the river was an enticing Eden that beckoned to host our tents. We debated the feasibility of fjording the river with our stuff, as was tradition on the Oregon Trail and required massive amounts of grit to pull off. Light was fading quickly, so we went to investigate our boat and what to do with the Whale while we camped. Upon arrival at the car, a young man about our age approached us at our car. He told us a tale of getting separated from his mother and asked if we had any place for him to stay. We instead offered to call somebody for him, which he politely declined and instead asked for some food. We shared our peanut butter and jelly with him, and after watching him make his sandwich (using the half of a plastic knife we had been keeping in the jar for spreading) we let him keep the entire jar. Our grit rattled, we all agreed that maybe camping in the remote Humboldt Redwoods might attract more runaways/transients and set off to campsite just outside the park. 

JUNE 26- The next morning, still under grey skies, we departed from the Redwoods and headed back to the coast to continue our drive north. We stopped for lunch along the coast of Oregon, overlooking the craggy rocks scattered along the frothy sea and breaking waves, and made sandwiches on the hood of the Whale. If anybody is ever in need of a delicious and cheap sandwich: deli turkey, ham, and salami with mayo, mustard, and Lowry’s seasoned salt on whole grain bread. We continued along our way, next pulling off about an hour or two later at a place called Whalehead Rock (or something like that) for a quick hike. The hike was down a narrow path, less than a foot wide, through five-foot high morning glory and other brush and was slick with mud. The bottom was glorious, toes were dipped in the Pacific Ocean (one person went swimming), and we basked in the clouds while procrastinating our return walk up the hill. Others and I grabbed a stick to help our ascent (Chris already had Excalibur, one of the few times aside from fire-stoking that his stick wasn’t in the way), but the walk was still brutal. Where we could slide down the mud, it was that much harder to get back up. Once we got back to the top, Jackson swore off hiking for the second time and we muddily piled back into the car. It was getting late, so we decided to drive to Eugene to stay the night instead of trying to camp. Along the way, under advice from a former local, we stopped in Cape Arago near Coos Bay to look for sea lions (mission accomplished) and then headed to I-5 for a faster drive to Eugene. We Pricelined a cheap motel for a place to stay, and found one within walking distance of the U of O and downtown Eugene for cheap (Timber’s Motel- not too shabby a place to stay, very friendly). We walked over to Max’s Tavern for an early celebration of Leighton’s birthday with cheap pitchers- all in all a grand time. 

JUNE 27- We left Eugene the next day, and raced to get to Olympic National Forest/Park with enough daylight left to see part of it. We drove up I-5 through Portland, but had to save it for a future destination for a future trip, and got to the Olympic Peninsula by mid-afternoon.  We had a quick drive up Mt. Walker for a great view of the peninsula and got to our campsite in Sequim (pronounced “Squim” apparently) well before the sun went down. According to the Internet, Sequim gets half the annual rainfall compared to the rest of the peninsula, which held true for us as we finally had a dry night camping. The sunset was beautiful over the bay, with fish flopping against the surface for unfortunate insects. We weren’t the only ones to notice the activity in the water, and it wasn’t long before we made another new friend. He swam in from the bay, towards the shore and did flips against the wall while he hunted for dinner. We watched this seal for thirty minutes easily, and watched at least three other seals came to join him in our shared bay. Eventually the light faded and we headed back to camp for the night. 

JUNE 28- The next morning we had a late start (leaving camp around noon) and set off to explore the park before heading to Seattle. Our first stop (and ultimately only- more to follow) was a drive up Hurricane Ridge. The vistas were stunning, glaciated peaks dotted the horizon and lush green color filled the valleys. At the summit, there was a large glacier that had still yet to melt from the winter. Naturally, we had a snowball fight in one of the most epic settings of all snowball fight history- on top of a mountain. We felt more like eight year olds than the actual kids who were watching us, snowballs flying back and forth and peals of laughter dominated the ambient sounds. We had a catch in the parking lot, and set off back down the mountain to further explore the park. Two things you should know about the context of what happened next: first, the drive down was very steep and second, our brakes were already pretty worn down before this drive. We drove about a couple miles to the bottom, and yada yada yada, we were stopped at a stoplight back at the main road and a pedestrian comments to us through the open window “Hey dude, your tire’s smoking!” We took a look, and although it wasn’t the tire, our brakes were shot. We had few options left other than to head to Seattle and look for a shop to get them fixed before we descended the Rockies. We drove back, away from the Hoh Rainforest (another future destination for a future trip), and hopped on a ferry to Seattle for the weekend. 

On the California Coast

After leaving the sun drenched streets and congested sidewalks of L.A. we travelled along the Coast Highway to Santa Barbara, a refined beach town with girls on every corner: sirens, luring us in. We stopped at a taco place on Milpas St. called La Super-Rica. The line went outside the building and wrapped itself up the block but the place was highly regarded and it was a perfect Southern California day, a warm sun and nobody in a hurry. Behind the counter we could see into the kitchen, where each chef worked with machinelike efficiency. The tortilla lady rolled, flattened and warmed the tortillas in four or five swift movements while crammed in around her the other chefs chopped, diced and grilled their hunks of pork, chicken and steak. As the meat sizzled there was no downtime as they flew around the tiny room filling orders and keeping the patrons happy.

The food (a pork taco variation for me) was even more enjoyable than watching the cooks, and was the best taco Jackson and I could remember (besides Mom’s of course). After stopping for the night in the sleepy old town of Monterey, we were back on the way to our halfway point of the trip, the City of the west (as in not the City of the east, New York) San Francisco. Ned’s brother Will had been living in San Francisco for a few years, so we had a place to stay for a few nights

That evening, we went to a local Chinese place and took the food down to a beach under the Golden Gate Bridge with Will as our all-knowing guide. The sun dipped beyond the horizon while we struggled to keep the sand out of the communal food dishes, a completely useless exercise. For me, Chris, Leighton and Jackson, the ocean breeze, however chilly, was welcome after so long in the desert, and despite the whipping sand we wanted to stay as long as we could. That night, meeting up with Will’s roommates, we went to a nearby bar, the Kozy Kar where we played the craziest and simplest game I had ever seen, Slap Bag. The rules are such: take the bag out of a box of Franzia, slap it (as hard as you can) and take a drink. An easy game to pick up and a good way to become the entertainment for everyone else.

The next day we got a full taste of the City. Will and his roommates (Stephen, Travis and sometimes Torsten) have the whole San Francisco thing down pat and it was cool to be given a taste of it. How great it was to be back in a City, every street corner buzzing. We sprinted through the fog to catch a bus, hopped on and off when we needed and stuffed our faces in between. Mounds of Dim Sum here and trays of dumplings there. These guys are movers and whether or not there was a plan didn’t matter. After a hike through Chinatown, we made our way to the San Francisco Giants game, and stood in a free section nearly under the stadium, beyond the right field wall. Ned and I fit right in with a group of guys who would never miss an opportunity to catch a game, to stand behind the fence and throw scores and stats back and forth, or just simply watch and listen. The right fielder yells a comment to the guy patrolling center field who chuckles. The pitcher stares in towards the plate and the old veteran coaching third flashes signs down the line. A long homer down the line quiets the crowd but the game goes on. The guys discuss what the Giants need to do to fix their holes, and figure out which team has the best chance at making a run. It’s a sport with never ending debates and we tried to have all of them.

We spent the rest of the afternoon at a nearby Beer Garden (rescuing a couple of mistreated and underappreciated mugs in the process) and seeing the skyline from Alamo Park (which of course rose to fame after its appearance in the Full House opening credits). Arriving too late for Chris to start the Pho Challenge (more on that later), we trekked to a pizza place where we shared pies and pitchers of beer over a red-checked table cloth like a big, loud family dinner with countless conversations and everyone chipping in. The restaurant, Gaspari’s, slowed down as the night dragged on, while we picked at the remaining slices of pizza and made sure everyone had a full cup. It was a comfortable feeling, sitting there surrounded by friends, new and old, as stories and jokes were passed around with ease and by the time we were ready to leave only a few couples dotted the booths along the wall. We happily trudged through the late night fog, full and content. Scattered shouts came from blocks away and the screech of a cab’s breaks cut through the night, but the City seemed devoid of that lonely feeling that city streets so often hold late at night. As if we owned the place we made our way back home, tired from a day of hustling and ready for sleep.

The next morning we had to wake up early, having to make another trip to a mechanic. Somehow, in his haste (or ineptitude), old Roy back in Page had disconnected our tail lights. Having gone a week using the passenger’s hand signals for turns, we decided it was time to get it fixed. Our new guy (maybe Mark Ruffalo’s brother?) was a straight shooter so we felt good about this one and Jackson and I were led by our stomachs down to the Mission District to eat the renowned Mission Burrito, a serving too large and too wet to eat by hand. Jackson polished his burrito off with methodical grace, but as I struggled with the last third of mine, the stakes grew higher. Chris, some sort of eating expert, was convinced I would not be able to finish the meal and challenged me on it. I was satisfied with what I had already eaten, but out of pure spite, I stared him in his eye as I forced the burrito down. Chris, defeated, hung his head in shame (that’s how I remember it anyway). We crossed the Bay Bridge to pay homage (for Jackson) to Berkley that afternoon and returned to the City that evening for Chris to try his hand (and stomach) at the Pho Challenge, complete with two pounds of meat, two pounds of noodles, an ocean of broth and 18 eager eyes, ready to see some classic American gluttony. Prepared mentally, if not physically, Chris approached his bowl of noodles devoid of emotion, entirely focused on the task at hand. While the rest of us downed much smaller bowls, he worked steadily for an hour, starting with the meat first, a point of later controversy. As the timer entered single digits his breathing came slower and his breaks between bites longer. The noodles had sopped up the extra broth and try as he might, he could not swallow the large clumps he tried to force down as the bell rang. The hour proved too short a time and Chris left upset and determined to one day come back and demonstrate his ability.

We were up early the next morning to pack our car and thank our hosts. It was a true city experience, always moving, never bored and always incomplete. Though we had spent a whole extra day there it felt wrong in many ways to leave with so much unseen and unknown. As always though, there was another destination just up the road and many more after it. Every time we get comfortable somewhere it is time to split, so we stayed true and flew across the Golden Gate to the ancient Redwoods and the rugged Northern Coast. –A

Turning the Page

You may have noticed a lag in posts recently. This post is a step back to before San Diego to explain that whole situation.  We were delayed in our trip (and in blog posting) due to an unfortunate incident in the desert on the way to the Grand Canyon. We had been driving from Santa Fe with a quick stop in Durango, Colorado, down to Four Corners, and all the way through Monument Valley before we got to magnificent, world-famous Page, Arizona. When we first saw Page, we were actually overjoyed to finally be in civilization after so many hours in barren Arizona Indian reservations. Little did we know that we would soon come to see Page not as a glittering city on a hill, but as the fiery, soul-sucking hellscape that it really was.

After camping that night, we set off for the Grand Canyon along the route suggested by our trusty GPS. We hit a portion of the highway that was unexpectedly closed due to landslide, so we flagged down a passing Navajo to ask for directions to an alternate route. He unconfidently told us that he thought there was some sort of dirt road that went around the closed portion of the road, so we took his directions and completely went for it. We were alright for a good ways until a patch of very loose sand, where we decided to try and forge through to keep from getting stuck. The car bucked and jumped all the way through the sand, and continued to do so after we got onto flat road. We immediately suspected transmission problems, and hoped it was literally anything else. We limped back into town in first gear, which took about an hour, and headed to a mechanic, who gave us the bad news: our “sun shell(???)” was broken. In addition to the fact that the transmission needed to be replaced, the shop was closed on weekends, so we were stuck in Page for at least 4 (which later turned into 5) days.

Page is probably my least favorite place in the world. If I were going to compare it to something, which is in fact what I am going to do, I would say it is much like a parasite that lives inside a rat which in turn lives in the filthiest, most disgusting dumpster in the dirtiest, most vile place imaginable. It’s oppressively hot there, and there is very close to nothing at all to do, especially without a car. The local bar/bowling alley had a few cool people to talk to, but that only goes so far. We saw Man of Steel two days in a row. We probably gave Taco Bell their best week since they introduced the Cool Ranch Doritos Locos Taco. We played so much ball-in-a-cup that I increased my record for consecutive cups to 42 (shout out to Carly for gifting us that second BIAC). Page probably isn’t the worst place in the world, but it doesn’t have a lot going for it.

On our third day in Page, we decided to walk down to Lake Powell, which looked like it was probably a twenty or so minute walk. We walked through pure desert landscape for about an hour and a half before getting to a cliff that was still a ways from the lake. We didn’t bring any water with us, so the walk back was the most grueling experience of my life. I’m pretty sure I almost died. The water we got at the Denny’s on the edge of town was the sweetest, coldest, most refreshing substance I’ve ever tasted.

Our fifth day in Page was a good day, mostly because we got to leave. The car was the most comfortable that it had ever been after so much camping and having to walk everywhere. Driving again was euphoric, especially accompanied by the beautiful, underappreciated feeling of not being in Page.

Since we had spent so much unexpected time in Page, we had to cut a lot of nights that we had planned to spend elsewhere and reroute more directly to San Diego. As a result we decided to do a speed-tour of the Southwest, first stopping at the breathtaking North Rim of the Grand Canyon. We spent about an hour there hiking around and taking pictures before getting back on the road to Las Vegas. We got into Vegas around 12:30 AM (where we quickly ran into our old classmate Katy Anderson) and did maybe the fastest Vegas run that has ever happened, getting out by 2 with everyone solidly in the black. After the greatest showing of self-control ever seen by man or beast, we left on the way to San Diego, finally arriving at Ned’s place at around 7 AM, pretty much back on schedule. Though it would have been nice to have spent all the time we originally wanted to in the Southwest, it was definitely a uniquely fun experience to speed through and just get a small taste of what the region had to offer, kind of like an even more distilled version of the trip as a whole.  -J

The Real Name is "Pissin' Across America"

June 19-20-21, 2013

As the final bags were packed away for the summer in San Diego, Part Two (the far superior half) was just beginning. Far superior of course, because I joined up with the rest of the crew and filled up the Suburban with my own unique ability to call everybody out on literally everything (thanks a lot, Jackson). This is my maiden post on our journey, with plenty more posts and photos to follow over the next three weeks.

The rest of the guys finally arrived at my door on Wednesday morning, knocking on the door for a half hour at 7am before I finally woke up and let them in. All of us equally groggy, the path to sleep was met with little resistance. That afternoon, after a little packing and an attempt to finish fixing the car, we hopped into the Suburban and went off to see a bit of SD. A San Diego favorite, I simply had to take them to get California burritos (for those of you who have never tasted the delicious symphony that is a California burrito, it is generally a carne asada burrito with guacamole and french fries). They wanted to see downtown, so I took them to Lucha Libre (as seen on Man vs. Food and a popular luchador-themed taco shop) and we got our dinner. We headed downtown and saw some of the local nightlife before heading back to hang out with some of my UCSD friends before we went north.

The next day we drove up to Los Angeles, where we planned to stay the night in Burbank with a friend of mine from school. On our way north, we stopped in San Clemente for lunch to get burritos at Olamendi’s- quickly usurping the spot of “Jackson’s Best Burrito” from Lucha Libre the night before. Agree to disagree, I suppose. We made a short stop in Hermosa Beach to watch Game 7 of the NBA Finals and also meet up with one of Alex’s friends who was having a birthday before continuing on to Burbank for the night. (Special thanks to the Escobar house for their generous hospitality!) Friday morning we left Burbank and, after a short detour through LA to see Warner Brothers Studio and the Hollywood sign, we began looking for PCH and headed north. We caught the coast around Morro Bay and drove along Highway 1 for 120 miles of awesome splendor. Jagged rocks cut up from the sea to our left and ragged hills rose to our right, the late-afternoon sun catching it all perfectly. Rolling hills covered in golden grasses and dotted with the occasional tree or herd of cattle, majestic vistas at every turn. Leighton and I were in control of the radio, so the music was undeniably Phishy and served as the perfect soundtrack to such a beautiful landscape. We spent the night in Monterey, crammed into a small motel room and under the watchful eye of the woman manning the front desk. Monterey as a town was quiet, perhaps we missed the excitement or perhaps it is simply a sleepy town. We stopped into Sly McFly’s for a drink, and the “World Famous Jazz & Blues” venue was full of middle-aged energy led by a pretty talented cover band. Too tired to stay until last call, we headed back to the motel and turned in for the night. -N

Dump 'Em! or, How we learned to stop worrying and love the bomb.

After leaving the swamp country outside of Baton Rouge we headed on west towards Texas. Texas and the rest of the southwest is a region that has always excited me for its near mythical associations. Growing up addicted to Cowboy vs. Indian lore, and watching the smooth talking, quick shooting characters of John Wayne movies, Texas and the wide open West was a place I had often heard about but never experienced for myself. Coming over a ridge on I-10, the sprawling plains of Texas unfolded before me and after almost two weeks, we had left the southeast behind us, and were on wholly unfamiliar ground.

                We made a quick stop at a local Burger Joint on the outskirts of Houston and were back underway to Austin. Though the area was going through a drought, we managed to get caught in three torrential downpours. Earlier in the trip we used a makeshift tarp (a classic red and white picnic tablecloth) to cover our overhead carrier and keep rain out. After thousands of miles of driving and weather it had been tattered to shreds and rain soaked our overhead supplies.

                Finally coming out of the rain, we checked into our Motel 6 on the northern edge of Austin (with only two guests of course). We have gotten into somewhat of a routine checking into our base camps after two weeks on the road. After lugging our suitcases up a few sets of stairs and throwing the door open, someone checks for the requisite towel number (3 of course) then as a group there is a period of complaining (or praising) for the lack of amenities (“What, we don’t get a spa at this place? $50 just doesn’t get you what it used to. THREE DOLLARS FOR WIFI?!”). For the most part, though, we are more than satisfied with our two beds, a shower and the ability to stay in one place for a little bit. So we kick back, relax, talk about the drive and figure out what exactly we want to do that night.

                Being in Austin, we knew that meant checking out the world-famous 6^th Street, by way of a taco or two. We found our way to a little food truck called The Art of Tacos, nestled into a little side street called Rainey Street, where the houses have been converted into restaurants and bars and ropes of Christmas lights hang from poles and wires that criss-cross the yards. We were very struck by the abundance of food trucks in the city, and in this area in particular. The trucks all come together and form makeshift villages where people starting or ending their nights all seem to congregate. It is a great atmosphere where strangers sit together, and everyone has something to say.

                In an attempt to digest our meals we took a walk down by the Colorado river then up to the Texas Capitol building, a southwestern take on the classic dome we are so used to seeing. 6^th street was getting pretty packed by the time we showed up. Unlike Nashville which was busy and bustling where you could get run over by throngs of people if you didn’t know where you were going, 6^th street had a laid back feel, especially considering the hoards of people. The music was diverse and there were tons of options, the people were fun yet classy (I’m looking at you New Orleans), and it made for a great night.

                We got a rare opportunity to sleep in the next day, and took full advantage, eventually pulling ourselves up to go to a nearby thrift store (I don’t know if everything is bigger in Texas but this sure was). We scored a couple sweet new road shirts and headed out to enjoy some Texas BBQ, heavy with some tender brisket, thick, saucy ribs and probably the best sausage we have ever had. It was enough to put us down for a little bit and it was a bit of a struggle to get back up for the evening.

                Austin has a pretty lively arts and entertainment scene, and there was almost too much to decide between, with concerts, stand-up comedy and film screenings. We settled on an evening showing of “Singing in the Rain,” a 1950’s musical comedy that Chris had never seen. It was being shown at a wonderful place, the Paramount Theater on Congress Ave. It’s a classic movie and playhouse, with an old-fashioned box office, ushers wearing tuxes, gilded box seats lining the walls and complete with a large red curtain covering the screen. The audience was full of old fans, parents showing their children the movie for the first time (and what a place for it!) and young people like us looking for a good time on a Sunday night. Everyone cheered as the curtain was drawn back, clapped after each song and laughed at the right times.

                The next day we cooled off at Barton Springs pool, a natural pool with clear water, seaweed along the bottom, and sunbathers lining the hills that border the pool. I imagine we could have spent all day there but our friend Andy Lutz and his girlfriend Katherine had just returned from an extended trip to South America and we all were eager to meet up. They showed us around the University of Texas then took us to a place called Trudy’s, a Mexican restaurant, where Jackson and I agreed we had the best nachos we’d ever had (we’re somewhat of nacho aficionados). After a few drinks, some solid catching up time and a marathon of corn hole games outside a nearly empty bar we called it a night, crashing for free on Andy’s floor and woke up ready to make our way west, traversing the desert on our way to California.--A 

Louisiana Fast

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After a couple of days spent camping on the Gulf Coast, it was time to hit New Orleans. We got into town fairly early and immediately headed down to Bourbon Street to check out what all the hype was about. It was a busy place even in the early afternoon on a Thursday, and we quickly noticed that the specialty drink being offered was the daiquiri, of which many different locations dubiously claimed to be selling the “world’s strongest.” We gave the street a quick walk and then headed to the less famous areas to see what the city was really like.

The other areas of the city were more relaxed, cheaper, and had more live music and street vendors. We had been eager to see these side streets for a while, specifically because several people in previous places that we stayed in had told us specifically not to go there. Any time we brought up that we were headed to New Orleans, people immediately got very serious and told us we needed to be careful and that it was a dangerous place, especially once you left the main drag. We were skeptical of this advice, and naturally did the exact opposite, making sure to get a taste of the whole city. Of course, once it got late, we headed back to Bourbon Street to catch the main nightlife action, listen to some blues, and get the classic Nawlins experience that we’ve heard so much about.

On the food front, New Orleans had a lot to offer. We made a point of getting to the Café du Monde early for a pile of beignets and café au lait. We also got various po boys at the Acme Oyster bar, roadside jambalaya for a snack, and right before leaving on Friday we grabbed a few muffuletta sandwiches for the road from Central Grocery. New Orleans fed us better than anywhere else before it.

The next day, we spent a little time in Baton Rouge with our friend Andrew Perkins, who goes to LSU. We got some crawfish (which were slightly out of season but delicious) and took a quick tour of the LSU campus. We called it a night fairly early after a few shenanigans and got ready for the long drive to Austin in the morning. -J

Two Days on the Beach

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Our departure for Pensacola, Florida began with Jackson, Leighton and myself heftily criticizing our fellow road tripper Alex regarding the group decision to venture into the state of Florida, and even worse, into a city which we were unfamiliar with. When it comes to the state of Florida it's very simple to think of Orlando, Miami, retirees, and sunshine. However, there is much more that the biggest peninsula in the United States has to offer other than sunshine and house music.

Passing through Mississippi, I got lost in the book I was reading so from time to time I was able to catch glimpses of the farm country that characterizes the open fields that pioneers once walked upon. Chance struck when I lifted my head and was surprised by the sight of a group of pelicans flying horizontally with the skyline underlined by an endless blue field coated with white ripples of the waves that mark the ocean. The thick white clouds complimented the sight splendidly as we crossed the bridge that overlooks the gulf coast and passes into the city of Pensacola. It was official, we had reached our destination.

             Cue the tourist friendly hotels, white sand beaches, and shacks on the beach and you have the beginnings that are apparent in your average beach town down in the state of Florida. This portion of the trip had us returning to camping so the days consisted of the beautiful simplicity of camp fires and light cooking.  After setting up camp we spent a night on the beach appreciating some tunes provided by a local reggae/hip-hop fusion band which was putting on a concert. The night concluded with some late night stargazing by the water.

 The next day took us to Dauphin Island, also known to us as “Dolph Lundgren Island,” which can be found on the coast of Alabama, conveniently located just to the west of Pensacola. Getting to the island required us to take a ferry which featured sights of some immense drilling machines that looked as if they were from the future. Once we were set up on the island it was not long before we took ourselves for a day trip to the beach where we caught some amazing water shots with Alex’s GoPro. After a few hours and a bit too much sun, Leighton, Alex, Jackson and I prepared some dinner and concluded our night with a screening of the David Lynch classic Blue Velvet. As the others fell one by one to sleep, I slowly closed my eyes to the sounds of the crickets and the occasional rusting of the friendly neighborhood raccoon.

Going back to the stereotypical description that goes along with cities in Florida, I place great emphasis on the importance of getting away from the typical tourist hotel and dance club that can be so popular in the southern beach cities. To conclude our brief two day camping adventure I must say: Alex, we couldn’t have been more wrong. -C

Background Info

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For those unfamiliar with the particulars of our trip, the general idea is to get a small taste of the diversity that our country has to offer. We've drafted a schedule that takes us all around the edge of the country to places that we felt were representative of a large portion of the country's culture, cuisine, and landscape. We want to get a feel for as many of the country’s major cities, scenic byways, small towns, and The schedule is somewhat flexible as we go along it, but in general we're spending around two weeks in each quadrant of the country, for a total of around 54 days. We started off in Leighton’s ’98 Suburban in Alexandria, VA headed south. After Savannah we started to head west across the southern portion of the country all the way to San Diego to pick up another member of the trip, then north along the PCH to Seattle, east to New England, and then back home to Virginia. We have taken some nice film and photography equipment to document the trip, and, as you can see, we’ll be blogging all along the way.

The four of us currently on the trip are Jackson, Alex, Chris, and Leighton, and once we get to San Diego we’ll add Ned. Alex and Leighton are our film/photography guys, having recently gotten their film degrees. Jackson provides a more analytical perspective as an Econ major still in school. Chris is an entertaining character who adds some fun to the group, and Ned’s a budding environmental scientist who’ll make sure to call us out when we do something stupid.

We plan to make at least one post for each location of the trip, though internet constraints may prevent us from actually posting anything for certain periods of time, especially when camping. Also, we can only post photos when we have free wifi because they would use up a lot of data very quickly. We plan to make a separate photo blog soon, which we will link to from here, for all the pictures we like that don’t fit into this blog. Anything else will probably go on Facebook or never be seen by human eyes again. -J

Part 1

Part 2