Accessible Road Trip USA 08

A Journey's End- Thoughts and Thank You's From The Tired Travelers Three

2008-10-02T01:56:00.000-07:00

This trip across the United States took us along 10,000 miles of road, through 30 states (and one Canadian Province), to some of the greatest cities and parks in the world, and reunited us with many friends and family members.
A special thanks to:
Auntie Sue in SLC,
the Moravec family in Estes Park,
Liz and Dom in Denver,
Sarah and Jessica, Kecia and BJ in Chicago,
Uncle Mark and Camp Dudley in upstate NY,
Carmel "Gram" Davenport, Mike and Ray Rosenzweig, the Knights, and the Seamans in Maine,
Shannon and Dolinda, Deanna and Jack in NYC,
Lindsay and Evan in Savannah (by way of Lafayette),
Shannon and baby Tyler in Jacksonville,
the incomparable Dutch family (Rae-Rae, Stevo, Claire n Susan) in Valrico,
Mike, Susan, Alison and Jessica Boone, John, Kathy and Sprague Boone in Houston,
Uncle Chris and Aunt Carolee in Santa Fe (by way of Charleston),
Meg and Bryan in Tucson,
Kim in Long Beach,

You all made our trip special, trusty, inviting ports in the storm, sometimes literally!
Thanks to our parents, the Dutches and the Galloway-Longs, for their moral and paternal support, concern and loving interest in our adventure, we could not have done it without you!

As gas prices rise and the economy sinks, the future of the quintessential American road trip looks uncertain, but do it soon; this country is so diverse in people, landscape, cuisine and customs, so rich yet poor, daunting yet friendly, safe but filled with opportunity for adventure. We hope you have enjoyed our stories and pictures, and thank you for reading about our memories-in-the-making, and wish that everyone can experience the joy, frustration, awe and nostalgia that we were so lucky to have experienced.
Love to you all, our friends, family and readers,
Andy, Emily and Moose.

Last Stop- Long Beach, CA

2008-10-02T01:18:00.000-07:00

Speeding across the desert into the veritable armpit of California- Blythe, Indio and the whole of Riverside County, we made our way into Long Beach in the late afternoon. We met up with Emily's friend Kim Johnson, a Marin transplant to Southern California, and dined at Open Sesame, perhaps the best Lebanese food we've ever had the pleasure of enjoying. Chicken schwarma, pitas with house-made hummus and Lebanese beer was perfect for this little beach town, the main strip of 2nd St. bustling even on a weeknight.
We found a sports bar down the way where the ladies could talk and Andy could drown his Sarah Palin sorrows in Belgian beer, Moose sleeping on the cool hardwood floor. Our hotel, found after having parted ways with Kim, was the most nondescript Comfort Inn one can imagine, right down to the remote control affixed permanently to the sidetable.
No Pictures of this stop, unfortunately, as scarcity of time, subjects and the fatigue of travel made it impossible.
It felt good to be back in California, and when we traveled in the morning up I-5, over the notorious grapevine and into the central valley by noon, we were in high spirits over our return.
We made it back into San Rafael in the late evening, to find a somewhat pungent refrigerator holding back a few moldy veggies, our comfortable bed ready with fresh sheets, and about $30 of laundry to do. The work of travel doesn't end even upon arrival home!
Moose guarding all our luggage as we take it up the elevator in shifts!

It's Pronounced TUCK-son... trust me. Tucson, AZ.

2008-10-02T00:29:00.000-07:00

Breaking camp in the morning, we blasted south through the heart of Arizona to Tucson, tolling the miles with the audiobook of Comfort Food by Kate Jacobs- well written and capable of taking one's mind off crazy drivers, ubiquitous road construction and the glut of fast food chains that line the highways of the west.

The view from our hotel just outside downtown Tucson, the Omni Tucson National Golf Resort, was a mix of startlingly vibrant rolling greens dotted with sand traps that were ironic by the sweeping desert and jagged Catalina mountains that wrapped around the valley. By far the swankiest of all our hotels, we were the youngest guests by about 20 years, a guess we assessed by the number of jerky-tanned, cigar chomping middle-aged men clad in Tommy Bahama shorts and scintillating gold jewlery flanked by their bleach-haired, surgery-enhanced wives/girlfriends/mistresses. Not that any of that could detract from the opulent beauty and grace of the place. We checked in, and immediately decided to stay an extra night, not only as a break from the road in a restful resort (after the dirt of the canyon's campground) but also to buy us more time with our newly married friends, Meg and Bryan, who's wedding we'd attended in Maine mere weeks before.
We caught up with them at their apartment in Tucson, and made our way to a popular local old-timey restaurant, El Charro, known for their traditional Mexican cuisine and long tequila list.
A few more drinks at a local bar on the strip populated with the bike-riding students of the local university, and it was time for bed, as Meg and Bryan had school the next morning (she in Masters of Public Health, he in the doctoral program for Hydrogeology- a right pair of smarties!).
Em and I slept in late, the large king bed a needed respite after tenting it before. We rose as the temperature did, slowly and without purpose. While waiting for school to end for our friends, we lounged by the pool, Andy occasionally dipping and reading the paper in the shallow end, Emily and Moose reading People and US under the fan in the small cabanas lining the pool. A late lunch of club sandwiches and chicken fingers completed the morning, before we headed into town to go for a drive into the mountains with Meg and Bryan.

The broad valley below the Catalinas bcame dotted with lights as the sun fell rapidly away, and we descended back the winding trail to town in search of pizza. As it was, we discovered Mama's Pizza, and the "large" pizza that we could barely fit into the back of the car- the diameter was in the vicinity of 2ft, making it a pizza fit for 9, to be consumed by 4.
We enjoyed the takeout and beers back in the hotel, talking and laughing until it was finally time for the scholars and the travelers alike to retire for the night.

Für Europäer Nummer ein Campingplatz Mather! South Rim, GCNP, AZ.

2008-10-02T00:06:00.001-07:00

After the bone-dry, scrub desert of New Mexico's northern plateaus, we made our way west to the Grand Canyon, to our reserved site at Mather campground, one of the National Parks system's largest campgrounds. Surrounded by what seemed to be the entire fleet of RVAmerica's caravans, all manned by Europeans vacationing in the land of the weak dollar, we set up out tent for the last time on the trip. Andy and Moose made camp, while Emily drove to the Canyon's gift shop/grocery store/cafeteria for wood, meat and cookies.
The butterscotch scent of the Ponderosas blended with the woodsmoke, layered with the smell of cooking sausage and beans, to make a perfect olfactory contribution to the night.
The next morning was a lazy one, spent sleeping in, finishing the night's porknbean plates, organizing the luggage and deciding how much of the increasing heat cold be beared.
As it was, we made our way to the Rim Trail, 2 miles or so of which is paved, running literally along the rim of the canyon's gaping yaw. Moose attracted the attention of the visiting Euros, most of whom reached deep into their fannypacks for tiny cameras to document this wooly beast.

Moose, nonplussed by the attention, was more concerned with what he must surely have considered to be the biggest damn hole he'd ever seen, and a little too close for comfort.
After walking in the heat, trying to grasp the magnitude of this many millions of years-old marvel, and trying to decide if the food at the cafeteria could really be any worse than that of the nicer-looking establishments in the park. We decided to scope out the grocery part of the store while munching mediocre sandwichs, plotting out hamburger, beer and wine dinner. Once a mental list was agreed upon, we decided to beat the heat with tickets to the most watched IMAX movie in history, Grand Canyon. In the 34 minute show, Emily and Andy both had small panic attacks: the swooping arial shots that plummet into the depths of the gorge were a little much for him, while she found the scenes of rafting the Colorado in replicas of the little wooden boats Maj. John Wesley Powell and his crew used in 1869 frighteningly real. A definite must see, especially when the weather dominates one's experience.
We made our way back to the camp store, stocking up on burger, cheese, wood and beverages, before returning to camp for an early dinner and lights out in preparation for the day's drive ahead.

Teddy Rooseveldt's Big Hole in the Ground: Grand Canyon National Park

2008-09-22T19:28:00.000-07:00

La Fiesta: Santa Fe, NM

2008-09-13T13:47:00.000-07:00

Having felt the heat of the Texas sun, and having enjoyed the splendor and ease of the Omni's in both Houston and Austin, we three travelers decided to bypass the single night of camping Palo Duro State Park (a little south of Amarillo) and take a more direct route to the Santa Fe, stopping for a brief sleep in Clovis, (a little west of Muleshoe...) New Mexico.
We rose fairly early for the jaunty trip through somewhat pretty scrubland north, making good time on a desert-windswept two-lane passing small hamlets and Native pueblos (edified with more double-wides than adobe).

"Whoever designed Santa Fe must have been drunk, and riding backwards on a mule." Will Rogers' poke at the circutous, similarly-named alleys and round-about strips called streets came to mind as we wound our way off the highway and into downtown Santa Fe. A brief check-in with the Hotel Santa Fe (majority owned by a local tribe who know style and panache), and then we worked our way to the High Road to Taos, a scenic route north that leads ultimately to Taos Pueblo, with smaller, familial pueblos along the way, like the village of Chimayo.

Chimayo is centered around the Santuario de Chimayo, famed for the healing El Posito (holy hole of sand) in the chapel's oldest wing. Built in the early 1800's as a Spanish Catholic church for the local farmers and converted natives, the sanctuary now acts as the end point for the most walked pilgrimage in the United States. Tens of thousands of believers walk to the church, many seeming to leave their crutches and oxygen tubes behind, cured by the sands of Chimayo.

We met Em's Uncle Chris and Aunt Caralee (camping in the Southwest for several weeks and serendipitously in the Santa Fe area the same time as us) in Chimayo, where they were staying that night. We decided to meet up at the plaza de Santa Fe the next day for lunch, art museums and the native vendors who line along the sidewalk.

We enjoyed the day's festivities, as well as a jaunt to the Institute of American Indian Art, as a modern, cponceptual art gallery called SITE Santa Fe, about as different as two art galleries can be.

The four of us (Moose kindly waited in the hotel room with I Now Pronounce You Chuck and Larry on the HBO to keep him happy) dined in one of Santa Fe's oldest restaurants, El Farol. in an old adobe home. One can tell the authenticity of an adobe dwelling by the sheer thickness of the mud walls; the doorways at El Farol were framed by smoothed plaster over bricks at least 10 inches thick. Tapas, concieved and flavored with the mixed heritage of traditional Spain and New Mexico, with sangria and a sugared fig dessert, was the perfect finishing meal to our brief foray into the Southwest.

We awoke early the next day for our long-ish drive to the Grand Canyon.

Driving Through Goat Country: West Texas Pictorial

2008-09-10T01:42:00.000-07:00

Why Austin is so F-ing Cool!

2008-09-10T01:09:00.001-07:00

Staying at the Omni Downtown really gives Austin, and Texas for that matter, some perspective; The 20-story glass Austin Centre houses both the Omni- a lavish hotel and conference center- as well as offices for city workers, financial planners and other white-collar movers and shakers, but amidst the busy suits and polished hotel staff, below the marble columns and modern glassworks, sits a little plaque explaining the history of that site. There, in 1839, the residence of the President of the Republic of Texas was built, only to burn to the ground several years later. Next the first residence of the Governor of the state of Texas was built there, only to be replaced a short time later with a more opulent mansion further out of the growing town. Now, glass walls shining in the hot Texan sun, heads of state and celebrities stay in the air-conditioned, fashionably decorated suites, most passing the plaque and unaware of the site's history.
Texas, Austin in particular, always throws one for a loop with its quirkiness, while at the same time enchanting with southern charm and easy, good times.

Our first day was spent at the town lake, a large body of water that effectively splits the town in half. A long bike n hike trail circles the lake and its several bridges (including Congress St. bridge, home to the largest bat colony in the US) lend Austin a jovial, active feel as runners and dog owners take in the sights and relax in the cooling evenings.
Moose, however, found little enjoyment as he was once again thrust into the midst of the dog park and Andy's vain attempts to get him to swim. He much preferred having his picture taken with personal hero, Stevie Ray Vaughn.

We enjoyed all that famous 6th St. had to offer- live music, exciting food, lots and lots of Lone Star (that great Texas lager) for two days, enjoying the Whole Food's landmark store, tasty homemade barbeque at Lambert's, an Austin institution, and Chuy's, a Tex-Mex mecca.
Alas, having traded for two more day's at Casa de Los Dutch in Florida, we had to depart this wonderful city al too soon, heading through infamous west Texas.

FLA to Austin, TEX via Houston

2008-09-09T15:51:00.000-07:00

Gustave, the Teutonic storm that bore down on the Gulf Coast, was not on our minds when we decided to grace the Dutch household with our presence for several extra days. The morning we left (ok, so it was the afternoon) we were bound for Mobile, Alabama, right smack-dab in the middle the hurricane's projected path. Mobile, not exactly a vacation destination, had our requirements for a stop-over night: 1) a Subway 2)free HBO 3)a middling-to-decently clean bed.
We awoke 14 minutes after 4am, right as all hell broke loose and Souther coastal residents took to the roads northward. Any other time, driving Interstate 10 would have taken maybe 7 hours from industrial Mobile to Uber-industrial Houston- with that route closed to westbound traffic from where we were, we instead wove our way north along backroads, inching east across Alabama, Mississippi and Louisiana for 14 hours, through Podunk towns, piney villages and odd, economically depressed hamlets barely worth the cement and rebar it took to make them.
Finally, having crossed into Texas and turned south through Jasper (about as nice as its reputation may have you believe), we arrived in Houston in the evening in time to meet up with part of Andy's Texas clan, the Boones.
Mike (Andy's Granny's son) and his wife Susan, their daughter Allison and her husband Homer, Mike's brother John and his wife Katherine (totting young Sprague), Susan's mom and brother, and John's college friend Ted all welcomed us with a feast fit for a royal court. We ate and laughed, talking with the other young Boone gal Jessica in Chile via internet videoconferencing, enjoying the comfort that family always engenders.
We retired to the Omni (a resplendent business hotel in the Heart of the Energy Corridor of Houston) for a nice night's rest before hauling to Austin, our Texas haven, in the morning.

Susan, Mike, Moose n Em.

Andy n Allison.

Lil' Sprague.

Valrico, FL (Somewhat near Tampa, for all y'all)

2008-09-04T23:45:00.001-07:00

This may be a somewhat disappointing posting for some, who are expecting Carl Hiaasen-like, Everglades-tinged notes on the muggy wilderness bordered by wild, crazy Florida cities like Miami. If you, gentle reader, are expecting that sort of Americana weirdness, please pick up Hiaasen's new book (his books-on-tape have kept us sane on this trip) and close this internet connection.
Those who seek to follow our experience, bear with our brief respite from exploration and experimentation of our broad country, and indulge with us in the sloth of home-life.

We stopped for lunch at the home of Shannon, Emily's earliest childhood friend from Florida, in Jacksonville, windy and hot with the departing storms. We hung out, Em, Moose and I, with Shannon, baby Tyler, dogs Holly (Doberman) and Martini (Mini Pinscher), for several hours before we three traveled south to the outskirts of Tampa to Casa de las Dutches.
Our seven nights there were a blur of "that's-what-she-said" jokes, raiding Steve's beer-fridge in the garage, and a combination of Rachel n Susan's cookin (Em's mom and little sister, respectively), with a lil' Tropic Thunder, Gameworks (like Scandia with beer) and sleeping til noon mixed in.
Emily was very happy to see her friends Joy and Scott (along with little Cameron), Jen and Brian (with little Avery), Kim and two her wonderful kids Jessie and Lily, Michelle and Adam Musial, and later in the trip, Jill and Ben Freeman (who will be coming out west in October for the Nike Women's Marathon!)
Andy's favorite part was the bbq and pool party for his 25th birthday, complete with squirt guns and diving rings, as well as a cookie-cake!

From Yankee Territory to the Deep South in 14 Hours: NYC to Savannah, GA

2008-08-29T12:10:00.000-07:00

The Eastern Seaboard holds some of the most interesting cities and people in the United States, but we're on a schedule, and places like Boston, Philadelphia, Baltimore, Washington DC, and Richmond, VA will have to wait for our next trek cross-country. As it is, we have time for New York, and Savannah, about as different as two cities only a few hundred miles apart can be.
We hauled into the muggy, storm-heated city around 3 am, and slept heartily until 11am, seeking out food and sights. We noshed on shrimp and baked potatoes at Wild Wing Cafe, only a few blocks from the hotel.

The sky opened up several times as we ate, so, having finished and dashed back to the hotel, we drove the short distance down a dozen blocks to the heart of the historic downtown district, replete with mossy-tree lined parks, stately homes and cobblestone roads.
Colonial Park Cemetary, the oldest and now full cemetary in Savannah is nestled amongst handsome townhouses, red brick and white metal lace fillagree completing the antebellum image.

We drove around downtown, which is practically spotted with small parks and avenues, taking in the essence of the South that emenates so thickly from the buildings and grounds in Savannah.
We saw the Mercer-Williams House, made so famous by the book and movie of Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil, a veritable boon to the tourist industry in this sleepy city.
Not far from there, we found Forsyth Park, the lagest and southern most of Savannah's city parks. The fountain, oft photographed or found in the background of southern films, and the fragrant garden maintained by Ladies Trustee Garden's Club are the highlights, which we got to enjoy nearly alone in the wake of the storms following "Fay".

Having spent the day exploring the charm and beauty of downtown, we met up with Lindsay (a high school friend of Andy's) and her boyfriend Evan, both spending the weekend in Savannah from their home in Fayetteville, NC at Lady & Sons, Paula Deen's (of the Food Network) restaurant. Having stuffed ourselves with the like of crab cakes, steak, chicken pot pie (to die for, Evan said) and the famous buffet, we toddled down to Molly Macpherson's Scottish Pub to join the Haunted Pub crawl.

Out n About in New York City

2008-08-29T11:30:00.001-07:00

Strawberry Fields, Central Park

The Lake, Central Park

Rockefeller Center

Chelsea Market

Sheep's Meadow, Central Park

Assorted Skyscrapers

The Lake, Central Park
And to finish the evening, we met up with Em's college friend Deanna and her boyfriend Jack at Rumsey Playfield in Central Park for the outdoor movie festival. That night's classic (filmed in the Bronx) was Andy's favorite: The French Connection!!!! Bloomberg, the company formerly owned by NYC's current billionaire mayor, funds and runs these free events, even going so far as to hand out plastic bottles in the admittance line for folks to transfer their alcohol into, keeping glass out of the movie field.

Big Apple Bound: Maine to NYC

2008-08-29T10:16:00.000-07:00

Having lounged in Freeport for several days, enjoying the friendship and family time that events like marriages can spawn for as long as we could, it was time to take to road again.
We started later than planned (are you seeing the pattern yet, dear reader?) and barreled down I-95 South through a touch of New Hampshire, Massachusetts, Rhode Island, Connecticut and finally into New York City, New York.

Emily had found a deal on the Westin on Times Square, normally $500 a night, for 1/5th that a night for four nights. Flash, busy, surrounded by neon and LCD and cement and glass, the hotel was definitely in the center of things.

We met up with Emily's college friends Shannon and Delinda, both now financial slicers-n-dicers in Manhattan, who took us to the pride of Hell's Kitchen, Forty-forth and X, a boutique American cuisine restaurant with fantastic fried chicken and mac-n-cheese. We enjoyed a few drinks at the hotel bar, a mere walk away, and turned in for the night.

Vacationland: Freeport/Cumberland ME

2008-08-26T10:57:00.000-07:00

There's a reason why most of the Northeast vacations in Maine come summertime; though not as hot as most Augusts, the warmth of the sun and the salt of the sea coat the air here in this green state more pleasingly than anywhere else north of Hilton Head, SC.
We winded along Highway 1 to Portland, the biggest city in Maine and a place we have enjoyed on previous visits. We paused here at the gigantic Whole Foods to stock up on dog meat, beer, wine and cheese, then continued along the crowded two-lane to the home of L.L. Bean, Freeport.
For anyone who's never been, Bean's the outfitter for life outdoors. Open 24-hours, the flagship store takes up a whole city block and covers the gamut from clothes to guns, kayaks to sleeping bags, shoes to housewares.

Emily's family lived in Maine for a long time, and when we return she gets very excited. We were there for Meg Knight's wedding, a childhood friend of Em's; Meg's parents went to University of Maine at Orono with Em's, and the two clans have been close ever since. Meg and her Groom, Bryan will be residing in Tucson, Arizona (a stop on our sojourn) after the nuptials, so we enjoyed their big day with them (as they had with us slightly more than a year before). The ceremony was held in one of those archetypal new England chapels, in warm rain the afternoon of the 16th. The wedding- our fifth this season- was beautiful, in line with the ease with which the happy couple seems to go about life.
The reception was held at Pineland Farms, a large event compound/experimental beef facility/former insane asylum (still not sure about that, chalk it up to Maine...) that gracefully spiderwebs through several dozen acres of thick pines and deep glens. The experimental beef were more prominent the night prior, as the rehersal dinner was held at a rental house in the back woods of the property abutting the experimental pastures. Like nearly all weddings, the romance and comraderie was contagious, the conviviality bursting the walls until midnight.

Camp Dudley, We hold you in our hearts... Niagara-Westport, NY

2008-08-25T21:56:00.001-07:00

The green foliage that blankets the Northeast is beguiling, and one could be tricked into thinking that this verdant land would not be nine feet under thick snow for the majority of the year. Having packed up and crossed back into the States early, passing under the not-so-watchful eye of Border Patrol, we tore through New York stopping only for gas and lunch.

We made it to Westport, on the western shore of Lake Champlain in the late afternoon, winding through the brief summer-inhabited vacation town to the road to Camp Dudley, YMCA.

Emily's Uncle Mark, a Dudley boy as a teenager, has managed Alumni Affairs at the camp, for a number of years and graciously gave us boarding with the 600 residents finishing the summer session. We stayed in Maclean Lodge, in a room furnished with two bunks and an ADA-compliant bathroom. The staff and campers were very welcoming, as we had meals in the staff canteen and bustled about campus as they enjoyed their activities.

Our first full day, we headed out for Lake Placid, host city for the Winter Olympics in 1932 and 1980. Upstate New York is one of those places where driving doesn't necessarily require a destination, its just that beautiful. We passed summer cottages of all sorts, some weathered and kitchy, other plastic and sterile. Cows occasionally roamed near the roadside, but for the most part the wet fields were speckled with baled hay and wildflowers.
The Olympic campus at Lake Placid- a town barely fit to be called a village- dominates the hillside. The free tickets Uncle Mark had arranged for us granted us access to the observation deck perched at the top of the long jump ski-lift, where views of the Adirondacks stretched out as far as the interment weather would allow.

Here we found the creative practice young ski-jumpers tackle for days on end in the summer, developing their balance for mid-air maneuvers.
Waiting for the green light from the coach below, the young athletes watch the ramp being sprayed and the jets breaking the water's surface on the pool far below. The flag goes down, and, hunched for speed, the skiers barrel down the line and flip madly, rigidly in the air before crashing skies-first into the deep water.

We enjoyed the camp's fishing, views, friendly staff and campers for another day, before heading out early the 14th for Maine.

Chicago-Niagara, OT, Canada

2008-08-19T22:39:00.000-07:00

In 1901, when a 63 year-old school teacher from Michigan became the first person to go over Niagara Falls in a barrel, trains and horses brought several hundred visitors a summer up to the tiny burgs in upstate New York and Ontario, Canada, that share their mutual names with the geohydrological wonder they encapsulate. Today cars and RVs clog the two-lanes and bridges spanning the Niagara River, bringing hundreds of thousands to the hotels, casinos, tourist traps, and of course, the falls, in a world far different from the turn of the last century.

We arrived close to 3 am; straight from Chicago running late as usual, we tore through Michigan and a bit of Ontario with our usual gusto. We had planned on camping at the local KOA in Niagara, Ontario, but as it had been raining for nearly a week, we found our tent site to be a mudhole any piggy might enjoy. Standing there, in the drizzling hours before dawn, contemplating the chances of finding a room nearby within our price range, we decided to chance it and leave the KOA. Passing "oriental massage" parlor after parlor, we found our way to the strip, of sorts, filled with neon and concrete. After 8 hotels, we finally found a room at the local Hojo's, which while staffed with some of the nicest Canadians one could find, had not been redecorated since 1981. We crashed, sleeping heavily until noon.

The "short walk to the falls" that all the nearby hotels professed was wet, long and steep. Past an exceptionally dismal horror house, a wax museum and many little holes-in-the-wall eateries we jogged through the drizzle with the giant CASINO sign as our guiding star. A quick bite in the deli there, and Andy went out to explore the falls while Emily and Moose tried their luck in the casino. The day was spent that way, Em and Moose racking up and paying out, while Andy wandered near the falls, finding good photo spots and a botanical garden hidden away from the tourists.

We ended the evening with nachos at a small pub just off the strip before retiring to our glorious suite at the Hojo's to prepare the following drive to Camp Dudley in Westport,NY.

Oh Chicago, Ohhh Ohhh...

2008-08-15T08:24:00.000-07:00

I have struck a city - a real city - and they call it Chicago. . . . I urgently desire never to see it again. It is inhabited by savages.
- Rudyard Kipling, 1891

Unlike Kipling, we found the inhabitants of this Midwestern metropolis more than charming, and the clean streets, tidy lake shore and courteous residents exude a civility stereotypical of the American plains states.

Arriving in the late afternoon, we ventured from the Omni (where Oprah hosts her TV show guests) to a nearby park viewing Lake Michigan, mere blocks from our room. We then met up with Kecia, a recently transplanted Floridian now residing in the Windy City, and her boyfriend BJ, for dinner at Devon's Seafood Grill the first night, feasting on their world-famous crab cakes and desserts before adjourning to the hotel bar for a nightcap.
The next day, our hotel staff was very helpful in pointing out directions to what was perhaps the most fun for Em and I, and the least for Moose: Montrose Dog Beach, a fenced-in section of Lake Michigan with hard packed sand solid enough for the three of us to enjoy the sun and hundreds of local Illinois puppies. Dinner that night with Sarah and Jessica, other transplanted friends was at Bijan Bistro, famous for meatloaf and mac n cheese.

The next day featured some of the highlights of Chicago:
*Navy Pier
*Millenium Park
*The Signature Lounge, 96th floor of the John Hancock Building.

Boulder CO to Chicago Il via Nebraska and Iowa...

2008-08-10T23:52:00.000-07:00

Corn. Yep corn. Thaaaaaats pretty much it...
Post Script: Sept. 5/08- They must think Sarah Palin is worldly here... Hell in a hand basket if you ask me.

RMNP Morning at Sprague Lake

2008-08-09T09:07:00.000-07:00

Rocky Mountain National Park

2008-08-06T14:57:00.001-07:00

The snuffling beast made its way into the campsite, its big paws snapping twigs on the hard packed trail. Sharp teeth glistened in the late afternoon sun, drool sliding down one furry jowl. This was not one of the 25 black bears residing in Rocky Mountain National Park, this was our little Moose, exploring his very first campground.
We had the accessible back country site at Sprague lake, on the Eastern side of RMNP all to ourselves; fly-fishermen and families walking the 1/2 mile loop around the alpine pond had flocked in the heat of day to this cool spot, but by nightfall the parking lot was empty and we three were the only ones for about two square miles. This perturbed Emily, as this was more backcountry than we had expected. With no ambient light, the Milky Way and the pale moon lit our way back from the picnic tables to our tent on the other side of the lake.
We spent the first night tightly wrapped in our sleeping bags- Emily on her cot, Moose and I curled up together on a sleeping pad. It must have been in the 30's, our breath fogging the tent. Andy awoke around 5am, and hiked around the lake for several hours shooting the beautifully sunrise-lit mountains and flora. Emily opted to sleep in; Moose couldn't get enough of the smells found around the camp, traces of the nighttime visitors.

Emily is wearing a tanktop, longsleeve shirt, sweatshirt, sweatpants, wool socks, a fleece blanket, down comforter and two sleeping bags. And a glow-stick.

Breakfast was huevos rancheros, cooked over a roaring fire.

MORE TO COME...

Why Boulder is so Gosh-Darn Cool: A Photo Essay

2008-08-06T14:33:00.001-07:00

SLC to Boulder via Wyoming

2008-08-05T22:28:00.000-07:00

We rose early to make the drive north into Wyoming, bypassing the mountain roads that would have been a straighter, though longer, route to the Boulder area, our next stop.
The pink mountains gave way to a high desert plateau, stark in flora and starker in civilization. The sky opened up as if it had been shut up in a cupboard somewhere, only now emerging in this northern state of extremes to stretch from horizon to horizon.
Only one small herd of sad looking buffalo was to be seen, waiting for midwestern hunters to shoot them like fish in a barrel. Many big rigs, some with crosses on the front grill, some with naked women on the mudflaps, all with yellow ribbons held fast on the cab.
The radio stations hummed with slide guitar and soft-spoken preachers, both lamenting the current state of things, both exalting a divine nature of hope that resides in parts of the country like this. We saw small clapboard shacks cornerstoning ranches, trailers lined along split-rail fences with small, unused motorcycle carcasses littering the yard. Only seldom was a gated development, still reeking of volatile chemicals and fresh cut lumber, situated near the road, close to Cheyenne.
We averaged 80mph, coming into Boulder, CO in the afternoon, finding respite from the heat, and a lively, youthful downtown waiting to be explored.

SLC, YO!

2008-08-02T10:08:00.000-07:00

No snow graced the jagged points of the Wasatch or Rocky Mountains, framing the expanse of Salt Lake City, Utah, as 90 degree heat and 10% humidity cooked the saline landscape.

Having met up with my Auntie Sue, a fourteen year resident of this pleasantly unique
and beautiful city, at the local Cracker barrel (go find one- trust me) for a quick bite, we four set off for the Gateway, a huge pedestrian/wheelchair friendly mall in downtown, for its blissfully cool parking and pop up fountain. We headed for the street through the old train station hall that makes up a large entrance to the mall. Inside we found beautiful stain glass and murals of Utah's western persona and achievements.

We walked a couple hot blocks to the Mormon Temple Square, the mecca of the Church of Latter-day Saints. Here that Gothic temple, speckled with Mormon symbols (some of which were very reminiscent of Free Mason iconography) and crowned with a gold statue of the Mormon angel Moroni. The grounds of this 30-odd acre compound bursts with color and green foliage, like the Mormon founds envisioned their oasis of the desert, which they wanted to call Deseret (for once, the US government went with a Native American word over the one supplied by local white settlers, when the state Utah was admitted into the union.

The friendly elders and missionaries (we met one from Oakland, one from Scotland, and there seemed to be a veritable United Nations of young Mormons serving their obligatory time as messengers of the word of god in a fairly cushy post) offer guided tours and pamphlets about the grounds and their history at the gates, but we led ourselves through so as to take our time with the sights:

The Tabernacle- grand, acoustically-perfect; a lil' Mormon lady tore a newspaper and dropped pins onto a podium at the alter which could be heard perfectly from the back row of the cavernous hall.

The Assembly Hall- a quaintly European chapel with an organ only cute after seeing the Tabernacle.

The Christus replica statue, a truly
trippy piece of religious art.

The Conference Center- a lesser-known gem featuring the largest religious
amphitheater in the world (21,000 seats), and a three-acre roof-top garden
overlooking the city.

We took in the equally expansive views on the road up the hill to the University of Utah's campus, checking out their grounds a little before heading to a brewpub near Auntie Sue's house called Hopper's, featuring great house-made beers and sodas (without caffeine, of course).
Salt Lake City is a must for anyone looking for a region still driven guided by a home-spun religious culture, set in the pink mountains of northern Utah. Some things to remember, though: Liquor laws are bizarre- bars are "clubs" where non-residents pay a minimal fee to drink, state stores dominate sales over convenience stores, and many other quirky, puritan-like restrictions on imbibing alcohol.

San Rafael to Salt Lake City (Day 1)

2008-07-31T22:59:00.000-07:00

We left at 8 am, three hours later than planned, for Andy, as many will attest, cannot manage time or space with the finesse that most possess. After a frantic search for the various things left unpacked, we tore out onto the Interstate 80 East, the back of the car packed tighter than Dick Cheney's clogged, evil arteries.
Nevada passed by slowly; three discs of a Carl Hiaasen book-on-tape, four pit-stops/gas-ups, half a bag of turkey jerky and counting those "can-you-imagine-living-here" trailers in the desert helped ease the journey through that smoggy, bland scrubland, but the real highlight of our mad race to SLC in one day was our last pit-stop at Wendover, literally on the Nevada/Utah border.
While I loaded the car back up with dog and drink, Emily played two pulls on the penny slots at the Peppermill Casino- and won $104! Needless to say, we immediately raced on, fighting the urge to feed the slots and lose her lucky winnings.
We arrived in Salt Lake City late in the evening, the last few miles of the highway shining in the sunset tinted by the pink mountains ahead. Meeting my Auntie Sue at the Addicted Cafe, a small vegan cafe in the bohemian section of town, we caught the tail end of Shannon 's show, a talented singer-songwriter friend of Emily's from college.

July 2, 2008- Our Rough Itinerary

2008-07-02T01:46:00.000-07:00

We've sorted through the shelves in our local stores for books and maps to aid in our journey. AAA has been consulted (our little TripTix book came promptly with its loose leaf printouts spiral bound) and we now begin the ardous task of making reservations for campsites and hotel rooms. Time to solidify our trip!

July 30-31: San Rafael CA to Salt Lake City UT
August 1-4: Denver/Rocky Mountain National Park CO
August 5: Des Moines IA
August 6-8: Chicago IL
August 9-10: Niagara Falls Canada/NY
August 11-13: Westport NY
August 14-17: Brunswick/Portland ME
August 18-20: New York City NY
August 21-22: Savannah GA
August 23-27: Valrico FL
August 28: Baton Rouge LA
August 29: Houston TX
August 30-September 2: Austin TX
September 3: Palo Duro Canyon TX
September 4-5: Santa Fe NM
September 6-7: Grand Canyon AZ
September 8: Tucson AZ
September 9: Long Beach CA
September 10: BACK HOME!!!!!!!!

(Small Print: Plans are not written in stone, check back for updates!)

Prelude to the Gas Pedal

2008-06-16T05:19:00.000-07:00

The wide world beckons.
In a year where “gas prices” are on the lips of every talking head and other flunky in the media, we have decided to drive from the San Francisco Bay Area to Portland, Maine, down to Tampa, Florida and home. Having taken time from work and school for this, knowing that a gallon will never be two dollars again, and seeking to experience that road trip young married couples embarked upon in less dire times, we will set out at the end of July, and loosely follow the inner arteries and capillaries home again by early September, 2008.

We will travel in our new wheelchair-accessible Honda Element, to accommodate foot, wheel and paw. Armed with research and notes, stocked with cheap, healthy nibbles from local sources along the way, we want to find the most ecologically responsible way to travel, all the while discovering universally accessible life experiences for all travelers of America’s vast landscape.

More and more that landscape is infected with franchise-stuffed strip mall after strip mall, the airwaves dominated by corporate radio playlists echoing monotonously coast to coast. Fewer places look like themselves- more and more they look like each other. A point is fast approaching, it would seem, before our identity as Americans dulls to one form of gray, boiled down from the myriad of culture and life that slower times cultivated in all regions. It will take hard work to find America, buried in the glut of logos, chains and disposable wares of our times, but we are up for the task.