Mileage Record

100 Rock Falls, IL
200 Durant, IA
300 Grinnell, IA
400 Casey, IA
500 Omaha, NE
600 York, NE
700 Overton, NE
800 Paxton, NE
900 Sterling, CO
1000 Denver, CO
1100 Vail, CO
1200-1700 Carbondale, CO & Aspen, CO
1800 Parachute, CO
1900 Westwater, UT
2000 Arches NP, UT
2100 Canyonlands NP, UT
2200 Grand County, UT
2300 Green River, UT
2400 Capitol Reef NP, UT
2500 Henrieville, UT
2600 Zion NP, UT
2700 Red Canyon, UT (outside of Bryce Canyon NP)
2800 Panguitch, UT
2900 St. George, UT
3000 Fredonia, AZ
3100 Kaibab NF, AZ (near North Rim of the Grand Canyon)
3200 The Gap, AZ
3300 The Grand Canyon (South Rim), AZ
3400 Williams, AZ
3500 Kingman, AZ
3600 Lake Mead, AZ
3700 Las Vegas, NV
3800 Baker, CA
3900 Victorville, CA
4000 Anaheim, CA
4100 Malibu, CA
4200 Pasadena, CA
4300 Oxnard, CA
4400 Santa Barbara, CA
4500 Arroyo Grande, CA
4600 San Simeon, CA
4700 Big Sur, CA
4800 Hollister, CA
4900 Fresno, CA
5000 Madera County, CA
5100-5200 Yosemite NP, CA
5300 Chinese Camp, CA
5400 Tracy, CA
5500 San Raphael, CA
5600 Russian River Valley, CA
5700 Willits, CA
5800 Fortuna, CA
5900 Prairie Creek State Park, CA
6000 Klamath, CA
6100 Grants Pass, OR
6200 Ashland, OR
6300-6400 Crater Lake NP, OR
6500 Lowell, OR
6600 Willamette NF, OR
6700 Mt. Hood NF, OR
6800 Columbia River Gorge, OR
6900 Castle Rock, WA
7000-7100 Mt. Ranier NP, WA
7200 Seattle, WA
7300 Guemes Island, WA
7400 Ross Lake Nat. Recreation Area, WA
7500 Winthrop, WA
7600 Grand Coulee, WA
7700 Spokane, WA
7800 Gaugan, MT
7900 Flathead Lake, MT
8000 Glacier NP, MT
8100 Glacier NP (Many Glacier), MT
8200 Babb, MT
8300 Outside Waterton Lakes NP near U.S./Canada Border
8400 Dupuyer, MT
8500 Wolf Creek, MT
8600 Logan, MT
8700 Corwin Springs, MT
8800-8900 Yellowstone NP, WY
9000 Grand Teton NP, WY
9100 Shoshone NF, WY
9200 Shell, WY
9300 Sheridan, WY
9400 Gillette, WY
9500 Belle Fourche, SD
9600 Piedmont, SD
9700 Custer, SD
9800 Wind Cave NP, SD
9900 Badlands NP, SD
10000 Okaton, SD
10100 Pukwana, SD
10200 Montrose, SD
10300 Rushmore, MN
10400 Bricelyn, MN
10500 St Charles, MN
10600 Camp Douglas, WI
10700 Soughton, WI
10800 Schaumburg, IL
10824 Chicago, IL

The Numbers

OK, now that we're officially home, here is a rundown of what we did and saw on our adventure:

1 Canadian National Park
1 International Peace Park
1 National Grassland
1 National Memorial
2 Countries
3 National Monuments
6 State Parks
6 Canadian Provincial License Plates Seen
15 States Visited
16 National Parks
18 National Forests
27 Campsites
41 Nights Spent Camping
46 Different Homes
46 Miles Hiked
48 U.S. License Plates Seen (missing only WV & AL)
56 Friends & Family Members Along the Way
87 Days on the Road
7,000 Elevation Feet Hiked
10,824 Miles Traveled

And now for something completely different...

I've decided to take my giant stories to another format.  The project became a little bigger than this blog since the last time I posted.  That, and the time on the road is whittling away like a burnt smores stick.  So, I shall return to that tomfoolery once I get back.  

I suppose it's getting to the point where I need to develop some sort of conclusion to this experiment.  What have I learned, how am I different, where have I been and where am I going.  Somehow, that all seems doubtful, but I'll see what I can muster up.  In the meantime, here's a little ditty that I wanted to get down on 'paper' before it was swept away.

To set the stage, we were in Glacier National Park, which is in the northwest of Montana and is adjoined to Waterton Lakes National Park in Canada.  Together they make the Glacier-Waterton International Peace Park, but that's neither here nor there.  On our second day there, we got a flat in Many Glaciers on the Montana side.  The closest place to repair the tire was in Canada, so off we went through customs.  The border was relatively uneventful that day.  It helped that Simone was driving and thus answering the officer's questions.  However, put a grizzly bearded, long haired hippy in the driver's seat and you get the following day's border crossing.  This time we went to the border that adjoins the two parks.  It went something like this.  

OFFICER GREG

(sternly)  Good morning.

HIPPY

(cheerfully)  Good morning, sir!

HIPPY'S GIRL

(same)  Good morning!

HIPPY'S DOG

(same)  Snarfle!

OFFICER GREG

Passports.

HIPPY

You bet.

(hands them to him)

OFFICER GREG

(still sternly)  So,where are you folks headed today?

HIPPY    

Just over to the park for the day.

OFFICER GREG

And how long are you planning on staying there?

HIPPY

Um...just for the day.

HIPPY'S GIRL

Six hours or so!

OFFICER GREG

And is it just the two of you?

HIPPY

Yep.  Just us and the dog!

HIPPY'S DOG

Snarfle!

OFFICER GREG

And does your dog have papers?

HIPPY'S DOG

Snarfle?

HIPPY

Papers?

HIPPY'S GIRL

Oh, you mean her proof of vaccinations from the vet?  

OFFICER GREG

Uh huh.

HIPPY'S GIRL

Oh, yes we do!

HIPPY

Oh, yes!  We've got those in the...

HIPPY'S GIRL

In the...oh...the bag that's in our tent.

OFFICER GREG

In your tent?

HIPPY 

Yeah.

HIPPY'S GIRL

But she's wearing her tags!  (getting the tags off the dog) Will that be enough? 

OFFICER GREG

(taking the tags and looking them over)  Well, okay.  Don't know about getting back in though.

HIPPY

Will that be a problem?

OFFICER GREG

Do you have someone that could drive them up here with the papers if it comes to that?

HIPPY

Will it come to that?

OFFICER GREG

Could be.  Do you?

HIPPY AND HIPPY'G GIRL

(glumly and slightly confused) No.

HIPPY'S DOG

(glumly and slightly confused)  Snarfle?

OFFICER GREG

Well, good luck.

(hands the tags back)

So, where are you two staying?

HIPPY

Just down in Glacier at Rising Sun.

OFFICER GREG

And what is the purpose of your visit?

HIPPY

We, uh, just want to see the park.

HIPPY'S GIRL

We've been traveling.

HIPPY

Yeah, we've been on the road for a few months.

OFFICER GREG

Where are you from?

HIPPY AND HIPPY'S GIRL

Chicago.

OFFICER GREG

And when are you going back?

HIPPY 

Around Labor Day.

OFFICER GREG

And why are you going back then?

HIPPY

(starting to get flustered)  Well, our theatre company has a show opening and we need to get back for that.

OFFICER GREG

So that's what you do for a living?

HIPPY

Heh heh, yeah.  Among other things.

OFFICER GREG

Uh huh.  And is this your car?

HIPPY

Yep.  Our car.

OFFICER GREG

And do you have any fruit in the vehicle.?

HIPPY

Nope.

OFFICER GREG

Any alcohol?

HIPPY

Nope.

OFFICER GREG

Over 10,000 dollars?

HIPPY

I wish!

OFFICER GREG

Any firewood?

HIPPY

Nope.

OFFICER GREG

You came from a campground without any firewood?

HIPPY

Uh, yeah.  We left it back there for tonite.  Cause we're going back.  Tonite.

OFFICER GREG

And any firearms?

HIPPY

(laughing)  No, sir.

OFFICER GREG

You came all the way from Chicago without any firearms?

HIPPY

Uh.  Yeah.

OFFICER GREG

Alright, I'm going to need you to pop your trunk.

HIPPY

Uh, okay, but it doesn't pop.  You can just open it though.  If you want.

OFFICER GREG

Okay, I will.

(does so and looks around suspiciously)

HIPPY'S DOG

Snarrrfle.

OFFICER GREG

(closes the trunk)

Okay, you're all set.  Have a good day and welcome to Canada.


fine.


- snook.

The Giant Family of America, chapter 1

A long, long time ago, in a forest on the western coast of America, there lived a family of giants. These giants were so giant that a mere eyelash from one of these creatures could barely be held in your hand. They were over a hundred feet tall, with a reddish tint to their skin and long, flowing green hair. Other than that, though, they were just like you and me.

The family was made up of a mom, a dad and four children. The dad was George and the mom was Karen, but the kids never called them by those names and, eventually, neither did George and Karen. They were just Mom and Dad. The eldest of all the children was Jimmy and while he was three hundred years old, if you compared that with his parents age, he was still only a teenager. Boy, did he sure act like it too. Next in line was Tess at two hundred and twelve. She was the brains of the bunch and everybody knew it. If they didn't, though, she would gladly let them know. Finally, there were the twins, Jill and Jack. There were each a hundred and twenty-five, but they always liked to say that, together, they were older then Tess. Tess would simply reply, 'Maybe so, but I'm twice as mature as both of you and Jimmy put together.' Mom and Dad would laugh, Jimmy would roll his eyes and the twins would just sit there, trying to do the math. This was the Giant family of America and this is their story.

On the coastal side of what is now called California was a forest that stretched as far as the eye could see. But it wasn't the size of the forest that made it special. It was the size of its trees. The were the tallest in all the land. Taller, even, than the giants that lived among them. With a red hue to their wood and giant green leaves, it provided the perfect hiding place for the Giant family of America. Here, they could walk amongst the trees, relax in the fern gullies and sleep in the beds of moss. All the while, they would disappear into the colors of the forest without a care in the world. It wasn't always this way, though.

Many moons ago, when their great great grandparents roamed the land, smaller creatures like you and me began to come over from the other countries. Giants, by nature, are peaceful creatures, but the great great grandparent giants realized that those smaller than them would get scared when they saw something so giant. Sometimes, because the smaller creatures were scared, they would get confused and try to hurt the giants. It wasn't anyone's fault because the smaller creatures just didn't understand, but the great great grandparent giants realized that in order to live in harmony, they would have to remain hidden from anyone smaller. What, though, could possibly hide a giant?

The searched and searched across all of America and couldn't find anything big enough to hide behind. The tallest thing they could find were tree, but they only came up to their knees. They did, however, give them an idea. After a lot of thought and discussion, they had plan to try and create a new kind of tree. A giant tree. So, they took a seed from a pine tree, a fir tree and an oak tree and glued them together with the red clay of the desert. Once they had done that, they planted the new giant seed into the soil along the coast so that they could feed the tree with the water of the ocean. They did this by stepping out in to the bay and blowing big giant breathes that would pick up the ocean water and rain on top of where the giant seed was planted. Then, they waited.

Soon, it began to grow and as the decades went by, it grew bigger and bigger until it was as big as them. Then, just as the great great grandparent giants had hoped, it produced a new kind of giant seed, which they planted all around their new giant tree. Finally, an entire forest of this new kind of giant tree was growing as far as the giant's eyes could see. They had a new home where they could raise their giant babies safely and they were as happy as they could be. As they smiled and admired their giant forest, they realized that the red clay from the desert, which had glued the seeds together, had dyed the wood of these new giant trees. Needing a name for their new home, they decided it only made sense to call it the Redwood Forest. So, it is hear, in the Redwood forest, that our Giant family of America once lived, safe from the danger of the outside world.




- snook.

Location:The Redwood National Forest

The Land of Giants

So, I've been trying to wrap my head around the National Parks that we've been staying at over the past two months and I've simply not been able to do it. The only thing that kept coming to my mind as I witnessed the grandeur and the splendor of these places is 'it's a land of giants.' The scale of everything is through the roof...or rather, the sky. The scope of the Grand Canyon, the waterfalls of Yosemite, the enormity of Crater Lake. Now, I've seen canyons and waterfalls and lakes, but the scale at these parks is astonishing, dumfounding, and just plain giant.

As I read about the geology and evolution of these places, it's all sounded fine and good, but it didn't really satisfy my awe. Instead of spending any time reflecting on the fault patterns, erosion and glaciers, I kept thinking 'no, it's just a land of giants.' Finally, I decided to take myself literally. In entries following this one, I'm going to start a story. A children's story. About giants. I'm going to try and make sense of these parks through the eyes of a child. Namely, me. It's funny--one way that this trip has affected me is it's absolutely brought out my inner child. Or maybe I've just regressed twenty-five years or so. Ask Simone. I'm fairly certain she'd agree. Anyway, I have no idea if I'll finish the project here or back at home. And I have no idea what the hell I'll do with it. But, at this point, it's the best way for me to describe what has gone on inside my brain when I've seen these magnificent places. And so, here we go

2/3 Musings

Written on Tuesday August 3rd

It has been 58 days and over 6300 miles since we left Chicago. Now, at Crater Lake in Oregon, we are enjoying our eighth National Park and our fifteenth campsite. It's hard to believe that we've been gone for over two months, especially since we still have moments where it seems unbelievable that we're on this trip at all. But now, two thirds of the way through, I find myself reflecting on the experiences we've had and anticipating those that await us.

This truly has been an incredible journey thus far, and one that's hard to describe during my occasional phone conversations with family and friends back home. We've seen so many people and places and had such a wide array of experiences that there's no way to really distill everything to a few essential talking points. The best I can figure is that our stories will make occasional appearances in conversations over many months as we discover their relevance to our lives back home, which seem quite distant at this particular juncture.

Serendipity and luck continue be our good friends as we drive up the west coast. In addition to the immeasurable natural beauty we've had the privilege to witness (and not a single drop of rain since CO!), we were able to attend the All Star Game in L.A. (thanks to our dear friends who work for Stub Hub), stay at a beautiful house in Santa Barbara (thanks to a cousin's generosity), view an amazing collection of impressionist paintings at the DeYoung Museum in San Francisco (thanks to renovations currently underway at the Musee d'Orsay in Paris), attend my childhood best friend's 30th birthday party in Oakland, have a private tasting with the owner of the greenest winery in Russian River, and see two fabulous shows at the Oregon Shakespeare Festival in Ashland. Friends and family continue to open their homes to us, which gives us the dual pleasures of their company and use of their showers/washing machines (luxuries we have come to appreciate greatly). Complete strangers have quickly become campsite friends, offering everything from conversation and travel advice to firewood and even air mattresses.

And really, appreciation is what it's all about. I keep thinking about what I want to take away from this trip in the months to come, and I think that the most important thing I can do is make sure I continue to take the time to truly appreciate things once we are back home. As a constant and relentless "doer", I often have a hard time taking a deep breath and smelling the proverbial roses, so often concerned with the next item on my to do list, with the next project, audition, performance, meeting, event.

And now, as much as I have to make a real effort to restrain myself from over thinking the impending job search, wedding planning, Aftermath remount, etc., I have come to appreciate so many things--how numerous and bright the stars are far from city lights, roaring campfires and the way their scent lingers in clothes long after they've been extinguished, Willie's excitement when we take her to a new dog park, the perfect s'more, early morning hikes, Aaron's delicious dinners cooked on a little Coleman stove, getting away with not wearing a bra for a whole day, the comfortable routine with which we now set up and break down camp, waking up from the heat of the sun, deliciously fresh west coast produce, having the time to read or play cards, spending real quality time with each other and loved ones scattered around the west. The scenic views are stunning--mountains, waterfalls, canyons, the tallest trees and bluest lake you'll ever see in your life--but so are the smaller components that comprise them--the doe feeding her two young fawns, butterflies resting on wildflowers, a burned out tree trunk sprouting new life, a colorful cluster of lichens on a rock. I hope that I am never so unfortunate as to take any of these for granted.

And then there are all of those things in our normal life that I often forget to appreciate but are considered rare on the road--daily showers, clean clothes, a glass of ice water whenever you want it, a comfortable bed to sleep in, a dishwasher. It is easy to forget how wonderful these things can be!

But regardless of where we are or what we're doing, this trip reminds me constantly that every day is a gift. And I'm resolved not to let myself forget this when we resurface in the real world:)

Shakessnarfle!

I went to Ashland, Oregon! It is the land of Shakespeare! It put me in the mood to write a sonnet!

Willie's Sonnet #18

Shall I compare me to a summer's hay?
I shall because I am quite temperate.
Rough winds to chase the pesky bugs away
And Willie's leash hath all to short a gait.
Sometimes too hot the sun above me shines
And often the shade is too early dimm'd
And every bear from bear we must decline
Though gainst my nature, so we aren't unlimb'd.
But my eternal summer shall not fade
Nor lose the memory of the camps I know'st.
Nor shall my spirit wanderest from this shade
Een in eternal lines to time I grow'st.
So long as dogs can breath or eyes can see,
So long this lives, and this gives life to snarfle!

North V. South

It took us three weeks and 2200 miles to get through California. Three weeks. 2200 miles. Damn. There is absolutely no conceivable way that California isn't two different states. Just the geography alone should tell you that. The east coast started with thirteen colonies, but that wasn't enough so they made more. The west coast? Oh, they're fine with three. That's a good solid number. Makes total sense. Uh huh. Seriously, apart from just the sheer ridiculousness of its ginormity, the people of the state deserve some separation. They don't belong under the same roof. Hell, they probably don't belong under the same sky. Allow me to extrapolate.

Los Angeles. Land of hopes and dreams. Home of the sun and everything under it. Hollywood. Bear in mind as I go through this, I was once Los Angelese. I bear no ill nor think no wrong. But they are truly out of their minds. It's funny, when I lived out there or when I visit, I don't run into the natives all that much. My experience is of the immigrants, the transplants and the lost. Not the natives. I know nothing about them. I see Los Angeles as an island destination for all of those who want to create their own reality. Who are fed up with the truth and the sane. Who wish instead to tailor their existence. Their personified entity, of course, is Hollywood. A land of make believe that, on one side of the scale, is a mere representation of reality and on the other, a complete removal from reality. Think Midnight Cowboy versus Avatar. Likewise, the people seem to create an image of themselves and then proceed to live the image. Sometimes that image is closely related to who they are, but I'd wager that most times it is not. Either way, it's not real, in the truest sense. I'll never forget my trip to the Los Feliz Seven Eleven during my second year there. I was going to grab a Coke and a processed tuna fish sandwich. The typical lazy afternoon snack in those days. Anyway, just as I turned the corner, I saw, there, next to the entrance, a bearded man with long brown hair, standing on top of his red convertible, playing a Jimi tune on his electric guitar, dressed in a toga and a crown of thorns. It wasn't so much what I saw, but how I reacted to it. I didn't. I went in and got my Coke and exited right by Jesus, the rock god. If that had happened anywhere else, I would have stopped dead in my tracks and looked around for a reaction. But I didn't because it was LA. While LA didn't fit with me (or I didn't fit with it), I must admit, I truly do love this quality. I do, but still. Let me speak bluntly. The truth of the matter is it's based in lies. This is not to say there are no real people. I know a few of them, but they're the exception to the rule. That's not the city's personality. And it's not what the city thrives on. Just like the movie sets that are scattered across town, it's a land built on false fronts.

San Francisco. City on the hill. Home of the hippies. Wear those flowers and keep your heart there safely. I was fortunate enough after my time in LA to spend a summer here, so I'm speaking from a little more than just the two day exposure I just experienced. The comparisons to its second cousin, twice or thrice removed, are endless. So let me speak of one. Los Angeles is a city that was created from nothing. A brand new reality based on dreams and irrigation. In essence, it's a city without foundation, floating in the clouds. San Fran, on the other hand, seems to have grown from the land. From the hills it rolls over. From the bay it embraces. And from the Redwoods that surround it. The people, whether they come from near or far, seem to have grown from the city just as the city from the land. Not to get too hippy, but there is a peace that flows through everything. Land to city to people. It's a true ecosystem of civilization. And because of this, there is foundation and, just like the giants that populate the hills, it's rooted in reality. The art, the music, and even the colors seems to come from the nature they call home. The buildings seem to bow to the terrain while the streets roll with the hills. Nothing is cut into, shifted or altered. It is what it always has been. Just with a city on top. Now, just like any urban area, it has its crime and dirt, but it's not threatening. Never menacing. Mischievous perhaps, but safe. A safe haven for all wandering souls looking for a home. I suppose that's what it feels like to me. During our time there, we spent the day at a party in a Victorian mansion up on a hill. Friendly folk, plentiful grub, and never-ending music. The house itself held our friend's parents, our friend, her husband, her son and her brother. One happy commune. But there was one room in the house that was called the Bluegrass Suite. It was a place for traveling musicians to stay as they come through town. In its simplicity, that, to me, is San Francisco.

Two cities. Two worlds. One state.

California.



- snook.

Location:California, USA

Wine Country

whew.


- snook.

Location:Guernaville, Russian River, CA

San Fransnarfle

I saw my first transvestite hooker! He was pretty! Snarfle!

Ocean!

Today I saw the ocean for the first time! I went body surfing even though I didn't know what it was! I stole other dogs' balls & sticks because my parents forgot to bring mine! Now I'm really tired but I've forgotten why! Snarfle!

Oh, the people you'll meet...

We have now been on the road for almost 40 (!) days, and I sheepishly realize that I have not posted a single blog entry since Day 15. I will try to make up for it now at least a little bit...

One of the things that has struck me the most about our time on the road is all of the interesting people we've met along the way. For some reason, people seem to be on their very best behavior when they are camping. Perhaps it's the fact that we're all sharing limited resources in a condensed space, or that people know how frustrating it is to arrive at a campsite that has been left sullied by the previous inhabitants, or maybe people are just in a better mood when they have the chance to experience the outdoors fully and for a longer period of time. Whatever it is, it seems to us that us that the folks we've encountered while camping are some of the most pleasant and friendly folk that we've ever met. No matter how short a time you may stay at any given campsite, you are part of that intimate community from the minute you pull into the park, and people seem to recognize strongly & immediately the importance of the Golden Rule.

Here are some of our favorite people we've met in the past few weeks...

The little girl (probably around 8 years old) who came up to me while I was washing dishes at the shared outdoor sink at our Bryce Canyon campsite. Her hands were covered in dirt from playing, and I turned the water on for her so she could wash them. "This place is fun," she stated enthusiastically. "It is," I replied. "It's beautiful." I love the way kids can be so open and friendly in a way that reminds you what it is like to be uninhibited and constantly appreciative of all of the wonder around you.

George and Karen, a couple I guessed to be in their early seventies, whose pickup truck camper was parked at the site next to ours at Bryce. When they saw Willie, they came over right away so that they could pet her. They loved dogs, they told us, but their lifestyle wasn't really conducive to having one. They had been "off the grid" since 1994, when they gave up their permanent home and took to the road. George said that his favorite part about being on the road was all of the people they met, and he agreed that everyone seemed to be on their best behavior while camping. Their license plate read "Montana", but I quickly learned that they had family in Utah, a little mobile home they parked on the beach in San Diego, and a little place in Mexico, and it seemed that they were always on the move. George and Karen were familiar with Chicago--he had studied engineering in Waukegan back in the late 1950s, and he and Karen used to have a small yacht that they sailed around the Great Lakes in the summers. I told him about our involvement with theatre and how we had planned for quite awhile to take this big trip, and he was absolutely thrilled that we were doing it. At one point, Karen had come over to our campsite with some fresh watermelon they had obtained on a recent boat trip with their grandkids. I loved that she said "How would you two like to help us out by eating some of this watermelon?", as though we were doing them this huge favor as opposed to the other way around. I later thanked them for the watermelon and told George it had been fun camping next to them. "Oh, we're not camping," he said. "What you two are doing is real camping." As he and Karen pulled out of the site on their way to Zion National Park, George spotted Aaron, put his hand out the window in a sort of salute/wave, and said one word--"Good". We had their approval and their blessing, and although we had only camped next to them for two nights, this oddly meant a great deal.

Igor, Wendi, & their beautiful 18-moth-old son Zlad, a lovely family from Paris who was in the states for only 9 days to explore more of the National Parks (they had previously visited Yosemite). Igor walked over from his campsite to our adjoining one at the South Rim of the Grand Canyon to retrieve little Zlad, who had wandered over to our site as his parents were setting up their tent. Igor had a thick French accent, but his English was strong and we chatted for a bit. Aaron give him basic directions to Lake Mead, an area we both planned on heading to the next day. We agreed that the Grand Canyon was much more crowded than we thought it would be--with all of the shops, lodges, grocery store, and even a post office, "Grand Canyon Village" was no misnomer. Before they left the next morning to try to sell their unused second night before they headed out, Igor made sure to bring his family over to say goodbye.

Then there are the people you don't actually meet but who you love to observe...

While camping at Capitol Reef, we encountered a family of hippies (mom, dad, & two teenage sons) who Aaron was convinced were utterly and completely tripping on acid. When we arrived at the rather crowded site, the four of them were lying in the grass together, one or two trying to read and the others apparently napping. We set up our camp and were in the middle of eating the delicious dinner Aaron had prepared when the family decided to take a very slow walk together around the perimeter of the site, during which they observed their surroundings very carefully and yet seemed to notice nothing. After this little stroll, the family I dubbed "The Trippy McBallsersons" attempted the arduous task of setting up their tent. One would begin setting it up while another would just sort of zone out and watch, and then that person would eventually ease into the movement required to attach one tent pole to another. It appeared that the task (which took about 20 minutes when all was said and done) was just a bit too much for the father of the family, who continued to meander around the park. "Who needs a tent when you have skin?" I quipped in my best impression of someone who was tripping balls on acid. We continued to laugh quietly as the totally oblivious Ranger Len approached the Trippy McBallsersons to try to recruit their attendance to his evening program at the nearby amphitheater.

At Zion, we camped next to an interesting trio of people that we never really had the chance to talk to but about whom we decided to invent a backstory based on clues from what we'd observed. The three of them arrived at camp in a Lexus SUV with a California license plate--a tall dark & handsome lad we named "Todd", ballerina thin brunette "Evelyn" (but who we decided went by "Evie"), and dorky curly-haired Jeremy. As far as we could figure, Todd & Evie had been dating for about six months, and he had invited her to go camping for the weekend. Evie's friend Jeremy had been having a rough time lately, and she had invited him along (much to Todd's dismay). Because he liked Evie so much, Todd had relented and allowed Jeremy to tag along, but he was far from happy about it. As he set up the intimate two-person tent he had picked out especially for the romantically rustic tryst he had planned with Evie, Todd begrudgingly eyed Jeremy, who meticulously arranged his sleeping bag on his outdoor cot. Jeremy had brought a single burner backpacker's stove as his contribution to the group's camping supplies, but Todd insisted that they go buy firewood and then cook their dinner over the fire pit. Todd had purposefully arranged the two camp chairs he brought for himself and Evie a few feet away from the picnic bench where Jeremy would have to sit to eat his dinner and sat in the chair closest to it so that Evie would have to sit as far away from Jeremy as possible. But Evie didn't want Jeremy to feel excluded, so she sat on the bench next to him between him and Todd. After dinner while Todd & Evie finished washing dishes, Jeremy glumly and carefully packed up his little stove and stored it in the back of the Lexus. The trio played cards for a bit, and Todd finally began to loosen up a little. The next morning, he even shot a half-smile and a "hi" to the happy-looking couple at the site next to them, whom he had tried to ignore the evening before if only to hide his jealously. Evie had insisted on waiting to hear Jeremy's snores, but she had at least gone through with his plans for their "tent activities." As they piled into the Lexus to head home, Todd swore to book a hotel room next time he wanted a weekend away with Evie.

And then there are the folk that you already know, but who brighten your journey along the way. Many thanks to the Rooses (Jeff, Valerie, Greg, Adam, Don, & Amy), the Snooks (Richard, Marilyn, & Amy), the IWU folk (Megan, Jon, Jeff, Kelly, Wendy, Sarah, & Brooke), and Andrew (aka George Harrison) for sharing a bit of their time & lives with us over the last few weeks.

We have truly had an amazing adventure thus far, and I am very excited to see what the next few months will hold, and the incredible people we will undoubtedly meet.

A Meditation on America

as i reclined in my camping chair, staring at the night sky of the grand canyon, something was different. the stars were a brilliant sight to behold. the campground was alive with a light buzz of crackling fires and dinner preparations. but there was something missing...and pleasantly so. it was the fourth of july and there were no manmade fires in the sky. no snap, crackle or pop. no oohs and ahs from the crowd. and for the first time in years, i had the peace of mind to reflect on what america is and what it means to me.

the american dream. the land of the free. the world's superpower. there are many phrases that this country conjures up, but this trip is giving me something else. something that i had perhaps forgotten. or maybe i never knew it to begin with. america, more than anything, is a community. more importantly, it's a community made up of folk from everywhere else except america. sure, there have been generations of american born babies, but our history is relatively short when compared to the civilizations and empires that preceded us. we're a land of immigrants searching for a home. searching for a life. searching for ourselves. this is the side of america that i'm falling in love with. and this is the side i've been seeing quite a bit of on our trip.

the campground is quickly becoming my metaphor. like america, the residents are made up of people from all across the world, who come together to create a community where they will all eat, sleep and live amongst each other. the most beautiful aspect of this is the harmony in which it happens. i haven't witnessed a conflict nor seen a spark of inappropriate behavior. quite the contrary. i've seen countless folk helping out their fellow man. i've met people with the kindness that was once only attributed to family and friends. not strangers. do unto thy neighbor seems to actually be the golden rule of the campground. and then, just as the sun sets and rises again, the experience changes. campers move out and new neighbors move in. all so temporary and yet all so fluid. it's a simplified metaphor, yes. but true. and beautiful.

but there is a flip side. and that flip side has no truer a stage than las vegas. having spent the better part of a month living in campgrounds, we travelled to las vegas for a couple of nights. once the obvious culture shock wore off, i began to see the similarities between the two experiences. people come to vegas from all over the country and world. they come to relax and unwind. and much like the national parks, they come to experience a type of grandiosity that can only be found in america. vegas is america's largest campground. but there is one glaring exception: the sense of community is nowhere to be found. folks go there for themselves. they go to feed their selfish desires. greed, lust, gluttony. to behave in a way that would be deemed completely inappropriate in their hometown. they go, not for community, but for the utter lack of society. now, is this wrong? hell no. if it exists, there is a need and far be it from me to denounce it. (disclaimer: i have been to vegas many times and have had too much fun).

but here's my point. america has many sides to her. they are all valid and even necessary. speaking for myself, though, i've felt her leaning towards the vegas side of things. maybe that's simply been my perception as a former member of the angry youth. or maybe the mass media has had something to do with it. or, perhaps and probably, it's much more complicated than that. regardless, I'm changing my focus. i'm going to be spending the next two months in the campgrounds of america. and when i get back to the city, i'll be bringing that side of america back with me.

- snook.

Location:The Grand Canyon/Las Vegas

Vegas, snarfle, Vegas!

I went to Las Vegas! It is a land of four walls, a ceiling and a giant bed! It has air conditioning! It's like the desert, only the complete opposite! I'm going to take a nap! Snarfle!

canyonlands.

it was time to go off the grid. not because anyone was chasing me. not this time. it had simply been too long. twelve years is an eternity to be away from the place where you left a piece of your peace of mind. jesus. twelve years. to make that at all relative, the last time i was on this trail, i had just come out of an existential crisis on the winning end. i had discovered the strange, mystical world of theatre. through it's smoke and mirrors, lies and ego, wonder and innocence, i had found a home. it had filled me with reckless power. much more than i realized at the time. now i live with the dirty beast. regardless, i digress. it was time to go off the grid.

the last that i had taken down this way was a reverend of the first class. real gent. also one of the craziest bastards i had ever met. and the craziest one i ever respected. this time, however, was an entirely different ballgame. i had the woman i had only recently asked to be my woman forever. dangerous game with dangerous cargo. i had the world driving in sooby. an explanation will be needed for that last part.

sooby. the explanation is that's my car's name. the further answer to the coming why is that sooby is an ancient, mythical iguana from madagascar. according the legend, the sooby were gods of full heart and cunning wears. where they may have come short in agility and stamina, they where giants among the brave and valiant. i'm going to have to skip the obvious sooby v. banoble war because i frankly wasn't paying that much attention when i was with the high priest. more than frankly, i was blasted out of my mind off of bourbon and was at the point where words simply escaped me. both out of my mouth and someone else's. so, to follow a well meaning, but senile old coot was inescapably beyond me. but, again, i digress. my car and the sooby were the same color. so i named my car sooby.

time i came back to the point. just outside of moab, utah is where it all went down. many were involved. some where angels. some where devils. but they all helped in some way. it was time to go off the grid and off i went.

we entered the canyon how all do. no secret there. we meet with the guide, shafer. much like virgil leading dante down to hell, i followed her through the twists and turns of the descending limestone. she was sweet and well meaning to be sure, but i shouldn't have trusted her. her curves where mesmerizing and i simply lost all ability to handle the situation rationally. i was giddy with excitement at what lay ahead and i just followed like a little blind puppy who smells bacon.

the eventual goal was night two of four--white crack camp. top three most gorgeous spots i've ever seen, with hanging valley ranch and my fiancee taking the top two spots (two and one, for those keeping score at home). that being said, i implored to the fiancee that this long crawl was all about the journey and not the destination. i could tell by the look in her eye that the descent had planted the fear in her heart. but she's a tough one and i wasn't worried. it hadn't grabbed me. yet.

a word about the terrain. seriously fucked. okay, that's two, but it's just a two-word terrain. there were cacti coming in from the left and right of the path the size of mutant porcupines. as if that wasn't enough, razor sharp rocks sliced out of the surface like a rusted table saw. it was an obstacle course for a kangaroo mouse, let alone sooby. at times, the hills when straight up and straight down at eighty-nine degrees, leaving only one degree for traction. the only safe place was the sky, so, sometimes, you had to drive on that. we never left first gear and never broke the five mph marker. like i said, it was a long crawl.

back to the trial. or, rather, trail. according to canyon law, we had to stop off at musselman to pay our dues. beast of a creature with rippling muscles that modern man hasn't even evolved. and slightly illiterate to boot. in my younger days, i would have straddled his shoulders and conquered him with sheer strength. but those days are now past and i prefer a slightly less direct approach. so, with a cool head and smooth talking, we kept our distance and parted in peace. Funny what the years will do. a few more hours down the road, we pulled into our camp for the night at airport tower. from what i understand, it got its name from the plane-sized vultures that roost at the top of the butte. ugly as sin with a real taste for human skin. nothing but skin. they just leave you, fully filleted as a present for their desert brethren. the only vulture who starts the job instead of finishing it. anyway, luckily, they were in hibernation. otherwise, our temporary home would be uninhabitable. here we met up with our fellow travelers. they were veterans of this land and, more importantly, they were family. always good to have back up, especially back up of your own flesh and blood. they were traveling in a vehicle, whose familiar name is lexy, but i'll let them tell you that story. if and when you ever run into them. having set up camp, we relaxed into the canyon sand with a feast fit for kings. marinated flank steak with a side of fine wine. it had been a good day. and i didn't even have to use my ak.

the next morning, we left in a flurry. white crack was that day's final camp and we were all off a mind to hit the trail early. the road kept it's two word name and on we plowed, deeper and deeper into the silent landscape. around the second bend, we came upon a woman of mystifying misery. she stood there, against the canyon wall, washing her clothes in a basin. back and forth along the washboard, she scrubbed the same piece of cloth. everything was dyed in red. the cloth, the water, even the blush of her cheeks. we watched her do this as we continued to move. there was no consoling, no helping, no words to be said. she just washed. back and forth. back and forth. the next bend couldn't come sooner. but it finally came.

hours passed. we came to a fork in the road and hung a left, straight out to the rim. and there, perched on the edge of the maze, with the needles poking up along the horizon was white crack. it was here that i had once found my peace of mind and here that i had left a small piece of it. native legend has it that it was here where a thunderbird had struck the earth with a bolt, creating the landscape on which it now perches. i figure that sounds about right. after pitching camp and while the others settled in for early afternoon meditation, i grabbed my six strings and headed out. a small hike later, i was sitting on the edge of the cliff, singing to the canyons and thanking them for their gift. a couple inches over on the sundial later and i was joined by my fiancee. i sang again, this time to her, and professed my love with the land bearing witness. the ritual was complete. i had done what i had come to do.

that evening, my family, my finacee and i feasted again. this time it was fit for gods. delectable crab cakes and a quenching chenin blanc that paired perfectly with the desert sunset. life doesn't get any better. and it knows better than to try.

the next morning, we enjoyed a breakfast that would make the irish proud and planned our escape. it was two days out and the path was treacherous, but we had made it this far and there was no reason to think it couldn't be done. so off we went. the day started like any other. dodging the prickly pears and sidestepping the well-honed stones, sooby crawled forth. then it happened. a shot rang out. i saw what looked like smoke in my rearview mirror and i feared for the worst. as i stepped out of sooby, the smoke turned red and i realized that it was only the desert dirt flying from lexy's tires. better than smoke, i thought, but still a problem. i reached my family and one look in their eyes told me all i needed to know. it was the murphy gang and they were out for blood. i have a history with them, but it's never been personal. given my present company, however, this time it was. i spoke before about my younger self and how he and i tend to make different decisions. this was another in an increasingly long list. there was a day, i would've had it out with the murphy boys. in fact, my first instinct was to do just that. i got into sooby, headed towards their canyon and hit the gas. but after another assault of crackling bullets,nn i stopped, turned and, in a tornado of dirt and sweat, went out the way i came. it was a long day of retreat with anger gnawing at my pride like a teething dog on a rawhide.

at the end of the day, it wasn't worth it. we may have won. but then there's that other possibility. and, in that case, i wouldn't be writing all of this down in the comfort of the gonzo inn. wouldn't be dining with my family and fiancee tonite at the desert bistro. and i wouldn't be able to pack an arsenal for next time and beat the shit out of those murphy boys.



- snook.

Location:the gonzo hotel, moab, Utah.

Guess what?

I went to the desert! It sure was hot! Snarfle!

a song to start us out.

Here's a little ditty I wrote at our first campsite. It's not much without the tune and the tune ain't much without the words, but together I kinda dig it. Anyway...

oak grove

the river runs to my left
to the eastern side of town
the cottonwood floats to my right
and i'm on solid ground
but the world is upside down
and the road has yet been found

where from here is my next home
will find me when it may
as long as she is by my side
i know where i'll lay
same as yesterday
she is where i'll stay

off we go to the setting sun
chasin what's left of now
we'll let the rest create the past
they'll figure it out somehow
as we go from town to town
we'll just figure in the now



- snook.

Location:Oak Grove BLM campsite

Turkey Day

Hi! I'm having an amazing time! Today, I played with my best friend, Rose, for a long time! Then she went away! Then I found a new friend! It was a turkey! We played and played! Then I ripped out his throat and started to eat him! I got in big trouble! My humans underestimated my animal instincts! Today was the best day ever!
Snarfle!

10 things I learned at the Aspen Food and Wine Festival

1. Relax your meat
This was said time and time again. Whether it's after you sear a steak or roast a chicken, let the thing relax, yo. It'll thank you in your mouth.

2. Bourbon doesn't have to be from Kentucky.
In one sitting, I tasted Kentucky bourbon, California bourbon, New York bourbon, and Colorado bourbon. That last one, made entirely of malt barley, was the bombshizznet. It'll accompany me to the desert tomorrow, but I'm afraid it might not make it out.

3. Never buy boneless, skinless chicken breasts.
It is the least flavorful part of the chicken, not to mention it's missing the skin and bones...otherwise known as the tasty goodness. I'll be roasting my chickens whole from here on out.

4. Never use olive oil when grillin steak.
It's got a low flash point and will burn quickly, leaving the meat bitter. Peanut or canola oil will do just fine. Courtesy of Tim Love from Forth Worth.

5. Wine is best considered a condiment.
Don't get me wrong, I'll still drink my sippin wines. However, when pairing a wine to your food, there's helluva lot to learn that'll blow your tastebuds out the back of your head.

6. Find your own wind.
Be geo-specific. Italian food tastes like the places it's cooked in. However, when making a dish, don't worry about getting the ingredients from the place the recipe was made in. Get them from your local farmers and make that dish taste like where your from. Courtesy of Mario Batali.

7. Mexican food is a symphony of flavors.
If you were to eat dinner cooked by a Mexican grandmother and told her that you loved the cinammon and garlic and cilantro of her dish, you'd be thrown out of the house. You're not supposed to be able to pick out the ingredients. Instead, they should all flow together and create a great symphony of flavor. Courtesy of Rick Bayless.

8. Whoever invented the garlic press was a genius. And a bastard.
It takes ten seconds to press the garlic and 74 years to pick all the shit out of it. Instead, just peel the clove and hammer it with the flat part of your knife. Garlic pressed. Courtesy of Michael Symon.

9. 'If you want to eat the cutting board, beat the shit out of your herbs.'
When cutting herbs, only do one pass. What your doing is releasing the oils and if you chop the hell out of them, as I have been doing for all of my cooking life, then your only seasoning the board. Courtesy of Michael Symon.

10. You can't escape the paparazzi.
Sure enough, they caught Brian and Anita in the tasting tent enjoying a miniature martini together. The next day, it was all over the Aspen Times.

10 Things I Learned (About Myself) at Food & Wine

#1 I like gin. A lot.

I attended Tony Abou-Ganin's "Gin Alley: Lost Cocktails of a Bygone Era" demo, where I learned how to make a Ramos Gin Fizz, a Corpse Survivor #2, an Aviation Casino Cocktail, and the Perfect Dry Martini, which Tony described as "Fred Astaire in a glass." At the tasting tent, I tried many a delicious gin cocktail, including the Norfolk Aviation, which is made with

lavender! Delicioso!

#2 Even when the person in action is a master chef who's been cooking for well over 50 years, I still get nervous about fingers & fast chopping.

#3 "Gluttony breeds innovation after all."

I made this comment to Aaron after figuring out a way to hold a wine glass, a couple of cocktail samples, and a plate food at the same time.

#4 It's fun to get your picture in the paper. Even if it's only because you happen to be drinking a very petite martini. Thanks Aspen Times!

#5 I just might adopt Jacques Pepin's food-ism: "Anything I like, I call a vegetable." There is nothing more endearing than a sweet sagacious Frenchman who also happens to be one of the world's best chefs.

#6 I no longer have any desire to go to Table fifty-two. I think it's great that Art Smith lost 100 pounds in a year, but his demo was very disappointing.

#7 As I left the tasting tent after consuming an uncountable number of calories in an hour and a half, it occurred to me that there might be such a thing as Too Much of a Good Thing. Maybe.

#8 I don't ever want to have cosmetic surgery. Even if I happen to be in a town where 80% of women appear to have had it multiple times.

#9 As gorgeous as Aspen is (and even more so when you are able to sample so many delectable eats and drinks), I still prefer the quiet beauty of Hanging Valley Ranch.

#10 If your future father-in-law accidentally walks in on you on the toilet, it is best to pretend that it never happened. And try to find a different way to say "Happy Father's Day" next year.

10 Things I Learned at the Ranch

1. It's pretty even when it's ugly.
It may have rained most of the weekend Signal was out here, but that sure as hell didn't put a damper on the spirits.

2. When you think you've got too much to drink, you've got just enough.
Six cases of wine. Four cases of beer. 2 liters of bourbon. 1 fifth of scotch. Down the Signal hatch.

3. Shootin's in our blood.
Of all the activities Signal tried--riding, volleyball, pingpong, hiking, atving, etc--I'll be damned if everyone of us ain't a marksman with the shotgun. We killed those biodegradable pigeons good.

4. Even a cowboy can get too drunk for his own good.
The cowboy poet who came to entertain us may have once ridden bulls for a livin, but the martinis I made for him slurred his songs and scattered his poems. Bless you Gary. Hope you made it home safely.

5. Men and women alike know what to do with their meat.
Tony was given a grill and a pile of 20 NY Strips. He gave us back a platter of melt in your mouth steaks. Meg was given a pot, three kinds of meat, and her own spices. She served up the meanest chili you'll find. Tony Ingram and Meg Marra, ladies and gentlemen!

6. The finest cowboy in the state of Colorado goes by the name of Oak.
Oak Applegate, the ranch manager here, was given a tall task: teach the city folk the mountain. Most guys I've known would have laughed and laughed. Oak, on the other hand, simply had a blast. Good sir, if you're reading this, we have a favor to repay. You're welcome in Chicago anytime and we'll do our best to show you as good a time as you showed us.

7. Bears are afraid of yodeling.
Unbeknownst to us at the time, a bear decided to check our are Saturday night feast and entertainment (the aforementioned steaks and cowboy poet). Just as he was inchin up to the deck, Gary broke out into his yodeling and the bear took off, even tripping over the tent wire on his way to the brush. How do I know? The aforementioned Oak, who didn't say a word the whole time.

8. The sun burns.
If anyone got a chance to see many of the Signalites upon their return, well then, this speaks for itself.

9. There is such thing as a turkey whisperer.
It was my honor to witness a full conversation, including what looked like Sicilian hand gesturing, between the three young turkeys of the ranch and one Joseph Leland Stearns. I'd describe it to you if I could, but I'd be willing to guess what you're picturing is just about right.

10. A dog is still a dog.
Evidenced by one Wilamena Nelson Snoos killing one Turkey Tom Jr. today. It shall henceforth be called the bloodbath of 2010. Joe, my condolences. Please pour a sip on the concrete for your fallen homie tonite.

5 Things I've Learned About Horses

#1 "The meek will inherit the earth, but they will not ride a horse."
(This advice was given to me by cowboy poet Gary McMahon after
I complained that the horse I'm riding always seems to want to go a
slightly different way from the others.)

#2 Just because a horse avoids a tree or a fence doesn't mean that your knee won't whack it.

#3 Don't try to put on a jacket while riding a horse.
(You have to introduce anything new to horses very carefully so that they don't get scared; it
is best to get off your horse, slowly show him/her the new object, and then proceed).

#4 It is better to ride the flatulent horse than to ride the horse behind him.

#5 Baby Icelandics are about the cutest thing I've ever seen!

The Signal Retreat

It's been almost a week since the last of the Signal family departed CO, but I wanted to say thank you to them (and of course the Snooks!) for an amazing retreat.

To sum up the experience...

brunch at Main St. Cafe, hiking, horseback riding, napping, reading in the sun, watching the "two-headed monster" goldens play, Mel's tilapia over spinach & veggies, beef tenderloin, steak (perfectly grilled by Tony), corn on the cob, peach crisp, fantastic wine, being saved from a bear by the yodeling of a cowboy poet, witnessing the brand-new enthusiasm of a two-week-old baby Icelandic, barn kitties, shooting skeet, ATVing through the hay fields, tenting it with Stony (for one night anyway!), campfires, s'mores, the brightest stars I've ever seen, a brief & rainy game of volleyball (thanks for humoring me y'all!), a delicious lobster dinner, group phone call to Vince, Philip's enchiladas, Meredith's beans, Janna's margaritas, archery, Snook's Crook's shrimp & grits, looking at wedding dresses online with my Signal ladies, Meg's chili & Stony's cornbread casserole, beef fajitas, Independence Pass, feeling my blood pressure raise at the Devil's Punchbowl...in the words of Miss Melanie Keller, "It wasn't awful!"

snarfle!

I went for a ride in my new car! I got out a few times and peed and pooped! Then, one time, when I got out, I was on a big mountain! Then I saw my Aunt Rose! She's my favorite dog in the world! She showed me her home! It's my favorite place in the world! She has horses and turkeys and cats! Horses are like big dogs! I just got back from a long walk! It's my favorite thing to do in the world! Now, I will take a nap! Snarfle!

- Willie

First Day at the Ranch

It really couldn't be more beautiful here at Hanging Valley Ranch, truly my favorite place in the world. I haven't felt this relaxed in months, nor have I had the chance to read for pleasure in as long. But I just picked up Tom Stoppard's Arcadia (at the recent recommendation of the lovely Erin Myers--and which for some strange reason I've never read), and as the wind whistles through the aspen trees I feel a sense of peace that has eluded me for some time. Watching our elated Willie run around the lush, green ranch with Rose (Aaron's parents' golden), I have a feeling that she is feeling something akin to the excitement and joy that I'm experiencing. But of course you'll have to read her posts to know for sure:)

Many thanks to our Chicago family and friends for the heartfelt send off, to our Signal family for excusing us from Aftermath strike, and to Ella, Norah, Lavay, & Leslie for keeping me awake with their illustrious voices on the long drive across the Midwest.

The Adventure Begins

'When I was very young and the urge to be someplace else was on me, I was assured by mature people that maturity would cure this itch. When years described me as mature, the remedy prescribed was middle age. In middle age I was assured that greater age would calm my fever and now that I am fifty-eight perhaps senility will do the job. Nothing has worked...I fear the disease is incurable.'

- John Steinbeck, Travels with Charley

When puzzling over how to start this record, nothing seemed to rise to the occasion. So, I figured I had better turn to one of the trip's inspirations to do it for me. Thank you, John.

It has officially begun. Three months on the road with my fiancee and our dog. The west is our playground and play we shall. We decided to start this chronicle so that we can look upon it in years to come and perhaps provide an interesting read now and again for our family and friends. No idea how often I'll be writing or what about. Figure it'll strike me when it strikes me.

The trip started out with a burst. The curtain closed on our show a little after nine and we were on the road by eleven. Eighteen hours from Chicago to Carbondale. Kept thinking about getting a hotel, but could never really see the point. Two hours of napping equalled four hours of driving...though I'm not sure the dog ever slept a wink. The road was straight, the traffic was sleeping, and I even learned something valuable. Driving across the plains in the heart of the night while listening to Woody Guthrie pluck away at this ole guitar is something everyone should do once. Couldn't tell you why. It just felt right.

It was a haul, no doubt, but well worth it...especially when the destination is Hanging Valley Ranch. There's a peace to this place I haven't found anywhere else. If it's out there, though, we'll find it in the months to come.

Here's to the search.


- snook

Location:Hanging Valley Ranch, Carbondale, Colorado