Wednesday June 1st we started our trip. We disagreed about how to get to the car rental agency, we got stuck on one-way streets and I zoomed past the first Rt 66 land-marks before Ivo could photograph them. It was noon and Chicagoans seemed serious about getting to lunch.
Today, June 16th, we ended our trip. we disagreed about how to get to the Santa Monica Pier, I zoomed along the harbor before Ivo could enjoy any sense of ceremony and we crawled along LA noon-day traffic, not basking in the glow of the trip but herrumphing about how it ended. The glow came later when traffic thinned and we approached LAX and before-hand as we had crawled through traffic from San Bernadino to LA all morning long.
Beginning and ending aside, our first road-trip has been a bit of a success, I think. Over the next few weeks we'll organize notes, do some more research and get to remember the good bits. Some parts will benefit the cyclists who might read a guide book: the big blue whale in Catoosa, the cute little unexpected sandwich shop in that town in North West Oklahoma, the crazy old guys who talk for an age about old stuff. Some parts will benefit our future selves and our future child: the emotional roller-coaster of our first screening call, the amount of compromise and communication required in getting across the country, the readiness for adventure together.
So now I'm back in San Francisco and practising some of the things I learned from the trip: the importance of relxation, the importance of hydration, the importance of not taking non-fried non-carnivorous food for granted and the importance of not taking Ivo's presence for granted.
Freitag, 17. Juni 2011
Donnerstag, 16. Juni 2011
From Needles to San Bernadino
After a jump in the Colorado river and a stew in the bath water that was the motel's pool, we enjoyed all that Needles had to offer and skiddaddled. (For fun, try googling food or lodging in a town whos name is also drug paraphernalia.) As we left, we were concious of the fact that today would be our longest stretch through some of the roughest and least-traveled land. We were also conscious that I needed to get home to San Francisco sooner than I'd planned. To be sure, my body has held-up admirably, being as it is without lower-intestine or gallbladder. The diet and climate alone should be taxing and the fact that we hiked in Grand Canyon was a thrill, but it's decided that that's enough so I'm headed to my doc for some checking up and home to my cozy bed. That'll do, I think. That'll do.
Man it's hot here. How hot is it, you ask? It's SO hot, that at the gas station, they'd taped a dish towel to the door-handle to prevent burns. It's so hot, white lizards dart across the road to spare their poor toes. It is hot. But, of course, it's the Mohave desert!
We stocked up on water but stopped at every available rest stop we encountered. We can pretend that the stops were for the future cycling readers, but....well, we stayed very hydrated. Many of the towns were mere graveyards, memorials of the places they once were. Some were worse off than others. One was simply a stone wall and foundation.
When we came across the Bagdad Cafe, which we should have left to photography subject status, we instead, like so many French and Japanese tourists (we're told) went in. The place stank of rancid grease. This was similar to the nasty cafe we'd encountered in St. Clair, MO. It reeked and was the only place for miles. Ivo ordered a grilled cheese sandwich and potato salad (he still seems well enough) and I had a pop and tried to organize my plane ticket home. I was spared grilled cheese yet again, thanks to veggie snacks in the back-seat. (I could be a girl scout, I'm so durned prepared.)
I hadn't slept much last night (a side-effect of my body's need of a tune-up) and was a bit punchy. Ivo had done the first leg of our journey and once I was positioned behind the wheel, there was sillyness. There was singing with the radio, conversing excitedly to the few cars we finally encountered once we hit and passed Barstow. There was reminiscing about the towns, people and times we'd seen, met and had along the road. It was a good day.
Around the time we started seeing LA smog roll over the San Bernadino mountains, things had soured. We were tired and hungry and the approach to Rialto was so uniquely unlike any of the others we'd experienced. Where we'd limped along small streets in towns with nary a stop sign in the past, we were now zooming and edging and curving past train tracks, strips of businesses and cars, cars, cars. Strange that we were so put-off by cars on the last day of our Rt66 roadtrip. More than anything, the sense that it would soon be over got to us. It wasn't ending with a bang or a wimper, but with pollution and honking horns and an unexpectedly early separation.
But wait, it's not over, we're not at the finish line yet! Our bathing suits hanging in the bathroom are wet with pool water, not the salty water of Santa Monica! (Note, they won't be tomorrow either, I will only commit to toes in the water, thank you.) We still have tonight and the last short stretch to go.
I'll probably write tomorrow's entry from San Francisco, so for now, in a cement wig-wam in Rialto CA, the adventure goes on.
Tomorrow: Los Angeles.
Man it's hot here. How hot is it, you ask? It's SO hot, that at the gas station, they'd taped a dish towel to the door-handle to prevent burns. It's so hot, white lizards dart across the road to spare their poor toes. It is hot. But, of course, it's the Mohave desert!
We stocked up on water but stopped at every available rest stop we encountered. We can pretend that the stops were for the future cycling readers, but....well, we stayed very hydrated. Many of the towns were mere graveyards, memorials of the places they once were. Some were worse off than others. One was simply a stone wall and foundation.
When we came across the Bagdad Cafe, which we should have left to photography subject status, we instead, like so many French and Japanese tourists (we're told) went in. The place stank of rancid grease. This was similar to the nasty cafe we'd encountered in St. Clair, MO. It reeked and was the only place for miles. Ivo ordered a grilled cheese sandwich and potato salad (he still seems well enough) and I had a pop and tried to organize my plane ticket home. I was spared grilled cheese yet again, thanks to veggie snacks in the back-seat. (I could be a girl scout, I'm so durned prepared.)
I hadn't slept much last night (a side-effect of my body's need of a tune-up) and was a bit punchy. Ivo had done the first leg of our journey and once I was positioned behind the wheel, there was sillyness. There was singing with the radio, conversing excitedly to the few cars we finally encountered once we hit and passed Barstow. There was reminiscing about the towns, people and times we'd seen, met and had along the road. It was a good day.
Around the time we started seeing LA smog roll over the San Bernadino mountains, things had soured. We were tired and hungry and the approach to Rialto was so uniquely unlike any of the others we'd experienced. Where we'd limped along small streets in towns with nary a stop sign in the past, we were now zooming and edging and curving past train tracks, strips of businesses and cars, cars, cars. Strange that we were so put-off by cars on the last day of our Rt66 roadtrip. More than anything, the sense that it would soon be over got to us. It wasn't ending with a bang or a wimper, but with pollution and honking horns and an unexpectedly early separation.
But wait, it's not over, we're not at the finish line yet! Our bathing suits hanging in the bathroom are wet with pool water, not the salty water of Santa Monica! (Note, they won't be tomorrow either, I will only commit to toes in the water, thank you.) We still have tonight and the last short stretch to go.
I'll probably write tomorrow's entry from San Francisco, so for now, in a cement wig-wam in Rialto CA, the adventure goes on.
Tomorrow: Los Angeles.
Mittwoch, 15. Juni 2011
Blues to Colorado River - I mean Seligman to Needles
After the Grand Canyon, we headed off to Seligman, AZ. It's a crazy little town that is a protected historical landmark, thanks to the 10 year battle fought by a guy named Angel. We've heard this story in bits and pieces and now Ivo's heard it from the horse's ...er... Angel's mouth.
We stayed in the Canyon Lodge last night, which is owned by a German who's been living in the States since he visited in the late 80's. He speaks a funny "Gerglish" where he sentences are made of mixes of almost-english-accented-German and German-accented-English. His motel had themed rooms and we stayed in the Las Vegas room and had dinner at Lilo's restaurant, which is owned by another German ex-pat. There, we ran into two Germans on a big American holiday, which they will end visiting both of their daughters who nanny in the Pacific Northwest.
Ivo began his day comforting me and then had an old-school shave from the Godfather of route 66 himself, Angel. I had a mixture of Grand Canyon hangover and sadness at the adoption non-placement last week. The gorgeous views and incredible hikes at the Grand Canyon were hard to leave and they'd been such a wonderful opportunity for us to heal. Leaving it behind was hard, but this whole trip has meant leaving one thing or person or another behind, so we carried on westward.
We stopped at the Grand Canyon Caverns, so called because the air within them comes from 40 miles away in the Grand Canyon. Ivo and I bought tickets for the tour, despite my fear of tunnels. I kept thinking, Ivo, the fellow who is.....weary of heights was a trooper at the Canyon and has agreed to go sky-diving with me next month, so I can walk around caverns 210 feet below ground for an hour and a half.
The caverns have a weird story, they also house a "hotel" room, meaning that one can sleep in this weird little set up there: a bed, sofa, and small water closet, for $700 bucks a night. There is also a room that houses food and water from the Kennedy administraion and a brand new shipment of survival supplies from www.surviveit.com, thanks to the Cavern's main investors. There are also the mumified remains of a bob-cat who fell down there and some pretty rocks and crystals.
We continued on the road and saw incredible views. Ivo drove us up a desert mountain and I drove us down. We stopped in Oatman, a town where donkeys roam free. They're descended from donkeys who were the towns only residents for quite a while and who were protected once people came back to the town. It was odd--and poopy.
Our day ended over the border in Needles CA. It's meant to be the hottest town in the US (temperature-wise, that is. This town is fairly sleepy otherwise). We jumped in the Colorado River to cool off and were still marveling at the heat coming off the pavement after dinner.
Tomorrow we'll add 250 miles to the odometer and be just outside LA. I'm ready to go home to San Francisco, but tonight at dinner Ivo and I did a bit of reminiscing about some of the towns we've seen and the people we've met. This has been one hell of an experience.
We stayed in the Canyon Lodge last night, which is owned by a German who's been living in the States since he visited in the late 80's. He speaks a funny "Gerglish" where he sentences are made of mixes of almost-english-accented-German and German-accented-English. His motel had themed rooms and we stayed in the Las Vegas room and had dinner at Lilo's restaurant, which is owned by another German ex-pat. There, we ran into two Germans on a big American holiday, which they will end visiting both of their daughters who nanny in the Pacific Northwest.
Ivo began his day comforting me and then had an old-school shave from the Godfather of route 66 himself, Angel. I had a mixture of Grand Canyon hangover and sadness at the adoption non-placement last week. The gorgeous views and incredible hikes at the Grand Canyon were hard to leave and they'd been such a wonderful opportunity for us to heal. Leaving it behind was hard, but this whole trip has meant leaving one thing or person or another behind, so we carried on westward.
We stopped at the Grand Canyon Caverns, so called because the air within them comes from 40 miles away in the Grand Canyon. Ivo and I bought tickets for the tour, despite my fear of tunnels. I kept thinking, Ivo, the fellow who is.....weary of heights was a trooper at the Canyon and has agreed to go sky-diving with me next month, so I can walk around caverns 210 feet below ground for an hour and a half.
The caverns have a weird story, they also house a "hotel" room, meaning that one can sleep in this weird little set up there: a bed, sofa, and small water closet, for $700 bucks a night. There is also a room that houses food and water from the Kennedy administraion and a brand new shipment of survival supplies from www.surviveit.com, thanks to the Cavern's main investors. There are also the mumified remains of a bob-cat who fell down there and some pretty rocks and crystals.
We continued on the road and saw incredible views. Ivo drove us up a desert mountain and I drove us down. We stopped in Oatman, a town where donkeys roam free. They're descended from donkeys who were the towns only residents for quite a while and who were protected once people came back to the town. It was odd--and poopy.
Our day ended over the border in Needles CA. It's meant to be the hottest town in the US (temperature-wise, that is. This town is fairly sleepy otherwise). We jumped in the Colorado River to cool off and were still marveling at the heat coming off the pavement after dinner.
Tomorrow we'll add 250 miles to the odometer and be just outside LA. I'm ready to go home to San Francisco, but tonight at dinner Ivo and I did a bit of reminiscing about some of the towns we've seen and the people we've met. This has been one hell of an experience.
Dienstag, 14. Juni 2011
Rt 66 Grand Canyon edition
Day 1
I don’t have internet and am writing these entries on Word. I’m fearful of making my posts too big and have broken them up. It’s Sunday, June 12, 2011 and I am sitting in a cabin on the south rim of the Grand Canyon and I have to say, this path is pretty damned fantastic too.
Once again we had an early start, considering time, temp and sun position. We hit the Flagstaff version of Whole Foods and then hit the road. The road was uninteresting in comparison to the road leading to Flagstaff. Last night we were so shocked and welcomed by the slowly thickening wooded areas as we climbed out of the desert and up to a new altitude. Perhaps I’m wrong and it was just the crappy drivers that detracted from what may have been a perfectly lovely stretch. Perhaps it was the anticipation of the canyon to come that made the road uninteresting.
It occurred to me while eating an early lunch that this experience reminded me of Disney World. I still vividly remember the first time I stood in front of the Epcot globe. Most likely I was imitating a Disney world ad I’d seen, but I was beside myself. When we drove into the park and Ivo gasped at a quick glimpse of the canyon through the trees, I shut my eyes tight. I didn’t want to see it in dribs and drabs. I wanted the whole damned canyon! Well, that’s not true, I didn’t want to see it from a chopper or a plane or high up, but I did want a big, full in the face all at once viewing. Ivo, ever considerate, offered to lead me to the canyon with my eyes closed. Damn that fella is cute! I thanked him, shut my eyes and held his arm.
“You can look now” – BAM! I guffawed! I laughed a big barking laugh, like someone had knocked the wind out of me. It looked unreal; truly fake! It was as if Ivo had pulled down a picture of the canyon before my face. But when I looked left and right and saw the dimensions, the shapes and the depths, I was truly blown away.
We hiked 5 miles of the south rim today, to blow our minds in big doses and get used to the altitude. Tonight we’ll have an early dinner and watch the sunset before heading to bed. We’re taking a sunrise hike tomorrow in the morning, before heading out onto that mother road yet again.
Day 2
This morning the sky was already glowing, when we emerged from our cabin before 5am. With coffee and and yogurt and banana and Gatorade and granola bars respectively, we sat on a stone wall to watch the sun rise and chase new shadows around the rocky formations. Once we couldn’t stand the chat next to us, between two Australian women about wedding dresses, we went down the path to find better view. Last night, we’d waxed pretentious about the early morning hikers we might encounter on the Bright Angel Train at sunrise. Before we’d even finished our breakfast, large groups of loud people had passed us by with massive rucksacks.
We got ourselves ready and headed down the steep trail that snakes down from this part of the south rim. We encountered a few lone quiet hikers, one of whom was backed against a wall and said, apologetically “there’s a deer down there”. The tone was a result of her shame that she had scared the deer off the trail. By the time she hiked on and we caught our own glimpse, the deer seemed quite please with herself, poised as she was to enjoy a good nibble from a big green bush.
Many people who know me will be unsurprised that I was moved to tears twice, while hiking down. (That’s right, I’m a crier. Sometimes I can postpone a joy cry, like when I was asked to be god-mother of my niece Anouk, but more often I choke up and warn people around me “they’re happy tears.) These were those unique tears that I sometimes get in the mountains. They’re similar to my happy tears in the way that my heart just feels so full it needs a release. The whole way down, each curve each view each sound and sight made me so grateful and so happy.
Ivo and I are big-mouths. We’ll talk for days if allowed. We can’t stop chatting - until we do. When hiking, it’s not the breath-taking views that shut us up. We’ll talk with dry mouths and lungs that have been evacuated from astonishment. But in all of our languages, in our mental dictionaries, in our abundance of words, we are initially struck dumb and then struck stupid. We gasp, pause and then one of us will inevitably say “Fuck” or “Shit” or “Woof”.
Aside from being rated R for strong language, our hike was incredible, from start to finish (there again! “Incredible.” Words feel so useless in describing some of the beauty we’ve encountered on this trip.)
We met a honeymooning couple from Holland yesterday. Afterwards we joked about our honeymoon in Croatia, our lessons in kayaking, our quitting smoking and Ivo’s body rejecting my birthday dinner. Our trip is not a honeymoon or a babymoon, but it is an incredible checking-in for our relationship, and I’m grateful for that too.
I don’t know where we’re headed today. I’m not too bothered about it. I’m glad that our crazy-early hike has given us a chance to explore the other part of the south rim before we depart. There is desert to come, a jump in the Colorado in Needles and at the end, “home”. This trip is flippin’ nuts.
Gallup NM to Flagstaff AZ
We left Gallup bright and early and headed out on the road, and what a road! No highway for us, no sir! We were on a long curvy rural route. We rolled through gorgeous deserts, turned through hills with vegetation where Donkeys grazed free at the side of the road. We were giddy at the sight of the prairie dogs as they bounded away from our car, the likes of which they don’t often see. We gasped at incredible views, we talked over each other, describing things. Then it was rough road. Then it was dirt road. Then it was a closed road: private property. We turned around and headed back the way we’d come. New views were presented to us and despite our disappointment, we were able to remain grateful for the gorgeous little ride we’d had. (This serves as a metaphor for the previous mentioned adoption-placement that wasn’t.)
We were only a little touchy because our big destination for the day was the painted dessert. The clock kept ticking, the sun kept rising and our ability to enjoy the dessert without the mid-day sun beating down on us was quickly disappearing. We found the correct road. It was a far less attractive stretch and the speed limit was slower. Ivo asked if I wanted to just get on the highway and forget the “mother road” (no seriously, that’s the name of Rt 66!!!!) in order to find a rest stop sooner. He’s so sweet, but this stretch is SO desolate that we really did need to record any and every water stop for potential cyclists. We kept cheerful and our c’est la vie attitude and headed into Arizona. Heading into Arizona also means heading into a new time-zone!! We were so thrilled! We wouldn’t wander the dessert in the scorching heat after all! Halleluia!
The desert was incredible. We decided to drive the 28 miles, stopping at certain panoramas and do a small hike around the blue mesa. It was like “being on the moon” (to quote a ranger at the end of the park). The massive boulders and conglomerations (those tumor-looking bulgy rocks) were incredible. We were in the portion that is blue and purple, having driven through the pink and red portion. The sights, soundlessness and smell can never properly be described here. Likewise, our photos fail to do it justice.
We took another little jaunt to see the oldest, largest petrified tree there. It’s amazing how different the petrified trees and logs look here, compared to the ones in California. (As I write that sentence I feel that my cup runneth over again and again. I am so grateful.) They are far more colorful here in Arizona, but it feels as if everything is potentially more colorful here. The beige expanses can reveal these gashes in the earth that are so vibrant and scarlet that I can’t believe my eyes. I’m in the desert and I’ve never worn my sun-glasses less (sure, I wear my sunglasses too often). I shade my eyes with my big silly hat and try to limit anything that may detract from the natural palette all around me.
From the painted desert, we headed to Winslow AZ (yes, like the Eagles song). We were on a wait-list for a hotel there and were getting nervous. Booking a room for a Saturday night in summer was becoming difficult. When we arrived in Winslow we saw why. There were a few run-down motels, but otherwise, the only businesses that seemed to be doing business was the hotel with it’s wait-list, it’s restaurant and a Laundromat. I went to do laundry and Ivo went around town searching for any other opportunity. There were none, so we booked a room in Flagstaff and decided to push on another 60 miles or so. We were so relieved to have a room booked that the trip to Flagstaff was a joy. We had a beautiful day behind us and our evening was looking good.
We even had time, energy and interest to go look at a massive meteor crater. Um…it was big….and round…but c’mon! I’d just seen a PAINTED DESERT! Seriously it was impressive and incredible to consider. I’m glad that we had a chance to see it.
In Flagstaff, there was tequila. That is all.
Samstag, 11. Juni 2011
Albuqurque is NOT my favorite....
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But then, it never had a chance. Not only does it include those blasted highways, which interrupt our slow crawl along RT 66. These highways contain lay-racers: cars swerving back and forth across the fast-paced 4-6 lane highways. The other detracting quality is not the city’s fault. We were not allowed to leave Albuqurque until we’d heard from our adoption agency, leaving the diverse city the role of improbable prison.
Back in Tucumcari, we’d had a “screening call” from our agency, for a “last-minute placement”. This means that a baby, born that day, was meant to be placed for a last-minute adoption before being discharged from the hospital. We confirmed that our profile could be shared with the birth-parents, and the next two days of our trip involved a regular reference to the fact that we may become parents on the 10th of June and all that that entailed. The uniqueness of sudden role-change and the details and neccessities in assuming this role was always on our mind. In Las Vegas NM we received an email about the baby’s health and in Albuqurque, we waited to discover which incredible adventure we would be pursuing.
We did enjoy Albuqurque. It was such a change from Santa Fe and it’s insane number of small art galleries. It was also different from the small, sweet, lush town of Las Vegas and is the opposite of Tucumcari in size. New Mexico has been incredibly diverse, but we’ve been glad for the American Indian (Native American?) representation here. We’ve gone from the part of the country where plaques and museums talk about kicking the nation’s out of the east, to a part of the country dappled with reservations, cultural centers and ancient sites.
Yesterday we visited Bocca Negra and took the short stroll up the messa to see the gorgeous Petroglyphs in the volcanic rock. These were so different from the Petroglyphs in Norway, far younger and telling a different story. It was beautiful. We next headed to the visitor center and fell in love with the “fetishes” or small carvings that some Pueblo artists make today. We were then enticed to visit the Pueblo Cultural Center in town and as we excitedly found seats in the center’s courtyard, Ivo’s phone rang. The birth-couple are still conflicted and unable to make a decision. They have been discharged with their baby and will take the weekend to be counseled and decide how to move forward. Ivo hang up the phone and we returned to the courtyard and our adventure across America. A Pueblo family performed the dance of the deer and we stood for a moment, feeling the mysterious nature of life.
As we moved on, we left the city and returned to the quieter stretches that make up RT 66. The desert out here is incredibly gorgeous. Every blink interrupts a gorgeous view. We passed the continental divide and watched as the smoky sunset made the horizon glow.
We’ve continued on to Gallup, where we were ushered-in by drunk drivers on the road. We passed the casinos and motels in various states of disrepair, past the airport and on to a motel outside of town. Today we will head to the Painted Desert and Winslow AZ, where we will make good on the celebration of our two-person family. We sleep through the night and will go out late and do other various, non-kid-friendly activities and cherish this incredible travel opportunity that we have.
Freitag, 10. Juni 2011
So much beauty
There is so much beauty in New Mexico.
We continue to enjoy the diary entries of cyclist Dres and had an ETRAORDINARY time in Tucumcari. We stayed at a mom n' pop motel where all of the guests sit in front of their rooms at night, talking until late. It was on a strip with lots of old time-y businesses that are still running, which has become a rarity on our trip (causing me to say "just like the pixar film CARS!" far too often).
We traveled early in the morning and rewarded with cooler temperatures. The first leg of our journey contained alot of smoke blowing in the wind. We then climbed to higher altitudes and visited the beautiful town of Las Vegas, NM. The town is apparently a favorite of the Cohen Brothers. It was featured in "No Country For Old Men" and "True Grit". The temperature and vegetation were amazing up there. The businesses were thriving and I bought a big hat at a Dry Goods store. There was a park and a cute post office where we posted some postcards.
We then descended, Santa Fe-wards. On our way, we visited old Peco ruins. We had a beautiful walk and enjoyed the non-burning aspect of our surroundings. (Yesterday was cruelly hot and dry.)
We arrived at Santa Fe in the early afternoon, ran some errands and went swimming. Plans for tomorrow are still tentative. Arizona is still unclear.
We continue to enjoy the diary entries of cyclist Dres and had an ETRAORDINARY time in Tucumcari. We stayed at a mom n' pop motel where all of the guests sit in front of their rooms at night, talking until late. It was on a strip with lots of old time-y businesses that are still running, which has become a rarity on our trip (causing me to say "just like the pixar film CARS!" far too often).
We traveled early in the morning and rewarded with cooler temperatures. The first leg of our journey contained alot of smoke blowing in the wind. We then climbed to higher altitudes and visited the beautiful town of Las Vegas, NM. The town is apparently a favorite of the Cohen Brothers. It was featured in "No Country For Old Men" and "True Grit". The temperature and vegetation were amazing up there. The businesses were thriving and I bought a big hat at a Dry Goods store. There was a park and a cute post office where we posted some postcards.
We then descended, Santa Fe-wards. On our way, we visited old Peco ruins. We had a beautiful walk and enjoyed the non-burning aspect of our surroundings. (Yesterday was cruelly hot and dry.)
We arrived at Santa Fe in the early afternoon, ran some errands and went swimming. Plans for tomorrow are still tentative. Arizona is still unclear.
Abonnieren
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