Rocky Mountain High, in Wyoming

First, real quick, here's a picture of Curt Gowdy State Park at 6:30 in the morning. My campsite was on the far side of the lake you can just make out. (Go ahead...click on the photo to make it bigger!) This was a nice place to spend the night.

I caught my first glimpse of the Rocky Mountains at mile marker 369 on I-80 yesterday; the first sighting of snow-capped peaks came today just outside of Laramie. I like the Appalachians a lot, and I struggle when hiking up through the White Mountains in New Hampshire, but the Rockies are a whole different deal. These are real, like the kind little kids draw. These are "purple mountain majesties."

I cruised around Laramie for a little while. I like getting a look a college campuses, and Laramie is the home to the University of Wyoming. I wasn't all that impressed. Nor was I impressed by Laramie's "historic downtown district." I followed the signs diligently, worried that I'd be disappointed by a recreated and Disneyfied Wild West of wooden buildings with false fronts. Instead I was disappointed by a very ordinary looking downtown with nothing to take me back to the days of Lonesome Dove cattle ranching. I learned as the day went on that seemingly every town of any size along I-80 has a "historic downtown district," and none of them are worth seeing. I know because I checked out the "historic downtown district" in Cheyenne, Laramie, Rawlins, Rock Springs, and Evanston. They all pretty much look like this picture from Laramie.

As I drove through Rawlins, feeling deceived by those enticing brown signs encouraging a look at the "historic downtown," I came across Square Shooter's Eating House, so I stopped in for a little breakfast. The pancakes were absolutely delicious! I've eaten a lot of pancakes in a lot of diners and family restaurants, and Square Shooter's stack up (another guffaw! another outstanding bon mot! Ah, geez...I kill myself!) with the best of them. If you are ever in Rawlins, Wyoming, stop by and tell 'em Carbon sent you; you'll be happy you did.

John Belushi's last movie--a stab at "serious acting," they say--is called Continental Divide. I've never seen it, but I did catch one scene once twenty-five years ago. Overweight John Belushi, with a down vest and a backpack, was struggling to keep up with the fit and nimble Blair Brown as they climbed the most beautiful mountain trail you can imagine. It stuck with me because I wanted to be there hiking with them. Kind of like that place the Brady Bunch goes camping with the girls for the first time, it just looked perfect. Up until today, I'd only flown over the Continental Divide, but I had always imagined that when I did finally cross it in a car or on foot, it would look like the trail that John and Blair were on. It didn't work out that way.

The morning's early excitement about "real mountains" was quickly tempered by the basins of southern Wyoming, which look a whole lot like western Nebraska, except that all of the grass is replaced with scrubby-looking shin high shrubs. It was surreal and attractive in its own way, but the snow-capped peaks were gone and the high altitude pines were nowhere to be seen. Again, it made me think of the moon. This wasn't John Belushi's Continental Divide at all.

Things began to change as I got near and then past Rock Springs and Green River. The purple majesties appeared again in the distance out both the port and starboard windows, and buttes and sandstone sculptures began popping up along the edges of the road, but there were still no trees or grass. Just when you think you've found a lunar landscape, mighty I-80 goes one better. Sadly, I didn't take any pictures, but feel free to use Google Maps's "street view" to see what I mean.

Day Four: Part the Second

Having fallen behind on my Facebooking and blogging, with storm clouds swirling over central Utah, and with Nanda's encouragement, I've pulled into a Super 8 motel for the evening. Let me see if I can catch up on my homework. First, let's finish my thoughts from yesterday.

Interstate 80 immediately west of Lincoln is laser beam straight and, with a speed limit of 75 m.p.h, almost as fast. The radio still offered plenty of hope and salvation, and I began hearing some Christian rock songs for the third or fourth time. I've come to the conclusion that Christian rock is pretty much as bad as any overdone pop rock. Whether its Jars of Clay or Nickelback, I've heard enough, thank you.

After seeing Wheeling, West Virginia and Springfield, Ohio on my first full day of driving, I thought that a theme of this trip was going to be how depressingly dead small town mid-America is. Then cheerful and busy Columbia, Missouri and Lincoln, Nebraska made me think again, until I decided that they were the homes of major universities, so of course they are going to be healthier. The norm for Main Street, U.S.A. is a Walmart-ravaged wasteland, right?

So far, wrong. I stopped in Grand Island to look around and buy some groceries, Gothenburg to look around and see a genuine Pony Express station, and North Platte to look around and go to the bathroom. All of these places were green, pleasant, and happy. Their downtowns were bustling, and the people were smiling and friendly. I'm not ready to move to the Cornhusker State, but I think I would have put Nebraska near the bottom of a ranking of all fifty, and now it's solidly in the middle someplace.

That is unless we are talking about western Nebraska; I don't want to live there at all. I think that if the Sea of Tranquility could grow grass, it might look like western Nebraska. The land is smoothly lumpy and almost completely without trees or crops. The wind never lets up. In My Antonia, Willa Cather described the prairie this way: "As I looked about me I felt that the grass was the country, as the water is the sea....And there was so much motion in it; the whole country seemed, somehow, to be running." The grass now isn't high enough to appear to be running, but the woman at the Pony Express station told me that a hundred years ago it was as tall as an adult and that almost all of the trees in central and western Nebraska were planted in the last century. I don't think I've ever seen anything like it.












There's a statue of Esther Morris in front of Wyoming's capitol building. Ms. Morris is credited with being the reason women were granted suffrage in Wyoming, although there is a good deal of dispute about how important Morris actually was. Still, it is true that Wyoming's government was the first on earth to give women the right to vote. That's kind of cool, isn't it?

I spent a nice night camping in Curt Gowdy State Park, which is off a fantastic little road that runs between Cheyenne and Laramie. I set up before the sun went down, cooked two packages of Maruchan Ramen Noodles, and played a bit of guitar before turning in. I slept well. No rain, no bugs, no coyotes.

Day Four: Part the First

It's lunchtime in Nebraska, and I'm sitting in a Phillips 66/Subway. I've done a very good job of avoiding fast food so far, but I thought a semi-healthy turkey sandwich and some apple slices might do my body good. And, lo and behold, Subway offers wifi!

I forgot to take a picture of my humble little camping spot this morning, but it served me well. I did have some trouble falling asleep, however, and just when I thought the Sandman had at last paid his visit, a howling coyote, sounding only several yards from me, brought me back to full consciousness. I did finally get some shut-eye, and I survived uneaten.

Nebraska, so far, is pretty much what you'd expect. Lots and lots and lots of corn and straight roads. Rand McNally's "scenic" I-29 from St. Joseph's, Missouri north into Iowa isn't so scenic, and neither is the Cornhusker State, so far. I've got lots more maize waiting for me along I-80 as well. But, hey, I've never been in this state before, and I'm very happy to be seeing someplace new.

I toodled around Lincoln for a while. It's a pleasant little city that looks healthy and happy. The capitol building is slightly less tall and slightly less impressive than that in Baton Rouge, but I like that it went away from the very expected and overused domed model. (I've been putting together my list of "bests" for capitol buildings, by the way. Maybe I can write about that later. Be patient, gentle reader.) This building is the second tallest capitol in the United States, but it wins for heaviest, so they've got that to brag about.

I then looked around the University of Nebraska campus. As you may know, there is a lot of love for the Cornhusker football team. I poked around their Memorial Stadium a little and found a entrance for athletes and staff only. Naturally I went in to take some pictures and soon found myself on the field. The stadium holds just over 81,000 people and has sold out for every football game since 1962. That means that on roughly every other Saturday in the fall, Memorial Stadium is the third largest city in Nebraska, behind Omaha and Lincoln. (I read that little fact someplace once, and Wikipedia confirmed it for me.)

Looking down the road, I thought long and hard about getting off of I-80 to head forty or so miles south to Red Cloud, Nebraska, the setting for Willa Cather's My Antonia and home of a historic site dedicated to Ms. Cather. But I really need to just put some interstate miles in and get to Wyoming before too late tonight. More to come!

Day Three: Indianapolis to Kansas City

Well this is something I've never done. I'm typing this while sitting in the upper deck on the first base side at Kauffman Stadium. The Royals are up on the White Sox 3-1 in the 6th, but they just had their second runner caught in a rundown in the inning. I only paid $5 at the box office for the ticket, if you can believe that Fenway Park fans.

It occurred to me today that when you sit in a car all by yourself driving without any real stops, not much happens to write about. I haven't had any interesting interactions with strangers. Nobody has been rude to me, and nobody has tried to pick me up. I haven't even had any fast food to make fun of. I did stop at a Starbucks in Columbia, Missouri with the hope of getting some internet access, but all I came away with was a burnt-tasting coffee and still no funny stories.

So we're left with what I saw. I pulled into Terre Haute, Indiana just to get off the interstate and to say I'd been there, and I discovered it is the home to Indiana State University. That's where Larry Bird played basketball before being drafted by the Celtics. It is also the birthplace of Eugene Debs. Eugene Debs, you'll remember, was the multi-time Socialist Party candidate for president in the early 1900s. He was an imprisoned union leader in the late 1800s and real socialist, the kind who wanted a workers' revolution to overthrow the bourgeois power structure. The fools who call Barack Obama a socialist ought to do some reading about Debs and Marx to better understand what socialism is. Anyway, I couldn't find the Eugene Debs House and Museum, so no pictures of that.

I didn't get out of the car or even pause in Illinois--that I-70 is a numbingly boring road in these parts--and only pulled over to lean out of the window for a few pictures in St. Louis. Then on to Columbia, the home of the University of Missouri, and Kansas City. I've already got my campsite claimed at Weston Bend State Park, just up the Missouri River a bit from Kansas City, but I'll have to set up the tent in the dark. I was running a little late and had to get to the game.

Once I got into Indiana yesterday, and especially in Illinois and Missouri today, roadside signs and businesses started changing. As for fast food options, there are tons of Steak-n-Shakes, A&Ws, White Castles, and even a few Jack in the Boxes. Conoco and Phillips 66 gas is readily available, as are truck stops and "adult superstores." I imagine those last two items are probably connected.

And billboards...I haven't seen so many anti-abortion signs anywhere ever, even in the Deep South. Spinning the radio dial brings up one religious radio show after another; I grooved to some Christian rock for a while. Today I was assured repeatedly that Jesus is mercy, the Lord loves me and forgives my sins, and that all babies are precious, born and preborn.

With the upswell in Christian feeling comes, apparently, a vast increase in tattooed people. I couldn't begin to count all of the tattoos I've seen in the last two days. Every gas stop reveals to me three or four used up looking men and women with majestic body art. Sitting in the semi-filled Section 433, I count seven very obviously tattooed people, and I don't even have to try very hard. Let's see if you can see this one on the women several rows down.

I logged about 500 miles today and bought another $63 dollars of gas.

Day Two in the Books

Several years ago, I was talking to somebody from the West Coast. I was saying how amazingly beautiful the mountains and coastline of California were, but he or she (I can't remember who it was) was telling me about how gorgeous the East Coast is. I suppose it's a well-worn lesson, but we often don't sufficiently appreciate what we have; the grass is always greener, and all that.

Well such is the case with the Pennsylvania Turnpike. Here I've been thinking that I've just got to get through the first three days, and then I'll start seeing some worthwhile stuff. I forgot how nice the drive from Harrisburg to Pittsburgh is. Verdant hardwood forests cover steep hillsides, and the highway clings to the edges of the ancient Appalachians and goes through four tunnels on its way westward. It may not be the most mind-blowing of experiences, but Rand McNally's "scenic drive" designation is well-deserved.

Driving through Ohio and Indiana, on the other hand, is a different story. Once the back end of the Appalachians flatten out shortly past the Ohio River, there isn't much worth talking about. There are plenty of corn fields divided by slow, brown streams and groves of trees. It is kind of nice to see storm clouds brewing forty or fifty miles away, I guess, but that's about the best I can say.

On a map, all cities kind of look the same--only the number of roads going into and around it and the amount of yellow ink used changes. The map gives no indication of how exciting or, in today's case, depressing a place is. Take Wheeling, West Virginia for example. To me Wheeling conjures up kind of a cool eastern version of the Old West, with a Main Street lined with 19th and early 20th century buildings. I pictured a nice little bustling tourist trade going. I was right on the buildings, kind of, but nothing else. Wheeling is a very dead looking and feeling city. The people walking around all seemed pretty down on their luck, the buildings were more often than not boarded up and empty. According to Wikipedia, the population of 28,000 is the lowest it's been since 1880 and less than half what it was in 1930. There are signs of past glories, including West Virginia's first statehouse and the Wheeling Suspension Bridge (not a really creative name, but there it is) built in 1849, but that only adds to the depressing feel of the place.

Anyway...today's numbers: 12 hours behind the wheel, 701.2 miles traveled, $63.06 spent on gas.
Total miles driven on the trip: 918.8

Back in New Jersey

Other than it taking less time than I expected, there wasn't anything in any way eventful about tonight's driving. I left home with a beep-beep and a wave to Nanda, Alex, and Libby, gassed up at the Hopkinton Gulf/Cumberland Farms, and three and a half hours later pulled into Alex and Becky Langlois's driveway. 217.5 miles are behind me.

Alex (my friend, not my son) was up waiting for me, watching a rehash of today's World Cup action. He had a futon made up for me with a towel folded on the comforter. There was even a mint on the pillow, thanks to Becky's thoughtfulness. This is a nice way to start two weeks on the road.

The drive from the New York/New Jersey border down 287 to Morristown is, without debate, nothing special, especially when driving at night so you can't see anything anyway. Still, I feel comfort and happiness just being in New Jersey again. Even after living in Massachusetts for the last twelve years (and fifteen of the last sixteen), this part of the Garden State still feels familiar and friendly. I don't know how many years it's been since I came down 287, got off at the Madison Avenue exit, swooped right and then left at the light to head back toward Madison, but I did it tonight as if on autopilot, like I'd done it yesterday, and the day before, and the day before that.

Maybe tomorrow I'll extend the good feelings a little longer with breakfast at the Nautilus Diner or, if I get a slightly later than intended start, a taylor ham and egg from the deli formerly known as the Simo Sub Shop. Then it's out 78 and across the Delaware River into Pennsylvania. Exciting Ohio and scintillating Indiana await beyond the Appalachians!

Last Full Day at Home

It's Friday, my last full day at home before heading out on my little adventure. Are you as excited as I, gentle reader?

Over the last few days, I've completed some needed preparations:

My steed was given a full checkup, and although the need for new struts was unexpected (and somewhat expensive), she got a clean bill of health. My seatbelt was wonky and was replaced, fluids were checked and okayed, the a.c. seems to be working fine, and the air filter is new. She is, I've been assured, good to go. But just in case, I put down $80 to resurrect my AAA membership, so I've got a little roadside assistance should problems arise.

Marshall and I met over Pizza Hut fare to look at maps of the West and compare notes. He and Morgan drove from Denver through Utah to the Grand Canyon several years ago, and I wanted to hear what he saw and recommended. His best bit of advice was that small gray roads on the map take much longer to travel than you'd expect. We also looked at the Tahoe-to-Las Vegas mini-trip that he and I are doing together.

I must admit that desert travel in July has me a little nervous. When Nanda and I drove over the mountains into Death Valley in 1998, we watched the temperature needle on our rental car climb to alarming levels. Once air started flowing through the front grill going downhill, the engine temperature dropped quickly. I think that as long as I don't get stuck climbing steep hills in barely moving traffic as Nanda and I did, I should be fine.

Yesterday Libby, Alex, and I took the Blue Line out to Revere Beach. I filled a Nalgene bottle with ocean water and brought it back home with me. My thought is to crown my coast-to-coast by pouring thirty-two ounces of the Atlantic Ocean into the Pacific. Alex suggested that I then bring some of the Pacific back home with me, so I think I will. Maybe I should also get some Colorado River water to pour into our western ocean since it doesn't do that by itself anymore.

Today I'll stop by Radio Shack to see if they still sell AC outlets that plug into car lighters. I don't know how often I'll be able to recharge my computer or PowerShot batteries with all of the camping I've got planned, so if I can keep them charged while driving, all the better. I think I'll restring my guitar before I go and maybe buy another canister of propane for the Coleman stove. I also need to buy a new shirt to go with my borrowed suit; there is a wedding to attend, remember. Is it pathetic that I'm a 41-years-old man who doesn't own a suit?

Other than that, I've just got to do some last loads of laundry, mow the lawn, ask Nanda to give me a haircut, and then pack up. I'll be hitting the road in about thirty-four hours!

Another Photo Test

Here's another photo test. This is from Alex's second to last day at school, and it's coming off of my trusty Cannon PowerShot SD20. (The other photo--the one of Carbon Magoo--I got from the internet.) Let me see if I can do this...

And there it is! Alex, Nanda, and me.

Seven Days to Launch

With a week to go until I hit the highways, I've started to consider my book list. Here's what's coming to mind so far:

The Boy Who Harnessed the Wind by William Kamkwamba and Bryan Mealer--required summer reading for school, but it looks like it might be pretty good anyway.

The Leisure Seeker by Michael Zadoorian--a book I picked for my book club. Early feedback is that it is terrible. Thanks, anyway, Jenny Hatton.

The Monkey Wrench Gang by Edward Abbey--I loved reading this last summer. When I think of the Four Corners states, I now think of Edward Abbey's take on them. Although I'm pretty sure I've dismissed the idea, I was considering visiting the Glen Canyon Dam just because of this book. This is, I think, the one book that my friend Jon Poto has ever recommended to anybody.

The Fool's Progress: An Honest Novel by Edward Abbey--I don't own this yet, but it looks like a good road trip book if ever there was one.

Death Comes for the Archbishop by Willa Cather--Classic picture of the desert Southwest that I think I enjoyed for more than just its descriptions. Perhaps I should also take the middle portion of Cather's The Professor's House, the only section I recommend to anybody. One or both of these novels were recommended by Liz Perry years ago.

Blue Highways by William Least Heat-Moon--I really liked large parts of this book, and it might be worthwhile to review what he had to say about places I'll be seeing. I also might pick up his newest book, Roads to Quoz: An American Mosey, if it's in paperback.

Rand McNally 2011 Road Atlas--an obvious pick for those who eschew the infernal dashboard GPS. There aren't many reads more worthwhile than a book of maps, I think.

That's all I've got in my head right now. I am, of course, open to suggestions if you've got any. I'm especially looking for some non-fiction on water and development in the Southwest. Three readers on Amazon.com seem to like Visions in the Desert: Carl Hayden and Hydropolitics in the American Southwest, but it looks pretty dry. (Guffaw! Tres bon mot!)

A Possible Itinerary

I like to travel without a plan, for the most part. I like to just see where things take me. Once upon a time, I loved having a Eurail Pass that opened all of Europe (or at least all European cities with train stations) to me, leaving me looking at the Big Board in Fillendablanken Station with every train and every track a possibility. I could have written--if I were more motivated, creative, and Hollywood connected--the end to Up in the Air. I couldn't have written the rest of it, but that last scene...yeah, that I could've done.

But I don't have that kind of freedom for this trip. Unlike George Clooney, I am a happy husband and father, and I have responsibilities, even if I am, to borrow from Fat Albert, "like a teacher in the summertime." I also have a wedding to attend halfway through my trip, so I guess an itinerary makes some sense. Here's what I've got so far:

June 26: Hopkinton, MA to Morris Township, NJ. I leave after Alex and Libby go to bed and get a little jump on the next day's long drive. Alex Langlois still doesn't know I'm coming to crash on his couch.

June 27: Morris Township, NJ to Carmel, IN. This is supposed to be a ten-hour drive. I'll sleep at my brother Jim's place. He does know I'm coming.

June 28: Carmel, IN to Kansas City, MO. The first of two baseball games on this trip. White Sox at Royals. This is also my first night of camping, although I'm not sure where exactly.

June 29: Kansas City, MO to Cheyenne, WY. Here is where I start to visit states I've never seen, like Nebraska and Wyoming. Also two more capital cities to visit and two more capitol buildings to see. Another night of camping after another ten-hour day of driving.

June 30: Cheyenne, WY to Salt Lake City, UT. Camping again, this time somewhere with the Mormons.

July 1: Salt Lake City, UT to Tahoe, NV or CA. I've been to Salt Lake City, and I've seen the Temple and the Capitol, so I rise with the sun, cook up some oatmeal, and head out for the salt flats. Hopefully my mum will have a place for me to sleep indoors after my third ten-hour day in the saddle.

July 2: Tahoe, NV or CA to San Francisco, CA to Tahoe, NV or CA. The coast-to-coast is completed, and I pick up Marshall at the airport in San Francisco, then head back to Tahoe.

July 3 and July 4: Tahoe, NV or CA. I really should figure out exactly where this wedding is. "Somewhere on the lake" probably isn't quite enough information.

July 5: Tahoe, NV or CA to Las Vegas, NV. Marshall and I head through the desert to the most American of oases. We're staying in a real Vegas casino hotel for $30.

July 6: Las Vegas, NV to Flagstaff, AZ. After a trip out to the Hoover Dam and dropping Marshall at the Las Vegas airport, I drive solo again. This will be my first time in Arizona. I'll probably stay at some fleabag motel.

July 7 to July 8: Flagstaff, AZ to Denver, CO to a camping spot in the Great Plains. I've got a day and half to move through Arizona, Utah, and Colorado before watching the Cardinals play the Rockies at Coors Field on Thursday afternoon. Then camping somewhere further down the road.

July 9 to July 11: This part of the trip is the least thought out and the least exciting to me. I might head back toward Indianapolis to stay at Jim's place again, but that'll take me a little south of a direct route home. I really want to avoid traveling roads I've already seen, but with just three days to get from eastern Colorado to Massachusetts, the interstates are really my only option; I've driven most of those east of the Mississippi River and north of Tennessee, so I think I'm kind of stuck. In any case, I'd like to see my family and sleep in my bed on Sunday, July 11.

Something like that anyway. We'll see how it plays out in real life.

Learning How to Add Pictures

Here's a good and up-close picture of me, Carbon Magoo, in my chariot, fixin' to head west. As you can see, I like to keep my license plate on the inside of my car; it's a great way to maintain a hidden identity. I also like blankets and tattoos.

Two Weeks from Takeoff

It is Saturday, June...where is that Hook family calendar?...June 12, and I'm trying to figure out the best way to document my first cross country driving trip. Marshall (and I) had great success using his Facebook account for our baseball trip last year, so I finally got myself a Facebook account. Desperate to keep my school life completely separate from the personal world of "social networking," I've kept off of Facebook and other similar sites. (The stories I could tell about teachers having their Facebook lives invaded by students and adminstrators at my school!) But now I'm there. I guess if you're reading this, you've already met Carbon Magoo, my Facebook alias.

Carbon Magoo is an alternate personality I adopted almost twenty years ago when Nanda, Morgan, and I drove from New Jersey to Sante Fe (where Morgan and I dropped off Nanda) and then back. He's got a poorly executed Southern accent, so I decided to borrow a little from my Texas life and call him a 1987 graduate of Houston's Stratford High School. Carbon went on to SMU and then hit the road for love and adventure. As you can see from his picture, he's aged a bit. The road hasn't been kind.

So now Carbon's got a Facebook page, but I don't know if that's the way to best document my trip. Part of what worked so well for Marshall and me last summer was that he was regularly taking pictures and updating on his Blackberry while I drove. I don't have a Blackberry, and even if I did, I can't update and drive at the same time anyway. I'll be all alone for most of this trip, you see.

So maybe Carbon's blog is a better way to go. Our family friend, Ellen Rutter, suggested I go with this plan, and she's pretty smart. This way I might be able to write updates at the end of the day or during rest stops. Of course, as this entry indicates, the blog route allows me to give in to my verbosity, something several members of the Hubel Floggers have complained about. So, I don't know...either way I've got to figure out how to post photos, and that's eluded me so far.

Testing

This is a test of the Emergency Broadcast System. The broadcasters of your area in voluntary cooperation with the FCC and federal, state, and local authorities have developed this system to keep you informed in the event of an emergency. If this had been an actual emergency, you would have been instructed where to tune in your area for news and official information. This is only a test.