Make Amends With Yourself

Left Park City this morning with an open agenda, and quickly decided to aim for Boise, a city I've long held romantic notions for, even though I've never seen it. Before I left, I stopped for fair-trade coffee at the Java Cow and met a local boy with a wonderful t-shirt that read "make amends with yourself." All day, this has been my mantra, and it's a good thing to ponder on the road.

Rolled north through Utah and across Idaho on the 84, loving the stark beauty of this part of the planet. Outside of a town called Bliss, (Bliss!), a faded old train was parked along the highway, and some wonderful grafitti artist had painted the words "dear world" on the side of one of the cars. Mmm.

Also in Bliss, I found another cellphone. I am, it turns out, a cellphone do-gooder, and called around to make sure this one finds its way home, too.

Soon I was in Boise, all primed up to stay in some neato roadside motel. I found something that seemed to fit the bill, cute and weird and special, so I went in to get a room. The clerk quoted me a rate and we haggled a bit and settled on this: non-smoking room, no extra fee for the dog girl. But when it was time to pay, he tried to shaft me and re-neg our deal, so I politely left. Probably for the best, since I suspected he was doodling his wee-wee under his desk while he was talking to me. I got out of there stat, whispering the Serenity Prayer, and fell back on my trusty old standby, Motel 6. The room next to mine has a giant barbie head smiling out the window, and a birdcage with a yellow canary inside.

Showered off the road-funk, drank a beer (is it okay to drink beer and employ the Serenity Prayer?), and waited for the heat of the day to mellow out before exploring Boise. In the parking lot, I spied a bumper sticker I know well... my friend Chris from Portland created these little beasts a while back... and suddenly found myself a new friend named Rebecca, an English professor from Atlanta who's traveling back to Georgia after a spell at the Tryon Farm in PDX.

We decided to explore Boise together, checked out the wonderful Boise Co-op, and hiked up the butte in Camel Back Park for a view of the city. Dumb luck had us at the summit right at sunset. Well-exercised and hungry, we went on to explore the Hyde Park district and found a great pizza joint where we ate pizza on the patio, and chatted like old pals all the while. Lucky, lucky!

Tomorrow is Portland Day, better rest up.

rolling rolling rolling

My fantasy of deep sleep was replaced with big, slow-moving, raging thunderstorms that kept me up, and kept Vesta quaking, well into the wee hours. I'm not complaining, though... I love a good thunderstorm, and haven't seen one since Sturgis!

Woke up early today, walked V. around in the motel grass for her morning self-care rituals, and returned to the room with more chigger bites than you could shake a stick at. Aargh!

Drove on through Kansas with Boulder in my heart, and though I was tempted to stop at Prairie Dog Village, tempted to drive the extra hours to the worlds second largest ball of twine, tempted to stop at the Custer cavalry museum, or at various other highwayside attractions, I decided instead to take a side trip along secondary roads to seek out local life in the flatlands.

In a tiny town that isn't even named on the map, whose name I wrote down and promptly lost again, I stopped to walk around and take some pictures. Soon I was approached by a local character with wild hair and a face whose skin resembled polished, knotty wood. "Did you just take a picture of that house?" he asked me. I was a little scared, afraid he might tell me to get the hell out of there or smash my camera or something. I told him that I had, and the guy smiled as though this were the most thrilling thing to happen in a long time. I got the complete history of the place (it was once the home of the local newspaper), and some nice morningtime chit chat with this kindly gentleman. He was pleased at my off-the-70 approach to Kansas explorations, and I was pleased that he was pleased. Thank you, sweet sir, for making my day.

Kept on keeping on across lovely Kansas-- Kansas, I adore you!-- and into Colorado where I felt, at a rest stop, dry air once again. So good to breathe and walk outdoors without fear that I will swoon. (Swoon is such a buttoned-up, old-fashioned, romantic word. Don't you just love it?)

The front range appeared before me , and soon I found myself in Denver, checking in with Rina at the Children's Hospital and making plans for the evening. I had some hours to kill, so made my way to a dog park in Boulder, returned some calls, found a wireless hookup and then headed to Rina and Todd's place, in the shadow of the Flatiron Mountains. We walked dogs, got dinner, and now here I am, real sleepy, in a comfortable bed in their comfortable house, my old friends sleeping in the next room, my dog beside me, and my eyelids heavy heavy heavy. Must sleep.

The Kansas of Your Sweet Little Myth

In Topeka, prostrated in a well-air-conditioned cheap motel along I-70. Damn hot, following the theme of the last several days. 108. The Element is doing okay, but the A/C isn’t running real cool, so Vesta and I were glad to get here after a long, sweaty day on the road.

Rolling out of Kentucky and across Indiana, nothing much happened. I pondered important life details such as, "gee, the skin on my neck is getting a little wrinkly," while passing small towns named Santa Claus and Poseyville. Crossing Illinois, as the heat index and my caffeine level rose, my thoughts began to run further amok. I watched them and let them go alright. Return to Portland, to work, to eking out a living, is on my mind, and though I still have some fun destinations ahead of me, I’m well on my westward way. The month that once seemed it would stretch on utopian-forever, is nearing a close. It’s been fantastic, truly luxurious, to have this time to recalibrate my center. Amorphous ideas and musings I have pondered along the way have begun to come into clearer form and focus, and for me, that’s the most precious gift that travel can bring.

At this point, perhaps fueled by time on the east coast, I feel myself a bit more sharply. It’s as though this time away from the soft west coast has sharpened the blade that is me. And let’s see how I feel once things have settled back in at home, Portland home, but right now what I feel is this: I seek more challenge in my life. New learning. Maybe a graduate degree (gasp! Don’t hold me to this one, folks), maybe taking the reins of fiscal responsibility a bit more wisely (serious thoughts on retirement plans and health plans), and smaller changes, too.

Crossed that big Mississippi again with a view of the St. Louis Arch. In Missouri I passed a van filled with rosy-cheeked boys in baseball caps, strapping midwestern kids, and worried for them when I read the side of the vehicle: "Transporting the future of America’s Armed Forces." Tuned into a country music station for a spell, and sat back with it like a local in a pickup truck. Though those songs leave little room for imagination, their lack of obliquity or agenda matched the plodding, flat landscape, and brought me some refreshing reassurance as I drove through Kansas City and into Topeka.

Thanks for your many calls, dear ones. They’re coming at just the right time. It feels good to know you miss me, and are thinking of me, since today was a bit lonely. I love love love you.

Time now for some dinner. There’s a Steak n’Shake across the street, a greasy midwestern delight waiting to be had. And a cool bedroom, and deep sleep I hope, and an early start for my long drive to the Rocky Mountains, where friends are waiting, and cooler, drier air, and some new lightness once again.

westward restward

Driving to my mama's house, I knew I was in the Bible Belt when I saw a billboard advertising a "Bible Factory Outlet, Up to 75% Off" and when, soon after that, two billboards in quick succession: "Where will you go after you die?" and then, "Hell is Real." Creepy-eepy. I guess I'll find out how real it is when I get there.

Soon enough, though, I made it off the road and into Louisville. Vesta and I finally met Miss Ivy, my mother's dear little puplet, with whom I have utterly fallen in love. Ivy and Vesta haven't stopped playing and wrestling since we arrived. My mom and I have been talking a lot and laughing a lot and telling secrets and laughing some more. It's nice to be here with her now, in the summertime, outside of the usual holiday-in-Louisville context (which unfortunately, despite efforts to the contrary, tends to be somewhat robotic and stressful). This time together feels special somehow, in a way I can't quite put my finger on. I love that kooky lady.


I've had the chance to do a good bit of catching up with my friend Kentucky Todd. That boy is darn good with a banjo, and I hadn't seen him play since before he left Portland and came back home, so I was glad to sit with a beer while he and the rest of his band (boys named Hickory and Sprout, how beautiful is that?) played a lovely set. Today we went for coffee and ran around the city thrifting: I turned up some good finds, including a kinda gorgeous pair of cowboy boots. Real nice.

So, yay! Good times, good rest, family, friends, dogs, and shoes. Not too shabby. Feeling content. xo

atlantic and westward again

Up early today after a good sleep at Brian and Jaynie's place in Dover. Vesta and I snuck out before anyone was awake, with plans for a long haul drive west. But before really hitting the highway, we drove through Portsmouth to Rye, and found the dog beach! Vesta and I romped around at the Atlantic coast, and put our feet in the warm, warm water that asked us to swim, rather than asking us to run for a heating pad, as does the Pacific.

We got on the road and drove through Massachusetts, Connecticut, New York, and into Western Pennsylvania. Nothing much exciting to report, except a pretty drive along route 80 through the Pennsylvania Wilds, and a quickie stop at a Petsmart we spied from the highway... Vesta needed a special bone for being such a stellar and patient passenger.

I decided to skip out on New York City. Doors there weren't opening so slick, and thankfully I'm not into pounding them down right now: Cara's in Spain, Toddler a busy bee, and I wasn't too hot on driving myself, my car full of gear, and my doggie into hot NYC stressville. I want to get home to Kentucky and into my mama's arms and relaxing housey. Need some rest.

Plenty of time today to ponder life's big questions, many of which have been shaken up along the way of this trip.

Lots of caffeine. I know I've been gone from Portland awhile when I think Dunkin' Donuts and McDonalds' coffee is tasty. Patience with road construction that cost us a couple of hours, and we rolled into a Microtel (my favorite motel chain!) in Clarion, PA around 8pm.

Wireless again, after quite a spell. TV. Hot shower, clean bed. Getting ready for sleep, and ready for the haul across Ohio tomorrow, and onward into Louisville. Once I get there, I'll backtrack and catch up on the last few days, and post about 'em. love you all, xo.

Tuesday: making some rounds, quick in a hurry

I visited people I love. Shirley and Fred are kinda like my chosen grandparents. When I was little, I stayed with them while my parents went on hiking trips. Shirley taught me how to knit, and spoiled me rotten. Fred taught me about sarcasm. I LOVE them, and it has been way too long since we spent any facetime together. I saw old photographs, including the quite spectacular specimen above, and was reminded of some of the expressions I heard as a child (the politically-correct term for sunburn, "red as an Indian," and phrase to indicate sudden movement, "quick in a hurry"... that just sounds like rushing, doesn't it?).

Then it was on to Dover, NH, to visit my dear old friend and college roommate Brian, and his fiance Jaynie, in their gorgeous old colonial house. I hadn't met Jayne yet, and I absolutely adore this girl. She made me feel so welcome and loved and comfortable! Kevin came over, too, and we drove to dinner in his Volvo and talked about yuppiness and off-the-grid living. I miss those Massholes, I really do! Wishing I could see them, and their crusty-sweet goodness, every day of my life. Alas, one fun night with beer and laughing and barbecue, will have to fill me up for now.

oh, i love my old valley.

Back in the valley again. The dear, dear Mad River Valley, home of youthful adventure and debauchery and learning and the good old days. The Valley is still the same. People are still driving around in the same pickup trucks with the same canoes on top (canoes this time of year, instead of skis). Everyone looks pretty much the same, but a few years older. "I heard you were in town," they say when I run into them, after I've been in town for less than an hour.

Rural Vermont living is great in this way, it is so so wonderful. And it's also terrible, because privacy ain't real easy to come by.

I ran into my old friend Jacob at the post office, and he is beautiful and doing well, building canoes and kayaks and healthier than I've ever seen him. He is vibrant and and happy and clear, his hair is incredibly lovely (go with your bad self, Jacob!), and we talked about those good old days, how we weren't so clear back then, and how great it is to know clarity and inner peace. I got rundown on old crew, J-Ham's baby, Chris' housebuying plans, etc. People growed up. "Kevin is still Kevin," Jacob told me. Good thing, since that boy is a sizzler.

Found out about a party on Sunday in Montpelier, for Joel's birthday, where I'll likely run into anyone I haven't happened upon already, and where I'll get my play on with some of the old cats. It's funny, as I was driving into town today, I felt a little bit lost. Wondering what I'd do, if I'd feel lonely, if I'd find enough stuff to occupy me during the non-wedding stuff time. But lickety-split, as is always the case in the Valley, I've got some good mellow plans, and the lovefest is on.

Went river swimming in the Mad, to cool off from the sticky day that I would never complain about, because these days are so rare around these parts. Nice and cool and clean, got the travel stink off.

Staying the night with Khatouna, my second mama, who is also lovely and vibrant and clear these days. With wine and chocolate, we can talk a whole night away until sunrise, and we have lots to catch up about.

Remember what I said a few days ago about not being an easterner anymore? I think I was mistaken. Still got it, can't shake it. So happy to be here. So so so content right now. Except for one thing. I need groceries, and all the stores closed at six. That's the valley, still the same.

Montana. Wyoming. South Dakota.

Our last morning in Bozeman went slow as honey, and just as sweet. We walked around downtown and found a good camping-skirt, the Roadfood book we’ve been coveting, and made some friends here and there. I talked to Amy, who was happy to hear that we’re in "Mantana." Man-tana, indeed. Nice boots, boys. Nice sideburns. We like it here.

We closed up Chris and Emily’s house, filled up on ice and groceries, got some ice cream before meeting up with the 90 again. Icy treats were welcome respite from the Hades-style heat we’ve encountered during most of our roadtime thus far. Amanda has the lyrics to "Highway to Hell" stuck in her head, and said we might as well be on it: "it’s hot enough for us to be headed to hell," she said this morning as the thermometer rose above 90.

Rolling across Montana is like taking the train to eye-candyville. I’m not just talking about the boys, either. The hills roll along and shift and change: green, brown, parched-wheat; soft, round, craggy, small, tall; bare, tree-lined, rocky, cow-speckled. As the landscape shifts to quiet plains east of Billings, something inside of me quiets down a little, too. We say "cows" when we pass them, and Vesta stirs from her special homemade perch to growl and lunge at the window. She’s a funny girl, that Vesta.

We stopped for some gas at the Kum-n-Go.

Met some folks from Jersey at a rest stop someplace.

Ate pesto, cheese, and tomato sandwiches for dinner.

Amanda made up a new name for my friend Todd Zeranski in New York (sorry about the phone tag, Toddler, we’ll connect soon, I promise): T-Zer. Amanda says that’s your rap name, bro.

Making up I-tunes playlists, singing aloud. Snugging a little scruffy mutt. Watching with attention the ways our inner landscapes mirror the outer ones. Forgetting all about Hades as we roll up all sticky-like to the site of the battle at Little Big Horn. We didn’t go in, though. I guess Custer had a thing about dogs.


Instead, we drove through the Crow and Northern Cheyenne reservations on the 213. Beautiful, clean, quiet land. Tidy prefab homes. Again the question, what would it be like?
We drove till late, through hundreds of miles of not-much-in-the-way-of-human-life-ness. Suddenly there appeared a strange fenced happening to the side of the road, and we saw, out there in the middle of noplace in the corner of eastern Wyoming, several missles lined up, ready for launch. Soon after, we passed a stash of Halliburton plants, mining for Bentonite… coincidence? we thought not.

Eventually we stopped for the night in Sturgis, South Dakota. Because we are biker chicks. Because we were exhausted. Because we wanted to get biker chick tank tops in the morning, after a restful sleep. We asked some locals for a good camping spot, and a sweet gentleman with a wad of chaw in his lip told us about a great place on national forest land. "Go this way," he said, pointing to the right-ish, "then take a dirt road that way for four miles, then go this way about two miles. You can’t miss it." Those country directions turned out great, and soon we found ourselves unloading our gear at the Black Bear Lake Campground, watching heat lightning off in the distance.

We dove into those tents so, so ready to relish a good night’s sleep. And we slept great, just wonderfully, until the thunderstorm-of-the-year rolled on in over the Black Hills and across the plain where we’d set up camp. My tent was flapping and shaking, the sky was cracking open, and before I had a chance to orient myself to this new reality, I heard Amanda outside in the din. "Em Gilbert! I need the car keys. My tent is going crazy in the wind and I cannot sleep."

Vesta and I joined her in the Element awhile, waiting out most of the storm and laughing as we watched Amanda’s tent undulating as the wind ripped through it. I went back to the puddle that was my tent, and zonked out till morning, while poor Amanda got gnawed by mosquitoes in the back of the rig and then crawled back into her tent early in the morning. See the aftermath:

Today we were up and at ‘em Sturgis-style, did some shopping at the swanky t-shirt tents around town, drove to Rapid City and down to pay some quick respects to our forefathers at Mt. Rushmore. Then, hit Wall Drug before exploring those lovely Badlands. South Dakota is so full of gems, I could easily and happily spend a week exploring all of those activities advertised on billboards along I-90. The billboards implore us to "discover" various ghost towns, reptile petting zoos, creeks with gold to mine, strange little museums, buffalo burgers, saddle stores, etc.
We’re road-sticky and our clothes are dirty, and thinking a bed might feel real good tonight, so we’ve lined up a room at Motel 6 in Mitchell. Motel 6 likes dogs, so we like Motel 6. It’ll be great to shower, get a real dinner (even if that means chain-style), and wake up in the same town as Corn Palace. Sounds like heaven.
xoxo.

For The Love of Four Eyes

Day 2. Bozeman, MT.

Summer road trip in full swing. Little anxieties about leaving usual-life rolled themselves off my back yesterday as we drove eastward on I-84 through Oregon, north to Spokane, and east again on the 90 into Idaho. Windows open, hot wind on our faces. By the time we settled ourselves in at the Bumblebee campground in the Coeur D’Alene National Forest, I might as well have been gone a week.

Before we left, people kept asking us what our plans were, and the only honest answer we could give them was that we didn’t have any plans. East. East was the plan, and we’re following that plan pretty nicely. We’re aiming for about 400 miles a day, give or take. Talking about what we want to do next along the way, making sidetrips and stops as our whims implore. An easy way to loll across this beautiful land of ours.

We’ve been entertaining ourselves in the Emily-and-Amanda way. The you-really-had-to-be-there way. We won’t bore you with too many goofy details, suffice it to say we’re happily passing the time in the following ways:

*giggling at the names of strange little towns, and debating proper pronunciation of said town names. Wondering aloud, elements of egocentricity and naïve curiosity in equal measure, what do people DO in these towns, anyway?

*laughing endlessly at various amusing billboards and bumper-stickers. (Favorite billboard so far? "The Testicle Festival" outside of Anaconda, Montana. Pictured on the sign is a cartoon bull holding it's legs together.)

*making up ryming songs for Vesta, involving words like Vespucci, Susan Lucci, Hoochie, Vestini, Lambourghini, Fettuccini, and laughing our booties off.

*changing song lyrics to suit our funnybones (katchafire's "for the love of 'Fari" has become "for the love of four-eyes.")

*Reminiscing about the time when… (if you’re an old friend of ours, we’ve talked about something funny you did once.)

*Playing scrabble while swatting mosquitos while drinking champagne (one of the treasures in Becca and Eric’s going away care-package) while eating a keebler elves’ cookie.

We didn’t have cellphone reception last night and it felt like freedom. (But also, I miss you guys, you should call me.)

Today we woke up early (very early, thanks to Vesta’s 4:45 wakeup camping schedule), and lounged around the campground with our coffee a little while before heading out to cross the top of the Idaho panhandle and head into Montana. We’d been talking about finding some hotsprings, but it’s darn hot here, so we bagged that idea. Instead, into Missoula for a walk around town and bookstore stop (looking for Road Food, ain’t found it yet).

Outside the post office, we met a sweet local boy (he caught me taking photos of his beautiful fixie and beamed with pride) who gave us insider scoop and directions to a nice swimming hole along the Blackfoot River. A refreshing little dip before lunch made us happy and ready for the next leg to Bozeman. Along our drive, we encountered port-o-potties IN the highway, fallen from their truck. Coulda been real nasty. We also picked up a tumbling little hitchhiker:

Chris and Emily, the folks whose wedding spurned this adventure in the first place, have an empty apartment sitting in Bozeman, so we called at the last minute and finagled a stopover. I visited them last summer, so remembered the co-op only three blocks away… Amanda and I hurried over there for a six-pack asap, met another travelling fellow (who was headed from Seattle to New Brunswick), and headed back to Chris and Emily’s for a quick beer-pounding session. Chris and Emily called to give us directions to some hot springs an hour away (near Yellowstone), local taverns, bookstores, and dog park. We got some burgers at the Montana Aleworks and now we’re full, and real tired, and headed to bed.

Day 3. Bozeman

I awoke early again, so Vesta and I let Miss Amanda sleep while we walked to the Co-op for a cup of coffee (good coffee, says the Portlander), then wandered to the dog park where we met a nice lady and her big dog and spotted many magpies. I think magpies are so cute! The lady with the dog said magpies are "rats with wings." Maybe that lady wasn’t so nice, after all.

We’re planning to do some shopping this morning, pick up some stuff we’ve forgotten (butter, trash bags), and I would like to get a pair of loose summer pants or a skirt, cause it’s hotter than Hades and we’re heading into the flat middle. We’ll get a late start today, and we’re fine with that. We like Bozeman and want to explore it more, this town filled with rugged men and their big dogs.

preparations

We're spending the day getting some loose ends tied up before we hit the road on Sunday... lookin' at good old Rand McNally and planning a route, talking about hotsprings, sharing our clothes like sisters, getting loads of cash from the bank because travelers' checks are for grandmas, hitting up AAA for camping guides, and packing important items up such as corkscrews, toilet paper, and a frying pan.

We're taking it easy since I'm still recovering from satan's illness, but I actually think I'm on the mend.

Plans for the next couple of days include a walk to the Mississippi Summer Sidewalk thingy. Also on the agenda, a visit with our old friend Josh, who was a neighbor of ours back in the undergraduate days at UVM, and who I ran into at First Thursday a couple of months ago. He's got a PhD now, and has grown up a lot since the days when he owned that divey basement bar in Burlington called The Last Chance. Aah, the Chance, site of bygone latenight drunken escapades that we would probably not want to remember, even if we could. Amanda flew in to PDX last night. Look how excited Miss Vesta was to see her autie, ears back in I-Love-you mode!
Our first leg of the journey, up Columbia Boulevard.

Packing up the camping box!

unplanning

I'm an unplanner. The ramifications of this sort of (non)methodology can sometimes be uncomfortable, and often I find myself in trouble, or late, or forgetting about something important, like taxes. With travel, though, my unplanning usually serves me well: with just a skeleton of a plan in place, I can let the rest of the journey flesh itself out sweetly, without effort or forcing. I take the ride, I don't make it.

Amanda and I seem to be on the same page about the skeleton of the first leg of the roadtrip: make it from Portland to the Bad Liver Valley in 7-12 days-ish. Take northern-ish roads, two-laners when we can, and hit a few sweet spots along the way: Corn Palace, Mt. Rushmore, Paul Bunyan and his ox, and whatever other goodnesses appear. Camp, mostly. Eat cheap and fresh and lean, plus chocolate. Hit divey bars for beers once in a while, and feed quarters to the jukebox. Laugh a lot.

Still, in the middle of all of this unplanning, I'm looking forward! Excited! Can almost taste the hot pavement ahead of me! I'm unplanning for fun, for freedom, for love, for my back upon the earth, for adventure, for the timelessness of travel without expectation.

seed stages

The road is in my blood. When I was a little kid, my parents and I took off for a month every summer, crossing the States or Canada, camping, visiting old friends. In our powder blue Chevy pickup truck, with a homemade wooden cap on the back, we would pack up and head out of New Hampshire in search of adventure. Destinations weren't the point, the journey was.

Memory works in unknown ways, and the strongest images I hold from these trips range from the mundane (seeing a double feature of ET and Annie at a KOA campground in New Paltz, NY) to the dramatic (watching our tent get caught up by a storm someplace in Kansas, my father's wiry muscles bulging as he tried to hang on to it, watching him lose to the elements as the stakes pulled upward and out of the ground, watching him finally give up and let go, the tent twirling into the sky like Dorothy's house).

As I grew into adolescence, I brought stacks of teen novels on these journeys, Sweet Valley High and Nancy Drew, and closed myself off from watching the land move past. But after my teenaged ennui had largely left me, I was once again drawn to the road.

As college graduation closed in, I found myself without a plan or direction, so I struck out on my own journey, all by myself, seeking to find every answer to every question I had about who I was, and what I should be doing. For several months, I crisscrossed my way about the United States, looking for THE PLACE TO BE, camping and hiking and eating power bars and powdered gatorade and kraft macaroni and cheese with canned tomatoes or tuna. I visited friends, stayed in youth hostels in cities, wrote in my journal, and wore the same shorts every day.

At Bryce Canyon, I was struck with a simple notion: this here is a planet we live on. And strangely, during this and other private moments along the way, I discovered a sense of home within myself. I ended up back where I'd started in Vermont, fancying myself tough and wise. Looking back, I feel affection toward my girl-self: bemusement at the way I took things so seriously back then, and also admiration at the guts I had to really, really go for it. When I was 21, I was too naive to realize that the world can be a dangerous place for a young woman alone, but my open trust turned out to be my greatest protector and ally. Knowing I would be okay made it so.

Since that time, I've done my share of pavement rolling, lived in three corners of the country. Now I find myself pretty settled in Portland, and on the brink of 30, and longing for a solid summer road trip. So... I'm doing it!

Dear old friends Chris and Emily are getting married in July back in Waitsfield at the dear old Millbrook, the perfect reason to pack out of town. Amanda, that lovely BFF of mine, is heading East with me, and Vesta's coming, too. We're psyched to explore the goods of Americana, and reacquaint ourselves with ourselves and each other and the land of our country, and make a pilgrimage back to the homeland, where summer smells better than anyplace else.

So, coming Mid-July: Trans-American Roadtrip Kitsch. Stay tuned.