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.

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.

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.