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.

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.

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.