Welcome back!
Tuesday morning we said our goodbyes to the girls, then continued driving into Wisconsin. That was bittersweet. It’s been fun having them with us, and Julia was absolutely brilliant in the way she planned this last leg of our trip. We never would have seen the lobster island or dairy people or organic farm without her. I have to say, though, that the extra space is refreshing. And something about dropping them off seemed significant, like the closing of another chapter. The West is coming.
Wisconsin was surprisingly beautiful. Rolling farmlands that ended right at Lake Michigan. We found a little park near the water to cook lunch, then continued up toward Michigan. The last couple hours of that drive were in a national forest--without a doubt the most beautiful drive since the Blue Ridge Parkway. Lots of curves, lots of hills, rapidly dropping temperatures, and a beautiful mixture of trees that reflected and translated the sunlight as it slid toward the horizon. After the sun finally dragged all the color from the sky, we pulled over to look up for a little bit. The altitude conspired with the lack of traffic and light pollution to bring us the most beautiful blanket of stars I remember ever seeing. I’ve never seen the Milky Way so clearly, or felt the curve of the Earth so profoundly. This is a cliché thing to say about stars, but I was humbled…thoroughly rooted in my smallness.
There were a lot of deer too. Somewhere in the darkness one of those deer decided it would be fun to jump toward the bright lights speeding through the woods. In a terrifying moment that seemed to last much longer than it should have, we saw his feet get caught by our car, then watched as he rolled over our hood and flipped to the ground on the other side. We searched the grass all along that stretch of road, but we couldn’t find him. It’s likely that he limped into the woods pretty injured, but there’s a slight possibility that we caught him at the perfect moment mid-jump and he ended up with nothing more than slight bruising and severe disorientation. Somehow my car wasn’t altered beyond a couple of tiny scratches and some hair caught in the front. I’m grateful for that, considering all the stories we’ve heard about cars being totaled by collisions with deer.
Our drive ended in Ramsay, Michigan, where we’re staying with a friend of Britton’s from Bradenton. Yesterday we drove up to a mountain where we took a lift to the base of a ski jump, then rode an elevator and climbed some stairs to the very top. It was a stunning view, with forest in every direction, including parts of three different states, and Lake Superior presiding all superior-like in the background. The wind was tearing through there, and the top of the jump swayed back and forth pretty dramatically. I never realized quite how intense ski jumping is until I looked over the edge of that jump. I can’t imagine sliding over that ledge on a pair of skis, but those people make it look so easy. The office at the base showed us a little video of a tournament there from the 70s, and we watched the skiers glide over the edge like it was nothing, speeding to the bottom and then soaring all the way to the field below. It was pretty beautiful how smooth the whole process looked. Except for those guys who crashed. Not quite so smooth.
The rest of the day included a small cave, a hike to a couple of waterfalls, a long overdue oil change, and an Internet stopover at a coffee shop down the road. Of course my entire Internet time was spent on e-mails and Facebook, so I’m writing this back in the basement where we’re staying. I’ve realized that if I want to do some actual writing or post a lengthy update, I have to write it before we reach the Internet or it’ll never happen. When I wrote that last sentence I thought of an old man saying “I lost my Internets” and it made me think of the Help Desk at UNF. Hi friends.
Today we took a long hike through the woods in some rain. We followed the trail to a few different waterfalls, deciding to go swimming near the last one. That was fun and refreshing, but it was also, for this Floridian, mind-numbingly cold. We’re dry now, though, back at the house with a load in the laundry and an early dinner cooking upstairs. We’ll leave here tomorrow morning, spend Friday night in Minneapolis, then make our most dramatic cut west yet. That stretch will involve camping in Glacier, which I’m excited about. Then to Seattle, where we’ll start working our way down the coast.
Thanks for reading. I’ve been getting tons of feedback from you all, and that means a lot to me. It’s good to know people are reading these. So until next time, have fun and watch out for the deer.
And love.
Thursday, August 20, 2009
The American frontier was declared closed in 1890. Nonsense!
This one’s a bit of a doozy, so I’ll be splitting it up. Enjoy.
I think I left you after the organic farm, so we’ll pick it up there. Did I tell you about the toilet situation? They compost their waste, so we had to sprinkle woodchips on our poop. That was fun. I liked the farm a lot. They definitely put us to work, but it was a good experience. I told you about that already, though, so time to move on.
We headed to Buffalo, New York from there. Julia’s aunt, who is generous and all sorts of fun, hosted us for a night. She greeted us with one of the biggest boxes of pizza I’ve ever seen, of which we didn’t eat half. There was also a mountain of buffalo wings. Buffalo wings in Buffalo; I can cross that off the list. We got laundry, Internet, and showers there--all three were much needed. Then we greeted the next day with an epic breakfast that lasted for a couple hours. I worked in a quick bike ride after breakfast, then we packed up the car and pointed it toward Canada.
Crossing the border was fun. We expected to be prime suspects for a thorough car search, with the guitar strapped to the bikes on top and the car packed with randomness. But we got through easily enough, after becoming slightly smitten with the border guard. Quick side note: the border guard coming into Canada was gorgeous. The tollbooth attendant directly after was funny and entertaining. Coming back into America, the border guard was miserable and the tollbooth attendant was unmemorable. I think Canada may be desperate for a positive first impression, whereas America doesn’t seem to care too much. Maybe more thoughts on that later.
To Niagara--our whole reason for visiting Canada. Whoever visited Niagara Falls and decided not to make a national park out of it should be thoroughly punished. Seriously. It’s an absolutely stunning display of nature that is being crowded by buildings and vendors and ridiculous commercialization. The human desire to witness natural grandeur is exploited for the sake of tremendous profit. Britton and I spent about an hour talking about how we would treat the land if we owned it--how we would do as little as possible that would change the falls or the land anywhere close to it.
But it was still beautiful, in those moments when the city could be shut out. The falls themselves were humbling, and the crowds were surprisingly diverse, so there were some interesting people-watching moments. Overall, though, I can’t say I was too sad to leave Niagara. So we headed north, eventually deciding to pull into a novelty shop that sold souvenirs and postcards and such. Get this: in line at this random souvenir shop in Canada, we ran into Emmanuel, a friend who went to the same church as us for years back in Bradenton. We spent a while in the parking lot visiting with him and his family. His brother studied our map with me and showed us the best way to get to Michigan, and Emmanuel spontaneously decided to give us his GPS and his North American atlas. He said we could just mail it back to him later if we think of it. How awesome is that? Britton and I had kind of resisted the idea of using a GPS, thinking it might feel like cheating. Which it might be, a little bit. But it’s amazing how much it’s come in handy already. We try to use maps and general direction as much as possible, but once we’re actually to our destination city, the GPS saves us a lot of time in finding specific places.
Back to Canada. We found a delicious little restaurant that insisted on being Austrian, no matter how German it felt. Then we continued on to Michigan in the drive that would never end. We had recently found out we might not have a place to stay, so we weren’t sure where we’d be sleeping that night . There were some options in Detroit, but we needed to be in Grand Rapids by morning. It was after three in the morning by the time we got there. Britton and I dropped off Julia and Erin at a cheap motel, then continued driving to the church we wanted to visit. Sometime around four we fell asleep in the parking lot by the front doors.
Let me tell you about this church, Mars Hill. The teaching pastor, Rob Bell, is an absolutely brilliant man who pulls context from all sorts of places in history and culture and science and…oh, so much. Over the past couple years I’ve probably learned more from him than any other single person. A lot of my friends have asked me how I can still consider myself a Christian in spite of all my questions about God and frustrations about church. Mars Hill is a big part of that answer. There is so much hope and life pouring out of the people there. I remember reading an article from a newspaper in Grand Rapids that traced significant increases in literacy and decreases in child poverty in the city back to the people at that church. And Bell’s message, about peace and love and a massive movement toward complete restoration, is endlessly inspiring for me. He offers an alternative to the escapist, it’s-all-gonna-burn mentality that has caused so much damage. If you’re at all interested in this, or if you want to hear someone explain it so much more eloquently than me, consider leaving aside your personal feelings about Christians for about an hour, going here (http://marshill.org/teaching/index.php), and listening to the message from August 16th. Then send me a message or call me or something. I’d love to talk more about it.
We got to talk with Bell for a few minutes after the service. When we started telling him about our trip, he was like “Oh, so you were the ones brushing your teeth in the parking lot this morning! I knew you were roadtrippers!” I thought that was funny. Then we told him we plan to see him on his speaking tour in Minneapolis, and he said if we have any problem getting tickets we should ask for his tour manager and we’ll get in for free. Meeting a brilliant, innovative person who happens to be a personal hero of mine and finding him to be completely approachable and kind…something about that gives me a great deal of hope in humanity.
Okay. Back to the trip. We picked up the girls at a beach on Lake Michigan, then drove around the lake to Chicago. After dinner with a friend of Julia’s north of the city, we found out that our place to stay for that night had fallen through. The girls weren’t crazy about the idea of sleeping outside at someplace random, and we didn’t want to pay for a hotel, so we spent about an hour in a Dunkin Donuts parking lot, calling everyone we could think of and posting messages online and thinking about all our options. Thank you to all of you who responded, by the way. We had a whole team of friends calling old colleagues and classmates and such, until we ended up getting in touch with a friend of a friend of Julia’s, who let us stay in his parents’ basement. That was exciting to me, driving in the middle of the night to a complete stranger’s house and camping out in the basement.
Chicago was brilliant the next day. I use that word a lot, brilliant. I hope that doesn’t cheapen it. Britton and I took our bikes on the red line to downtown, then spent the day riding around the skyscrapers and the parks and the lake. It’s such a rush, biking with city traffic in the middle of all those buildings. The only thing that might make that day better would be Chipotle. Oh wait--we did that too. Thanks for the free food, Chipotle customer service people. The guacamole was spectacular, as always. And the burrito settled like a brick, as always. A fresh, spicy, delicious brick.
Britton and I were reading in Millennium Park that night when we found ourselves in the middle of the Monday night concert. People brought picnics and snacks and such to watch a local band play in a gorgeous amphitheater. Incredible architecture. Great music too--a sort of modern jazz band, with a couple saxes, a guitar, bass, and drums, then a trumpet that carried through the amphitheater so beautifully. You should have heard that trumpet. Britton sat next to a girl visiting from Germany. I sat next to a Canadian couple; he teaches music in an elementary school, she plays harp in the Toronto Symphony Orchestra. Everyone was extremely friendly, interacting and passing food and enjoying the night together.
Later Britton and I biked to a jazz lounge near where we were staying. The place was The Green Mill, the band was Marco Polo. The music was technically sound and at parts quite brilliant, but overall it seemed to be lacking some of the inspiration that makes jazz jazz. We sat at the bar next to George, who’s been a train engineer (“Not a conductor! Not a conductor!”) for thirty-something years. He told us about the places he’s traveled to for work and all the crazy hitchhiking and such he did in the 70s. He was a really interesting man who seemed like he could entertain for hours with his stories.
That place also had the friendliest bouncer in the world. He was soft-spoken and kind all night. During a break out front I saw him reading a collection by Rumi, a 13th century Persian poet. It was great hearing him talk about which ones he liked and why they meant so much to him. Then it was funny watching him hide the book and get all nervous and official every time his boss came around. I can’t wait for him to find what he’s looking for.
Pause here. Time to go pee or grab a snack or step outside, then we’ll continue.
I think I left you after the organic farm, so we’ll pick it up there. Did I tell you about the toilet situation? They compost their waste, so we had to sprinkle woodchips on our poop. That was fun. I liked the farm a lot. They definitely put us to work, but it was a good experience. I told you about that already, though, so time to move on.
We headed to Buffalo, New York from there. Julia’s aunt, who is generous and all sorts of fun, hosted us for a night. She greeted us with one of the biggest boxes of pizza I’ve ever seen, of which we didn’t eat half. There was also a mountain of buffalo wings. Buffalo wings in Buffalo; I can cross that off the list. We got laundry, Internet, and showers there--all three were much needed. Then we greeted the next day with an epic breakfast that lasted for a couple hours. I worked in a quick bike ride after breakfast, then we packed up the car and pointed it toward Canada.
Crossing the border was fun. We expected to be prime suspects for a thorough car search, with the guitar strapped to the bikes on top and the car packed with randomness. But we got through easily enough, after becoming slightly smitten with the border guard. Quick side note: the border guard coming into Canada was gorgeous. The tollbooth attendant directly after was funny and entertaining. Coming back into America, the border guard was miserable and the tollbooth attendant was unmemorable. I think Canada may be desperate for a positive first impression, whereas America doesn’t seem to care too much. Maybe more thoughts on that later.
To Niagara--our whole reason for visiting Canada. Whoever visited Niagara Falls and decided not to make a national park out of it should be thoroughly punished. Seriously. It’s an absolutely stunning display of nature that is being crowded by buildings and vendors and ridiculous commercialization. The human desire to witness natural grandeur is exploited for the sake of tremendous profit. Britton and I spent about an hour talking about how we would treat the land if we owned it--how we would do as little as possible that would change the falls or the land anywhere close to it.
But it was still beautiful, in those moments when the city could be shut out. The falls themselves were humbling, and the crowds were surprisingly diverse, so there were some interesting people-watching moments. Overall, though, I can’t say I was too sad to leave Niagara. So we headed north, eventually deciding to pull into a novelty shop that sold souvenirs and postcards and such. Get this: in line at this random souvenir shop in Canada, we ran into Emmanuel, a friend who went to the same church as us for years back in Bradenton. We spent a while in the parking lot visiting with him and his family. His brother studied our map with me and showed us the best way to get to Michigan, and Emmanuel spontaneously decided to give us his GPS and his North American atlas. He said we could just mail it back to him later if we think of it. How awesome is that? Britton and I had kind of resisted the idea of using a GPS, thinking it might feel like cheating. Which it might be, a little bit. But it’s amazing how much it’s come in handy already. We try to use maps and general direction as much as possible, but once we’re actually to our destination city, the GPS saves us a lot of time in finding specific places.
Back to Canada. We found a delicious little restaurant that insisted on being Austrian, no matter how German it felt. Then we continued on to Michigan in the drive that would never end. We had recently found out we might not have a place to stay, so we weren’t sure where we’d be sleeping that night . There were some options in Detroit, but we needed to be in Grand Rapids by morning. It was after three in the morning by the time we got there. Britton and I dropped off Julia and Erin at a cheap motel, then continued driving to the church we wanted to visit. Sometime around four we fell asleep in the parking lot by the front doors.
Let me tell you about this church, Mars Hill. The teaching pastor, Rob Bell, is an absolutely brilliant man who pulls context from all sorts of places in history and culture and science and…oh, so much. Over the past couple years I’ve probably learned more from him than any other single person. A lot of my friends have asked me how I can still consider myself a Christian in spite of all my questions about God and frustrations about church. Mars Hill is a big part of that answer. There is so much hope and life pouring out of the people there. I remember reading an article from a newspaper in Grand Rapids that traced significant increases in literacy and decreases in child poverty in the city back to the people at that church. And Bell’s message, about peace and love and a massive movement toward complete restoration, is endlessly inspiring for me. He offers an alternative to the escapist, it’s-all-gonna-burn mentality that has caused so much damage. If you’re at all interested in this, or if you want to hear someone explain it so much more eloquently than me, consider leaving aside your personal feelings about Christians for about an hour, going here (http://marshill.org/teaching/index.php), and listening to the message from August 16th. Then send me a message or call me or something. I’d love to talk more about it.
We got to talk with Bell for a few minutes after the service. When we started telling him about our trip, he was like “Oh, so you were the ones brushing your teeth in the parking lot this morning! I knew you were roadtrippers!” I thought that was funny. Then we told him we plan to see him on his speaking tour in Minneapolis, and he said if we have any problem getting tickets we should ask for his tour manager and we’ll get in for free. Meeting a brilliant, innovative person who happens to be a personal hero of mine and finding him to be completely approachable and kind…something about that gives me a great deal of hope in humanity.
Okay. Back to the trip. We picked up the girls at a beach on Lake Michigan, then drove around the lake to Chicago. After dinner with a friend of Julia’s north of the city, we found out that our place to stay for that night had fallen through. The girls weren’t crazy about the idea of sleeping outside at someplace random, and we didn’t want to pay for a hotel, so we spent about an hour in a Dunkin Donuts parking lot, calling everyone we could think of and posting messages online and thinking about all our options. Thank you to all of you who responded, by the way. We had a whole team of friends calling old colleagues and classmates and such, until we ended up getting in touch with a friend of a friend of Julia’s, who let us stay in his parents’ basement. That was exciting to me, driving in the middle of the night to a complete stranger’s house and camping out in the basement.
Chicago was brilliant the next day. I use that word a lot, brilliant. I hope that doesn’t cheapen it. Britton and I took our bikes on the red line to downtown, then spent the day riding around the skyscrapers and the parks and the lake. It’s such a rush, biking with city traffic in the middle of all those buildings. The only thing that might make that day better would be Chipotle. Oh wait--we did that too. Thanks for the free food, Chipotle customer service people. The guacamole was spectacular, as always. And the burrito settled like a brick, as always. A fresh, spicy, delicious brick.
Britton and I were reading in Millennium Park that night when we found ourselves in the middle of the Monday night concert. People brought picnics and snacks and such to watch a local band play in a gorgeous amphitheater. Incredible architecture. Great music too--a sort of modern jazz band, with a couple saxes, a guitar, bass, and drums, then a trumpet that carried through the amphitheater so beautifully. You should have heard that trumpet. Britton sat next to a girl visiting from Germany. I sat next to a Canadian couple; he teaches music in an elementary school, she plays harp in the Toronto Symphony Orchestra. Everyone was extremely friendly, interacting and passing food and enjoying the night together.
Later Britton and I biked to a jazz lounge near where we were staying. The place was The Green Mill, the band was Marco Polo. The music was technically sound and at parts quite brilliant, but overall it seemed to be lacking some of the inspiration that makes jazz jazz. We sat at the bar next to George, who’s been a train engineer (“Not a conductor! Not a conductor!”) for thirty-something years. He told us about the places he’s traveled to for work and all the crazy hitchhiking and such he did in the 70s. He was a really interesting man who seemed like he could entertain for hours with his stories.
That place also had the friendliest bouncer in the world. He was soft-spoken and kind all night. During a break out front I saw him reading a collection by Rumi, a 13th century Persian poet. It was great hearing him talk about which ones he liked and why they meant so much to him. Then it was funny watching him hide the book and get all nervous and official every time his boss came around. I can’t wait for him to find what he’s looking for.
Pause here. Time to go pee or grab a snack or step outside, then we’ll continue.
Saturday, August 15, 2009
"Well, we kinda face to the north and real subtle-like turn left."
I’m not splitting this one up, so it’s kind of a beast. Enjoy.
We said our goodbyes to the quaint patriotism of Plainville and headed up, up, up until we hit Portland, Maine. It might be because I’m already biased to cities that share its name, but I’m pretty sure Portland is my new favorite city on the East Coast. The feel of Maine’s sea life mixes well with the atmosphere of an active city, and it makes Portland an exciting place to visit. After taking a brief tour of the city, meeting people who live there, and hearing about the different projects they are involved in, I decided that I could see myself living there long-term if I end up back on the East Coast without returning to Florida. And if that whole newspaper thing on Block Island doesn’t work out. Did you forget about that? Me too. I should call them.
We spent the night at Brandon’s house. Brandon is a friend of Julia. Julia, in case you forget, is a friend of Britton’s who is masterminding this leg of the trip. There’s also Erin, an old friend of Julia’s and Britton’s, who we picked up back in Plainville. Erin and Julia are along for the ride until Chicago. Now back to Portland: Brandon’s roommate Leo cooked us pancakes and spent the entire day with us. We visited the Portland Headlight, a gorgeous lighthouse with cliffs and rocks and old ruins that offer hours of exploring and climbing. One of those rocks busted my toe, but otherwise they were quite nice. After that we took some sandwiches out to the beach where Brandon was lifeguarding. Pretty sure that’s a new word, lifeguarding. My computer doesn’t like it very much. Anyways, the beach was fun but not quite the Gulf. Three points for Florida. It was still beautiful, though…I’m basically in love with Maine.
That night another of Julia’s friends, Peter, cooked us fish tacos. That was a highlight, fish taco deliciousness with new friends on Peter’s porch, hearing him talk about working as a writer in Portland. Another highlight would be reverse charades, in which Peter acts out, in the most dramatic of fashions, the conversation of the thunderous upstairs neighbors. Awesome.
Fish tacos in our bellies, we continued up, up, up to Palermo Maine. There we stayed for two nights with a family that owns an organic dairy farm…once again, Julia’s friends. Our stay in Palermo included cheeseburgers, a bonfire, an early morning witness of the milking spectacle which I managed to sleep through, and raw, fresh, magically delicious milk. Britton and I shared about a gallon and a half before we left Palermo.
While staying with the cow people we drove up to Acadia National Park. This is one of the highest ranked and most visited parks in the country, even though it’s also one of the smallest. It’s a wonderful experience to see a bunch of your favorite things hodgepodged together, and that happened in Acadia. Ocean and islands and forests and rocky beaches and friendly people and giant climbable rocks over the surf, all hanging out together and spending the afternoon with us. It was brilliant.
And no, hodgepodged is probably not a real word.
We bid farewell to the cows and the magical raw milk and the Haskell family, formerly referred to as the cow people, and made our way up, up, up to Rockland, Maine. In Rockland we stuffed the bikes in the car, loaded up our backpacks, and took a ferry out to Vinalhaven.
I know I’ve called lots of things highlights, but Vinalhaven has quite possibly been the highlight. After about an hour on the ferry we started passing a series of epic rock formations, which grew to a series of little islands and ended with an exclamation mark at Vinalhaven. While surprisingly big, this island offered a contrast to Block Island in that there is only one little inn, no tacky tourism, and most of the people there actually live and work on the island. The town there exists because of lobsters. Big, delicious lobsters. More on that in a minute.
In Vinalhaven we stayed with Jamus, yet another friend of Julia’s. Jamus, a towering man with a man’s truck and a man’s beard, is a lobsterman who lives in a killer wooden house that’s buried in some woods up a hill from the town. Our first night there he brought home a pile of lobsters that, accompanied by some steak and sweet corn we brought from the mainland, are among the reasons Vinalhaven was such a hit. Oh my goodness. I’m not sure if it was the freshness of the lobster, the overabundance of everything, the curry that Jamus mixed in the melted butter, the fact that it was free, or maybe the beer, but that was just about my favorite meal ever. After basically gorging myself and slothing my way upstairs, I enjoyed one of the deepest and richest nights of sleep I’ve had in years. I’m running out of adjectives here, but I’ll say again that it was beautiful and wonderful and magical and delicious and absolutely perfect.
The rest of our time in Vinalhaven included diving and swimming in a rock quarry, fun music by friends of Jamus, sleeping in, and a brilliant hike with Britton. Vinalhaven was showing off on that hike, with its trees and the light pouring through the trees and the hills and hidden little islands surrounded by rocky water, and the barking seals and climbing otters and so much goodness. Britton and I hitchhiked to and from the trails. Here’s something interesting: each of the three times we’ve hitchhiked so far has been on an island, and each time has been with an older person who’s lived on that island since birth and can remember when hitchhiking was commonplace. That makes me happy.
Vinalhaven deserves more words, but I’m moving on for the sake of efficiency. Also because some of these experiences are basically sacred to me and I’m afraid I might ruin that by failing to do them justice with words. Maybe pictures will help…I’ll try to share some of those soon.
After spending a second night on the island, we ferried back to the mainland on Thursday to find that our car and bikes and such were right where we had left them. We repeated our new favorite ritual of packing everything and stuffing ourselves into the car, then we started heading south. I was a little sad to trade our up, up, up for some down, so I won’t celebrate it with repetition. After stopping again in Portland for lunch at a crazy little place called Duck Fat, we drove to Pennsylvania. There a few more of Julia’s friends live and work on an organic farm in the middle of nowhere. We happened to be visiting on a harvest day, so we woke up in time to pick string beans, pull up potatoes, and weed around some onions. These were absolutely wonderful people who were a joy to visit with while we worked and ate a lunch that came entirely from the farm.
Plug time: food tastes so much better when you know where it comes from. Do some research and I guarantee you can find similar people, who understand that food is more fresh and more tasty when it grows in an environment where nature is appreciated and respected. And after finding those people you can support them and enjoy their deliciousness. Specifically, if you’re ever at a farmer’s market near Scranton Pennsylvania, ask around for the Anthill Farm. Then give them my love. And when you’re in Palermo, Maine you can ask the Haskell’s for some milk nectar goodness.
So that brings us here. After lunch and a swim/bath in a nearby lake, we’re back on the road. This time we’re headed to Buffalo for a night. Tomorrow we visit Niagara, then through Canada into Michigan. Mars Hill on Sunday, then off to Chicago where we’ll bid farewell to the girls and continue in a westerly direction. We’re about at the close of this leg of the trip, and it feels significant that we’re turning to the left. I enjoyed this last week more than I know how to say, especially Maine, but there’s a familiar stirring inside me that’s pretty strong now that we’re off the coast. It’s a feeling I’ve grown used to these last few years, the West beckoning, and it feels good to finally be answering.
If you’re offended by made up words or overabundant adjectives or run-on sentences, then I apologize. But not really, because that’s kind of dumb.
That’s all for now. Thanks to everyone who checked in after the first post, and huge thanks to everyone we’ve met so far on the trip. You all have been incredible.
Love. Lots and lots of love, and more words to come later.
We said our goodbyes to the quaint patriotism of Plainville and headed up, up, up until we hit Portland, Maine. It might be because I’m already biased to cities that share its name, but I’m pretty sure Portland is my new favorite city on the East Coast. The feel of Maine’s sea life mixes well with the atmosphere of an active city, and it makes Portland an exciting place to visit. After taking a brief tour of the city, meeting people who live there, and hearing about the different projects they are involved in, I decided that I could see myself living there long-term if I end up back on the East Coast without returning to Florida. And if that whole newspaper thing on Block Island doesn’t work out. Did you forget about that? Me too. I should call them.
We spent the night at Brandon’s house. Brandon is a friend of Julia. Julia, in case you forget, is a friend of Britton’s who is masterminding this leg of the trip. There’s also Erin, an old friend of Julia’s and Britton’s, who we picked up back in Plainville. Erin and Julia are along for the ride until Chicago. Now back to Portland: Brandon’s roommate Leo cooked us pancakes and spent the entire day with us. We visited the Portland Headlight, a gorgeous lighthouse with cliffs and rocks and old ruins that offer hours of exploring and climbing. One of those rocks busted my toe, but otherwise they were quite nice. After that we took some sandwiches out to the beach where Brandon was lifeguarding. Pretty sure that’s a new word, lifeguarding. My computer doesn’t like it very much. Anyways, the beach was fun but not quite the Gulf. Three points for Florida. It was still beautiful, though…I’m basically in love with Maine.
That night another of Julia’s friends, Peter, cooked us fish tacos. That was a highlight, fish taco deliciousness with new friends on Peter’s porch, hearing him talk about working as a writer in Portland. Another highlight would be reverse charades, in which Peter acts out, in the most dramatic of fashions, the conversation of the thunderous upstairs neighbors. Awesome.
Fish tacos in our bellies, we continued up, up, up to Palermo Maine. There we stayed for two nights with a family that owns an organic dairy farm…once again, Julia’s friends. Our stay in Palermo included cheeseburgers, a bonfire, an early morning witness of the milking spectacle which I managed to sleep through, and raw, fresh, magically delicious milk. Britton and I shared about a gallon and a half before we left Palermo.
While staying with the cow people we drove up to Acadia National Park. This is one of the highest ranked and most visited parks in the country, even though it’s also one of the smallest. It’s a wonderful experience to see a bunch of your favorite things hodgepodged together, and that happened in Acadia. Ocean and islands and forests and rocky beaches and friendly people and giant climbable rocks over the surf, all hanging out together and spending the afternoon with us. It was brilliant.
And no, hodgepodged is probably not a real word.
We bid farewell to the cows and the magical raw milk and the Haskell family, formerly referred to as the cow people, and made our way up, up, up to Rockland, Maine. In Rockland we stuffed the bikes in the car, loaded up our backpacks, and took a ferry out to Vinalhaven.
I know I’ve called lots of things highlights, but Vinalhaven has quite possibly been the highlight. After about an hour on the ferry we started passing a series of epic rock formations, which grew to a series of little islands and ended with an exclamation mark at Vinalhaven. While surprisingly big, this island offered a contrast to Block Island in that there is only one little inn, no tacky tourism, and most of the people there actually live and work on the island. The town there exists because of lobsters. Big, delicious lobsters. More on that in a minute.
In Vinalhaven we stayed with Jamus, yet another friend of Julia’s. Jamus, a towering man with a man’s truck and a man’s beard, is a lobsterman who lives in a killer wooden house that’s buried in some woods up a hill from the town. Our first night there he brought home a pile of lobsters that, accompanied by some steak and sweet corn we brought from the mainland, are among the reasons Vinalhaven was such a hit. Oh my goodness. I’m not sure if it was the freshness of the lobster, the overabundance of everything, the curry that Jamus mixed in the melted butter, the fact that it was free, or maybe the beer, but that was just about my favorite meal ever. After basically gorging myself and slothing my way upstairs, I enjoyed one of the deepest and richest nights of sleep I’ve had in years. I’m running out of adjectives here, but I’ll say again that it was beautiful and wonderful and magical and delicious and absolutely perfect.
The rest of our time in Vinalhaven included diving and swimming in a rock quarry, fun music by friends of Jamus, sleeping in, and a brilliant hike with Britton. Vinalhaven was showing off on that hike, with its trees and the light pouring through the trees and the hills and hidden little islands surrounded by rocky water, and the barking seals and climbing otters and so much goodness. Britton and I hitchhiked to and from the trails. Here’s something interesting: each of the three times we’ve hitchhiked so far has been on an island, and each time has been with an older person who’s lived on that island since birth and can remember when hitchhiking was commonplace. That makes me happy.
Vinalhaven deserves more words, but I’m moving on for the sake of efficiency. Also because some of these experiences are basically sacred to me and I’m afraid I might ruin that by failing to do them justice with words. Maybe pictures will help…I’ll try to share some of those soon.
After spending a second night on the island, we ferried back to the mainland on Thursday to find that our car and bikes and such were right where we had left them. We repeated our new favorite ritual of packing everything and stuffing ourselves into the car, then we started heading south. I was a little sad to trade our up, up, up for some down, so I won’t celebrate it with repetition. After stopping again in Portland for lunch at a crazy little place called Duck Fat, we drove to Pennsylvania. There a few more of Julia’s friends live and work on an organic farm in the middle of nowhere. We happened to be visiting on a harvest day, so we woke up in time to pick string beans, pull up potatoes, and weed around some onions. These were absolutely wonderful people who were a joy to visit with while we worked and ate a lunch that came entirely from the farm.
Plug time: food tastes so much better when you know where it comes from. Do some research and I guarantee you can find similar people, who understand that food is more fresh and more tasty when it grows in an environment where nature is appreciated and respected. And after finding those people you can support them and enjoy their deliciousness. Specifically, if you’re ever at a farmer’s market near Scranton Pennsylvania, ask around for the Anthill Farm. Then give them my love. And when you’re in Palermo, Maine you can ask the Haskell’s for some milk nectar goodness.
So that brings us here. After lunch and a swim/bath in a nearby lake, we’re back on the road. This time we’re headed to Buffalo for a night. Tomorrow we visit Niagara, then through Canada into Michigan. Mars Hill on Sunday, then off to Chicago where we’ll bid farewell to the girls and continue in a westerly direction. We’re about at the close of this leg of the trip, and it feels significant that we’re turning to the left. I enjoyed this last week more than I know how to say, especially Maine, but there’s a familiar stirring inside me that’s pretty strong now that we’re off the coast. It’s a feeling I’ve grown used to these last few years, the West beckoning, and it feels good to finally be answering.
If you’re offended by made up words or overabundant adjectives or run-on sentences, then I apologize. But not really, because that’s kind of dumb.
That’s all for now. Thanks to everyone who checked in after the first post, and huge thanks to everyone we’ve met so far on the trip. You all have been incredible.
Love. Lots and lots of love, and more words to come later.
Saturday, August 8, 2009
Week One Again
Alright. Eggs and pancakes in my belly, time to continue. We left the guidestones and headed north to Virginia, where we picked up the Blue Ridge Parkway. This has been one of the highlights for me so far. We caught the parkway at sunset, with a pink, nearly full moon rising over the mountains to the east. Every curve offered a new view of the dusk sky: clouds alight with the fading sun, fields and mountains bathed in the colors of coming night. We passed dozens of deer on the side of the road, and I found it impossible to stop being amazed. Sometime after eleven we pulled to the side of the road and set up our sleeping bags. The cool air, bright moon, and near absolute silence dragged us into a full night of sleep. It was magical.
In the morning we left the parkway and headed down the mountains to Monticello. We walked around a museum for a little bit but decided not to pay the twenty bucks to get into the actual house. Sorry Tom.
That's Tom Jefferson, for those of you who don't know. We're best buds.
We were in DC by early afternoon. With a perfect parking spot in front of the Capitol, we took our bikes down the mall and around the different monuments and such. DC is always a paradox for me. I get caught up in the nostalgia, but then I remind myself that these were politicians in their own day, that there is all sorts of corruption buried under the romantic language and the gorgeous architecture. The nostalgia comes back, though, as soon as I see the diverse crowds on the steps in front of Lincoln. The architecture and history and engraved speeches mean something in that moment. And seeing it all on bikes made it even better. Try it sometime.
That night we stayed with a group of strangers living in what they call an intentional community. There were about twenty people in this house, named Maitri House, meaning "loving kindness." They share possessions and co-raise each other's kids. Most of them are vegetarian or vegan, and they get almost all their food from a side garden or from dumpster diving. Really interesting people...it was beautiful sharing dinner with them, and I should be able to stay in touch with at least one of them.
I think that brings us to Thursday, when we drove to Rhode Island. On the way we found a gas station on Crooks Lane in New Jersey and a brilliant little sandwich shop in New York, but otherwise that was just a big drive we had to knock out. From Rhode Island we took a ferry to Block Island, about 25 miles offshore. Britton's friend Julia, who we were picking up on the island, got us into a sunset kayak tour for free. If the Blue Ridge Parkway wasn't the highlight so far, then the kayak trip was. Beautiful skies, beautiful water, beautiful conversation with beautiful people...not to mention the kayaks. Again, magical.
We spent all day Friday exploring the island, swimming in a lake and visiting the beach. An interesting development came up when Julia told us about her friend who was leaving his job at the newspaper, and that eventually led to a phone conversation with the editor. So there is a very very very very slight possibility that, at some point after we reach LA, I might move to Block Island to work at a newspaper. We'll see.
We ferried off the island in time to catch the sunset over the ocean. On the boat we befriended a few drunk folks, including a rather rambunctious fellow who was about ready to fight me for not letting him sit next to a lady he fancied. After the ferry we loaded up again and drove here to Connecticut where we met Erin and spent the night with her family and her patriotic neighborhood.
Sarcasm: Now we have the fun of figuring out how to fit four people and all of our stuff into my car, which is exciting and wonderful.
Not sarcasm: Then we have the fun of Erin's mom emptying her refrigerator to make us dinner, which is exciting and wonderful.
From here we drive to Maine for a couple days, then...somewhere else. I kind of forget. But I'll keep updating here, and I'd love to stay in touch with you more individually. Facebook, phone, email (beaudenton at gmail)...let's talk.
Hopefully some of these updates will be shorter and more focused, but there was a lot to catch up on this time around. Love.
In the morning we left the parkway and headed down the mountains to Monticello. We walked around a museum for a little bit but decided not to pay the twenty bucks to get into the actual house. Sorry Tom.
That's Tom Jefferson, for those of you who don't know. We're best buds.
We were in DC by early afternoon. With a perfect parking spot in front of the Capitol, we took our bikes down the mall and around the different monuments and such. DC is always a paradox for me. I get caught up in the nostalgia, but then I remind myself that these were politicians in their own day, that there is all sorts of corruption buried under the romantic language and the gorgeous architecture. The nostalgia comes back, though, as soon as I see the diverse crowds on the steps in front of Lincoln. The architecture and history and engraved speeches mean something in that moment. And seeing it all on bikes made it even better. Try it sometime.
That night we stayed with a group of strangers living in what they call an intentional community. There were about twenty people in this house, named Maitri House, meaning "loving kindness." They share possessions and co-raise each other's kids. Most of them are vegetarian or vegan, and they get almost all their food from a side garden or from dumpster diving. Really interesting people...it was beautiful sharing dinner with them, and I should be able to stay in touch with at least one of them.
I think that brings us to Thursday, when we drove to Rhode Island. On the way we found a gas station on Crooks Lane in New Jersey and a brilliant little sandwich shop in New York, but otherwise that was just a big drive we had to knock out. From Rhode Island we took a ferry to Block Island, about 25 miles offshore. Britton's friend Julia, who we were picking up on the island, got us into a sunset kayak tour for free. If the Blue Ridge Parkway wasn't the highlight so far, then the kayak trip was. Beautiful skies, beautiful water, beautiful conversation with beautiful people...not to mention the kayaks. Again, magical.
We spent all day Friday exploring the island, swimming in a lake and visiting the beach. An interesting development came up when Julia told us about her friend who was leaving his job at the newspaper, and that eventually led to a phone conversation with the editor. So there is a very very very very slight possibility that, at some point after we reach LA, I might move to Block Island to work at a newspaper. We'll see.
We ferried off the island in time to catch the sunset over the ocean. On the boat we befriended a few drunk folks, including a rather rambunctious fellow who was about ready to fight me for not letting him sit next to a lady he fancied. After the ferry we loaded up again and drove here to Connecticut where we met Erin and spent the night with her family and her patriotic neighborhood.
Sarcasm: Now we have the fun of figuring out how to fit four people and all of our stuff into my car, which is exciting and wonderful.
Not sarcasm: Then we have the fun of Erin's mom emptying her refrigerator to make us dinner, which is exciting and wonderful.
From here we drive to Maine for a couple days, then...somewhere else. I kind of forget. But I'll keep updating here, and I'd love to stay in touch with you more individually. Facebook, phone, email (beaudenton at gmail)...let's talk.
Hopefully some of these updates will be shorter and more focused, but there was a lot to catch up on this time around. Love.
Week One
I'm writing this from Plainville, Connecticut, capital of tacky patriotism and colorful knickknacks. The house we're visiting is in a circle of homes that seem to be competing for the prize of most indescribably odd. In the middle of the circle is a giant stage and pavilion. I imagine that's where they hold trial when one of the neighbors forgets to hoist an American flag.
It's beautiful here, though. The weather is somewhere around perfect, the new friends are entertaining, and the next leg of the trip is about to begin. This is the first chance I've had to stop and write about where we've been. So here we go...let's start from the beginning.
And the beginning comes from last weekend in Bradenton. Caroline and Grahm threw a going away party on Saturday in their new house, with great friends and delicious food and all sorts of goodness. The next day the family all went over to my mom's house to see us off, including Kathryn just back from Jacksonville and Ryan and Leah with baby Wyatt. In those two days I enjoyed and appreciated my family more than I know how to say here. And I can't think of a better way to start the trip.
So we left Sunday afternoon in time to join a bunch of Jacksonville friends for dinner and conversation and, of course, some riveting telephone pictionary. Thank you again to everyone who was there and especially to the girls who opened their house for us.
We visited with friends in Jacksonville until 3 in the morning, when we left for Macon. Dawn on the backroads in southern Georgia was absolutely beautiful, offering our first experience with below-Florida temperatures. We had breakfast and showers in Macon, then continued on to Atlanta where we visited with some of Britton's family and our friends Mathias and Amanda. Atlanta was vaguely stressful, and I was ready to move on, but it was wonderful to spend time with our friends and their growing baby boy.
Tuesday morning we left Atlanta in search of the Georgia Guidestones, which Britton had read about in a magazine. More on those in a minute, but first there's a lake. We were trying to find those guidestones--some might say we were lost, but I prefer to say exploring--when we stumbled on a forested park at the side of a lake and we absolutely had to stop. We used Grahm and Care's camp stove to make sandwiches and soup for lunch, then went for a swim before getting back to our exploring. Glorious.
Okay. So let me tell you about these guidestones. A few decades ago a group of people, led by a Mr. Christian, decided to build a sort of Stonehenge in the middle of nowhere, with a message in about ten different languages. The idea is that, after mankind has pretty much killed itself off, a group of survivors will be wandering through Georgia and will stumble upon these rocks that tell them how to rebuild their society. We'll try to put pictures up soon, but for now I'll just say that it was strange. Maybe surreal. And oddly inspiring. More on that another time.
This is getting entirely too long and I don't want to overwhelm you. Part two after breakfast.
It's beautiful here, though. The weather is somewhere around perfect, the new friends are entertaining, and the next leg of the trip is about to begin. This is the first chance I've had to stop and write about where we've been. So here we go...let's start from the beginning.
And the beginning comes from last weekend in Bradenton. Caroline and Grahm threw a going away party on Saturday in their new house, with great friends and delicious food and all sorts of goodness. The next day the family all went over to my mom's house to see us off, including Kathryn just back from Jacksonville and Ryan and Leah with baby Wyatt. In those two days I enjoyed and appreciated my family more than I know how to say here. And I can't think of a better way to start the trip.
So we left Sunday afternoon in time to join a bunch of Jacksonville friends for dinner and conversation and, of course, some riveting telephone pictionary. Thank you again to everyone who was there and especially to the girls who opened their house for us.
We visited with friends in Jacksonville until 3 in the morning, when we left for Macon. Dawn on the backroads in southern Georgia was absolutely beautiful, offering our first experience with below-Florida temperatures. We had breakfast and showers in Macon, then continued on to Atlanta where we visited with some of Britton's family and our friends Mathias and Amanda. Atlanta was vaguely stressful, and I was ready to move on, but it was wonderful to spend time with our friends and their growing baby boy.
Tuesday morning we left Atlanta in search of the Georgia Guidestones, which Britton had read about in a magazine. More on those in a minute, but first there's a lake. We were trying to find those guidestones--some might say we were lost, but I prefer to say exploring--when we stumbled on a forested park at the side of a lake and we absolutely had to stop. We used Grahm and Care's camp stove to make sandwiches and soup for lunch, then went for a swim before getting back to our exploring. Glorious.
Okay. So let me tell you about these guidestones. A few decades ago a group of people, led by a Mr. Christian, decided to build a sort of Stonehenge in the middle of nowhere, with a message in about ten different languages. The idea is that, after mankind has pretty much killed itself off, a group of survivors will be wandering through Georgia and will stumble upon these rocks that tell them how to rebuild their society. We'll try to put pictures up soon, but for now I'll just say that it was strange. Maybe surreal. And oddly inspiring. More on that another time.
This is getting entirely too long and I don't want to overwhelm you. Part two after breakfast.
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