Rocky Mountain High

July 11,12,13,14th

57,912 miles

Denver - Golden - Boulder - Salt Lake

We decide to switch hotels for our second night in Denver and naming our own price on Priceline.com yields us a 4-star hotel downtown for $85/night.

For breakfast we check out an internet-lauded breakfast place called Hot Cakes. Yelp.com is our source for recommendations in cities where we don’t have a person on the inside. I use it casually, Christina is an ‘elite member.’

The sweet potato waffle is delicious beyond comparison. Furthering my life outlook that everything is better if you use sweet potatoes instead.

After breakfast we check into the hotel.

There is no free parking.

There is no fridge in the room.

There is no free WiFi.

The no-tell motel we stayed in last night is looking quite posh in comparison, if you’re to consider only amenities.

The one thing our Hyatt Superstay (or whatever) does have is a hotel gym.

Christina visits literary sites and I work out.

We meet up with my old roommate Matt Christoff for a Notre Dame Alumni happy hour. Surprisingly I actually know a couple of the other people at the meet-up as well.

For dinner Christina and I hit up the Lime. It’s a trendy Mexican restaurant in the Lo-Do district that feels more like a dance club to me once we get inside.

The rest of our evening is spent walking around the neighborhood and strolling up to a neighborhood bar called “My Brother’s Bar.” The bartender is friendly and we chat it up with him. He says that the crowd has expanded, not in a good way, over the past year or two due to the bar winning various local and internet awards for best bar, best beer, etc.

He also tells me I have a Philadelphia accent. This is the first time I’ve ever gotten this. I didn’t even know there was such a thing.

Through a series of parking and re-parking my car at various garages, and an error by the payment machine at one location, I manage to park all day and overnight for a total of $3. For downtown anywhere that is a screaming deal.

The next morning we wake up and get donuts on our way to check out the Buffalo Bill Wild West museum, which sits atop a mountain in Golden, about 30 minutes due West of Denver.

The visit is informative but I’m left feeling disappointed.

Boulder is our next stop and it’s as weird and hippie as everyone warned us it would be. We enjoy some bizarre tea and underwhelming food at the Dushanbe Tea House.

The main pedestrian drag in Boulder is the Pearl St. mall area. It’s the quintessential strip of interesting stores, restaurants, art galleries, and various street performers. There is no lack of panhandlers.

We spend the afternoon walking the street and taking in the sights.

After checking into the hotel (Comfort Inn? Days Inn? Value Inn? Does it even matter) we return to the Pearl St. area to scope some dinner.

What we find is a mass of people, adults, on big wheels riding throughout the streets. Doing slide-stops, spins, and other ‘tricks.’ We later find out there had been some kind of big wheel rally that day. They are all dressed like they’re going to a rave.

I feel like anymore it takes a lot to shock me. This sight, and almost getting run over by a woman in a purple wig riding a big wheel, succeeds in shocking me.

The calzone I have for dinner is the size of an NFL football (the waiter’s description when I asked if it would fill me up) and the most delicious I’ve ever had.

Sunday we arise and eat breakfast in the restaurant attached to the hotel.

It’s a long drive to Salt Lake City from Utah, but with the high speed limit and barren roads of Northern Colorado and Wyoming it goes by quickly enough.

Despite the fact that my brother lives in Salt Lake City and knew I was driving almost 2000 miles to see him, he manages to be out of town in Chicago while I’m there.

Salt Lake is a cool city, by all means, but the grid-like structure of the roads and the general sprawl of strip malls and car dealerships that emanates from downtown blurs it in my mind with any Des Moines or Tulsa or Boise. The absolutely gorgeous geography surrounding the city is its saving grace.

We spend one night there and drive to a place that I’m extremely excited to be visiting, even though it could not sound any less exciting to the average person.

Boise, Idaho.

We're Not in Kansas Anymore

July 10th

57,062 Miles

Denver, CO

The main portion of the day is spent driving across Kansas.

This is perhaps the leg of the journey we dreaded the most beforehand.

It actually ends up not being so bad at all.

Kansas is everything I anticipated it would be. Flat and boring, mainly. However, the view of the expansive famland from the road provided a surprisingly beautiful backdrop as we motored down I-70.

Christina was constantly wowed by the various sights of the Midwest, including cattle and religiously-themed billboards. To quote Christina’s blog http://ontheroadwiththeenglishteacher.blogspot.com/, which is infinitely better and more dutifully updated, “Though we didn't find Dorothy or Toto in Kansas, they certainly wanted us to find Jesus. (See pic above).”

One of the coolest and most unexpected things we saw while driving through Kansas was several large wind farms. Some people complain that the windmills, which are used to generate clean electricity, mar the landscape. I think they’re beautiful and what they represent is even more beautiful. I was rather enchanted by their movement and the profile they cut against the landscape and had to be careful to keep my eyes mainly on where I was going.

The closest thing to an incident that occurred was in one county in Western Kansas. The Sheriff was patroling on the freeway, and when we rolled up on him he slowed down to match my speed, gave me a stern “I know you’re a punk kid driving a Mustang with out of state plates through my county” kind of a look, and then spent the entire length of his jurisdiction either right behind behind me, just off my rear bumper in the other lane, or next to me leaning halfway over his center armrest to mean mug me.

To antagonize him a bit, I slowed to just above 40mph (the posted ‘minimum speed’) just to let him know I knew he was following me specifically.

This was probably tantamount to seeing how close you can stick your hand to the mouth of a chained pit bull, but at the time I just wanted to prove a point and feel like I was sticking it to the man.

I’m lucky he didn’t pull me over just for ‘driving funny’ and throw me in some po-dunk jail.

We make it to Denver with no actual trouble.

On recommendation we head straight to the trendy “Lo-Do” (Lower Denver) area to grab the best pizza in town. Afterwards we walk around a bit and I’m impressed with the shops, restaurants, and bars that line the main drag. There is also a free street car that one can ride to get around.

Our original lodging plans falling through, we book a hotel featured in the “Let’s Go!” book about road tripping in the US.

For $69 a night we get a fridge, a king sized bed, free parking, and free wireless. It’s down south from the main downtown.

What we also get is an extremely ghetto hip-hop club across the street and interesting people hanging around outside.

While we’re checking in a woman… let’s just say a large black woman who was dressed like she was ‘working’ comes in. She asks the man at the desk if he has a $10 bill for $10 in quarters. He says no. Then she turns to me and asks if either one of us has a ten. I do. So I take her up on her offer. As she counts out $10 in quarters on the counter in front of us she explains how her boyfriend won’t let her out of the house with any paper money, which explains all the coins.

I’m just happy to help someone out, and I figure the quarters will be useful for tolls and meters down the road.

The rules posted in the hotel lobby are clearly aimed at curbing prostitution in the hotel, and other seedy behavior. I’d never seen anything like it.

The room itself defines flea bag motel. There are cigarette burns in the bed spread. Odd stains are found throughout the room. And the shower makes me feel like I’d be a lot cleaner by not taking one.

Did I mention free wireless?

That being the only true important factor, Christina and I happily take to catching up on e-mails.
Later I go outside to get some air and see the masses of people streaming out of the hip hop club that we’d been jamming to through the paper thin walls of our room for the past couple hours.
There is a police car stopped at the light in front of our hotel. I notice that when the light turns green it stays put. They’re waiting there to see what’s going to develop from the crowd. This isn’t anything I haven’t seen in front of the bars by my house in Columbus.

A closer look at the police car and I notice that in block capitals on the side of the police car it says, “GANG UNIT.”

I go back inside and make sure our room is dead bolted.

10 Minutes to Downtown

July 9th

57,062 Miles

Kansas City, KS

We leave Hannibal in the late afternoon and trek across Missouri towards Kansas City.
Missouri is as uneventful as the rest of the Midwest.

We enter Kansas City on the eastern edge and are greeted by one of the most depressed areas I’ve seen in my travels. The condition worsens as we pass check cashing businesses, then pawn shops, then bail bond places. There are destroyed cars along the side of the street and abandoned buildings with broken out windows. The police presence is strong, and the few I make eye contact with are about as scary as any of the destitute inhabitants I see standing on street corners or sitting on the front steps of frighteningly decayed houses.

Behind an apartment complex children are jumping on a pile of old mattresses for entertainment.

We cross over the river and are in a considerably less-sketchy area.

We find Christina’s friend Sisco’s apartment and upon unloading our bags jump into his car to find some genuine Kansas City barbeque.

His favorite establishment is right down the street and, appropriately enough, attached to a gas station. They close early, however, and we’re too late to enjoy what Sisco considers the best barbeque in the city.

We head further across town, past a very impressive shopping and entertainment district which we’re informed is modeled after Madrid, and are able to sit down for a delicious meal.

Afterwards Christina and Sisco head out on the town while I head to bed, anticipating the longest leg of the trip so far that we’ll be embarking on the next day. 600 miles across the entire state of Kansas and a good chunk of Colorado to reach Denver.

Terror Lake Salutes Hannibal Crossing The Alps

July 8th

57,062 Miles

Hannibal, MO

It’s a patented Dave Belczyk wake-up call at 7:00, complete with hot cups of coffee and Bruce Springsteen on the record player.

He departs for work and Christina and I hit the road.

The drive through Illinois is marred only by a torrential downpour that forces traffic to a crawl on the freeway. I saw the upside as being a free car wash, hopefully rinsing some of the bugs off my front bumper.

We arrive in Hannibal in the late evening. The town is famous for being the boyhood home of Mark Twain, which is Christina’s interest in it. To me it resembles any of the many rundown
towns you’d find in the Appalachians or throughout the south.

Finding the bed and breakfast we’ve booked for the night is slightly difficult, as we have not quite gotten accustomed to the GPS and the way it issues directions. One phone call later we’re on the way.

The owner of the establishment is very nice, giving us a quick tour and showing us to our room. Mark Twain had stayed at the hotel, but we’re not in his former room (it’s extra if you want to book it).

Finding any place open past 9:00PM for dinner is not an easy task. After sticking our head in no less than three bars with no luck, we’re finally directed to Joe’s Diner, which is back up off the freeway.

Joe’s Diner fulfills our hopes for what a rural roadside diner should be, despite the fact (or perhaps because) that it’s attached to a gas station. I get the fried chicken. Christina gets a burger.

We watch Mean Girl on the in-room TV/DVD player while catching up with the WiFi. Bed and Breakfasts sure have come a long way.

The next morning we get some breakfast and stroll around the grounds. Then I drop Christina off in the center of town to visit the Mark Twain museum and other fascinating sites while I go off in search of the local YMCA.

After verifying with my home gym in Columbus that I’m really a member, I’m allowed to work out.

I pick her back up and we grab lunch.

After a quick stop by a cave that Mark Twain may or may not have ever been inside of, it’s time to head out to Kansas City.

The whole experience in Hannibal was pleasant, but not nearly as much of a cultural exposition for me as it was for Christina. I’m looking forward to Kansas City barbeque.

Devil in the White City

July 7th

56,577 miles

Chicago, IL

I wake up at 7:30 to move the car. After some searching I find an unmetered spot only 2 blocks from Dave’s apartment.

I’m back in bed until Dave texts me to meet him downtown for lunch.

It’s great to be able to catch up with him, and I even get a tour of his building (Federal Court of Appeals). It’s impressive. He has his own office.

The automatic revolving door on the way out throws me for a loop, but eventually, with some help from Dave, I manage to make my way out and take the bus back up to the apartment.

The afternoon is warm and finds me riding one of Dave’s bicycles on the path that runs along Lake Michigan.

Christina returns and we head down in the Bullitt to pick up Dave from work and head to the Stockyards.

Driving in rush hour Chicago traffic downtown ranks highly among my least favorite things in life. Before we even reach the Stockyards I do the unthinkable and let Dave drive my car. He does considerably better than me, and I’m please to be able to relax for once. After the Stockyards Dave takes us on a joyride through the Southside of Chicago. This is not relaxing for me.

We cruise by the Museum of Science and Industry, which is the only remaining building from the 1893 Chicago World’s Fair. It’s quite impressive.

Back at the apartment we are joined by our old friend and fellow Notre Dame alumnus, Erica Jackson. We walk over to a restaurant a few blocks from Dave’s for what proves to be some amazing sushi.

After sushi it’s icecream with Christina’s friend Andy who used to live in Chicago and is back for the summer. He has also done us a favor by burning us some mix CDs for our road trip. Not one or two, but rather 9 full mix CDs. He also offers to give us an Ipod nano full of music, which we respectfully and appreciatively decline.

Afterward icecream I head to bed, anticipating the drive to Hannibal, Missouri tomorrow.

I’m not even sure where Hannibal, Missouri is.

The Journey Begins

July 6th

56,200 Miles

Columbus, OH

Anyone reading this can already assume that we don’t depart on time for Chicago.

I spend my last hours in Columbus packing random articles of clothing and books I feel I may need on the trip. My lack of planning has required that I disperse items among a duffel bag, a backpack, and essentially an airplane carry-on style piece of luggage, which is ridiculous. I’m going to look like a maniac anywhere I roll up to. Most people can live for months out of one big backpack. I guess I feel like since I’ll be in my car the whole time it doesn’t matter if I overpack as long as it all fits in the trunk.

The drive on 70 through Ohio and Indiana is uneventful.

We are staying in Chicago with my friend Dave Belczyk from Notre Dame. Since he’s traveled home for the long 4th of July weekend he won’t be returning until Monday, but has invited us to stay at his apartment our first night in his absence. He has left his keys for us with the building staff. The office closes at 11:00, and with it any hopes of us spending the night in his place.

Again, needless to say, we roll up with exactly 3 minutes to spare. I won’t go into details of our harrowing journey to get there before the office closes, but rest assured it was typical of both my driving style and Chicago’s traffic.

We arrive in front of the building, a half block off Lakeshore, and Christina runs in to buzz the office. I park in a loading zone nearby and head in. I find Christina arguing with an old Eastern European man who is apparently not willing to give us the keys. Once I see that he has them in his hand, with my name on the envelope, I know that it’s just a matter of a little sweet talking and ID-flashing.

This actually does not work.

He is under the impression that we need some sort of special form to pick up the keys. I think he thinks we’re moving into the building. I try to explain this is not the case and he becomes increasingly agitated.

He goes to summon who I presume is the building superintendent.

We follow him down the hall where he bangs on an apartment door. Another old man, in his underwear, comes to the door. They begin arguing in what sounds like Russian (Dave later tells me they’re Romanian).

Underwear man finally convinces the man holding the keys to turn them over to us. I’m visibly relieved.

This important task successfully completed, we now turn our sights on the second most important thing after shelter, food. I know from experience that the holy grail of deep dish pizza, Ginos East, is not open past 10:00 on Sundays. So at this point our best option is Pizzeria Due (the second location for Pizzeria Uno), which is a strong second place contender for best deep dish, in my opinion. The pizza is delicious and we’re able to take home a few extra pieces for later.

The drive up Lakeshore at night is relaxing and reminds me why I’d move to Chicago in a heartbeat if it were summer all the time.

We unload the car and I commit to the task of finding street parking, which in this neighborhood at this hour is tantamount to searching for a Tickle-me-Elmo circa 1996.

I park at a meter on Broadway that is off but will turn back on again at 8:00 AM.

We go to bed late. I'm exhausted.