Paul's Great American Road Trip

The Coldest Winter I Ever Spent Was a Summer in San Francisco

2008-08-18T23:45:00.000-07:00

That quote is attributed to Mark Twain, but I've also read somewhere that he never actually said it.

Well, he should have.

The redwoods in Northern California are as imposing and impressive as I'd imagined.

Our drive to Sonoma county is uneventful, and we use our instincts and a few helpful locals to wind up at a delicious Mexican restaurant in Santa Rosa along the way.

Around dinner time we hear from Christina's girl she knows in Sonoma, Kristen, and she's excited to have us for the night. We're excited to not be scrounging for a Motel 6.

We arrive at her home in Sebastopol, after a brief stop for some delicious icecream in town. It's one of the most peaceful and serene homes I've been in. She offers me a sip of her tea and then reads us our horoscopes.

There is a bedtime music mix already prepared and playing on the laptop and despite Mark's snoring I have probably the most restful night's sleep so far this trip.

The next day it's off to Jack London's former home, some wine tasting (I talk Argentine wine with the sommelier) and then a delicious meal at the restaurant where Kristen is a waitress when she's not teaching pre-school. It's all locally raised or caught food, and the fish is incredible. I try oysters and decide they do taste good, but not for me.

We head to Vacaville that night to stay with our friend Chris, with whom Mark and I used to swim when we were kids.

She is in the Air Force and living in a suburban-ish town by the air base.

It's nice to have a big apartment to stay in with a good friend, and not have to scrounge for parking. There is also laundry and wireless.

That weekend it's San Fran.

The weather is nice Saturday, and we walk all over North Beach, Fisherman's Wharf, and Ghiradeli Square. Our night on the town that evening ends with some delicious food from a South American restaurant that's open late. It's called "La Parilla Grill." Or, "The Grill Grill."

Sunday the weather turns colder and I'm reminded why the last time I was in San Fran I had to stop in a Gap to buy a long sleeve shirt while walking around. Mark and I are in the Mission District and raid the local Goodwill. I get a Banana Republic sweater, a t-shirt, and a light jacket for a total of $8.

Monday it's on the 1 and down to LA.

Pacific Coast Highway to Heaven

2008-08-13T23:02:00.000-07:00

As we leave Portland and begin our journey across to the Oregon coast I am hyper-aware of my speed, my recent run-in with law enforcement fresh in my mind.

The donuts not quite having satisfied our hunger, we look for somewhere to stop and eat.

Burgerland, right off the freeway by where we stop to get gas, fits the bill.

The food is pretty good. And as an added bonus the counter guy slides a few free promo CDs they're giving away. It features all local Portland bands.

Our new road music proves to be a nice little gem, and quite awesome to listen to.

The Oregon coast is one of the most beautiful places I've ever been in my life. Pictures speak louder than words, so enjoy the ones I've uploaded.

We drive until it's dark and then find a hotel.

Tomorrow it's going to be Northern California and hopefully finding a place to stay in Sonoma. We still have not heard back from the girl who Christina knows through a friend and we're supposed to be staying with tomorrow night.

A Note From the Author

2008-08-07T02:16:00.000-07:00

It's very hard to do a blog about a journey like this. One could write an entire book about the experience, easily.

Doing a whirlwind tour of 40 cities in 60 days, and drving over 10,000 miles in the process leaves little time for writing anything, and when I do have the time I find I'm usually too exhausted to compose anything coherent, let alone intersting.

So I do intend to continue this blog, since I started it and it seems to have a loyal following of my parents and at least two other people.

But don't expect all my interesting stories and observations to make it in. I would love to sit down and write a detailed, humorous account of every day of my trip, and I could if given the time, but sadly it's not in the cards.

So I'll keep you up to date on the hi-lights and lowlights. The delicious pizzas and speeding tickets. And all the friends I see along the way. But don't expert Newberry Award material. In fact, don't expect much and you'll get what I can give you.

Photo: Courtesy Mexican restaurant bathroom. Santa Rosa, CA.

Portland, OR (not Maine)

2008-08-06T12:01:00.001-07:00

Tuesday morning we pack up the car and drive the comparitively short 3 hour drive to portland.

We arrive early enough in the day to get some lunch in the trendy downtown Pearl St. district. Then Mark and I leave Christina in the largest bookstore in North America. We walk around downtown a bit, sticking our head in art galleries and any other building that looks interesting, including a performance theater called The Armory which has fantastic architecture inside.

We meet back up with Christina and spend some time in the bookstore. This compliments my visit to the largest bookstore in South America earlier this year, El Ateneo in Buenos Aires.

Afterwards we take the streetcar up to Nob Hill and walk around, enjoying the elegant homes and peaceful streets. Portland reminds me greatly of a city like Marietta, if Marietta had progressed over time instead of staying in a perpetual time warp (save the addition of drive-thrus and Walmarts). The geography, especially being on a river with hilly, tree-lined streets emulates Southern/Eastern Ohio. It makes me feel very much at home.

My friend Amanda is in Portland for the summer, on break from Ballet Met Columbus to dance with a local Portland group. It's really cool to be able to meet up with her for dinner, and we go back down to the Pearl St. area and enjoy a great meal.

Afterwards it's back up to Nob Hill to experience some of the local nightlife. We check out a martini bar and walk around a bit.

Our hotel is far on the outskirts of town.

In the morning we venture back into town to visit the fabled VooDoo Donuts. An establishment where you can learn Swahili, be legally married, and eat some of the strangest donuts I've ever seen.

I feel sufficiently uncomfortable and the counter girl, probably on drugs, gives Christina the wrong donut.

We head out of Portland.

It's Always Sunny in Seattle

2008-08-05T15:14:00.000-07:00

The drive through Washington is beautiful.

We arrive to Seattle safely despite the minor holdup (and major expense) in Oregon.

Reaching Scott by phone we put his address in our GPS. Of course, the way it tells us to take has us getting off the exit at Qwest Field right as a game lets out.

We drive around for a long time, combining directions from Scott via the phone with what the GPS and Mark's "instincts" tells us to do.

Finally we arrive at Scott's apartment in Fremont. Fremont is a really cool neighborhood a little Northwest of downtown. It's filled with young artist types, hipsters, and many cool shops, restaurants, and bars. Where we're staying is walking distance from the main drag on 36th street.

We walk downtown to scope out the scene and get a burrito.

The next morning Scott takes us around the surrounding neighborhoods. All of them very cool. We get some food at a farmer's market. Then we drive over to Capitol Hill. It's somewhat grunge, but also very cool (and gay) with many shops. Mark, Christina and I all make purchases at the Urban Outfitters. The tag on my shirt sets off the alarm as I leave and they try to de-magnetize it again to no avail. After another attempt I leave the store with the alarm sounding.

Their idea of a "thrift" store in Capitol Hill is generic giveaway t-shirts for $8. Back home I'll hit up Salvation Army or Goodwill and agonize over a $2 t-shirt purchase, wondering how often I'll really wear it and if it's worth the price. Usually passing it up for a $1 shirt, or hoping that it will go on sale the next time I'm in, with it's tag color being the 50% off discount that day. Needless to say, I don't buy anything at the Seattle thrift store.

Afterwards we drive to the locks where the salmon swim upstream by 'jumping' up a series of higher and higher tanks. You're able to go and watch through the glass as they attempt their journey upstream. Some of them look mean and like they'd take a bit out of me if they could. I don't feel so bad about eating them, that's for sure.

Fish and chips on the waterfront for dinner is delicious.

We take in the sunset over the Pugeot Sound from Golden Gardens and probably all do some self-introspection in the process of enjoying the beauty.

We make it an early night as there is a big day of hiking in store for us on Sunday.

Sunday Christina heads out to check out the city while Mark, Scott, and myself pile in Scott's car and pick up his friend and hiking buddy, Paulo.

It's a long drive to Leavenworth, WA (on the other side of the Cascade mountains) and I continue my trend of sleeping anytime I'm in a car and not driving.

It will get repitive for me to describe every sight I see along this journey as "beautiful" or "amazing." And I've got enough problems already with finding the time to write accounts of my journey, so in the interest of keeping things concise, from here on out assume that every natural wonder I see, every hike I take, every forest and hillside and vast field is indeed beautiful. I'll specifically mention only if something is less than incredible. For instance, let me go back and state that Indiana is incredibly uninteresting. There, I said it.

The hike is listed as 4 miles each direction with a couple thousand feet gain in elevation. It feels like a lot more than that. I'm not in hiking shape, but I'm able to keep on my feet and stick with the decent pace of the rest of the group. We stop several times to take in the gorgeous views, play in waterfalls, or climb on boulders.

At the top we reach Colchuck Lake, which is a glacial lake fed by melted snow. It's hot out, but the water temperature is probably between 50-55 degrees. Very cold. Mark, Paulo, and Scott all go swimming. I don't have a swimsuit or the need to freeze my butt off.

After a long day of hiking we stop in the nearby town. A very out of place Bavarian-themed tourist destination with many shops and restaurants. The whole place looks like it was taken directly from the alps and dropped in the Cascades.

It's not really my thing, for some reason. Everyone else seems rather enamored. I guess I'm just exhausted and want to get home.

The night we go downtown to see the new Batman movie. It's everything I hoped it would be and more.

Monday Scott works (everyone we meet on this trip seems to do that) and I join Mark and Christina downtown. It's not my first time in Seattle, so I don't need to see Pike's Market or the other normal stuff, but it's fun to walk around, and we're able to enjoy a nice lunch overlooking the Sound.

Seattle has a Denver/Boulder-style attitude towards panhadling and let's just say I don't share it. Most of the people asking me for money look as though they could easily find work if those chose to.

That night we meet up with Sarah, a friend of mine from high school who lives in Seattle now with her husband. We enjoy some great pizza (my favorite place from a previous visit) and some incredible local ice cream.

It's off to Porland the next day. Seattle is yet again a city I could easily spend a week or two in and not get bored. It's also one I would consider moving to. Cons are it's not cheap to live there, and the main weather forecast is cloudy and windy. We were very lucky with essentially 3 days of sun during our stay.

I fought the law...

2008-08-05T14:57:00.000-07:00

Eastern Oregon

Guess who won?

98 in a 65.

$438 and a 90-day driving ban in Oregon (once I pay the ticket).

Do not speed in Oregon.

O'Boise

2008-08-01T00:01:00.000-07:00

July 15th,16th,17th,18th

58,253

Boise, ID

The drive from Salt Lake to Boise goes smoothly.

We arrive at the home of Mark Beshara, one of my best friends from Columbus who moved out here a couple years ago to run his home-building company.

His home, which is he built himself, is a much welcome change from the hotels we’d been spending our nights in. It's also just so nice to have someone who cares when you arrive and is excited to take you around. Instead of messing with hotel check-ins, wireless internet charges, and using a GPS to navigate a city.

The next day we get breakfast downtown and relax around the house. In the course of discussion Mark brings up that the trip sounds like so much fun he’d like to come. Since he’s his own boss and between projects right now, he can make the time. I don’t immediately dissuade the idea and before I know it he’s informed me that he’s bought a plane ticket home from Phoenix in 2 weeks. So Mark will be joining us for our West coast adventures. To say it will be a tight squeeze in the Mustang is an understatement.

That evening we meet up with a couple of Mark’s friends for dinner and then go on an adventure to one of the hot springs outside the city.

The hot springs are naturally occurring springs that bubble up from the earth and collect in pools. The ones I’ve been to are up on mountains and usually pretty hard to get to. I believe Mark said that Idaho has more hot springs than the rest of the US combined.

We drive well outside of town. Turning down one poorly lit road after another. Somewhere along the way Mark decides that we’ve passed the spot and turn back around. We park in an unmarked area along the side of a county road. From there it’s traveling on foot as we cross the road and begin ascending the mountain.

Everyone does a really impressive job of climbing up the rather steep path, especially considering its pitch black out and we have but one headlamp among us for light.

The reward is worth it, as we’re able to relax in what is essentially a naturally occurring hot tub.

There are a few other people up there as well, as this is a moderately well known hot springs among the locals. We make conversation with them and enjoy a good soak before descending the mountain.

Wednesday I discover that my driver’s side window, which had been giving me some problems earlier on the trip, is now permanently stuck in the down position. This makes parking it anywhere but in a garage, and driving it in the rain or any long distance, an impossibility.

It’s quite a process to call around to local repair shops, and it’s determined that the best I’ll be able to do is take it into the local Ford dealership the next morning.

That issue temporarily put on hold, we go boating.

Mark’s good friend Rudy has a really awesome speed boat, and he’s taken off early from work today to go out on a nearby reservoir for some wakeboarding.

I’m by far the worst wake boarder of the group, which still means I have a ton of fun. I also try my hand at wake surfing, which I find easier and much less painful when you fall.

Anytime you’re on a speed boat you can’t help but enjoy yourself, and it’s the first time my trip has really felt like a ‘vacation’ instead of just a bunch of things I’m doing. Finally being able to relax in one city for more than a day and spending time with Mark are strong contributing factors to this, as well.

That night we get some tasty pizza at one of Mark’s favorite local joints.

The next morning I drop my car off at the Ford dealer. I authorize them to do whatever it takes to fix the problem as I know I’ll be out of cell phone range as we drive out through the mountains later. I scope out the new Mustangs while waiting to be picked up.

Later in the day we all pile in Mark’s car to drive to Ketchum, ID. It’s a small town about 2 ½ hours away, which in addition to being a very posh resort town (Arnold Shwarzenegger, Bruce Willis, and many others keep homes there) is also where Ernest Hemmingway lived out the last few years of his life.

I sleep on the way out. The first time in 2,000 miles I’ve been able to relax on a car trip.

Mark and I are not shy about showing our boredom in the Ernest Hemmingway museum, which leads to razzing from those working there.

It’s not long before we’re getting lunch at a local greasy spoon diner.

We also visit Hemmingway's grave, and some hotel he stayed in once.

His former home is off limits to the public, even though it's owned by the state, it rests at the end of a private drive and we're told the (crochety) neighbors call the police on trespassers looking to catch a glimpse of literary history. To me this is one less site we have to visit, so I'm not heartbroken.

The drive back is scenic and beautiful. Rolling hills, lush meadows, dramatic mountains, Idaho has it all. Who would have thought?

Mark makes a slight detour to take us up to a lake and we watch the sunset over the water and play around on the beach.

Back home it’s packing and getting ready for Seattle the next day.

Just kidding. I never pack until the day of and usually only once we're already late.

Mark and I joke around for a while and Christina updates her blog.

Friday morning I pick up the Bullitt.

A new motor and some exorbitant labor is all it takes to get my window working again. Dealing with car repairs on a road trip is a level of stress I hope to never experience again. Especially with the tight schedule that Christina and I have, there is no room for hold ups. Plus I hate spending money in a rush on anything, especially with my car.

I’m happy the window works and we’re ready to drive out to Seattle.

Rocky Mountain High

2008-07-27T14:52:00.000-07:00

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

2008-07-24T01:24:00.000-07:00

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

2008-07-24T00:29:00.000-07:00

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

2008-07-22T01:07:00.000-07:00

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

2008-07-13T01:28:00.000-07:00

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

2008-07-11T01:50:00.000-07:00

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.