Cindi’s mom made us breakfast out on the patio, and the local DJ dedicated a song to us on KCAD. It was then it was time to get in some nature before the party began. We headed west, to Theodore Roosevelt National Park, and decided to do some hiking. Since we hadn’t really planned on hiking, none of us were prepared; we had no water, and I was wearing flipflops. But I’ve been in much worse situations before.

painted canyon, in the badlands

cindi and matt on the trail

my awesome flipflop tan

We hiked down to the bottom of the canyon, wandered around for a while, then had to hike back out. It wasn’t easy. We got to the top and all had to rest for a while. It was hot and dry, and we were thankful for the warm outdoor drinking fountain.

Further west, we passed the Home on the Range for Wayward Boys:

Then we drove to the Montana border, since neither Wendy nor Jumi had been there before.

matt in montana, while we were in north dakota

we took turns riding in the trunk

We then turned around and headed to the Medora exit, to see the cute little town Cindi had been telling us about. It was full-on western. We had lunch at the Cowboy Cafe, because they served buffalo. Ick.

horse tongue!

matt’s buffalo steak

We wandered around, stopping into a few shops, and then Wendy rode the mechanical bull. We also had beers at the Iron Horse Pub, and sat out on the patio in the glorious weather. Well, I laid on the bench there. They didn’t seem to mind. It was perfect.

Late in the afternoon, it was time to head back to Dickinson. We took a spin through another part of the park first, to see the prairie dog villages (note: Jumi is scared of prairie dogs!) and look for buffalo. We didn’t see any (presumably because they’d eaten them all at the Cowboy Cafe), but we did see a very, very excited male horse. We couldn’t stop talking about it.

Back in Dickinson, it was rodeo time. I’d never been to a rodeo before, so I had no clue what to expect.

cowboy with a cellphone

We got our programs and started putting money on the riders, though none of us actually ended up settling our bets afterward. Matt opened his program and said, “hey, mine’s signed already!” Deb got very excited, because apparently that meant he won something. When they did drawings later, his prize was revealed: a championship belt buckle. SO AWESOME.

calf roping

this kid spent half the rodeo glaring at us. he was hysterical.

I’m glad I got to see the rodeo, but I’m glad I don’t have to go see one again. I kind of felt bad for the animals, especially the calves for roping.

We went to dinner with Cin’s parents at the Crunchy Kitten, where Terry couldn’t stop giggling over double-entendres. Afterward, we headed downtown (sans parents) to Uncle Ron’s Spur Bar, where crappy karaoke was in full swing.

wendy’s $3 beer

We were kind of bored with the place, so we decided to go to Army’s West instead. That may have been a mistake on a few levels.

1) a girl told Jumi they didn’t play much hip-hop there (presumably because she’s black)
2) they had long islands in pitchers that they just served with a bunch of straws
3) there was a crazy lesbian (presumably on meth) on the dance floor that scared everyone
4) they played the ‘Numa Numa’ song (which is the reason we decided to finally leave)
5) lots of potential date-rape action going on with the dancing.

ICK. However, we rocked the naked lady matching game. A lot.

Saturday morning, we drove Poontang up to Estes Park to get our hikin’ in the Rockies on. It was freezing there and we were unprepared, so we stopped at an outfitter so I could buy a fleece. There were elk everywhere, wandering around in people’s yards and everything.

We encountered a snowstorm around 8,000 feet! It was gorgeous, though the wind was ridiculous. They closed the main park road because 80mpg gusts were pushing cars off of it.

nymph lake

on the emerald lake trail, with a snowstorm in the background.

dream lake

me freezing at dream lake

We hiked a ton, til we couldn’t feel our toes anymore, and then descended from the mountains around dusk in order to see the elk rut. It was fascinating. An elk would trumpet and a whole herd of ladies would try to fend off his advances. We saw a little bit of aggressive behavior between males, but nothing major.

elk in the mood for love

We had dinner at a Mexican restaurant north of Denver on the way back to the hotel, then fell over exhausted from hiking.

On Monday, we went to Colorado Springs to see the Garden of the Gods, and do some more hiking.

garden of the gods, with pike’s peak in the background

ROCK SHADOW

We went to pay our regards to the hockey arena (for Stephanie’s WCHA-pride’s sake), the ProRodeo Hall of Fame, and Shepler’s, where I bought some superhot urban cowgirl boots. You know how I know they’re awesome? Gay boys love them.

We headed towards the airport with what we figured was plenty of time, only realized it was something like 60 miles away. Why is everything so distant in Denver? It’s crazy. Anyway, we managed to get there on time, and ended up on the same unairconditioned plane. Dear Northwest Airlines: you had an entire weekend to fix that thing. Hello?

Wendy dropped me off at home, and I hopped in the car to go to work. I got home after 12:30am. I may have been a little angry about that. Don’t tell the Dalai Lama.

On Sunday, I decided to drive up to Mesa Verde. While I tend to visit Colorado fairly often, it’s in a part of the state that’s hard to get to. Of course, it was hard to get to from Santa Fe, too. I didn’t find that out til later.

i’m a nerd who gets excited about things like this.

It took me at least 5 hours to reach the park, though it’s only 280 miles. There are a lot of narrow, winding roads involved, but it’s worth it because it’s very picturesque. I stopped in Durango and then rushed as fast as I could to the park entrance.

I had contracted a killer cold on the flight out, and the vast quantity of medication I was consuming did NOT help with the hiking at that altitude. I felt out of breath very quickly. (I have a flask and shotglass from Denali with the geological survey marker for Mt. McKinley. These things excite me a lot.)

looking south toward Shiprock

I went to the visitors’ center to get tickets to tour the cliff dwellings. I picked Balcony House, because it was described as most difficult (for altitude and climbing through narrow passages). They had a little demo tunnel you could crawl through to see if you’d fit. Awesome.

ladder to balcony house

The ladder-climbing wouldn’t have been scary if it weren’t for the fact that we were already far up on a cliff wall. The altitude makes you dizzy.

The park ranger gave us a tour of the cliff dwelling. It’s kind of amazing to think that people could scramble all over the side of the cliffs like that, and live in such tiny compartments.

kiva

leaving balcony house; adults have to turn their shoulders at the end or they get stuck!

I drove around the rest of the loop and stopped at the overlooks to see the other cliff dwellings.

cliff palace

Leaving the park, I decided to drive through Durango to see the town. It’s super-cute, and was overrun with motorcycles. Also, there was a very brief snowstorm on the way there. My first snow of the season wasn’t even in Minnesota!

The drive back to Santa Fe seemed to not take as long, despite getting stuck in long lines behind bikers. I wasn’t in a huge hurry, anyway.

sunset near ghost ranch

I got up very early again, in order to get to Bandelier National Monument right as it opened. So early, I saw the sunrise.

You have to drive through Los Alamos to get there, and you can see the lab at several points along the way, but can’t really get close to it at all.

satellite dish at los alamos national laboratory

I got to the visitor center an hour before it opened, but the park grounds were open for hiking. There was one other car in the lot, but I didn’t see another human being for at least two more hours. I felt like I had the place to myself. And as we all know, hiking alone in the middle of nowhere is SMART.

anasazi village ruins in frijoles canyon

This is tuff, a stone made of volcanic ash. It’s fairly easy to break down, which is why the native people here built cities into the sides of the canyons.

inside a cliff dwelling. the hole may have been some kind of clock.

I like any national park where they cater to my need to climb on things.

petroglyph (the rows of holes were for support beams)

former cliff dwellings

original cliff wall painting

I decided to take the Frijoles Canyon Trail back to see the ceremonial cave. It was only a mile or so more. I was a little concerned about being the only person in the park, but it wasn’t like I was going to skip it.

not a huge deal except for the fact that you’re already 7,000 feet above sea level.

I have pretty bad vertigo. I also have a serious case of determination (others call it ‘stubbornness’), and that always wins. I climbed up the many ladders to the ceremonial cave, and was there totally alone. It was an amazing feeling, except for the nagging guilt over what my mom would do if I disappeared.

ceremonial kiva

The kiva had a ladder, which obviously meant I was supposed to climb inside. The top was covered except for a small hole. I stood there and stared at it for a very long time before finally deciding I had to descend in the darkness. It was scary, but there was nothing in there but me.

from inside the kiva

I climbed safely back down and hiked back toward the visitors’ center. Once I got back near the main portion of the park, I started to see other people. I had survived!

I got back on the highway and headed south to Kasha-Katuwe Tent Rocks National Monument. It’s between Santa Fe and Albuquerque, and the entrance to the park is a ways off the interstate. The last portion of the drive is a 5-mile gravel road. The park is very new, and obviously not yet equipped with the usual facilities. The gravel was very rough and ridged, which meant I could go about 10mph at the most. I thought Cracker was going to rattle apart. It was jarring, to say the least.

There were a ton of cars in the parking lot, which surprised me, because it was so remote. There was a parking pay station and pit-toilet restrooms with no running water. It was then that I realized I had about 2 ounces of water left in my bottle, it was well over 90 degrees in the desert, and I was half an hour away from the interstate. And I thought hiking alone at Bandelier was stupid. Since the trail was only a mile long, I decided to run as much of it as I could, and hurry the hell back out of there.

i love the wildflowers in the desert.

formed when the ‘cap rock’ is of harder material than the volcanic rock underneath,
and they erode into peaks. they have these in cappadocia, too.

I rationed my water, rushed back to the car with the empty bottle, and drove out of there as fast as I could, feeling like I was going to dehydrate to death. Cracker miraculously stayed intact, and I made it back to the freeway. After ten long, painful miles, I found a rest area. I discovered that the drinking fountains and pop machine were broken, so I took my bottle into the bathroom and filled it. It was the worst-tasting water I’ve ever had, and I was pretty sure I was going to get some kind of bacterial disease. I didn’t really care.

At that point, it was still only lunchtime, so I headed back to explore Santa Fe. I’d been there once before, and loved it a lot. I stopped for lunch at a little outdoor restaurant called the Atomic Grill. After that, I wandered.

palace of the governors

st francis cathedral

the loreto, home of the ‘miraculous staircase’

san miguel mission

“ring the bell of san miguel, and you’ll be called back to santa fe.”

purported to be the oldest house in america. next to san miguel mission.

hotel la fonda, traditionally marking the end of the santa fe trail.

I did a lot of shopping on the way, necessitating more than one stop at Cracker. Man, they have a lot of great shopping in Santa Fe. In the late afternoon, I decided to head down and see more of the sights I had passed on the way through a few years back, along the turquoise trail.

chapel near golden, new mexico

I stopped to see several sights, then shopped at several cute little galleries in Madrid. I’d have stayed longer, but they were starting to shut down. On the way back northward, I pulled in to witness something that looked kind of terrifying from the road, and turned out to be even moreso than I’d imagined: TINY TOWN.

Everything in the place was broken, rusty, dangerous, creepy, or all of the above. I could’ve stayed all day being horrified, but I was convinced I was being watched. There was an old trailer parked on the site, and I could hear noises inside it. I kind of wanted to know who was the crazy genius behind Tiny Town, but mostly I did not. I was too scared to even take a photo of the trailer, lest I get a shot of the owner running out with a knife.

no kidding.

i had to leave a note, of course.

I hightailed it out of Tiny Town and drove a few miles up to Cerillos. It’s a very small town, and the main street has been used as an old west movie set more than once, most notably in Young Guns. There are signs all over the mostly-boarded-up downtown about it.

log jesus in cerillos

I drove back up to Santa Fe in time to climb up the hill to the Cross of the Martyrs to watch the sunset. It was beautiful.

On the way down the hill, there were a couple homeless guys sitting on the wall, asking people if they could have ten bucks to go get drunk. I reached in my pocket and pulled out a $10 bill and handed it to him, thinking, ‘what the hell, at least he’s honest.’ He said thanks, then looked at it and yelled, “DUDE, she actually gave us ten bucks! Let’s go!” The other guy said, “Lady, will you marry me?” I politely declined and laughed my way back to the car. They passed me a minute later, headed to the bar.

I checked out of my hotel in Santa Fe and headed back toward Albuquerque. On the way to Petroglyph National Monument, I saw many, many hot air balloons taking to the skies.

I was the first person to reach the park, and the gates to the trails was still closed. I swung by the visitor center and talked to the very friendly park ranger for a while before heading back to see petroglyphs.

cracker, alone in the parking lot.

giant creepy millipede!
Note to self: hiking in flipflops is dumb. Why do you do it when you have good hiking shoes?

I headed towards Albuquerque’s Old Town, to the National Atomic Museum, because I have a huge fascination with everything atomic-age and cold-war related. I was greeted and checked-in by the cutest old man ever, who stopped just short of giving me a personal tour.

the flag that flew at the trinity site

formed by the first atomic blast, it’s caused by the sand melting and fusing.

fat man

brick from ground zero at hiroshima

I left the museum and went to wander around Old Town until my flight. I picked up a bunch of tacky joke-souvenirs for the folks back home, and then found the greatest store on earth; it was full of Dia de los Muertos decor. Upon leaving, I had to completely repack my bag to fit it all in there.

I hopped on my plane at 2:30 that afternoon, and was happy to say goodbye to Cracker and join my homies for happy hour back home.

We woke at 6:15am. Though it had been light all night, we slept fine. I was not particularly enjoying my cocktail of decongestants, however. I didn’t feel sick otherwise, I just couldn’t breathe.

We drove into the park and followed the signs to the Wilderness Access Center. Because the buses fill up fast, you have to get their early for tickets. Thankfully, they also have a little coffee counter with breakfast food and snacks, and a decent little store with supplies. We stocked up on snacks and boarded the first bus to Kantishna, the furthest point on the park road.

Our bus driver was Mike, and he told us his wife worked as a driver, too. In the off season, they taught English in Mexico. The vehicles are old school buses fitted with seat belts and gear racks overhead; they’re not terribly comfortable for a several-hour trek, but you kind of don’t notice when you’re in the middle of such an amazing place.

The bus stops at each point along the way. A few of the stops are just for campers. Others have overlooks and very basic restroom facilities. By the time we got to Polychrome Pass, we were very cold. There’s nothing like using a pit toilet with freezing air blowing out of it.

me at the polychrome rest stop

grizzly triplets!

The bus stops for wildlife sightings, and I started to believe the description I’d originally read: a drive down the park road is like a safari. We saw several grizzly bears, moose, dall sheep, and caribou. The driver just stops in the road and everyone creeps very quietly over to one side of the bus to take pictures.

shuttles at the toklat river station

toklat river

We also learned all about glaciation and the geology of the area from our driver. That stuff makes the nerd in me very happy. I do love me some braided streams.

It was overcast all day, so we could only occasionally see bits of Mount Rainier. We were told it’s only fully visible for a few days during the summer; it’s so huge, it creates its own weather system!

wonder lake

We reached Wonder Lake at 2:15pm, and had only two hours to hike before we’d have to catch the last bus returning to the Wilderness Access Center. Wonder Lake was incredibly serene and untouched, despite the clouds of mosquitos. One thing we heard over and over about Denali? Bring heavy-duty bug spray. This advice is not to be taken lightly.

We took the McKinley Bar trail, a narrow path leading down a hill from Wonder Lake and into the basin below. We crossed a few rivers on plank bridges. We didn’t see any other humans at all, though we could occasionally hear a shuttle on the park road off in the distance. We made a point of talking loudly in case there were bears around. I had a bear bell, but it’s mostly intended to remind you to make noise.

hiking on glacial moraine: permafrost covered in grass and moss

on the mckinley bar trail

It was mindblowing, being out in the middle of nowhere like that. I’ve never felt such a sense of complete wilderness, and vulnerability; there’s no question that nature is in charge in Denali.

wonder lake: mile 85 on the park road (a 12-hour roundtrip)

We hiked back up to the bus stop to catch the last bus from Kantishna. It was driven by the crabbiest woman ever, who opened the door and shouted, “DARLENE’S BUS!” We would hear that at least 40 more times on the several-hour journey. At one point, she yelled at me because she could hear my bear bell rattling. I didn’t even hear my bear bell rattling.

denali traffic jam

Near Polychrome Pass, we came upon a grizzly bear walking alongside the road. When we stopped, he came all the way up to the door of the bus. I was standing in the front, probably 4 feet away from him. I was, in fact, a little nervous about that. Further down the road, we watched a moose family.

moose family!

It was a quicker return to the Wilderness Access Center, because we didn’t stop to see things, just to use the bathroom occasionally and to pick up hikers along the way. We got back around 9pm, which made the entire trip about 14 hours total.

We had to do some searching for dinner, and finally settled on the Nenana View Bar and Grill at the resort across the road from our party cabin. It was far too fancy a place for us to be in dirty hiking gear, but we didn’t care. We had pizzas and chatted with our awesome server from Bulgaria. When she found out we were from Minneapolis, all she could talk about was going to the Mall of America!

Monday morning, we took the park shuttle from the visitors’ center to the dog kennel, where we got to meet the dogs, and see a sled-pulling demonstration. It was kind of rainy, but the dogs were raring to go regardless. They were probably wishing for snow.

denali sled dog kennels

sled dog demonstration

We rode back to the visitors’ center and shopped (A LOT) at the store. We bought a bunch of postcards and then went to eat in the cafe there so we could fill them out. Fyi, the restaurant in the park is surprisingly good. Spectacular dining is hard to come by in that area, since your options are so limited.

We dropped our cards off at the post office, the headed over to the Horseshoe Lake Trail. It was kind of cold, but the rain gear we had was very sufficient. My waterproof jacket from REI was an excellent investment.

horseshoe lake

The mosquitoes were terrible, but we were well-protected. On the trail, we saw woodpeckers, and these strange burled trees. Even on one of the more popular trails, we hardly saw any other people.

We hiked back up to the road and drove the 14 miles down the park road to the Savage River bridge. It’s the farthest private vehicles can go into the park; after that, you have to take a shuttle bus. We headed down the trail to the north. For about a half-mile, it’s paved, and then it becomes a narrow path heading into the canyon.

savage river

glacial runoff entering the savage river

We saw tons of ground squirrels, who let us get very close so they could yell at us, and dall sheep up on the top of the surrounding hills. Glacial runoff was melting into the river, mixing clear water with silt from miles away. We hiked over shallow streams and waterfalls, occasionally wondering how the hell we were going to make it back. Also, I peed on a peak overlooking the river. I rule.

We ate lunch on the trail, then headed back to the bridge. Near the road, we encountered a family of ptarmigans. I love those birds! They’re like Alaskan quail.

We drove back up near the visitor center to see the train trestle, then went down to the station. There was a train sitting there, and we resolved immediately to return to Alaska, and travel by rail.

alaska railroad trestle

We decided to drive to Healy in search for Independence Day party supplies and food for dinner. There was a little convenience/liquor store combo on the corner of the Parks Highway, so we turned off and thought we’d drive into town to see what else was there. A few miles down the road, we realized that was all there was of the town. We turned around and stopped at the store for snacks and liquor. We then headed back to the park entrance. After checking several restaurants (all of which were insanely crowded), we decided to just go back to the same place as the previous night.

We realized that the crowds were because the cruise people had just arrived on the train. There was a long line there, too, but it wasn’t as bad as the rest. We had pizzas and devised our new travel motto: have fun, be awesome, don’t die.

Words to live by.

We got to sleep in on the 4th of July, getting up shortly before 8am to make the 9:30 bus to the Toklat River station. It was clearer, with no sign of rain for once. We called home to reassure my mom that we were alive, then went to the visitor center for coffee. The girl there remembered me, which of course meant we were already regulars.

morning fog

Our bus driver, Rich, was great. He had a story about everything, and went around the bus asking people where they were from. He talked about the moose rut and sports with equal amounts of enthusiasm.

mom and baby bear

polychrome pass

We rode to Polychrome Pass, and decided to hike from there. We talked to Rich about the routes in the area, which were all really just game trails. The paths on top of the pass were really muddy, so he suggested we grab a shuttle back to the Toklat River instead. We started hiking down the pass, being sure to talk loudly. We’d just seen bears nearby.

from polychrome pass, with glacier!

A bus came by about 20 minutes later. We flagged it down and asked to be let off at the bridge on the Toklat River. There was an Amish family on the bus, which I found immensely fascinating.

snowmelt water mixing with glacial runoff in the toklat river

We found a driveway near the bridge, and hiked down to the river. The Murie Cabin is there, and rangers use it as a research outpost. It was kind of creepy, with nails sticking out of it to keep bears from chewing their way inside.

murie cabin

Behind the cabin, there was a port-a-potty. This was a big find, obviously, because facilities are so rare, especially clean ones with toilet paper. I was freaked out at being in the middle of nowhere, though, so I left the door open and talked the whole time. It’s not like anybody was going to accidentally come across me there in the bathroom.

We hiked along the little tributaries to the river, looking for places where the ice was still packed enough to be able to walk across. We were moving pretty slowly, always keeping an eye out for animals; the rushing of the nearby river was so loud that we wouldn’t hear a bear, and it’d be unlikely to hear us. You know what’s really rattling? Knowing that you could seriously be in danger of a bear attack. That’s not something you’re often concerned about.

On the banks of the Toklat River, we sat on the stones and ate lunch. Being there is something I’ll never forget.

We walked back up to the park road, with magpies following us and yelling the whole time. We saw wild hares all over in the brush. Heading up toward Sable Pass, we entered a restricted wildlife area, which meant we had to stay on the road lest we be eaten by things. That’s how I interpreted it, at least.

notice that the sign is all chewed up by bears.

Part of the way up the pass, a bus came along, but the driver said it was out of service, and another would be along shortly. We were fine, though; the nice thing about hiking in the mountains in Alaska is it’s not like, say, the Rockies. You’re only at 4-5,000 feet, instead of 14,000. Easy! We were just constantly on the lookout for bears and wolves. Another bus finally showed up, and it was full of very tired-looking people from Wonder Lake.

The driver of that bus, Brad, was talking about some of the other sights in Alaska. The one that excited me most, and the main one I intend to go back for, is the Valley of 10,000 Smokes. It’s a valley that’s buried in 700 feet of ash from a volcanic eruption, and you can hike in it.

We got back to the WAC around 5pm, had dinner at the visitors’ center, did some souvenir shopping, and then decided to drive back along the park road to see if we could find any more animals. Not only did the sun come out briefly, we saw a wolf! We turned around at the Savage River and headed back to the park entrance, stopping at the mercantile for breakfast supplies for our drive back to “civilization”.

i thought this was far funnier than stephanie did.

at the park exit

We went to our cabin to celebrate the 4th of July on the deck with the beverages we’d acquired in Healy. We realized that fireworks wouldn’t really work very well in Alaska that time of year, because it doesn’t get dark.

We were in bed by 10, but I set the alarm and got up at 2am to get this picture:

2am in denali on the 4th of july

You don’t really have trouble sleeping when you’ve been wandering in the wilderness all day, however.

I got up at 7 and felt like maybe I had already adjusted to the time change. Stephanie and her sunburn (which was substantial enough to constitute another entity) got up and we headed off down “Highway” 19 (highways in Hawaii are something entirely different than in the rest of the universe. They could conceivably term a cattle track a highway, from what I saw there.) We were in search of food, and soon discovered nothing was open, not even the coffeeshops. The whole town of Honaunau was without power. We finally found a grocery store in Oceanview, and bought fruit and snacks. In the midst of the lava-dust parking lot, they were hosting some kind of weird outdoor flea market thing, with fruits I’d never seen before.

old lava flows

The Kona Coast is all trees, ferns, flowers, and coffee farms. About 40 miles to the south, the lava fields begin. The first time I saw them, I wondered why all the earth was plowed up like that. It looked like a freshly-tilled field in Wisconsin, only with scrubby plants. The colors range from brown to grey to black. I thought it was what it must look like on the moon.

We drove through a cute little town with a classic car parade and a giant sea turtle painted on the roof of the main building, very close to the southernmost point in the US. We stopped to see a black-sand beach along the south coast of the Big Island; it was incredible. The sand is very gravelly and hard to walk on until you’re close to the water, and then it’s fine and powdery and warm from the sun. We climbed over lava flows and watched black and red crabs scrabbling over the rocks. I was really smart and wore flip-flops to do this. Also, we very quickly discovered that one cannot spend a single moment outside in Hawaii without sunscreen. Within 10 minutes, I could feel my nose burning.

We got to Volcanoes National Park, made the obligatory stop at the visitors’ center to pee and see if the rangers were hot, then set off for some hiking. We saw steam vents, which made walking around in the heat extremely unpleasant, and then the sulfur vents like one sees at Yellowstone.

steam vent

sulfur banks

kilauea crater

offerings to pele

We saw the crater at a couple different overlooks, then spent time walking around the gravelly lava rock. I was fascinated by these piles of rocks I saw everywhere; at first I thought they were trail markers, but there were way too many. I still can’t figure out what they were about, but I fell in love with them.

We hiked up Devastation Trail to the other big crater, then toured the Thurston lava tube. The lava tube portion of the park was the first real rain-foresty environment I’d ever seen in my life. It was amazing.

devastation trail

kali-kilauea crater

thurston lava tube

By 2pm, we were exhausted from the hiking and not having much to eat. We decided to drive to Hilo, which was the opposite direction from our hotel, and the other “big” city on the island. It was probably the lack of food that made us extremely cranky, but we were immensely pissed off at Hilo. We couldn’t find the downtown. We could only locate fast food and Wal-Mart and a crappy mall. We drove in circles until finally the guidebook led us to the Hilo Bay Cafe, one I had originally chosen.

The food was excellent, and we were both reminded of Real Food Daily in L.A. at the exact same time. Our faith in Hilo was restored.

We asked our server girl if it would be faster to take the loop around the top of the island from Hilo back to Kona, becase it seemed it might be quicker that way (technically, there’s the Saddle Road that cuts across the middle of the island, but apparently it’s only passable half the time). She said it was a nicer drive to go that way, so we did. On the way out, we discovered the real downtown Hilo, and our faith was doubly-restored. It wasn’t the industrial, boring city I had read about at all. It had a cute little downtown, an awesome farmer’s market, and a natural foods store where I stocked up on healthy treats like a crazy person.

Eleven miles north of Hilo, we turned off to see Akaka Falls. The route led us through a tiny town of maybe six buildings, with a very cute cafe where we stopped for coffee. We drove up the hill through bamboo farms, then hiked in to Kahuna Falls, then Akaka Falls.

akaka falls

This was even more rainforest than it had been at the national park. I couldn’t get over it. Monstrous trees, ferns, and dangling vines everywhere. It was so humid it was painful to breathe. It had its own little local rainshower.

It seemed as if there were hundreds of birds singing in the trees, but I couldn’t get a glimpse of them at all. It was beautiful.

We drove up the coast over valleys, each with their own waterfall. Near Waimea, we took the exit and drove up to see the Waipio Valley, along the north coast. The travel guide warned us three times to not drive Captain Cook down into the valley, as he would likely never come out. Just the walk to the overlook was so steep I was worried about falling down the hill. We got to see the sun starting to set over the ocean.

waipio valley

We drove back to Kailua in the dark, which pretty much sucks on those Hawaiian “highways”. We decided to give in to the ridiculous touristy aura of the tiny main drag in Kona, which was all bars and restaurants on second-floor decks over ABC Stores and the like. We went to Lulu’s, because the book said they were offbeat and their servers had horrible attitudes; it screamed Luce to me. Of course, no place can ever be Luce but the real thing. The main lesson of the night was do not make eye contact with drunk guys at any cost!

But the nachos were awesome.

We arose mas early, got coffee, and headed back to Volcanoes National Park. Stephanie made the drive in about 2 hours, which is remarkable; it’s only 90 miles, but then it’s also Hawaii. We took Chain of Craters Road 20 miles down to the southern coast, where Kilauea is still actively producing lava.

On the way, I called the 800 number to get the lava update. They tell you where red lava was last sighted in the park, and give you about a million safety precautions. You drive down to the ranger station at the end of the road (it used to be a much longer road until it was buried in lava), you hike in a half-mile, and then you start climbing. They tell you to come fully prepared for a hardcore hike, and not to even think about it if you’re any kind of pussy.

The park ranger at the station explained to us where the lava was sighted: they had four beacons set up, three following the coast to mark the do-not-cross-or-fall-in-the-ocean-and-die line, and then the fourth inland near the furthest reaches of the safety zone. He said the lava could be found somewhere around the 3rd and 4th beacons, somewhat inland. We set off on the hike.

I’m having a very hard time explaining the hike through the lava field. It was like nothing I’d ever seen before, and nothing I ever expected to see in my lifetime. It was the most surreal, barren, and beautiful landscape. It makes me cry to think about it now; it was completely unbelievable.

lava spilling into the pacific

As we climbed lava hills along the coast, we could see the steam plume rising from the ocean. We had been warned that the vapor from the plume contained hydrochloric acid and bits of lava glass. To get out to the fourth beacon, however, you kind of have to spend some time near the plume. It made me nervous.

The route out to the first beacon was marked with little glow-in-the-dark tabs to lead the way. People hike the route at night, because it’s easier to see the red lava. (Having done that hike during the day, I think anyone who does it at night is either insane or suicidal.) Once you get there, you’re on your own… you know the general direction of the beacon, but it’s way too far away to see it. You just walk and hope to find it. We managed to find 2, then completely missed 3 somewhere near the coast. As we were about to collapse from fear of being lost in the lava field, we found 4, and took triumphant photos with it (involving rock hands, as usual).

pahoehoe

I was pretty worried at that point about the steam plume. I licked my lips and had the most horrible taste in my mouth. In addition, the lava out that far was a lot less stable. There were big collapsed holes where gas bubbles had burst. I’d walk over areas that were much, much hotter than the rest. We knew there had to be fresh stuff nearby, but didn’t know how much longer we should be out there. Finally, we saw a couple walking back from much farther out; they said they saw some red rocks about 45 minutes away, but no flowing lava or anything. We didn’t want to die and were running low on water, so we decided to head back. It was a hell of a long hike, and it was hot.

fresh lava – still glass

Halfway back to the ranger station, Stephanie slipped and slid down onto a rock. Well, lava being like glass, it did some damage. She had blood running down the back of her leg like crazy. We did our best to clean it up with Kleenex, and she had to limp the last couple miles back to the ranger station. By the time we got there, we were out of water, covered in this strange volcano dust probably consisting mostly of acid, and exhausted.

We went to Volcano Village and found nothing of use, so we drove into Hilo for supplies to patch her up. We then drove back around the top of the island (which is now known as the ‘fast route’), and arrived in the Kona area around six.

We drove south 20 miles or so to the national historic park of Puuhonua o Honaunau. It had been a sacred site and place of refuge in the 16th century for warriors and people who had violated kapu (taboo). [Note: kapu quickly became one of our favorite words of all time.]

the big’un was about 6″ long.

We arrived at the perfect time. The sun was starting to set, and the place was beautiful and serene. It was a salt-and-pepper sand beach around an inlet, with ceremonial huts and tiki idols. We climbed on the lava rock amongst tidepools and and looked for sea turtles.

puuhonua o honaunau

We both spent time wandering around by ourselves, and I felt like it was one of the most perfect, calming places I’d ever been. I took almost 40 photos there, just trying to capture it.

We stood with the tiki statues at the mouth of the little inlet and watched the sun disappear into the ocean. It’s a place and time I’ll never forget.

After dark, we drove back to Kona Town and the touristy strip again for dinner. This time it was enchiladas at a Mexican place. I realized as I was sitting there overlooking the street that I had become completely accustomed to that constantly-sticky feeling one gets from excessive heat and humidity. It’s something that drives me crazy at home, but in Hawaii it just seemed to fit.

We stopped for picnic fare at Down To Earth and headed up the side of Haleakala. The route between Kahului and the volcano takes you through upcountry Maui, which is another term for ‘Wyoming’. It’s truly bizarre to see cactus and cattle farms in the middle of a tropical island.

It’s a 25-mile drive up the side of the mountain, and we encountered several bike tours coming down. People pack in vans and shuttle to the top of the volcano to see the sunrise, then get outfitted with bicycles and ride down. Seeing those guides, I seriously considered the possibility of moving there and taking up that career. Damn web development for being so lucrative.

silversword

We drove up to the summit, at over 10,000 feet. It took me a few minutes to lose the altitude-dizziness. From the top, you can see 360 degrees around the whole island; the West Maui mountains, the valley in the middle, Lanai, Molokai, Molokini, and even the Big Island far off in the distance. I was cold in my hoodie and capris, but figured I’d warm up while hiking.

We saw the extremely rare silversword plant, which can take up to 50 years to bloom, and is only found on Hawaii. The leaves are truly silver. We were glad to see a single plant in full bloom.

haleakala

We drove down a little ways to the vistor center and trailhead. Both of our travel guides had advised us to avoid the Sliding Sands Trail, but we’re not always great at resisting a challenge.

sliding sands trail

One can take the trail all the way across the park; it’s a two-day hike, so most people pack camping equipment. We just wanted to go down into the crater, so we brought our food and tons of water (having learned from the last volcanic adventure). We had warm clothes and even a first-aid kit.

The first part of the trail, we had to pick our way around horse poop, so the beginning of the hike was alarmingly stinky. Descending into the crater, the trail was fine volcanic gravel and dust, just slightly less difficult than walking on sand. I had the sense that if I stepped off the trail, I would go sliding down the steep hill into a crater and never be seen again.

The thing I like about this kind of adventure (i.e. the kind of thing not everyone in the world gets to experience) is how other people act when you encounter them. Everyone says hi. Everyone is friendly. Everyone wants to talk about what they’ve seen just a mile down the path, or to encourage you with ‘you’re almost there!’ When a pack of horse-riders passed going uphill, every single person greeted us. It’s something you don’t see very often, which is sad.

cheaters!

We walked and walked and sometimes slid our way down the trail, constantly aware that the climb back up was infinitely harder, and supposed to take twice as long. After about three miles, we decided we should probably start heading back. We only had so much water. As we decreased in altitude, it had warmed up somewhat.

above the clouds

The climb back up was brutal. I discovered that if I walked at my usual hiking pace, I’d be painfully out of breath within a matter of 20 paces. It was a combination of the altitude, the steepness of the climb, and the fact that it was like walking on sand. I finally figured out that if I climbed really slowly, at a very constant pace, I could focus on keeping my breathing regular and not feel like I was about to have a stroke.

It’s a lot easier for me to keep moving constantly than stop and rest at regular intervals, so I’d do as long a walk as I could manage, then stop and wait. I noticed that even the people who appeared to be really seasoned hikers, totally tricked out with all the right gear and walking poles, were still moving at a snail’s pace up the mountain. That made me feel a lot better about the fitness I was starting to question. It was one of the most physically demanding things I’d ever done, second only to the Breast Cancer 3Day.

more of those stone-stacks

It was fascinating to see the differences between Haleakala and Kilauea. We had walked on new lava — not just new in terms of geologic time, but fresh lava, still cooling. The terrain around Haleakala was completely different, having had eons to weather. Half of the Big Island still looks very much volcanic, with little vegetation, and huge fields of lava. Everything except the actual crater is fairly overgrown on Maui, and the lava flows in the ocean are eroded into sharp rocks forming tidepools along the shore.

no spectre of the brocken

We were pleasantly surprised to actually survive that hike. We dragged ourselves back to the parking lot, and changed into more comfortable, not-lava-filled shoes at the car. I squatted to stretch my thighs, pulling my arms up behind me, and promptly got a massive cramp between my collarbones, something I’ve never had the joy of experiencing before. We washed volcano dust off our faces and arms in the bathroom, then drove back down the mountain to the another overlook.

The Leleiwi Overlook is one of three places on the planet (the others are in Scotland and Germany) where the Spectre of the Brocken can sometimes be witnessed. If the clouds roll into the crater valley close to sunset, you can sometimes see your gigantic shadow on them, surrounded by a rainbow.

i’m convinced nene are a myth.

We drove back down to Kahului, and went to check out Queen Kaahumanu Center, the big mall that was described in the book as looking like something out of Star Wars. We had trouble with the name, so we just called it Queen Kamehameha Center. Stephanie had a fascination with Hawaiian Macy’s; I expressed my feelings by suddenly having an overwhelming need to vomit, presumably from having eating vegetable chips an hour before. I’ve never rushed through a store to the bathrooms so quickly. That was some excitement I surely didn’t need.

i take this photo on every vacation. unsexy hiking hair.

The mall was, well, eh. It did have a cool futuristic canopy-thing, but the stores were traditional and, on reflection, I believe it was absolutely lacking in ABC Stores, which explains a lot. It didn’t have any decent restaurants, either, so we came up with another plan: we’d go back to Lahaina. We’d been joking constantly about Cheeseburger in Paradise since we’d first seen it, because I assumed from the name that it was another Jimmy Buffett restaurant like Margaritaville, which fills me with rage for no good reason except for the whole parrothead thing. But we knew they had two kinds of gardenburger there, and some goofy touristy entertainment on that order is always amusing. (Later we found out it had nothing to do with Jimmy Buffett at all except for the name. Whew.)

the a-frame hotel

We stopped at the hotel to shower first, because we were nasty. I didn’t even realize how filthy I was until I scrubbed and scrubbed and still managed to get black dirt all over the towel when I dried off. There was volcano dust in our eyes, ears, and noses. Yuck.

For the big Cheeseburger moment, I decided to wear a skirt. This probably amuses only me, but it was funny. We drove to Lahaina and waited in line outside along the ocean for half an hour, eavesdropping on the very very annoying east-coast family, praying we wouldn’t have to sit near them. We ended up seated at a shared table between a group of four who did a lot of staring but not talking, and a couple who talked a lot.

They were from Philadelphia, and were supposed to have arrived in Maui two days before, but had instead gotten in the previous night. They told us the horror story of their flight: layover in New York, layover in Texas, emergency landing for a sick passenger in Phoenix, long refueling, then finally reaching Maui. The girl told us she was terrified of flying, and actually screamed when they encountered turbulence. All of a sudden, I didn’t mind our hour-long delay at all. (Not that it made me hate Northwest Airlines any less).

We had dinner and talked to them for a long time afterward. On the way back to Kahului, we stopped at the overlook to see the stars. They were unbelievable. We could clearly see the Milky Way, and were able to pick out constellations we wouldn’t see that time of year in the north. I saw two shooting stars, three planets, and some airplanes I tried to convince Stephanie were really slow-moving comets. We went back to the hotel, packed our bags, and I showered again to remove the rest of Haleakala from my hair.

We got up early, checked out of the hotel, and went over to Pearl Harbor as the monument was opening. There was already a line of a few hundred people waiting. We went in, got our (free) tickets for the 11:30 shuttle, and went back to the car.

Stephanie has a sports stadium fetish I don’t really understand, but I liken it to my love of Japanese department stores. We went over to Aloha Stadium, and it was a win for the both of us: in the parking lot, they were holding the Aloha Flea Market.

The flea market had about 95% crap, but it was still entertaining. She took photos of the stadium, and we headed back to Pearl Harbor.

u.s.s. arizona memorial

Before you board the shuttle, you watch a 20-minute documentary about the attack. I didn’t really know much about the history of that event, and it was appalling. We were a bunch of sniffling fools heading out of that theatre.

We got on the boat for a 5-minute ride to the memorial. It’s mounted atop the sunken U.S.S. Arizona, which is also the grave of its entire crew. They asked for silence while on the memorial, but people were there gabbing away. That bothered me a lot.

sunken ship

The ship still leaks oil from a couple locations; we could see it floating on the water.

We took the shuttle back, then drove back into Waikiki. In search of a fast lunch, we stopped at the gigantic food court in Ala Moana Center. At the Hawaiian food booth, past the point at which I had abandoned all hope, I found it: POI.

I ordered a serving of it for $1.75. The cashier gave me a very strange look and handed me a little styrofoam cup and a spoon. I pried off the lid and found a greyish-brown substance inside. I worried that perhaps it had some kind of meat gravy on it, even though it’s supposed to just be taro. I took a bite.

That stuff is nasty.

I tossed it and we found food elsewhere. Then we headed off to climb Diamond Head, rushing to get it in before our flight.

looking west from diamond head

The book made it sound like the hike was pretty easy compared to anything we’d already done. It said something about a bit of a walk and some stairs. That book is full of crap. Yeah, it was nothing compared to the volcanoes, but still. It’s a gradual climb up the inside of the crater, which really wasn’t too bad, but it was long. Then there were stairs. The second set of stairs was 100 extremely-steep steps. Every single person who reached the bottom would stand there and stare up at them in disbelief. It was kind of funny.

waikiki

After the stairs, there were a couple tunnels through the rock, then a spiral staircase up to a strange enclosed concrete room. We climbed out the window of the room and onto the bottom of the lookout. From there, we took metal stairs up to the top platforms. It was a hell of a climb. It probably woudln’t have been that much at the beginning of the trip, but it hurt at the end. It was really hot, too.

hawaii kai (south shore)

The view was totally worth it. To the west, we could see it raining over the ocean.

On the way back down, we encountered two women who were running the hundred steep steps. One appeared to be training the other. She was incredible, and had awesome tribal-marking tattoos around her (monstrous) thighs. She was taking the steps by twos. As she reached the top, I said, “You’re so hardcore. I think you’re my idol.” She said, “Thanks! That’s the fourth time I’ve done that so far.” Holy shit.

It was painfully hot on the way down, I could feel my sunburn, and Japanese tourists kept laughing at me. Well, at first I thought they were laughing at me, then I realized they were laughing at my shirt (it says ‘perfect angel massage parlor’). I was seriously paranoid for a while.

king kamehameha (downtown honolulu)

We started off in the direction of the airport, stopping downtown to see King Kamehameha in his cute little skirt, and the palace. The capitol building supposedly looks like a volcano, but it’s a stretch. We saw Chinatown, too; I’d had greater expectations for Chinatown in a place so heavily Asian, but it was quite small.

We figured the H1 would be a parking lot, but it wasn’t bad at all. We returned the car and got to the airport fairly early. Then our flight was delayed another hour and a half; we killed time in the bar, in every single store in the airport, in the bathroom, and sitting at the gate. My knitting was nearly complete, but I was too tired to continue it by the time we got on the plane.

The flight sucked in a huge way, because I can’t sleep on airplanes. It was a DC-10 and we were in the center section of a totally-booked flight. I’d doze off every 10 minutes and wake up crabby, seeing flashes of the stupid movies they were showing. We arrived in Minneapolis around 10:30am on Sunday, stumbling blinkingly out of the airport. I came home, fed the panicky animals, then went right to bed.

the aftermath

Saturday morning, I had trouble with the time change thing and woke at 4:30am. I forced myself to go back to sleep til 7, lest I encounter a beating from my sister. We were on the road around 8, in search of coffee and then tourism, in order of importance. We drove up to Griffith Park, having heard the observatory offered the best view of the city.

We found the path up the hill and figured it’d be a short hike to the overlook. I had put heavy-duty sunscreen on my new tattoo but had neglected the rest, figuring we wouldn’t be spending much time outdoors until we got to the beach.

Well, the hike was a lot longer than we thought. And steeper. And incredible. Halfway up the mountain, you have excellent views of the whole city to the southwest, as well as the Hollywood sign. Closer to the top, you can see the mountains to the north, and at the summit you have a 360-degree view.

Stephanie kept swearing she wasn’t going to make it, and I was doing my best with the irritating persistence: there’s a path up a mountain. Getting to the top is like winning. It’s inconceivable not to make it. So we did.

There were a lot of people getting their daily workout on that hill. I was marveling at the joggers, some of whom were moving at a pace not much faster than our walk. I couldn’t believe people would run up that path, so I had to try it. It was exhausting, but somehow not as bad as I thought. I spent the rest of the hike wanting to run a lot, but knowing I might get a) yelled at or b) dehydrated.

We sat on a table at the top for a long time, enjoying the sun and the view and the amazing luck of a fairly un-smoggy day in Los Angeles. There were people on horses up there, people being in love, sweaty half-naked guys showing off doing pushups on tables, old Chinese men singing as they hiked, kids scrambling around, and a couple garbagemen who totally cheated by driving their truck up to the top. We finally decided to walk back down; the whole hike took about 2 hours altogether. The view is not to be missed.

We got Dick (the maturity level is high with us, yes indeed) and found ourselves a Trader Joe’s near the park. We bought fresh fruit and such for a picnic, then headed back to the beach at Santa Monica. The place was crazy, with the people on the promenade and the pier. It was sunny and would’ve been pretty warm if it weren’t for the wind. We crossed to the pier, went down to the beach, and had lunch, and then I laid on the blanket for a while. When it got too cold, we headed up to the pier, walking down to the end where we were nearly blown off into the ocean.

The pier was the same as the last time I was there: tacky gifts, people fishing, and stray street performers from the promenade. Also, I found about 10,000 potential boyfriends for Stephanie, and I don’t even think she appreciated it one bit. We decided to head back into LA to cover the obligatory touristy stuff, hoping we’d get more time at the ocean when the wind wasn’t quite so intense.

One of Stephanie’s favorite things about LA is KROQ. Even if they’re not playing great stuff constantly, it’s at least listenable 99% of the time. I was happy to hear them playing Hysteria by Muse, even if it kind of sucks when a song you like a lot becomes a radio single. But there there were two songs that began to plague us within 24 hours: that one about Beverly Hills by Weezer (which was funny for all of 10 minutes because of the novelty of being there), and this song by Pepper that goes, ‘why won’t you have some dirty hot sex with me?’ Which was funny for probably 2 seconds, and then became the worst song ever to be played over and over and over on the radio.

We stopped for coffee before heading to the La Brea tarpits. Stephanie was amused at the Chinese businessmen in Starbucks who kept reading my hoodie; I was just hoping it didn’t say something offensive.

The tarpits surprised me. See, you walk through the gates next door to LACMA, and you smell tar. I didn’t know they were active! I thought it was all prehistoric and such. But no, even to this day, you could stumble right into a tarpit and in hundreds of thousands of years, the robots of the future can excavate you and put you in a museum, too! That’s some exciting shit, if you ask me.

After the tarpits, we went over to see Grauman’s Chinese Theatre. We parked a few blocks away, one car in front of a guy who looked exactly like Johnny Knoxville (but looked lost enough to not be Johnny Knoxville), and two cars in front of a burnt-out car, which was pretty awesome. The insides of the windows were all black. I don’t think there were bodies inside, but we couldn’t have known for sure.

There was some big event going on at the Kodak Theatre, the whole red carpet/limo bit, and the impersonator-folks were out in force. We saw Darth Vader and a Stormtrooper, Superman, Catwoman with her ass exposed, Beetlejuice, a fat Spiderman, and various others. Grauman’s was mobbed as always. We took a look at the footprints and the stars on the street, and were generally unimpressed. Hollywood celebs don’t do a whole lot for me.

We wandered down Hollywood Boulevard, trailing Beetlejuice. There was a couple sitting on the street holding a sign saying they were pregnant and stranded from Pennsylvania. We walked past a booth full of geeky-looking folks and I heard the familiar beep of AIM; it cracked me up that a dude was sitting on the street IMing. I just now looked up what they were all about: liningup.net. Hahaha.

We took Sunset Boulevard into Beverly Hills, and spend some time driving through the neighborhoods gawking at stars’ homes. Again, not so impressive. We drove way up in the hills, and then down again, and could smell Dick’s brakes. We decided to let him rest for a while, so we drove down to Rodeo Drive to check out the shopping. I didn’t expect I’d find anything to interest me there, but then I found the Taschen store. I love their books. I didn’t see anything different than what Amazon could sell me for cheaper, but it was cool to see all their stuff in one place. We went up to Via Rodeo and saw the really high-end stuff. I admit it’s an irritating habit of mine to get pissed off about it, but I do. God knows I can shop, but there’s a level at which spending that amount of cash on something becomes really obscene. Anyway. My sister pointed out a Maserati on the street, which I guess was a big deal. We’d been seeing Bentleys all day, so I wasn’t sure how it was different.

We needed food and still wanted pizza, and were beyond trying to drive around and find something with all the vegetarian healthiness I needed and the general goodness of pizza (I have found this place; it’s in Minneapolis, and it’s called Pizza Luce). So we went for what we knew: CPK. We found one at Beverly Center, quite possibly the most irritating mall ever invented. We were amused at the other patrons waiting for tables: there was a very friendly boy-band, and a woman named Sammi with her passel of kids, who was so Beverly Hills it wasn’t even funny. Throughout dinner, we could hear her smoker’s-voice reverberating in the restaurant as she referred to herself in the third person. LA is awesome like that.

On day two of my trip, I began what would be an ongoing contest with myself: to see how quickly I could get out of bed and on the road in the morning. The night before leaving a town, I would pack everything up (the little I had allowed myself to unpack in the first place; if I was just staying somewhere for one night, I didn’t even bring my suitcase in, I just dug clothes and underwear out and shoved them into my shoulder bag – and it’s funny the kind of fashion decisions one makes while rooting through the trunk in the dark at midnight), and everything else I needed to use in the morning would be laid out neatly and deposited back in my bag as soon as it was used. This orderliness was due to two factors: first, I am incredibly, ridiculously impatient. The faster I could get through the formalities of hair and clothes in the morning and get on the road, the better. Second, having everything in order was a way of maintaining sanity. As my friends know well, you can always tell my mental state by my surroundings.

Anyway, I was back on Highway 2 by 7am. I finally got a glimpse of all the nothingness I could only imagine the night before, and it was even less spectacular than I thought. Whereas eastern Montana was all hills and scenic vistas, central Montana is rolling grasslands as far as you can see. (Do you remember that scene in Priscilla, Queen of the Desert when they come up over a rise in the Winnebago and see the Outback laid out before them for miles and miles, going on forever? I had that exact same moment leaving the town of Glasgow.) At this point, I realized that I was relating whatever landscape I was seeing to something else I had seen before, e.g. ‘Central Montana is just like Colorado, only less arid.’ This developed into a game: ‘Kansas with a hint of southern Oklahoma.’ ‘Iowa without the Iowans.’ ‘If Pennsylvania and Missouri had a baby, only Kentucky was the real father, and he was abusive.’

I wondered what I was going to be like after a few more days spent alone. I started to worry.

Left: There’s a ton of road construction on Highway 2. It’s often down to one lane for traffic going both directions, so you have to sit and wait for the Pilot Car to lead you to safety. Right: Cut Bank, Montana, the coldest spot in the nation.

Another thing about Montana: you know those little markers you sometimes see on the side of the road where someone was killed in an accident? Generally a cross and flowers? (Speaking of which, the creepiest one we ever saw was on the Deep South Roadtrip: three crosses on the side of the interstate. One said ‘Jennifer’, one said ‘Jason’, and we didn’t catch the name on the last one. That’s probably for the best, because I’m sure it said ‘Heather’. Since we didn’t see it, we were safe.) In Montana, those crosses are an organized effort. Everywhere someone has died on the road, they put up a little white cross. Often, you see clusters of crosses. I saw way more dead people than living people on Highway 2.

Road Trip U.S.A. told me never to pass a gas station in Montana with less than a quarter-tank of gas, so I obeyed. I was stopping often to pee and get beverages, which is also a good way to stay awake when you’re driving in less-than-interesting territory. I reached Shelby around 10am and drove into town, having seen a billboard with the magic word on it: espresso. I found the little ice cream shop, and ended up with not only a really good iced latte, but a scoop of sugar-free raspberry gelato. I sat there and wrote postcards, then scribbled in my travel journal: i’ve been asked four times if i won this car on ‘the price is right’. I’ve had these license plates for a year and a half now, and no one has ever asked me that before. Bizarre.

I reached the St. Mary entrance on the east side of Glacier National Park at 2pm. According to a sign on the highway, I was 30 miles from the Canadian border, and Canada closes at 11pm. I was a little nervous about driving through the Rockies with my potential power steering issue, not to mention the fact that my brakes were in bad shape when I left home. I had been meaning to have our friend, Nathan, replace them, but hadn’t had the time. Also, I had never driven through the mountains before. Not mountains like these, at least.

I stopped quickly at the visitors center to get maps of the hiking trails. At the gate, I decided to spring for the $50 annual national parks pass, which ended up being worth the price. I drove a few miles into the park, then stopped and took a short, steep hike to see a waterfall.

On the way back up, I encountered a group of four Amish people, two men and two women. The men asked me about the hike. Why was I so amused to find Amish people hiking in our National Parks? I think it was the idea of the women sporting hiking boots under those heavy, impractical dresses.

I got back in the car and drove up and up, pulling off the road to take a million pictures. I reached Logan Pass, the continental divide, at 6600 feet elevation. The visitor center was mobbed. I followed the signs to the hiking trail, which led to an overlook point a mile and a half away. I got a few hundred feet up the path before noticing that it disappeared into a snow hill. I climbed over it and saw that the whole side of the mountain was covered in snow. The pathway peeked out in a few places. There were people all over the place, so I decided to climb up there anyway. I was worried about being cold in my tshirt and capris, but hardly anyone was wearing a jacket, and it was warm and sunny. In fact, it was so sunny that I had given in and put suntan lotion all over, even on my face, knowing that I was going to get zits because of it (skin cancer is worse than zits, apparently).

The snow was starting to melt a little in the sun, especially near the path. I quickly discovered that the best way to climb through it was to run in the looser stuff away from the path, rather than where it was hard-packed and slippery. So I kind of leapt and bounded my way up the hill, taking some pleasure in passing everyone, including the snowboarders. I jumped past a guy who gasped, “I can’t do this, I live at sea level!” I was unused to the altitude, so I was out of breath immediately, but didn’t feel tired at all. About two-thirds of the way up, there was a tiny, narrow trail along the edge of a steep hill. All of a sudden, I was terrified. I was wearing slippery running shoes. I have the worst balance ever. (No, really. I have trouble walking in a straight line. Something about the inner ear infections I had constantly as a kid.) Luckily, there was a long line of people creeping slowly along the edge, so I was forced to take my time. I tried not to think about the climb back down. By the time I got near the top, my shoes were soaked, and there was snow creeping down my ankles and into my socks. The ground was muddy, and we had to pick our way through streams by balancing on rocks. At the overlook, there was a crown of people lounging in the sun, eating protein bars and drinking gatorade. We took each other’s pictures and enjoyed the view. I tried hard not to think about how I was more likely to make it down the mountain inside a giant snowball than on my own feet.

I was starting the downhill trek when I heard a noise to my right. Just as I turned to look, a mountain goat went barreling past me. Then two more came down the hill, all of them making this loud bleating noise that sounded exactly like ‘mom!’ And they were actually yelling for their mom, who appeared on the other side of the slope, surrounded by hikers with cameras. Now, I’m the first to admit that I’m completely unprepared for any sort of wilderness adventure, because I find myself asking questions like, ‘Can mountain goats hurt me? Should I be standing this close?’ (I’m the same girl who’s impressed with the preparedness of the other snow-climbers just because they’re wearing hiking boots and carrying walking sticks.)

Once I got back to the snow-covered part of the hill, I discovered that it was easier to run downhill as well, as long as it wasn’t so steep that I couldn’t stop. The snow seemed about ten times more slippery, but I managed to stay on my feet. When I got back to the narrow trail, I stopped, scared to go any further. To whoever was listening, I said, “I’m really afraid of dying on this mountain right now.” The woman ahead of me turned and said, “SHHH!” Very slowly, we crept along the trail, teetering on the far edge whenever people had to pass going the other direction. A few times, I started to panic and had to just stop and stand there, up to my calves in snow. But I made it through, and ran the rest of the way down the hill. By the time I got to my car, my feet were numb from the cold, and I was starving.

I drove down the long descent from Logan Pass, noticing that my brakes were squealing. Another mountain goat wandered into the road and up to my car. I got an impromptu car wash at the Weeping Wall. I spent a few contemplative minutes on the stone beach at Lake McDonald. I stopped at the west entrance visitor center to write postcards, and I was on my way.

I got back on Highway 2 and started looking for a place to spend the night. I almost peed my pants with excitement when my cell service returned in Kalispell, Montana. I drove around to five or six hotels, running in to ask about their rates. Half of them were already booked up, and they were all ridiculously expensive. Exhausted and irritated, I dragged out my AAA guide and found a listing for the Glacier Gateway Motel. The woman behind the counter was the owner, and she obviously took a lot of pride in taking care of the rooms. It was perfect: a tiny little cubicle with a twin bed and shower stall, very clean, and $40. It might as well have been the Ritz, as happy as I was to be staying there. I dumped my stuff in the room, grabbed the local newspaper, and quickly found an ad for a restaurant with the other magic word: vegetarian. I ate dinner on the patio at the Knead Cafe, digging through a stack of travel brochures I’d picked up at the motel. On my way out, they give me a huge loaf of rosemary-tomato bread, because they had leftovers. I went back to the hotel happy, took a long shower, examined my hard-earned, glowing sunburn, and made a bunch of phone calls just for the sheer novelty of having a signal again. By 11pm, I was asleep.

I woke up at 7:30, having slept really hard in my little cubicle of a room. I drove around Kalispell, and stopped at a cute bread shop for coffee and a bagel. I would have shopped in town, but it was 8am and nothing was open (a trend I noticed along the way: the further west you go, the later people seem to get going in the morning). I got back on the road, heading towards Idaho. Western Montana is beautiful: hills, rivers, and pine forests. Except where they’re being chopped down, that is. I pulled off at a poorly-marked rest area that Road Trip USA said was a worthwile stop, and set off on the half-mile hike to the Kootenai River. (I’m aware of the stupidity of hiking alone in the middle of nowhere, by the way. It was a conscious decision.)

I walked up to the falls first, laid down on a huge, flat rock, and enjoyed the sun and the complete silence. Then I hiked the other direction, to the swinging bridge. On the way there, I started to feel a little bit fuzzy, and had to walk slower. By the time I got to the bridge, I was feeling like crap. My blood sugar had dropped, and I was tired, dizzy, and sick to my stomach. So I did the most logical thing, which was to cross the bridge. It bounced and swayed in the wind, which was fun for about 15 seconds, and then just made me sicker. I clung to the rope and took pictures to distract myself.

Then I wobbled back to the platform and sat down with my head against the railing. Part of me wished that someone would come along and reassure me that I was not going to die alone in the wilderness, but the other part of me realized that wasn’t a great idea, in case they decided I was in really bad shape and called for an ambulance. No insurance. I sat for about twenty minutes and convinced myself I was starting to feel better. I got up and started hiking back up the hill. I was shaky and having trouble seeing, but I pushed as hard as I could, knowing that adrenaline would help get me back to normal. By the time I got back to my car, I felt a little better, and resolved not to tell Heather, since she would yell at me for getting sick in the middle of nowhere.

I crossed into Idaho mid-morning, and the speed limit on Highway 2 dropped to 60mph. Everyone in Idaho drives a pickup truck and wears big mirrored sunglasses. Their license plates read, ‘Famous Potatoes’. Ha. I stopped in Sandpoint for lunch. It’s a cute little resort town that seems to be centered around a big Coldwater Creek store. I parked on the main street and wandered around, looking for lunch. I expected to have no trouble finding decent vegetarian food in that kind of town, but was quickly proven wrong. Half the restaurants were already closed for the 4th of July (does it make sense to shut down a resort town over a national holiday?), and the other half seemed to value meat pretty highly. I finally found a really cute Italian restaurant with good veggie lasagna and better espresso, and sat out on the patio and wrote postcards from Idaho.

At some point after lunch, I got to Washington. I had expected to go through Coeur d’Alene and join up with I-90, but I was wrong. I was on the outskirts of Spokane at a gas station before I realized that I had left Idaho, and was probably in the Pacific time zone. I drove into Spokane and called Heather. It was 3pm, and I had made better time than I had expected, so I figured if she could find me a cheap hotel in Seattle, I’d drive the rest of the way there and have an extra day in town. She called back with the address of the Hyatt Regency in Bellevue, a whole $35 a night on Priceline. (Have I mentioned yet that I love Priceline? I do. Despite Shatner, even.) I was thrilled.

I stopped to see Riverfront Park, mainly because Road Trip USA told me they had a giant Radio Flyer. It was indeed giant, and I was a little jealous of the kids climbing on it. Riverfront Park was nice, the kind of place I’d spend a lot of time walking around if I lived there, but Spokane in general was just kind of… um… exactly like you’d expect Spokane, Washington to be like, I guess. Lots of strip malls, kind of industrial. I was in a hurry to get to Seattle. Before I left Spokane, though, I took this very patriotic picture out my sunroof. It’s at a Perkins. Doesn’t it make you proud to be an American? Yeah. Me too.

I got on I-90 and set the cruise for a speed somewhere between legal and breaking the sound barrier. Then I got on the phone to kill time, as I still had 300 miles to go. (I know there are many, many of you who hate people like me for just that reason, but I’m not apologizing. I’m just as reckless off the phone as on it. In my defense, however: I’ve been driving for 15 years, and never been in an accident, or gotten a single speeding ticket. So shut up.) I was surprised at the terrain in Washington; I had expected all hills and pine trees, but the central part of the state is pretty flat and arid (Colorado with a splash of Oklahoma). I crossed the Columbia River, and stopped briefly at the overlook.

After crossing the river, it was pretty much all mountain pass the rest of the way. I had to turn off the air conditioning. I was sick to death of listening to the same dance CD over and over, but driving through mountains at 85mph takes full concentration, so I couldn’t change it. The mountains (Cascade? I should use the internet to verify this, but I’m lazy.) end about 20 miles outside Seattle. I switched to the radio and laughed really hard because the first song I heard on the rock station was by Alice in Chains. I found my hotel easily, parked underground, and hauled out my giant duffel bag. This was a novelty, as I’d been digging clothes out of it so far. The hotel was super nice, and I was on the 21st floor, one of the extra-swank rooms. I’m pretty sure I was the only non-Japanese tourist in the place. I set up my laptop and got my email, which was not as big a thrill as I expected; I’m pretty good with traveling sans internet. I was too tired to even think about going to find dinner, so I opted for room service: red lentil chili and tortilla chips (280 calories, the menu proudly informed me) and a Starbucks latte (more exciting than it probably should have been, but, you know. It’s Seattle. Starbucks from room service! It’s the right thing to do!)

While I was waiting for my food, I called Heather. She had moved into Daniel’s place, as far as I could tell, which made me feel better about leaving her at home alone. I called my mom to tell her I was alive, and both her and my dad got on the phone for the update. The parents are so cute. I called Ryan and made plans to meet for breakfast the next morning. I decided to see Seattle on the 3rd and then drive to Vancouver on the 4th because:

• Canadians don’t care about our holidays, so stuff would be open
• I could also go see Mount Rainier, which would probably also be open on the 4th
• Going to Canada to celebrate the 4th just seemed like the right thing to do.

I’m a planner. Also, I was really excited to see Seattle. I grimaced at myself in the mirror, realizing I looked like crap, took a shower, made a nest of the four pillows in my giant bed, and passed out.

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random notes from my travel journal:

montana is all about cool road signs: ‘range cattle’, ‘rough break’ (what does that even mean?), ‘chain-up area’.

stopped at a dumb gift shop in troy (mt) and the woman behind the counter told me she had moved there from minneapolis 6 years ago. she said it was like stepping back in time. she couldn’t even get a cell phone, there’s no coverage there. she was so excited to talk to someone from home, i felt bad leaving after 20 minutes.

i fucking hate logging trucks. if i die on this trip, it’s going to be because of them.

idaho: i’m so glad to be back in the land of coffee. there’s even a starbucks here!

what time zone am i in???

my back and neck are killing me from my white-knuckle grip on the steering wheel driving through the mountains.

jesus, i look terrible. dark circles under my eyes. messy hair. sunburnt nose. zits from putting suntan lotion on my face. i look really tired. and i smell. i am hardcore.

photos: my passenger seat. bug holocaust (montana).

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I got up at 7am and headed into downtown Seattle. I was surprised to find myself in love almost instantly. I walked around the Pike Place Market just as the stands were starting to open. The fresh produce and flowers were incredible. I saw so much that we’d have to hunt down in specialty markets in Minneapolis.

I walked down to the universe’s very first Starbucks and got myself an iced coffee. They also hooked me up with the extra-special Starbucks card that can only be purchased at that very store. I went across the street and sat on a wall overlooking Puget Sound and wrote postcards. Ryan called to say he’d be there in half an hour. I wandered some more and shopped for cheesy souvenirs, and whereas Montana was completely lacking in tacky gifts, Seattle was the motherlode.

Ryan picked me up and we drove over to his neighborhood for breakfast. Afterwards, we stopped to see his apartment, and I reminded him that I had a picture of his bed on my website. We drove to the bluehouse (which is grey) to get a tour of their current projects for Burning Man. They were making three giant geodesic domes and a gyrosphere. The house was littered with plans, schematics, and models. The basement was a full-scale metal shop, medieval-looking and incredible. There were fiberglass pieces being constructed in the backyard. We stood around and talked to Ryan’s friends for a while. One of them gave me passes to his favorite club in Vancouver, and invited me to their 4th of July party. Another guy wandered up and said, “Hey, I heard you’re from Minneapolis. I went to Concordia!” He had graduated from college a year ago, went to Burning Man, met these guys, and decided to move to Seattle. They were awesome.

We drove over to Gasworks Park for a good view of the city. They were setting up for the 4th of July festivities, but seemed amenable to tourists barging in to take photos. Then Ryan took me to see the troll under the bridge (you can’t see it in the picture, but he’s holding a real VW Beetle in his left hand), and the statue of Lenin in Fremont.

I freaked when I saw that Seattle has a Scandinavian neighborhood. Just like home; there was even a lutefisk shop. We spent a long time shopping at Archie McPhee, where many more goofy souvenirs were to be found. Driving around, I got the impression that Seattle was all about coffee, good food, and the music scene. And not just that grunge crap, either.

Ryan dropped me off at Westlake Center, so I could take the monorail over to the Space Needle. On the way there, I got a good view of the Experience Music Project, which he was absolutely right about: it’s butt-ugly. I went up in the Space Needle, took photos of Seattle from every possible angle, exchanged picture-taking opportunities with other tourists, and then went to the gift shop. If I didn’t give you a little metal Space Needle replica, I’m very sorry. I bought one for everyone I could think of, so I guess I just don’t like you all that much.

I monorailed back to downtown, and walked back to Pike Place. On my way, I saw a million street performers and musicians (at least half of them mariachis), vendors selling tshirts and light-up jesus artwork and beaded necklaces, two protests, and a bunch of overly-smiley guys giving out gum samples. And that was in the space of two blocks. I found a Turkish restaurant and got a spinach-and-feta pie and Turkish coffee for lunch, and briefly considered just spending the rest of my trip in Seattle. Then I remembered California, and decided to press on.

After lunch, I wandered back through the market, because all the craft vendors were now open, and the place was packed. I went downstairs and found an awesome store selling old movie posters. I went back up and bought blackberries, prunes, and an apple as large as my head. Then I wandered past an ice-cream place and saw that they had sugar-free vanilla-fudge ice cream, and once again thought maybe I should stay in Seattle. I walked back to the car, eating my ice cream and smiling like an idiot.

It took me about 15 minutes in the Escher-esque ramp to locate my car. I got on I-5 and headed south. Traffic between Seattle and its lesser-understood sister city, Tacoma, was horrific. I exited at the marked route for Mount Rainier, and began to understand why, even though the map said it was only 110 miles, the travel guide told me it was a three-hour drive. I stopped and got gas and a car wash. As was the case during most of my trip, I had a frantically-compiled mental to-do list at every stop: get gas. get carwash. dump trash. buy water. buy pop. buy seeds. get cash. look at map. Sometimes, during particularly rushed moments, I would get flustered. I’d start to panic. It’s hard to keep everything straight when you’re used to having people around to remind you to do things. So, when I left the gas station, I left a little piece of myself behind. Or, to be more specific, a piece of my car: the gas cap.

I drove many isolated and winding roads to get to Mount Rainier. It’s monstrous; you can see it all the way from Seattle. I took the road to Sunrise Lodge, which was super-narrow and winding, way more than anything I had driven in Glacier, but there was hardly any traffic. I got near the top to Sunrise Point, and stopped at the overlook. I jumped out of the car and, impatient as always, decided to hop over the wall rather than walk the extra 50 feet to the crosswalk. I stepped up, and the next thing I knew, I was flat on my back on the other side of the wall. It was almost like waking up and not knowing where you’ve been. I scrambled to my feet, shaky and dizzy. My left hand was scraped and already starting to bruise, and I had bumped my left hip (the one without the injury, of course). The altitude affected me way more than I had expected. There was going to be no hiking for me that day.

I drove the rest of the way up to the lodge, stopped at the store, and looked at the huge selection of trail mix and protein bars, finally understanding why they were such a big deal up there on in the mountains. I was still feeling sore and wobbly, so I just took a few pictures, went to the bathroom, and got back in the car to head back to Seattle. The drive down sucked, but I had figured out effective downshifting, which also helped minimize the noise my brakes were making: at this point, the squealing was hard to ignore.

I took a different, equally-slow route back to Seattle. An angry biker gave me the finger for some reason I was unsure of. Perhaps he knew about my lack of gas cap? Even I was unaware at that point, until a short while later, when my car made its happy ‘ping’ noise and popped up a message on the display: TIGHTEN FUEL FILLER CAP. I flashed back to the gas station, replaying the getting-gas-getting-carwash episode, and realized the scene where I put the gas cap back on and closed the little door was missing. Replayed it again, still missing. Again. Missing.

Dammit.

I decided to find dinner in Capitol Hill. I parked and wandered down Broadway Avenue, peering in the cute shops and stopping to examine every restaurant’s menu. A few blocks down, I found Julia’s, which was the same place we had breakfast, but a different location. I was happy with their vegetarian breakfast options, so it was decided. The food was great, but it was so dark that I had to hunch over my tiny little bar table and squint to see what I was scribbling in my journal. This trip had not been great for my posture.

After dinner, I walked back down Broadway. Ryan had told me that Seattle had lots of cute little neighborhoods, but you would cross the street from one and find yourself in a really seedy area. That was exactly the case when I crossed Olive Street. All of a sudden, there were street people everywhere. I saw a guy in a wheelchair and a guy covered with huge, open lesions rolling a joint. I dashed into a dirty convenience store to buy… um, never mind. I went to my car and drove back to my swanky hotel, where I carefully reconstructed my pillow nest before collapsing into it.

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random notes from my travel journal:

how long can you go without a gas cap?? i have no idea.

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