I Moved

I was driven to Philly in 1999 with everything I needed in a single carload, and I'd be leaving the city the exact same way almost 18 years later.  A little longer of a drive to Seattle, though.

Having driven cross country a handful of times and ridden across once, I wasn't too interested in making stops along the way.  I just wanted to get to Seattle and have the drive be done with.  Another reason I didn't really want to make stops was that I didn't want to leave my car (with almost all of my worldly possessions) and the three bicycles racked to the back of it unattended for too long.  I'd only recently gotten Tibor back and I wasn't ready to lose him again.  So instead of making it a 2,800 mile sight seeing leisure tour, I turned it into a grueling marathon of discomfort.  I really don't recommend that approach.  I also don't recommend riding your bicycle on Interstate 70, but sometimes you don't really have a choice.

While I had made the decision to not make stops, I wasn't going to let that prevent me from seeing new sights.  That in mind, I chose the Northern Tier as my route.  I'd never been to North Dakota as an adult (but I love South Dakota), only been around Glacier National Park in Montana (and it was gorgeous), and had never been to northern Idaho (I heard it was like Montana).  There was no way around the boring start of PA > OH > IN > IL, but at least I was giving myself something to look forward to for the second half of the drive.

Google Maps said I had about 43 hours of driving ahead of me.  Looking at my overloaded Chevy HHR with an early-80's Sears X-Cargo roof rack and the three aforementioned bikes hanging from the rear, I assumed a few more hours would tack themselves on while driving below the speed limit in order to keep my RPMs out of the red.  At most, like 48 hours of driving, right?  I could knock that out in three days.  Totally.  Truckers do it all the time.  I hopped into my car a little before 10:30am EDT on Wednesday.

A little over 74 hours and 3 gallons of coffee later, I pulled into Seattle, my ankles swollen like a pregnant lady's and my roof top carrier an insect graveyard.  Exhausted and atrophied, I peeled myself off of the front seat, happy to know that the trip was finally over and I could finally elevate my legs.  I really had no idea the whole ankle thing could happen.  I'd been sleeping in my car at rest stops, and all that sitting must have trapped a ton of fluid down low.  Like wearing squishy ankle weights.

Bug splatter spanning ten states.

Aside from the ankle issue, here are some other things I learned:

• If you know anyone in Minneapolis, you'll see them no matter how briefly you're in the city.
• Pickled eggs are just as good in the far north as they are in the deep south.
• North Dakota is proud of its oil.  They have postcards saying so.
• Fargo is the halfway point between Philly and Seattle, that's why they're all sister cities.
• Ronna and Beverly are the best.
• There are Badlands in Montana, not just the Dakotas.
• Wisconsin has tall rock formations that I assumed could only be found around Utah, but I'd forgotten about glacial lakes.

Anyway, now that the drive is done, I'm a Seattleite.  Come visit.

Move Out Blog Break

I'm moving to Seattle next week.  I have a lot to do before then, so I'm going to take a week off from writing stuff.  If you need something to do, watch the really weird, hecka creepy, award winning, stop motion short Bobby Yeah.  Some things can't be explained, some things can't be unsee.

Bobby Yeah

Leaving the Desert to go to the Desert

After two and a half weeks in the Black Rock Desert, it was time to get back on the road.  The airport was all but gone and so were most of the people that had worked there.  In a few days, nothing would remain except for tire tracks and post holes that would be swept away by the wind or filled in by the dust.  That and the giant fenced in perimeter surrounding the entire event.  The DPW folks would be cleaning up for a few more weeks, and that fence wasn't coming down until all loose debris had been secured.  I'm not sure how a corporation like Burning Man is able to convince people to stay and work (more or less) for free in the blazing sun for weeks after the event ends.  It's kind of a cult like that.

My cultish obligations were over for the year, though, so I was free to do as I pleased.  What I pleased to do was return to Utah as quickly as possible for a few more days in the canyons before taking the truck and trailer back to Mississippi.  I still had over 1,300 cycling miles between Jackson and Philadelphia, so while I wasn't in any position to dawdle.  Buuuuut... when you're in that part of the country with an air conditioned truck, you should really take advantage of the situation.  I knew I was going to have to be efficient with my time, so the first thing I did was head west.

Just west of Reno, in the opposite direction of Moab and Mississippi, is one of my favorite vistas in the entire country.  I'd say world, except I've seen more of a percentage of the US than of the world so country carries a bit more weight relatively.  The first time I'd seen it, I was on my bicycle sick as a dog, with gravelly lymph nodes, and a brain swimming in DayQuil.  The second time I'd seen it, I was in the passenger seat of a dusty minivan with the check engine light shining bright on the dash.  This time I was going to see it with a properly functioning body in a properly functioning vehicle, the most ironic way to view the home of one of the most dysfunctional stories of the frontier days.  I'm talking about the Donner Memorial State Park, named for the om nom Donner Party.

A gorgeous spot for a picnic.

The Donner Pass summit sits around 7,000', overlooking Donner Lake and the sometimes green, sometimes brown, always steep walls of the Sierra Nevadas.  There's a little parking lot just beneath the top, and to be able to sit there for a while just looking off into the eastern distance is easily worth the fifty or so miles it adds in each direction.  My good idea for the day was to leave the trailer I'd been hauling back at my hotel parking lot outside of Reno.  Ok, Donner Summit was complete.  No more distractions.

Buuuuut... Nevada is pretty nice when the sun is setting.  To just drive through without stopping to take it all in really seems like at the least a bad idea and at the worst completely sacrilege in a Mother Gaia kind of way.  Did I really need to get back to the concrete of Philadelphia that quickly?

I couldn't not stop, you know?

No.  No, I didn't.  Also, the human bladder can only hold so much fluid, so I had to stop any way, and I may as well stretch the old legs out and take some pictures, right?  Yeah, that's right.  The above photo is what a lot of Nevada looks like.  If you've ever wondered what the bottom of the ocean would look like if it was all dried out and the dead fish all removed, there you go.  Nevada.

It was getting late (nothing to do with the detours), so I pulled off on a big, roadside turnout for the night.  There is no shortage of places to pull a car off the road for a nap in Nevada.  It is not a heavily populated state, and most of the pop density is focused in and around the gambling towns, of which I was nowhere near any.  I was mostly near scorpions and camel spiders, and they took up very little space.  At least after a nice long nap I'd be refreshed and ready to drive the rest of the way to Moab without any distractions.

Well, almost all of the way.  You see, the last time I was in Utah, there was a site I really wanted to visit, but it had been raining on the day I was nearby the aforementioned, unnamed site, and it's not really the place to visit in the rain.  Aside from the roads becoming impassable and walking paths unwalkable, the main fun of this place is that it's full of climbable hoodoos that were carved out of the ocean floor millennia ago, if you believe the Earth is that old.  And said hoodoos are impossible to scale the moment they get even slightly damp, the fine dirt that's ever present turning into a viscous, earthy shortening.  Terrible for walking, terrible for cooking.  But it was nice now, sooo... probably should stop for a while.

This is a place.

Well, that was nice.  Crystal clear day and only one other car parked in the lot.  And I only almost got myself into inescapable danger once.  Good for you, sir.  And now that the final (I swear) detour had be taken, I would be in Moab by the evening, meaning time to grab some beers at City Market before settling in for a night of jigsaw puzzling.  All I had to do was just make sure I didn't get distracted and stop somewhere along the way...

Breezy: Air Scared

One of the perks of working at 88NV is the chance to get to go up on a flight.  Most pilots don't fly into Burning Man with the intention of parking their plane for the week.  No, their plan is to be up in the sky as much as possible in order to see the city in action.  And also because they love flying.  Why become a pilot if you don't love to fly?  And unless a pilot has a single-seater, they're willing to take people up with them.  Because of this, the airport is clamoring with festival attendees trying desperately to get up into the air with a pilot sporting an empty seat.  Since I worked at the airport, I wasn't going to have to try, all I'd have to do was ask.  Enter the Breezy.  

Do you know what a Breezy is?  I'm assuming you looked at the picture below already, so yes, you know.  Prior to this year, I had no idea that such a thing existed, so I'll describe it for those of you that are the me from last year.  It's a cockpitless plane that is somewhere between an airplane and a horrifying psychological torture device.  It's a flying floorboard.  Paul, one of the pilots and airport crew members, had a Breezy, and while parked innocently in the parking lot so carefully staked out the week before, I had an interest in going up for a flight.

Photo Courtesy of Paul the Pilot

I don't know if I've ever had so much fun being so terrified in my life.  I've gone sky diving and scrambled down rocksliding mountain sides, and neither compared.  The rush was exhilarating, the view spectacular, the experience overwhelming, and the whole time I was convinced I was going to die.  I was letting loose a mix of "holy shits" covering every possible intention of the phrase.  Even though my first impulse was cling as desperately to worst case scenarios as I was to the bottom of my seat, there was a bit of me that was pretty sure that we weren't going to crash.  For starters, Paul was a professional pilot.  On top of that he had a primary interest in not crashing for his own sake, regardless of mine.  My survivalist brain was convinced that I would go flying off the little platform seat, something that really wasn't possible with how tightly I was strapped in.  Maybe the whole seat would just go flying off?  Also not likely since Paul's wife usually occupied that seat on their flights.  Each gust of wind further reinforced the fact that this was going to be the last thing I did on this Earth.  It wasn't until after we landed and rolled to a stop that I finally accepted the fact that I was not going to die.  How ironic would it have been if I had an unrelated aneurysm later that day?  I would've felt like such an idiot for being afraid of the Breezy in the moments preceding my sudden death.

In any case, thank you, Paul!  If ever I get the chance to fly with you again, I can guarantee that I will be just as terrified the second, third, fourth, and n-th time we go up into the sky.  That's probably half the reason I want to go.  Just ask anyone who's watched a horror film with me.

Camel Spiders: Scorpion Assassins, Leg Crawlers

Shortly after crossing into Nevada, I needed to take a break.  I had possibly overdone it a bit with the Intense Bold and Stōk, and I needed to get something in my stomach other than coffee and coffee additives.  Fortunately, there was a little gas station/convenience store/bar waiting for me just past the invisible Pacific Time Zone boundary.  Gas station bars are something I don't think I'll ever get used to.  We live in such a strange culture here in the U.S.  We encourage drinking, require driving, and then act appalled when people drink and drive.  How exactly is someone supposed to get home from a bar in the middle of the Nevada desert after they've been drinking all night?

I wasn't sure what I was going to find in that little gas station convenience store attached to a bar, but I figured anything would be fine.  Like, maybe a pimento cheese sandwich?  Nah, that's a stretch outside of the South.  Maybe an egg salad sandwich.  Or maybe even just an egg?  I didn't know, that place was not looking very promising.  It should at least have some old bread, right?

Pulling off the highway and into the sandy parking lot, I parked, hopped out of the Silverado, and headed up to the entrance.  As I walked into the store's fluorescent glow, I found that I was the only customer looking for snacks at that hour.  It wasn't all that late, midnight or so, but that convenience store wasn't all the centrally located to civilization so who knows how many people it saw on a daily basis.  In any case, I strolled into the empty store, and as I took a few steps forward, felt something on my leg.

I had walked into the convenience bar looking calm and collected.  A road weary traveler with time enough for burnt coffee but no time for bullshit.  That façade was quickly shed/torn down by the excited leg swiping that was my instinctual response to the possibility of a tiny insect crawling up my leg.  I don't like spiders!  I don't know how many times I have to tell you this!  Embarrassingly, it's often just a string dangling from my frayed shorts, but one can never be too careful.  Anyway, this is what I saw standing between my legs post swipe:

Solifugae aka Camel Spider aka Sun Spider (Courtesy of People First Pest Control)

Aha!  Justification for dramatic overreaction!  Look at that thing!  It's terrifying!  To be fair, though, and to give some perspective, I guess I should tell you that the one I was looking standing between my legs at was less than an inch long... so... I was a bit bigger.  But that thing is probably loaded with venom, right?

I quickly walked away from that little monster and headed towards the snacks section.  My instincts hadn't been wrong.  My options were limited.  Forced to really search through the rows, I squatted down to see what was on the bottom shelf.  From that lowered view point, I got a good look at the floor, and what did I see?  Another insect monster.  Or was it the same one?  Was it following me???  Oh god, how long had it been following me???  Moab??? Kanab??? JACKSON?????  TELL MEEEEEEE!!!!!!!

Finding success in a pack of overpriced crackers, I stood up and decided to stroll around the bar store to look for more insects.  You would not believe my relief when I found those little monsters everywhere.  That sounds strange, but it's not.  For one thing, it meant that I wasn't being covertly followed by a death-driven poison bug hell-bent on avenging some wrong that I had unknowingly wrought upon it or its family in the desert.  Second, and more reasonably, if there were a lot of them, they couldn't be dangerous.  Were these critters a danger to humans, this place would've been fumigated ages ago (I assumed).  I headed up to the cashier to both pay for my food and confirm my suspicions.

He told me that they were Camel Spiders, and that they were good to have around because they ate scorpions.  He also said that I should watch out for scorpions because now that it's starting to get cold out at night, they like to get closer to the warmth of the store.  And the scorpions around here were the extra tiny ones.  The kind that put you in the hospital, like they had done to a buddy of his.  Well, that was the fastest I've cycled through fear to relief back to fear in my life.  Thank you, cashier.

After finishing the now dreaded flip-flopped walk through the parking lot to the truck (I really wished I'd had my blacklight flashlight handy), I did some Camel Spider research.  While not spiders, they were arachnids that did indeed prey on scorpions.  I was also able to confirm that they were of no danger (ie. non-venomous) to humans.  I also verified that a tiny scorpion can put you in the hospital.  One less thing to fear.  One more thing to fear.  In any case, this served as a good reminder to ignore the initial impulse to squish grotesque bugs as they may just be very ugly friends.

Around daybreak, I found the answer to the question at the top of the post.  While driving on the two-laned, untrafficked US-50, with the rising sun casting extra long shadows out ahead of me, I saw police lights in the distance.  I hadn't passed or been passed by any cars in quite some time, so seeing the light instantly wrenched my stomach.  I'm not sure if I'll ever outgrow that involuntary response, as I've never had any run-ins with the law nor was I doing anything illegal.  I quickly realized that the lights weren't moving towards me, and that I was moving towards them.  Once I got within a quarter of a mile, I saw the flares and realized this wasn't a traffic stop, but a clean up.  Along the side of the perfectly straight, nearly-abandoned highway was an overturned car that appeared to have, of its own volition, flipped a few times, thoroughly demolishing itself in the process.  Either someone hadn't Stōked their Intense Bold or they had spent too much time drinking at a gas station.  Or maybe it was more sinister.  Maybe that driver had killed the one Camel Spider that had been protecting them all along, and a stowaway scorpion stung their leg, inducing behind-the-wheel seizures.  You can decide for yourself.

Caffeination Double Whammy

If there's one thing any good trucker knows, it's staying awake.  An integral part of that staying awake is caffeine.  It's cheap, it's legal, and it's readily available.  If crank were legal, I'm sure every truck stop on the continent would be pedaling it.  But it's not, so there's coffee.  Gallons of coffee.

Truckers also know truck stops, of which there are three main options along US interstates: Pilot, Love's, and Flying J (I have customer cards for all of them).  Two of those, Pilot and Flying J, are the same corporation, so really, there are only two.  Even then, choice is only an illusion, as they both mostly sell the same items: camo t-shirts with redneck sayings on them (Mud, Sweat, and Beers), driver needs like e-cigarettes and jumper cables, warm showers, cold beverages, roller-heated sausage-shaped meats, assorted snacks, and most importantly, coffee.  Not just a little coffee, a whole boatload of coffee.  Coffee as far as the eye can see.  Columbian, French Roast, House Blend, Et Cetera.  They have a lot of coffee and it never runs out.  Ever.

After my Southern Utah layover, I gave myself 20 hours to get from Moab to Reno.  Even with my lightfoot and grandma-level caution, at the low speed of 60mph I could cover that 700 miles in just under 12 hours.  Provided I could stay awake for 12 hours.  Enter Pilot/Flying J, my personal favorite.  Not that there's anything really wrong with Love's; I'm really just not a fan of the name with it's little heart logo.  I don't feel comfortable associating that feeling with truck stops.  Change the name to Hungry's or Sleepy's, and I'll be all over it.

Another +1 for Pilot/Flying J is that it has an extra special coffee for people driving 700 miles in a single shot: Intense Bold (with the tagline, "Extra Caffeine.  Extra flavor.").  This is bonkers coffee.  The Jolt Cola version of coffee.  My leg is shaking at just the mention of it.  Unrelated, were any of you allowed to rink Jolt as kids?  I don't think I was even allowed to touch a closed bottle of it for fear of transdermal caffeination.

Anyway, Intense Bold is a thrust into overdrive when slogging through hundreds of late night, wide open, undeveloped, desert miles.  Utah and Nevada, with their lack of light pollution,  provide amazing views of the night sky and it's easy to let those twinkling stars lull you into a blissful night's sleep, which is a real problem at 70mph.  Thankfully, I had IB.  If anything, the induced jitters alone will shake you to a wakeful and vigilant state.  Now that's some good coffee.

I know what you're thinking: "Twelve hours is a long time to drive.  A 16oz Intense Bold might be just what the doctor ordered at mile 300, but what about mile 550, when the caffeine is starting to wear off?  Could a second Intense Bold get you as wired as the first one did?"  No, of course not, and it's good of you to bring it up.  But worry not, Pilot/Flying J has that covered.  Behold... Stōk.

It's free yet comes with a warning...

Yes, that's exactly what it looks like it is.  It's a creamer container, but instead of containing creamer, it holds a shot of espresso in it.  It's a shot of coffee to pour into your cup of coffee.  And how much does this warning-labeled caffeine additive cost?  $0.  That's right, absolutely nothing.  Simply grab a handful and go.  If you are on a budget, this is your no-cost alternative to coffee.  It tastes like garbage, but that's not why you drink it.  People, this is actually a thing!

I had 700 miles until Reno.  No problem.