Life on "The Rez"

I wonder what that dude with the scraggly hair and hoodie does all day? Was he motioning to me, or just generally waving his hands? Heidi returns from the gas station on the corner of the highway, clearly dissatisfied. “Well, didn’t they have a bathroom?” I asked.

“No,” she explained with angst in her voice, “The guy didn’t speak good English. I dunno what he did speak but he said, ‘it no work.’

“Do you wanna try that gas station across the street, or just look for the place?” I inquired.

“Let’s just get there and then I can go,” she declared, becoming increasingly frustrated with the combination of her physical condition and my incessant badgering. She threw the van in gear and we started driving up and down the streets of McLaughlin, SD, looking for any sign of the Natural Law Institute.

McLaughlin is a town of fewer than 800, set up in the traditional grid pattern. There are probably only a dozen or so city blocks in the town center, so we figured we could simply spot the place. But after driving up and down about half of them we became increasingly frustrated, and I more brave. “I saw some kids downtown. Let’s go ask them.”

Heidi pulled into a parking spot right in front of the downtown senior center where three Native youth were loitering about on the sidewalk out front. “Excuse me,” I inquired rather sheepishly, “do you know where Robert White Mountain’s house is?”

“Robert White Mountain? Go down to the school and hang a right. You’ll go up a block and see a red house on the corner. That’s his place,” a long-haired teen explained while motioning in the air at the same time. Two minutes later we were at the place which we would call home for the next four days.

“You must be Guy & Heidi,” said a friendly white woman who opened the door before we could knock. She was carrying a hefty toddler of Native descent. “I’m Beth, Robert’s wife. He’s just across the street checking out a sofa the neighbor’s giving away. He should be back pretty soon.”

The Natural Law Institute is a non-profit, and the brainchild of Robert White Mountain, a proud member of the Hunkpapa Lakota, the nation most well-known for the famous Chief Sitting Bull (who refused to agree to any treaties with the US, arguing that the white man would never honor the deals it struck with the indigenous peoples. In the late 1800’s Sitting Bull was killed at the orders of Colonel McLaughlin because he was seen as a threat to the peace on the Standing Rock Agency, which the Colonel was responsible for. More than a century later, a number of Sitting Bull’s descendants live in a town, on the Standing Rock Reservation, named after the man who ordered the great Hunkpapa leader killed. [Many of the Lakota people refer to the town as Bear Soldier, however it is legally known as McLaughlin.])

White Mountain formed the non-profit after seeing a tremendous need for a positive, Native-run, resource in the community. Among his goals: get youth interested in Lakota culture, empower the community, create sustainable community-based agricultural projects, create sanctuaries for the buffalo and end what he refers to as, “the Indian Wars.”

“I’m not Indian,” the hulking man explained with a rather serious look in his eyes. “Indian is a word they created. Indians are hopeless, helpless, uneducated and savage. I’m none of those things. I am Hunkpapa Lakota. I am not an Indian.”

After exchanging the obligatory greetings we helped White Mountain hoist a shabby and torn leather sofa onto his minivan, so that his nephew Chat could use it. “It’s pretty nice,” the nephew stated approvingly. Meanwhile, I couldn’t help but think the only place that couch belonged was in a landfill. We dropped it off at Chat’s house, one of sixty in a new Federal housing development, before taking a quick tour of town.

“With 60 new families getting shipped in it’s gonna be HOT this summer. And they just spent another $26 million for a surge in police, for a total of 72 on ‘the rez’. Most of those are here because crime is the worst here in Bear Soldier,” Robert explained to me and Heidi as he drove us through Native neighborhoods, occasionally waving to a friend.

He was right: The Bureau of Indian Affairs (BIA) recently received a $26 million federal grant in order to, temporarily, increase the police presence in an attempt to reduce crime by a whopping 5%. Robert allowed me to peruse a thick report, issued by the BIA, on the surge. No permanent solutions. No community involvement. Simply an increase in police presence, creating an even greater sense of a police state on “the rez.” This was the Indian Wars White Mountain was referring to.

“They say they want to improve things. Well, you don’t do that by sending in the cavalry. How is this any different than what they did here 100 years ago?” he quizzed the naïve Minnesota couple who had just arrived to get their hands dirty and learn about the Lakota culture while, perhaps, cleansing their psyches for not being like the Wasichu who came before them.

Wasichu (wa-shee-choo) is a Lakota term and has come to refer to white people, although the literal translation is “fat eater” or “one who eats the fat.” And, that’s exactly what the settlers who came across the plains in the 18^th & 19^th centuries did. They exploited the land, settled on buffalo migratory lands (which was also used by the indigenous people for hunting), and brought with them delights such as smallpox and the poison which still plagues 90% of the Standing Rock Agency’s native population: liquor. From there came broken treaty after broken treaty, herding a proud nomadic culture onto a small patch of barren land (much of which isn’t even Native-owned today). And when resistance to the government’s actions continued there was a systematic destruction of one of North America’s last great mammals: the buffalo. The bison population was nearly wiped out completely, all in an attempt to quell the “savage” Natives who had the audacity to refuse the gracious handouts which were being offered them. It worked: Sitting bull was murdered and the remaining Lakota had little choice but to move onto the agencies/reservations, or face certain death. “As the buffalo goes,” White Mountain explained to us, “so go the Lakota people.”

As we were being educated in the home of Beth & Robert a siren, like those for severe weather, went off at 6pm (“slow time.” The reservation sits just west of the Missouri River, which divides Central and Mountain Time zones. While McLaughlin is technically in Mountain Time many of the Natives go by “fast [/Central] time,” while the whites and governmental agencies go by “slow [/Mountain] time.”

“Don’t worry. There’s no severe weather. That’s just the old curfew siren. One goes off at 6 and another at 10. Back in the day they could shoot an Indian if they were out past that time,” White Mountain explained.

“So why does it still go off?” Heidi wondered.

“Who knows… Probably just nostalgia,” he guessed.

Time after time during our short experience at Standing Rock Agency I was overwhelmed by the conditions faced by its inhabitants. White Mountain is a firm believer that we are all responsible for ourselves, but the fact is these people start out squarely behind the 8-ball. With very little business or industry in the area unemployment runs rampant…somewhere in the area of 85% (contrasted with the statewide unemployment rate of 5.3% in South Dakota.) With so few opportunities many people are forced to take a government handout to survive; this totals about $400/month. (Taking any employment means the loss of this benefit, and with very few FT, well-paying opportunities most people choose to take the monthly check and stay unemployed.) These conditions merely perpetuate a feeling of despair, and a lack of motivation to make a change for the better. Sadly, it really is no wonder that 24 people committed suicide in McLaughlin within 21 days last year.

In the center of town there is an entrepreneurial center, designed to help people create their own small businesses; it often sits empty. Many of the indigenous people have the opportunity to attend classes at Sitting Bull College with no cost to themselves, yet they lack the desire to get educated only to sit at home unemployed afterwards. (In fact, most qualify for an additional stipend upon completion of courses. Previously, the stipend was paid out ahead of time and often wasted on booze.) The fact is that many of us would buckle under the pressures which are faced daily by the Hunkpapa Lakota, along with many other proud nations which have been relegated to small patches of land that also lack the opportunities these United States are known for.

The Natural Law Institute serves as a beacon of hope in an otherwise sad and depressing land. With various (and extremely small) grants the institute has begun a fruit orchard, planting 98 trees last year. A community garden sits empty in the Bear Soldier South housing development, waiting for its occupants to begin reaping what they sow. Another larger garden is situated next to the home which houses the Institute: much of the food will be distributed to the community, either through large meals or for personal use. Additionally, White Mountain had teamed up with animal rights activist Jane Goodall, in an attempt to create a refuge for some of the few remaining genetically pure bison, which roam the plains near Yellowstone. But, with large federal grants going to increasing the police presence, rather than positive community projects, the progress is slow-going.

With the exception of some curious- and bored- neighborhood girls, the majority of the work performed at the Institute is done by White Mountain, his family, and volunteers from outstate. Until the community rallies around this man’s vision The Natural Law Institute will certainly be fighting an uphill battle.

To learn more about the Institute, or to help, please check out http://www.thenaturallawinstitute.com/. Please share this with anyone and everyone you know so we can help put an end to the Indian Wars.

Yellowstone In Pictures

Music: "Scenic World," by Beirut

The Latest From Haiti...via Wyoming

(Note: This is a couple of days old and contains literary nonfiction. That is, the quotes aren't exact but rather an attempt to capture the gist of the conversation.)

The Latest from Haiti, via Wyoming

So, we are spending the evening in Cody, Wyoming at the home of Couchsurfing member Blacktent, otherwise known as Pat. At present, Heidi and I are holed up inside her fifth-wheel travel trailer, which she has set up in her driveway for people of our ilk. She was gracious enough to host us on less than 24 hours notice and, after arriving around 7pm, providing us with some very interesting conversation…some of which I will share with you now.

Pat is in her late fifties and, although her hair is slightly frazzled (as a result of smoking), is an attractive woman with a slender face. (I have little doubt that she had to fend off gaggles of suitors in her earlier days.) She was a traveling nurse who spent more than two decades of her life roaming the world (for leisure), while bouncing from gig to gig in order to support her wanderlust. A little more than ten years ago a contract brought her to this tourism-based town, where she also found love. Sadly, her husband succumbed to colon cancer last summer, leaving the former gypsy of few possessions with a house, barn, four horses and a couple of pickup trucks.

Today Pat is another statistic amongst the ranks of the unemployed, having not worked for a year. She spends her days entertaining weary and wayward Couchsurfers who, no doubt, provide her with some much-needed companionship following the untimely, although not unexpected, death of her husband.

After welcoming us into her home and offering the obligatory drinks, she returns to her roost on the couch, an eclectic mix of music (ranging from Loreena McKennitt to Kenny Rogers) playing quietly in the background. After some polite conversation she begins to feel more at ease with our presence and heads over to the wood-burning stove, where she sits upon a stool and grabs an American Spirit cigarette from the pack on the floor. She cracks the door of the stove ever so slightly, allowing the orange glow to emanate as the fire crackles more audibly.

Pat recently offered to volunteer in Haiti, where she spent two weeks administering aid in camps. Her primary camp had 1,800 residents but the work was slow. “Most of my job was little more than putting on band-aids or changing dressing for those who were seriously injured in the quake. A few amputees were being fitted for prosthetics too.” She goes on to recall that the sounds of the camp were not those of sadness and despair, but children laughing and basketballs bouncing on the hard-packed earth. “You know, they're island people and they just kind of go with the flow.”

As she exhales another drag she recalls the variety and sheer volume of non-Haitians in the country. There are your “do-gooders” (as she called them), the journalists (or those representing themselves as such), and “the Palm Beach types,” with designer suits and fancy wristwatches, eyeing that piece of damaged oceanfront property as a site of a possible five-star resort to be had for a song.

As we continued talking I recalled my time as a journalist, loathing how the slant of some stories was chosen even before the reporter walked out the door, in order to get the true pulse of the people. “There was this one guy shooting a documentary,” she began. “He was kind of a Michael Moore look-alike: middle-aged, not quite as fat, but with that droopy dog-faced look. He was filming a documentary and his focus was the misery of the Haitian people.” This “documentarian” would go into the absolute worst slums of Port-au-Prince in order to find what suited his angle, even if it was in direct contrast to what the majority of the Haitian people were experiencing.

“We were doing really good things at our camp,” she continued, and so they invited this man and his all-female crew over to illustrate what’s going right on the island nation. “Well, he looked around for a minute and didn’t like it, so he left…completely ignoring this side of the story.” Meanwhile, the only misery Pat saw was in the eyes of this man’s crew, sick of being ogled and hit-on by their creepy and lonely employer.

Pat said there were three types of NGO (non-governmental organization) workers present in Haiti. First, were those who enjoyed the nomadic lifestyle, managed to get funding for it and, perhaps, did some good along the way. Next are the overly altruistic and idealistic types, who believe small deeds can change the world. And, lastly, are those like her: just bored and looking for a way to lend a helping hand. Perhaps this is an overly-simplistic categorization of the types of people who offer their services to those in need, but it does cover a majority of them. (I would venture to throw a fourth category in there, which includes the people who are sent by a higher order, believing the only real help they can provide is to convert the heathens.)

“The fact is things aren’t so bad there. At the end of the day there was plenty of beer, and it was cold and cheap, so things had to be pretty good.” Once again, she explained that these were island people…but not just any island people: they were Haitians. For decades, and perhaps centuries, the majority of the nation’s inhabitants had been subjected to, what you and I would consider, destitute living conditions, corrupt governments and sub-standard healthcare. Now, at least, the countryside was teeming with do-gooders taking part in the trendiest of relief efforts, offering bottled water, socks and medicine.

If only someone would start working on a plan to dispose of the plastic bottles, shipped in by the plane load, piling up in the streets amongst the other mounds of trash.

California...and Beyond

It’s been nearly three weeks since I posted one of these things and, needless to say, I have a lot of catching up to do. In that time we have been in Cali most of the time, although we recently cruised through Oregon and are now in Washington. Unfortunately, I haven’t been doing any writing about our journey over the past few weeks, so I will certainly omit some funny or quirky details about the adventure. As for Heidi and I, we continue to persevere. I would be lying if I said it’s all been smooth sailing along the way, but we are still together and our love gets stronger every day. And, we have avoided any sort of domestic violence…and that’s saying something given that we have spent almost the entire past six weeks at each others' side.

Upon crossing into California we came across these giant Imperial Sand Dunes. Only a fraction of them were visible from the highway and I am told they are quite spectacular and reminiscent of a place like Saudi Arabia more so than Cali. We stopped at a rest stop near the dunes for a photo and some lunch. While we were chewing down on our staple of the trip (PB&J) I noticed that a discreetly marked bus at our location was full of prisoners and armed guards escorting them, one by one, to the facilities. It was a bit like a scene from a Nicholas Cage flick, as the prisoners were shackled at the wrists and ankles, and the guards donned Kevlar vests, guns and walkie-talkies.

Along the route from Phoenix to San Diego we encountered a handful of Border Patrol checkpoints. Heidi pointed out that I was quite nervous as we approached each one, although we were always waved through without a question, let alone a second look. (My nervousness stems from a general lack of trust from those in uniform with guns…and a couple of minor run-ins I’ve had with those protecting our borders. I have been stopped at an airport with absinthe and another checkpoint with something else frowned upon by those with the mirrored sunglasses. Although neither incident led to an arrest or citation, I can assure you that I know firsthand each encounter was entered into a database.)

Our first stop in California was in San Diego. We got a room at the Travelodge in La Jolla, just a block from the coast. Although it wasn’t the Ritz, the place was sufficient for our needs and the location was phenomenal. Not only was the beach a stone’s throw away, but we were right down the road from Bentley and Lamborghini dealerships. That being said, we hit up the local tavern on our first night for $2 fish tacos…and they were well worth the price. We spent the next day walking along the coast, enjoying sea lions, pelicans and flora along the way. Although it was a bit chilly for swimming we did manage to lie on the beach for a while and take in some rays as well.

Heidi’s birthday occurred while we were in San Diego, so we had a nice dinner at a seafood joint one night and took in the world-renowned San Diego Zoo on a different day. Although the price of admission is $37 per adult, I would encourage a visit if you can swing the cost. (I actually looked into buying tickets from someone on Craigslist, but my fear of being another naïve tourist who got swindled convinced me to pay full price at the gate.) Not only does the zoo have an exceptional variety of wildlife, including one of only three US zoos with Pandas, but it also works extremely hard on conservation and work to help endangered species. We both had a wonderful time. And, if you do go, check out the bird show. It begins with a video about the condor, which is accompanied by a terrible song on the topic, performed by Alanis Morissette.

The next leg of our time in California brought us to Palm Springs, in all of its mid-century glory. Once the retreat spot for Hollywood movers and shakers, it’s now an eclectic mix of mainly retirees and the GLBT community. Heidi’s former colleague David let us stay in his vacation home, which normally rents out for a nice chunk of change…but we got the place non-gratis! The place was a beautiful little one bedroom job in a very small community of about 20 units. There was a community pool and hot tub, although David, and his partner Larry, have their own hot tub in their little yard! The roof was adorned with Spanish tile, the bathroom had a shower (with two shower heads) and a separate bath tub and every room was decorated with high-end furniture. Needless to say, I felt like Willis from Different Strokes. It was a lovely little retreat and we mainly just relaxed, although we did venture out to Joshua Tree National Park one day.

Joshua Tree NP is a rock climbers’ paradise, but got its name from the Mormon pioneers who, while traveling though the area, thought the trees were reminiscent of the Hebrew general of the same name. (It seems that the Mormons have been a constant theme on this journey, from Nauvoo to Joshua Tree to discussions with Heidi’s aunt Mary to encounters with them in the Redwoods later on in California.) And while Heidi and I did scale a couple of the large boulders we spent most of our time on the trails or in the car, enjoying the scenery. I was amazed by the diversity of flora in the seemingly barren desert. Flowers in hues stretching the spectrum blossomed among cacti while lizards scurried through the sand. It was a beautiful park and I’m glad we stopped. While climbing some of the rocks Heidi twisted her ankle. A little later in the day I tried to scale a very large grouping of boulders only to surrender in the name of safety. (We were ill-equipped for a real climbing adventure and had little more than hiking boots and bandanas.)

Although staying longer at David’s crib in Palm Springs would have been easy to do, there is a lot more country to see, so we headed out for LA after three nights in The Springs. We had no accommodations so, unfortunately, we made another stop at a suburban McDonald’s in order to use their wifi. Since I was unsuccessful in poaching it from the parking lot (and we were both famished) we decided to even dine at the joint for lunch. Well, we were overcharged because the dude didn’t know how to substitute Apple Dippers for fries…and then the stupid wifi wasn’t working. Although it was painfully slow we, eventually, managed to log on and book a room in the Mission Hills area of LA for about $60/night.

To me, Mission Hills seemed like a working-class, heavily Hispanic and Chicano, area of the city. Only later in our time in the city of Angels did I learn that Mission Hills is known as “the valley.” That doesn’t mean that it’s frequented by your stereotypical valley girls (e.g., “Like, Oh My God! Whatevs…are we besties?!?) but rather that the more opulent types up in the hills are looking down on those who live there. Moreover, I was told that the big industry in “the valley” is the adult film industry. So, while Hollywood is down the road there is plenty of moviemaking…and wood…in the valley too!

After a quiet night in the hotel room, preceded by some excellent and inexpensive Thai grub for dinner, we got up at the crack of dawn, in order to score some tickets for the Tonight Show with Jay Leno. While you can reserve tickets online weeks in advance you can also get to the studios and pick up tickets between 8am and 3pm, although they are distributed on a first-come first-served basis and do not guarantee entry. When we arrived at the studio at 7:15am there was only one lonely dude in line. I guess people don’t flock to the studios every morning just to get tickets. Nonetheless, we waited and got ours. The tickets stated that taping was at 4pm and you should be in line at least an hour earlier. We decided 2:30pm would suffice and headed off for Hollywood Blvd.

Hollywood Blvd. is home to the Walk of Fame and is little more than a tourist trap with people selling bus tours, others dressed in costume offering pictures (for a fee) and shops for the stripper in all of us. We parked around 9am in a residential area a few blocks away from the epicenter of activity. A sign posted stated that on Tuesdays (which it was) no parking was allowed between noon and 3pm, due to street cleaning. We figured 3 hours would be more than enough time and took off. Almost immediately after getting onto Hollywood Blvd. a guy approached us about a bus tour. We declined and he offered us a discounted price, stating his boss had walked off so he could hook us up. Again, we turned him down and went our separate ways. A minute later another dude from the same tour company (perhaps the “boss”) crossed the street to offer us the same thing. After stating we weren’t interested he muttered something under his breath about how staring at stars on the sidewalk must be a lot of fun. I replied by stating that being an ass wasn’t a good way to sell tickets. As he crossed the street again he had some more choice words for us, which he said in a hushed voice. We quickly continued down the street, although Heidi wanted to go back and punch the guy!

As we walked along the street we snapped photos of the Chinese Theater, certain stars on the walk and a few other landmarks. Truly, it was rather unimpressive. That being said, it beat being stuck on a bus getting a tour of all the stars homes, where we would see their gates, shrubs and tall privacy walls…all for the bargain-basement price of $50! As we got to Hollywood and Vine we decided to turn around and start heading for the van. Just then I spied a small crowd beginning to gather up the street and suggested we check out the hubbub. A Mexican crew was working on a star while barricades were being set up. Upon closer inspection we saw that the star was that of Julia Louis-Dreyfus, better known as Elaine from Seinfeld. It was 10:30 and we seemed to have a good vantage point of the coming ceremony, so we decided to stay put, hoping it would start at 11am and end in plenty of time for us to get back to the van prior to it being ticketed…or towed.

11am came and went. Camera crews were arriving and the crowd was beginning to swell in size. Another gal in the crowd stated that the ceremony would begin at 11:30am and it was becoming clear that our spot was right in the thick of it. Heidi was committed and not budging, having already burnt the tops of her feet from standing beneath the blazing sun for some time. Being the meticulous (or anal) person I am, I began to think about the van. The last thing I wanted was to get a glimpse of a couple of stars at the expense of a hefty ticket, or worse: getting the van out of impound. I suggested going then and there, in order to find another spot, but Heidi suggested I wait until the stars began to appear. I explained that at 11:45am I would make a break for it. And that’s just what I did. Just as the ceremony began, and Larry David, Jason Alexander, Eric McCormack and Julia had found their spots, I broke through the throngs in order to hurry my ass back to the van. Not only did I miss the unveiling, but I also missed Larry David’s witty quips and Julia’s acceptance speech. While Heidi was taking all of this in, and later being smothered by overzealous autograph-seekers, I was running down Hollywood Blvd, past trannys, beggars and tourists. I arrived at the van at 11:59am, just as the parking cop was starting to issue citations at the next street over. I was exhausted and relieved as I pulled away and nearly mowed down a couple of pedestrians crossing the street. In very Minnesotan fashion, I rolled down my window, apologizing profusely for my actions. When I picked up Heidi she relayed her harrowing tale of being nearly suffocated by the mob and explained “Elaine” would have signed something for her but she had nary a blank sheet of paper, let alone a photo.

Next we grabbed a quick bit to eat at a food stand selling Teriyaki bowls and headed over to NBC studios, in an attempt to get in the Late Show taping with Scarlet Johansson, Frank Caliendo and Michael Bolton. We got in line by about 2pm and were nowhere near the front of the line. The show seats about 350 people every night and we were 141 & 142, so we got seats without a problem, although we ended up being seated in the last row in one of the middle sections. Although I was obnoxious and had a fake smile most of the taping, in an attempt to make it on TV, I don’t think we made the cut. We did have some fun during one of the commercial breaks, however, when the lady from the Late Show band came into the crowd and stuck the mic in our faces to sing “Rolling” during the hook of “Rolling on a River.” I sang falsetto while Heidi took on the baritone role. Good times. The taping itself was rather mundane and Jay seemed uninterested during the commercial breaks.

The following day we went to Beverly Hills and strolled along Rodeo Drive. You know that a store is expensive when they have only four shirts on a rack, and each one is unique. We were too intimidated to walk into Versace, Cartier or Jimmy Choo, and instead chose to snap photos from the sidewalk. I don’t think our REI attire would have got us very far in a shop that has handbags worth more than our van. Our one treat was to have a cupcake from Sprinkles, a trendy little cupcake boutique frequented by the stars, those pitching reality shows and bulimic women with a sweet tooth. My $4 delight was Red Velvet while Heidi had Chocolate Coconut. They were good, but damn: $4 goes a lot farther at Legend’s for Happy Hour. From there we drove down the Sunset Strip and stopped at the Santa Monica Pier, which is the official end of the line for historic Route 66.

That night we hooked up with Ravi and his girlfriend Dea. Ravi and I were in the same cluster in the Peace Corps in Ukraine. He and I were two of five people who got our PC training in Kozelets, Ukraine. As such, I came to be closer with him than most of the other volunteers. He suggested a place for dinner and we had a very nice meal, and they ended up treating us which made it that much sweeter. Ravi is doing well and living with his lady friend, who is a bubbly teacher at an elementary charter school. They seem pretty happy together and she is a great gal. While relaying some of our trip to them they mentioned a place called Crumbs, which is another cupcake boutique. After finishing the meal we raced to Glendale in order to grab a few more sweet treats, in order to give a good comparison. Although slightly more expensive, their cupcakes were bigger and a bit more moist and gooey. (Thanks for the suggestion…and dinner…Ravi & Dea!!)

From LA we headed along the winding Pacific Coast Highway towards San Francisco. Along the way we stopped for a few hours at East Beach in Santa Barbara, purported to be one of the most romantic in the contiguous US. While the water was a tad chilly it was nice to take in some rays and water after hours in the van. We camped for the night at El Capitan State Beach Park, for a whopping $35. I was more than perturbed at the price; although it turns out all CA state parks charge that hefty fee these days. (I guess that’s one way to try and get out of a $40 billion deficit crunch.) Heidi did get a glimpse of a couple of whales, however, while I was sulking over the price and just being generally grouchy.

The following day we camped at Mt. Madonna, a county park which only cost $24. I actually liked the setting there better. Although we didn’t have an ocean view, our site was nestled amongst old growth pines. It was a nice place, but by the time we woke up in the morning our left rear tire was flat, putting yours truly in a tizzy. The previous day we had spring a leak in a 2.5 gallon jug of water in the van, leaving the carpet soaked and the interior musty…and now this! I woke Heidi up and drove, ever so slowly, to a flat spot in the campground so I could change the tire, while other campers looked on as if I were performing for them. Everything worked out just fine and after an hour detour in Gilroy, and one less Andrew Jackson in my pocket, we were on the way to our digs in San Francisco: the Travelodge just outside the airport. It was only $40/night!

Although the joint was a bit dumpy, it was worth $5 more than a campsite to have a cozy bed, hot shower, private toilet and wifi. Besides, it was only our base of operations when we weren’t out exploring the city. I really don’t understand the need to spend $200/night for a place you’re only gonna spend a couple of hours at anyways. Location is important, but not at the expense of our budget.

After checking-in in the late afternoon we rested for a bit, hopped online for a minute and decided to check out Haight-Ashbury for the evening, a neighborhood made famous by its hippy occupants in the late 60s. Today it maintains much of the same vibe, although most of the boutiques and thrift stores cater to the well-to-do visitors rather than the neighborhood residents. Heidi and I spent more than an hour at the Goodwill, trying on different discounted used clothing, only to come away with one tank top for her, at the bargain price of $3.50. We strolled up & down Haight a bit more before stopping into another Thai joint as most of the shops were closing up for the night.

The next day was a day filled with walking and more tourist traps. After finding some free parking in the Russian Hill area we negotiated the steep streets to Chinatown. There we did little more than check out the various shops with fried duck hanging in the windows and more jade than I’ve ever laid eyes on before. We even stumbled upon the fortune cookie factory and got some free samples of the discarded variety, but chose not to snap any pictures there due to a 50 cent surcharge. From there we headed through the Italian district to the Fisherman’s Wharf and the famous Pier 39, a hangout for tourists and sea lions alike.

At Pier 39 we snapped photos of Alcatraz, street performers and the Japanese Kaiwo Maru as it set sail for Hawaii after observing the sesquicentennial of the first Japanese ship to dock in the US. The place is the definition of a tourist trap but was fun nonetheless. We ate a pricy lunch at a café with gorgeous views of both the harbor and the skyline and had a nice meal, despite the subtly condescending waiter who didn’t appreciate the fact we were on a budget, and not splurging for appetizers and mixed drinks. (Although I can be stingy, I believe a 20% tip is customary for good service. This buster got about 14% because of his attitude.)

From there we walked over to Ghirardelli Square for some free chocolate samples and then uphill to the famous Lombard Street. Lombard is known as the curviest street in America and was designed that way so the horse-drawn carriages could negotiate the extremely steep hill without running away. By this time it was late afternoon and we were both exhausted, so we made our way back to the van and sought refuge at the Travelodge.

Our last day in San Francisco was to be spent in Golden Gate Park; however pouring rains precluded us from enjoying most of the outdoor beauty. And, being that it was a Monday, the conservatory was closed. We did manage to visit the Japanese Tea Garden during a break in the rains, and sipped on some Japanese tea while taking in the serenity of the place. From there we attempted to drive through the park, only to repeatedly be pushed back onto residential streets. Eventually we gave up, instead choosing to cross the Golden Gate Bridge and snap some pictures from the other side of the bay. Next, we headed to Berkley to rendezvous with another returned Peace Corps colleague, Alex.

Alex trained in the neighboring town of Oster and, as such, our training groups spent weekends together, so we were all pretty tight. She is a great gal and heading to NYC shortly to Teach for America. She is super-excited for her new gig, I was happy to catch up with her and all three of us were thrilled about her dinner suggestion: an employee owned pizza joint, where we shared a stuffed pie with chicken, spinach and garlic. Yummy! We spent the night at her parents crib in suburban Benicia and just chatted, chilled and gave her cats some love.

Since then we’ve visited Yosemite National Park, driven through the Redwood Forests and to Mt St Helen’s, which, quite literally, blew its lid almost 30 years ago to the day. All of these sites were beautiful in their own right: Yosemite with its sheer-faced granite monoliths, the giant grandeur of the ancient Redwoods and the new life sprouting up in the valleys surrounding the volcano which left hundreds of feet of soot and ash, killing all that existed there when I was in diapers. I could certainly write more about each of these beautiful places but this blog is getting extremely long and I just want to get it posted, so sorry…

Today we spent the morning at Pikes Public Market in downtown Seattle. You have probably seen images of people tossing fish at the market before. While we caught a glimpse of one such transaction, most people were just standing by waiting to snap such a photo, rather than actually buying the fish. And, I can’t blame them: it was some expensive seafood! The highlight of the market today was a free cheese festival, with so many samples that I probably ate half a pound of cheese (and will likely be bound up for a while as a result.) We also had some delicious Russian meat-filled pastries at Piroshky Piroshky for a very good price.

Thus far, I would say Seattle is the busking capitol of the US. That’s where someone does something entertaining in the street for nothing but tips. Thus far we have seen people performing card tricks, juggling, tap dancing and jamming on the guitar. There was even some dude, known as the cat-whisperer, who really just looked like a freak to me, but is, supposedly, running a shelter for homeless cats.

Our plan is to spend tomorrow in Seattle as well, before heading up to Vancouver, BC and then start going east, into Montana and beyond. I apologize that it’s been nearly three weeks since my last post and will try to make this a more frequent phenomenon.

Arizona: The Grand Canyon & Beyond

As we packed up and prepared to head out from a lovely stay in Albuquerque, our great host left us with a few parting suggestions. First, we should take Central west, as this followed the Old Route 66 (and eventually hooked up with the Interstate), and one could get a glimpse of some roadside attractions of days gone by. Secondly, he suggested we check out Pro Ranch Market to pick up some edibles for our upcoming days of camping. Lastly, he said we just had to check out Acoma, otherwise known as the Sky City. It is one of the oldest continuously inhabited settlements in all of North America. Sadly, not all of his suggestions panned out.

Just a short ways down Central, we arrived at Pro Ranch Market. What a trip. Picture your standard grocery supermarket (e.g. Cub Foods) taken over by our friends south of the border. Inside was a bevy of sights and smells not commonly seen in the gringo grocers: Tejano music playing from the speakers, colorful sweetbreads, large clear vats of juice drinks which ran the spectrum of flavors, piles of chiles and even piñatas and streamers hanging down from the ceiling! It really was quite a remarkable sight. And while most of the clientele were of the Spanish-speaking variety, never did we feel uncomfortable or unwelcomed. Being a foodie-in-training, Heidi was immediately in a state of euphoria which has been nearly unmatched along our journey thus far. When I started to get a little perturbed at her loitering in the produce section, among jamaica and tamarind, she equated it to my love of unique architecture, and I understood…if only a little.

Upon leaving the Pro Ranch Market experience, which was quite fun and highly recommended, we continued down Central, or old Route 66. It was rather unimpressive, as the old motor lodges were sparsely dotted in amongst the corporate-run fast-food joints and mini-markets. I planned to stop to fill up the van, and Heidi mentioned that she had to go, so we started looking for a place to accommodate both needs. I pulled into a Shell Station and started fueling the machine, while Heidi ran inside. Seconds later, she came out and her antsy dance moves suggested she hadn’t taken care of business: both restrooms were out of order! How convenient. There was a fast food joint just across the lot and I suggested she scurry over there. Again, she came back unsatisfied. This time a large sign on the door stated only customers were invited onto their porcelain thrones, and she didn’t bring any cash with her. We hopped in the van and drove over to the Smith’s Supermarket just across the asphalt prairie. As if the gods had frowned upon her bladder, she came out again. The ladies’ room was being cleaned, and therefore, was closed! Would this be the debut of our just-in-case pee bucket? I spied a Taco Bell across Central and we headed over. I drove right through a throng of teens, washing cars in some sort of fundraiser, on a mission to get Heidi to a toilet. Jesus finally heard her prayers and answered them. Although the Taco Bell restroom was also only for customers, a young employee named Jesus assisted Heidi, by handing over the key. Sweet relief! (I am much luckier than her, as I packed away a special pee bottle, which has already been used on a few occasions. Why go through the hassle of searching for a toilet, when I can just pull over and take care of business?)

I was excited about Bob’s suggestion of Acoma, the Sky City, so we made the 20-mile detour off of I-40. I’m sure the tribe sees a lot more visitors at the casino than the historic pueblo village atop a mesa, but I preferred the latter. Sadly, we pulled into the lot of the visitors’ center just minutes after the last tour left at 3pm. Furthermore, the place was a jip and we wouldn’t have paid anyways. It was $20 each to go up onto the mesa and an extra $10 per camera! We’re on a budget and blowing $50 on an hour tour is not the way to make it a year on a shoestring. Besides, one could see just a small portion of the village from ground level and much of it looked modernized, as people live there to this day…further eroding the appeal of the place. I apologized for the detour and we headed back on I-40, en route to Holbrook, AZ.

I was exhausted so Heidi took the wheel and I snoozed out. She woke me at 5pm, when we pulled in to the gates of the Petrified Forest. As the park was closing an hour later, I suggested we head into town and hit the National Park the next morning, prior to driving towards the big daddy of AZ attractions: the Grand Canyon.

Holbrook is home to one of the few wigwam motels in the country and we considered staying in one of the concrete structures, as Heidi’s pop had suggested it. We decided the cost wasn’t worth the experience and merely snapped a photo of the place before pulling into the OK RV Park, where $25 got us electricity, hot showers, muffins in the morning, wifi and a manager all too eager to suggest myriad things for us to try. Don’t get me wrong: he was a real nice chap…but you gotta wonder if the man ever gets to talk to anyone with the way he spoke to us. That being said, it was much better than the alternative. We prepared a simple dinner and had a little “me” time, placing a black curtain in the middle of the van so Heidi could read in silence while I watched “No Country for Old Men.” Truth be told, we probably both need a little more “me” time, as we’re getting plenty of “us” time.

The next morning we pulled into the Petrified Forest National Park and were notified that our visit was free, as it was National Parks week. So, we got to forego the $25 entry fee! The park consists of two parts: the Painted Desert and the Petrified Forest. The park is set along a 28-mile road, with some spots to pull over and even a few short trails to hike. The Painted Desert is a series of geologic anomalies that cause different bands of color throughout. Meanwhile, the Petrified Forest consists of ancient downed trees, which spent thousands of years buried among sand and sediment, allowing them to become petrified, producing some beautiful semi-precious stones within their rings. Sadly, exploitation has left the Petrified Forest almost bare, and Park Rangers report that 10% of the visitors steal a ton of rock every MONTH! It really is sad that such a national treasure disintegrate before our very eyes, especially when private businesses peddle the same rock, harvested from private lands, at a very reasonable cost. Some say there is a curse associated with pilfering the petrified goods, and thus a conscience pile of returned petrified rocks has grown over the decades, accompanied by letters of those apologetic for their earlier actions.

From the Petrified Forest we headed to Flagstaff and then further north, towards the Grand Canyon. As we climbed in elevation the scenery changed dramatically, from barren desert to a seemingly alpine setting in the San Francisco Mountains, complete with thick groves of pine and birch. The drive was simply breathtaking. We stopped in Tusayan, just miles from the gates of the park, and ate an overpriced meal that left much to be desired. From there, we retreated a couple of miles and into the heart of the Kaibab National Forest, for our first night of dispersed camping. We took a forest road into the forest, and followed a couple of turn offs before stopping at a place that was secluded from both man and machine. It seemed as if we had the entire forest to ourselves! We played a little catch until the sun began to hide it bright rays amongst the trees to the west.

Dispersed camping essentially means you just set up shop wherever you please, and leave no trace behind upon leaving. As such, there are no toilets or running water. I made sure to clear my bowels prior to heading into the forest, because I had little desire to dig a hole for my business, but it didn’t work out so well for me. Since I neglected to pack a shovel, I grabbed a plastic automotive funnel and used it to move the softened red dirt, in order to make a depository…of sorts. Everything worked splendidly, although such practices make one even more grateful of modern plumbing, or even pit toilets for that matter. Although Heidi didn’t get the pleasure of trench pooping, she did have to go #1 after it was pitch black outside, and got a little freaked out when she opened the door of the van, only to hear something scurry away from only feet beyond. We turned on the headlights but were unsuccessful in spotting the creepy critter.

The next morning we went to the Grand Canyon. Despite the free admission I expected the park to b relatively empty, given the fact that it was a Monday in mid-April. Luckily, I was right. But relatively empty at the Grand Canyon is packed for most National Parks. License plates from nearly all 50 states in the union already filled a number of lots by the time we arrived in the late morning. Beyond that, thousands of tourists sleep within the park every night, camping, RVing, or staying in one of the many guest lodges available for those who plan months in advance.

As for the Canyon itself, it is a breathtaking site and no picture will ever truly do it justice. Standing along the south rim, staring for miles into the gorges which drop thousands of feet, you really get a sense of just how massive the place is, and how inconsequential we all seem. We took a leisurely stroll for a few miles along the south rim of the canyon, prior to feasting on a fantastic lunch in the Arizona Room of one of the lodges in the Village. For the more adventurous hikers, you can take an entire day negotiating steep switchbacks down to the bottom of the canyon. I am sure that the view from below must be just as incredible, although with temperatures 25-30 degrees warmer, it could also become unbearable. I expect to return many more times, in order to try the trickier trails and, perhaps someday, share the experience with some rug rats of my own.

Since we hadn’t had the opportunity to shower that morning, we were gonna find a relatively cheap motel to bed down for the night, but only after getting started on our way to Tucson, our next stop. I feared that any place near the Canyon would be pricey and didn’t want to fork over the extra cash. So, we drove for hours before stopping in Camp Verde and checking out a hotel attached to a Native American casino and a Super 8. They ranged from $65-81 and I wasn’t willing to pay it, especially pulling in at 7pm. Quite frankly, I can be a bit frugal at times and if we’re gonna pay for a room I want to check in at the earliest possible time and take full advantage of all the amenities offered. Frustrated, I handed the keys over to Heidi, who suggested trying a campground or RV park. We stopped at one of each, only to leave frustrated both at the situation and one another. I took the wheel and resolved to drive straight through to Tucson, where we could crash with my sister an extra night.

The path we chose took us through mountainous national forests and as the light dissipated the drive became more nerve-wracking. By about 9 or 10pm we arrived in the hamlet of Payson, a fair-sized town complete with a Wal-Mart supercenter and a Home Depot. (Clearly, corporate America had found its way into small-town Arizona.) There, Heidi and I discussed our options rather passionately. I wanted to drive straight through, while she desperately wanted to stop for the night. Again, I had no desire to get a motel that late in the night, so I ended the discussion by pulling into the Wal-Mart and pulling the blinds. I made a basic meal and lay down for the night, while Heidi got some air…flustered with my decision, and feeling like our large van had become something of a holding cell.

The drive fro Payson to Tucson the next morning took us through Tonto National Forest and Roosevelt Lake. Again, the scenery was beautiful and I am amazed by the natural beauty and varied ecosystems which abound in Arizona.

We got to Tucson in the late afternoon and I suggested we use up some KFC gift certificates we received from my sister Margaret prior to beginning this adventure. I had to try the new Double Down sandwich, which consists of two unnaturally large chicken breasts (in lieu of a bun), with pepper jack and bacon in the middle. Quite frankly, it was a little much, but I did manage to scarf most of it down.

Next we drove through the Saguaro National Park, in order to get to my elder sister’s home on the outskirts of town. She wasn’t expecting us until later in the week, but we arrived in town a little early and I figured they’d let us crash for the night, and they obliged.

As we followed the last of Tom’s directions and rounded the corner of one dirt road onto another, there he was: a fifty-something man with a grey mohawk, aided with a cane and armed with a pistol on his hip. He guided us into our parking spot and quickly greeted us with a tour of their estate. They have an acre of land, on which a double-wide trailer sits. In one corner of the property is a coop, complete with a number of chickens and one rooster. There is a mini-semi trailer (for use as storage) on the lot, my old 1968 AMC Ambassador (which they now own) hiding beneath a tattered cover and a large solar panel in another corner of the property, which generates enough electricity (during the day) to sell some back to the power company. They are well on their way to off-the-grid living, although I suspect water is a resource hard to come by in the AZ desert, without the assistance of some sort of municipal system.

Margaret and Tom have three rescue dogs, and they rule the roost. There is Cookie, a quiet yet friendly Australian Shepherd dog with haunting eyes. There is Spike, a little multi-colored beast that yaps ad nauseum, and Ziggy, a three-legged bitch with an abundance of energy and, occasionally, a lack of balance.

Once we arrived at their pad we took some much needed showers (48 hours+ of dirt accumulation), used their wifi and otherwise just relaxed. Tom prepared a great stir fry meal and some extra chocolate brownies. (I suspect the brownies were an attempt to win Heidi over. Regardless, it worked).

The next few days were spent with Heidi’s maternal uncle Jim, and his wife Mary. They are a very youthful couple, but spend the winters in a retirement community in Tucson. They certainly didn’t act the part of their neighbors. After introductions and some storytelling, Jim and Mary took us on a nice rigorous walk through the Saguaro desert, pointing out the different types of cacti and exchanging more stories.

Jim really is a fascinating man and I must admit I have a bit of a man crush. He has been self-employed most of his life and seems to be doing what he enjoys, and he is successful at it too. Mary entered his life a little later than in a traditional marriage, but that only fits in with the bond they have. They are an unconventional couple and not only play, but also work together. In less than a month Heidi and I have already come to the realization that the amount of time we share together can be a bit overwhelming…yet they have been doing, essentially, the same thing for more than two decades. Currently, they spend the summer months tending to a campground and resort in Darby, MT while they spend the other half of the year raveling and kicking it in Tucson. I really enjoyed our time with them and they even sent us to the Desert Museum, which is definitely a must-see if you are ever in the Tucson area. (There you can find native flora, fauna and minerals of the area. An aviary and other exhibits allow you to really get close and interact with the ecosystem.)

While staying with them Mary prepared some excellent dinners, while Jim whipped up a lovely breakfast consisting of blueberry Belgian waffles. I am definitely looking forward to reconnecting with them in Darby for some biking and other outdoor activities. After parting ways, so they could get moving back towards Montana, we rolled back over to my sister’s house. She and Tom brought us to Sabino Canyon, where we took a tram along the bottom of the formation. Our driver was full of information, but seemed a bit out of place with his NYC accent. It was a nice little outing. Of course, Tom whipped up another nice meal (and more brownies) before we hit they hay and prepared for our drive to Phoenix.

We drove to Phoenix on Saturday and hooked up with Heidi’s paternal Uncle Jim and his wife, Vicki. They are another awesome couple and have a beautiful little home in Tempe. They really have the feng shui working well and the house seems lived in yet not cluttered. It is both functional and fashionable. I can only hope that some day I will have a little sanctuary half as perfect as theirs. (That being said, I cannot fathom the upkeep of such a beautiful little crib.)

On Saturday we went out to eat with Jim, Vicki, Heidi’s sis Amy (who flew in from Minneapolis) and Jim’s son Landon. We feasted on some fabulous Mexican cuisine in Scottsdale. While waiting for the restroom, I was reading a review of the joint that berated the typical Mexican spots, where beans, cheese and sauces just drown the food and create a mediocre soup that passes for authentic. While these guys at Los Sombreros do it right and my Pork was some divine melt-in-your mouth stuff. Meanwhile, Heidi had a chicken in mole sauce which was equally exquisite. That being said, I’m grateful Jim treated us, as meals hovered around $20/plate and that’s a quick way to destroy our budget.

We spent Sunday separately, which was probably way overdue. Heidi just lounged around with her big sister, while I went out and exuded some testosterone with my buddy Graham, who also flew in, and our friend Brad, who just moved back down to PHX. We went to the Tonto Forest where we hooked up with a couple of other guys for some rock crawling. Essentially, we piled into four-wheelers and spent the afternoon either crawling treacherous hillsides at a snails pace, or racing through sandy creek beds, taking turns at heart-pounding speeds. All in all, we were out there for about 5 hours and it was a blast…not to mention a welcome respite from three weeks joined at the hip with the love of my life. (Don’t get me wrong: Heidi is the bomb diggity…but we still get on each others’ nerves at times.) Later in the night, after Amy headed home, we hooked up with the boys again for a late dinner. It was great seeing Graham and I’m glad we got to connect while he was here.

We spent Monday in Sedona, a town surrounded by beautiful red rock formations, but overrun by tourists and those waiting to prey on them. With Jeep tours, psychics on every corner and 4-star resorts dotting the hillsides, the place has lost some of the charm that I am sure existed two decades earlier. That being said, we had a nice time hiking a fairly tough trail under the mid-day sun and then grabbed a bite to eat in town. On the way back to PHX we took the long route, through Jerome. It’s an old mining town along a mountainside. Heidi wasn’t too impressed, but I enjoyed the scenery, both natural and otherwise.

Today is Heidi’s birthday and we drove all day to La Jolla, just outside of San Diego. We just got here and will be spending the next two nights near the beach, before heading to Palm Springs and a free stay at a beautiful home!!! Woot woot!

Kitschy Route 66

The saga continues: The windshield started leaking again! As we were driving near Amarillo, Texas the other day the heavens opened up and liquid manna poured from above. Not long afterwards a slow, albeit VERY annoying, “drip, drip, drip” started coming in from the site of the leak mentioned in previous blogs. I spent the next few minutes swearing, cursing the windshield repair industry and wondering if we’d have to cope with this for the remainder of our journey. I decided we’d have to grin and bear it, at least for the time being, and hopped back on the interstate, towards the infamous Cadillac Ranch along Historic Route 66. After enjoying the landmark, and snapping a few future works of art, I went back to inspecting the van, in search of the source of our leak…and, by George, I think I found it! There are two pinch welds along the top seal of the windshield, and the one over the passenger side developed a gap, causing a slight bit of rust, and most likely allowing water to seep in, finding refuge in the vehicle’s interior. I convinced Heidi to humor me and she feigned agreement with my diagnosis. At that point I decided we’d fill the gap with some sealant, when we next got to an auto parts store. In the meantime, I filled the gap with a piece of gum Heidi was about to discard. It seems to be doing the trick, but we’ll have to wait for the next significant rainfall to really test things out.

As for the rest of the adventure…

After leaving Tulsa we headed out for Keystone State Park, on the outskirts of the city. First, we stopped at K-Mart (yuk!) and a local grocery store, in order to buy a few necessities for our camp outing. Both places affirmed not only our geographical position, but a number of stereotypes about Southerners and rednecks. In the same breath, I’m sure we provided some entertainment for some of the folks we interacted with. I can just picture them impersonating characters from the movie “Fargo” after we got out of earshot.

We had to find State Highway 51 in order to get to Keystone State Park. And while we followed the appropriate road signs we seemed to never find the place and headed for Walnut Creek State Park instead, only about 20 miles from where we were. On the way there I pulled into a little country gas station, touting an upcoming Catfish Festival with a banner on the side of the building. As we pulled in a twenty-something man, likely with two first names (e.g. Bobby Joe, Jimmy Lee, etc.) hopped into his 80’s Chevy pickup and cranked up the country music as he sped away, spraying gravel in his tracks. Yes, we had arrived in a part of America were I would not feel comfortable with any additional pigment in my epidermis.

Our campsite was situated yards from the shore of a beautiful lake, and the sun was setting in the west, providing beautiful scenery as we set up camp while Heidi prepared dinner. We feasted on some chicken sausages, baked beans and mixed vegetables. Unlike some of the commercial campsites we had stayed at, we were far from any other campers, and could only see one other family about a quarter mile away.

The next morning we headed for Oklahoma City. For the first time I let Heidi take the wheel and she did an admiral job. Sometimes it’s kinda hard for me to let go and, quite frankly, part of the reason I handed her the keys is because we were having a pretty heated argument the night before, and it carried into the morning, so I wanted to extend this offer as a sort of olive branch. Like I said, she did a great job driving and I spent a majority of the drive sleeping and just being a relaxed passenger.

Upon arriving in Oklahoma City we visited the Oklahoma City National Memorial, the site of a domestic terrorist attack in 1995, which caused the deaths of 168 men, women and children. Walking among those hallowed grounds was a sobering experience. There are 168 empty chairs on the grounds (representing those lost in the attack), the Gates of Time, a Survivors Wall, the Survivor Tree (an oak which withstood the blast), a Children’s Area (adorned with some of the thousands of hand-painted tiles which were sent in by students following the tragedy), and an orchard for the rescuers. The entire memorial was thoughtfully designed and left one feeling somber, yet resilient. This is indeed an incredible nation and I am proud to be a citizen of the greatest country on earth.

After leaving the memorial we walked over to a nearby park and just enjoyed the weather for a while. We decided to get a hotel for the first time on the trip, and spent the better part of the next hour searching for wifi to steal, so we could book a cheap room. We ended up at the Baymont Inn on the Southside of town. The room was nothing special, but certainly a welcomed retreat away from the van, which we have spent a LOT of time in.

For dinner we went to Chelino’s Mexican Restaurant and were waited on by Juan, who I suspect to be the proprietor. He was an extremely friendly man, nearing the age of retirement (although I imagine he’ll be working well beyond that) and had a slight limp. As Heidi pointed out, he was your stereotypical proprietor of a family-run Mexican joint. All of the locals, gringos and Mexicans alike, knew him by name and he engaged each and every one of them in genuine conversation. He really was the highlight of the meal, although the food was delightful. When we were ready to go he was sitting at another customer’s table and just told us we could leave the money on our table, and to have a great night.

We checked out of our room precisely at 11am and headed further west, for Amarillo, TX. Along the way we stopped at a gas station to use the restrooms and a gaggle of good ole boys were gathered near the back of the station and pointed us in the direction of the relief we both sought. Upon coming out I was greeted by the patriarch of the group: “Where ya from…friend?” I explained our journey and we exchanged some polite conversation, prior to me wishing them a wonderful day. The conversation concluded with the leader saying, “You sure got a pretty daughter.” Heidi was a bit creeped out by this comment but I explained it was merely southern hospitality.

We arrived in Amarillo in the late afternoon and checked out the Cadillac Ranch, an icon of the Old Route 66. In 1974 a local man, along with an artist’s cooperative, assembled 10 old Cadillacs, from 1949 to 1963, and partially buried them into the ground. Today they are covered in graffiti and the grounds are littered with spray paint cans. The site we visited is actually about 2 miles west of the original location, as development forced the creator to move his work of art in 1997. This was one of a number of landmarks we passed along the way, including a leaning water tower and, possibly, the largest cross in the Western Hemisphere, towering some 19 stories.


We were gonna spend the night in Amarillo, but I wanted to arrive in Albuquerque (the following day) at a decent hour and proposed we continue west, and sleep at a rest area in New Mexico, near the town of Tucumcari. When we neared the rest area a road sign informed us that it was closed, and we’d have to proceed another 85 miles west to the next operational facility. First we stopped in Tucumcari for some dinner at a kitschy Route 66 diner called Del’s. I enjoyed smothered chicken and Heidi took in the all-you-can-eat salad bar. The food was good, although nothing to rave about.

We continued west, through off-and-on desert thunderstorms and finally pulled in to the rest stop near Santa Rosa, NM around 10pm local time. There we picked a spot, away from the lights and other slumbering motorists and made camp (in the van) for the night. When we woke up the temperature had dropped considerably. I made some oatmeal for us, and proceeded to ruin our little camping skillet, as I neglected to use any spray on the bottom. I guess I just thought if something was considered non-stick it didn’t require a non-stick additive. Well, the coating has started to flake off and continued use will add some unwanted ingredients in our meals.

We got to Albuquerque around noon and I took Heidi to Frontier restaurant, a must-see eatery right on the campus of the University of New Mexico. I visited the joint once before, on a previous trip to the city, but wasn’t sure if I could find it again, as our USA tour book neglected to mention this place! A little before giving up we happened upon the establishment and Heidi ordered huevos rancheros with green chili (a New Mexican staple), while I had the Frontier Burrito. The food was great and, to my delight, Heidi savored every last bite.

Next we went and explored Old Town, a historic part of Albuquerque, which is much as it was more than a century ago. When the railroad came into town it ran about a mile east of Old Town, leading the way to a new town center. As such, Old Town is a charming walk back in time, although now it is little more than a tourist trap with overpriced works of art and scammers preying on unsuspecting tourists. The historic church in Old Town was gorgeous and we had a great chat with one of the photographers from a local cooperative, called the Albuquerque Photographer’s Gallery.

We spent the night with Bob Tilley,
a fellow member of Couchsurfing. If you haven’t heard about it, you are missing out. Couchsurfing is a social networking site where open-minded folks open their homes to weary travelers in need of a cheap place to stay. Beyond that, it gives travelers the opportunity to spend time with, and learn from, a local. You certainly can’t find all the good stuff there is to know about a town from a guide book.

I know that some of you are thinking this is a crazy concept and must wonder if I am worried about being held hostage and murdered by some ex-con with a thirst for blood. Well, Couchsurfers have the opportunity to post feedback on other peoples’ profiles, so if someone doesn’t have good feedback you simply don’t stay with them. Bob, on the other hand, has been an extremely accommodating and gracious host and I am grateful that he took us in on such short notice. He is in his mid-40s and always wanted his home to be a gathering place, rather than a sanctuary, and Couchsurfing is helping him accomplish that goal. (In return for the home stay there is an unspoken rule that one should bring a gift, take the host out for a meal, or something similar).

We treated Bob to dinner at a relatively upscale pizzeria, similar to Punch back home. The three of us split two pies which had ingredients not found at Papa John’s. The food was wonderful and we spoke about travel, Albuquerque, and Bob’s life, all while taking in the al fresco experience on the patio. Afterwards, he took us on an extensive evening tour of the downtown area, walking us through historic buildings (that are now trendy bars, coffee shops, etc.) and sharing a history of the town which was more comprehensive than any book on the subject. I really enjoyed the history lesson and there was definitely a glimmer in his eye as he shared his wealth of knowledge with us.

Day two of Albuquerque started out slowly. We did laundry and hung around the house, sans Bob, until the early afternoon. When we finally got motivated, Heidi and I headed out to the Petroglyphs on the western edge of town. The Petroglyphs are, essentially, the ancient graffiti of the indigenous people who roamed this land well before the Anglos came in with their alcohol, smallpox and “civilized” ways. Sadly, some of our modern-day peers, with little regard to ancient history, have marred the beauty with graffiti of their own. Perhaps one day “Steve loves Dorene” will be looked at by anthropologists as an important contribution to our culture, but for the time being it just seems asinine and disrespectful to me.

We attempted to check out a touted coffeehouse for a very late lunch, but the doors to Barela’s were closed when we got there. We turned around and walked more than a mile in the hot midday sun, before stopping at a Chinese Noodle Restaurant which had no patrons dining prior to our arrival. The food was good, although nothing spectacular. That being said, I ordered a pretty mundane meal: Sweet & Sour Stir-fry. Heidi, on the other hand, ordered some sort of soup which had a phenomenal broth that included coconut milk, lemongrass and chili. Mmm Mmm Good!

Tomorrow we’re gonna head towards the Grand Canyon. We’ve changed the itinerary a few times along the way, thus far, and if you know me I’m not a big fan of straying from the pre-planned path. As such, it’s lead to some growing pains between my companion and I, but we continue to persevere, while growing together.