Category: Uncategorized (Page 11 of 12)

Late post—the Upper Peninsula is not renowned for its cellular service. I figure this’ll happen with increasing frequency once I cross the Mississippi.

Rain in the morning. I cleaned and drove through nondescript western Michigan in a sullen mood. I put on my Hampstead Hawks sweatshirt (three-time defending baseball champs!) and I felt better.

I stopped in Traverse City at the recommendation of my Food Tome and stopped at Don’s Drive-In, which had indoor seating. I ordered an Atomic Burger with nuclear red sauce and a vanilla milkshake that took so much effort to suck through the straw, I may have broken even calorically. Burgers here come with both fries and coleslaw, which is nice. Good food, but hardly one of the best 1,000 roadside restaurants in the country. I’ll keep looking.

Up onto US-31 and across the Mackinac Bridge. This five-mile bridge is the longest suspension bridge in the Western Hemisphere, and the state opens it up every Labor Day to pedestrians.

The rest of the day was an absolute treat. The first fifteen miles of US-2 along the northern shore of Lake Michigan was my favorite piece of driving so far. Low traffic and beautiful, easygoing views alternating between sand dunes and forests. At some points, the water looked almost tropical. I kept driving, west and then north, and arrived at the back end of Pictured Rocks National Lakeshore. I have a stamp collection now from all of the National Park sites, so I’m pretty much locked in at this point.

This place is an absolute treasure. I hiked one two-mile trail, without significant exertion, and was rewarded with:

• A stroll alongside a creek where I saw flashes of two large wading birds. They looked like blue herons—if they nest up here, I bet it was them.
• A close-up view of Sable Falls, with two twenty-foot cascades.
• A climb onto a hundred-foot-tall sand dune that had swallowed part of the coastal forest
• A secluded beach on the shore of Lake Superior. I saw very few people during my hike, and I was the only person here for the fifteen minutes I spent admiring the scenery.

Tomorrow, I will continue to explore Pictures Rocks, and I may have to expand my food budget. Every “restaurant” around here advertises their smoked fish, pasties, and beef jerky, so I will of course have to try some of each. 

I saw as many animals this morning driving back to the main road as I did all last week. I slalomed through squirrels, cats, dogs, chickens, and a horse over one two-mile stretch of road. They disappeared once I was on the highway, and I passed through about twenty Hawkins, Indianas as I skirted around the east side of Indianapolis. I’ve been listening to all sorts of podcasts and music as I travel, and for some reason I felt like Woody Guthrie today. The original anti-fascist, according to his guitar. I learned the first two verses of “This Land Is Your Land” in first grade, and certainly did not learn the fourth verse (which has been mostly scrubbed from the Internet too) or any of his more pointed songs. I’ll link the original version here:

I drove through Alexandria, home of the Gaither Vocal Band, and stopped for lunch in Huntington, home of Dan Quayle. Mom and Dad bought me a book on the best small, cheap restaurants in America, and Nick’s Kitchen was highly recommended. I ordered the house special, a pork tenderloin sandwich, and was presented with a fried slab of meat roughly the size of my hat. Add in a slice of pecan pie, and it was the best meal I’ve had so far.

I left town before Quayle rubbed off on me and began the long trip north to Manistee National Forest in Michigan, dodging an absolute shellacking of horse poop from horses and buggies along the way. I’m parked in Paw Paw, MI right now, about to make the last leg of my trip. See you tomorrow.

A light day today. Planning on a long drive up the coast of Michigan tomorrow, so I saved my energy. I started off with a trip to the local Walmart to buy a new toothbrush. While Walmart is a horrifying momument to our current post-capitalist economic hellscape, I did enjoy its restroom and parking lot. The thrill of liminal spaces! Sitting in a parked car or on the toilet, all ready to leave, and reveling in the ability to stay—that’s true freedom.

My activity for the day was a trip to the Lincoln Boyhood National Memorial, which stands where the president lived between ages seven and twenty-one. It’s right next to the town of Santa Claus, which is jockeying with Frog Level, VA for Best Town Name To Date. The town is exactly as you would expect.

I appreciated the Memorial. Not worth vacationing to, but well-paced, and a solid hour’s worth of quality programming. The trails through the old Lincoln farm were filled with life, and I saw a beautiful blue-gray gnatcatcher flittering across a meadow. The log cabin in which he used to live is long gone, but the park has erected a bronze replica of the house’s hearth. Best of all—my hour was free.

I kept north through Indiana, with a quick jog east to pass through French Lick, the home of Larry Bird, at Uncle Dave’s suggestion. (One of my greatest blessings is that I’m on the Dave Zabriskie email chain, which is exponentially more entertaining than this blog.) Some suburban sprawl from Indianapolis, some pretty hardwood forests of oak and hickory. I parked early at a free campsite inside Hoosier National Forest, only to find it trashed. Chip bags, eggshells, cigarette cartons, even bullet casings. I’ll have to get some clean-up supplies for the future. I spent time reading, writing, and practicing the trombone, which must have rang for miles through the trees. I was able to relax for the first extended time on the trip. I’ll make sure to plan more days like this.

Goodbye, Corbin, Kentucky. I won’t miss you.

The two-hour drive to Mammoth Cave National Park felt quick. Maybe it’s because I crossed into the Central time zone and gained an hour along the way. I expected Cave City to be a quiet town, and was quite surprised to discover that it’s a grade-A tourist trap. Lining the road are billboards for half a dozen privately owned caves, gemstone shops, zip lines, horseback riding, outlaw museums, dinosaur replicas, etc., with occasional dashes of cultural insensitivity and blatant copyright infringement. Jellystone is also in Cave City.

I went on two cave tours today. Minimal pictures, since I had limited time to drink in my surroundings. Both were led completely by lantern light, which I deliberately chose instead of electrically-lit tours. First was the Great Onyx Cave, which featured some pretty formations and gypsum outcroppings, but I found it hard to concentrate due to the lack of respect of other tourists—walking off the path, using forbidden flash photography, and talking over the rangers. I am the Cave Karen, and I decree that no Croc-wearers shall be allowed to enter.

The Violet City tour was more strenuous, and I think it weeded out the lame-os. This group was small and focused as we hiked through Mammoth Cave proper, in awe of the 50-foot ceilings and layers of history left by Native Americans, slaves, and New Deal workers. Pictures cannot do justice to the feeling that your world blends to darkness beyond your lamp light. If you go to Mammoth Cave, take this tour.

Another two hours and I crossed the Ohio River into Indiana, stopping to eat dinner at an old-fashioned drive-in. The sun set. A stray cat walked the parking lot. Today was a good day.

Actually, late day 4. Gotcha! I pushed my luck and parked for the night fairly close to the main road. Around 11:30, just as I was finally falling asleep, I got the bright headlights/brighter flashlight combo. Police officer. Someone had called my car in as abandoned, and once he saw me everything was fine. Life is easier as a white male—I wouldn’t be traveling alone otherwise. I wish the world were a more equal place, and that everyone would be given such respect.

I started today along the Blue Ridge Parkway again. The fog was insidious and slowly crept in until I could barely see 30 feet in front of me. The only wildlife I saw was a long, brown dog, cheerfully walking toward cars on the road. The guide at the visitor center said it was probably an escaped hunting dog and sent a ranger to track it down.

The Parkway was closed at Roanoke, so I exited and was ejected onto the interstate. I was disappointed until I saw a magical sign on the freeway: Exit 6, Dr. Pepper Park. Interrobang. I could not wait to find Hershey Park’s long-lost, awful-tasting cousin. Instead, five minutes away, I found this.

The world’s saddest outdoor stage. How is this sponsored? Is this the best Dr. Pepper can do?

Disappointment turned to temptation as my path west took me to a mid-size city staple: a street with every chain restaurant imaginable. I could write a thousand words on this, but I’ll keep it quick. Yes, I prefer high-quality local restaurants and home-cooked meals. I still love chain restaurants. They’re almost like manmade species—after searching for bears and deer at Shenandoah yesterday, I was now on the hunt to find an elusive Cookout or Jack-in-the-Box. I did find a Cookout about an hour later and very much enjoyed my stop.

The pointy part of Virginia is naturally pretty, but is filled with gray remnants of civilization. Sagging, abandoned buildings; big rig cabs consumed by vines; a state prison. However, once I arrived at the westernmost edge, the landscape shifted, and I was surrounded by twenty-foot hills completely covered with gorgeous green vines. No pictures, since it was all highway, but a great backdrop as I swung through Tennessee and arrived in southern Kentucky. I have a hotel room for the night, since it may thunder here. Tomorrow, I visit Mammoth Cave!

What a damp, muggy morning—perfect for hiking! I got to the trailhead around 8, thinking that would be plenty early on a Saturday, only to remember that hikers are all superhuman and defy logic. I was right in the thick of things.

The first half of the ascent was beneath the forest canopy, with overlooks into the woods that were interesting, if not particularly scenic. With my binoculars, I saw a red squirrel scrambling about the treetops a hundred feet away. I also realized how incredibly out of shape I am. On one end of the spectrum is my buddy Mike Karthas, whose resting heart rate must be 45 bpm; I had to stop at least 20 times on my 4-hour ascent for fear of tachycardia.

The second half of Old Rag is a rock scramble, which is code for “climbing boulders with reckless abandon.” Many thanks to two hikers I met, RJ and Aseem, for saving my trip with extra water. They were excellent companions to the summit; Aseem told me this hike was classified as “very strenuous”, one tick away from rock climbing. I took this as permission to gorge myself on barbecue immediately after dismountaining.

Difficult, but worthwhile. After my late lunch, I hopped back on Skyline Drive, which turned into the Blue Ridge Parkway. I passed a woman painting an overlook at golden hour, as well as two deer and a raccoon. A lively day, but I’m back on the road tomorrow, heading for Kentucky.

On my way to camp last night, I saw a black bear bound across the road, which has been the highlight of the trip so far. I woke up this morning and drove into Parsons, West Virginia, where I had breakfast at the old bridge. The clerk at the convenience store asked me, “What you into today besides your socks?”

“Going to Virginia.”

I took Route 48 through the Blue Ridge Mountains, crossed into Virginia, and arrived at Shenandoah National Park. I took some time to enjoy the one and only road, Skyline Drive, and take in the scenic overlooks. Each one sits thousands of feet above the valleys below, and are excellent spots to look at tiny people through binoculars. Despite the occasional trickle of rain, I also made time to hike the Stony Man trail and came to the second-highest peak in the park. You can see all the way to the Alleghenies.

Rain’s moving in, so I’m calling it an early night tonight. Tomorrow I have a permit to hike Old Rag, the park’s most esteemed trail—then we head south!

Getting dressed in the back of a Toyota Corolla is really difficult. That obstacle overcome, I started driving south. Lots of fog this morning, cloaking the hills like clouds dropping from the sky.

Gray skies again. A Dollar General every mile. Notices of weddings and funerals on church bulletins. The weather was gross until midmorning, after I finished breakfast in Pennsylvania. Then the sky turned, I found a great radio station, and arrived at the gorgeous town of Westboro. Life was beautiful for about five minutes, until I realized I had taken a wrong turn to the west and the radio started playing Neil Diamond.

Once I made it past Route 202 and started driving through southwest Pennsylvania, I discovered the joy of hills. Each time I climbed one, the valley below revealed farmhouses and silos, or groves of trees, or fields of vegetables (which are much more interesting to look at from above). I dove into dozens of them. I feel bad for the house that decorated their two acres with plastic palm trees. Hopefully they still appreciate the scenery.

I drove through to West Virginia, making a stop at Morgantown to check out WVU and play some music. When I bust out the guitar, people are either very appreciative or don’t care at all. Morgantown didn’t care. Probably too big—I do best in small towns

I’m going to camp at Monongahela National Forest, which is the setting of the best Adventure Zone arc, Amnesty. Maybe I’ll find Sylvain. Fingers crossed.-

400 miles in. Thank God for Zoloft or else I may not have gotten out of the state. The jitters are mostly over now.

I took 101 west through Peterborough and Keene, then drove Route 9 in Vermont. It’s a beautiful road, with mist rolling down the mountains, currently besieged by miles and miles of construction. I dodged the rain for the most part, then crossed into New York. An immediate change—manicured farms instead of forest.

I jumped on the interstate for ten minutes to escape the horror of navigating Troy, then started through hours and hours of farmland. Lots of corn fields, and two horse-drawn carriages.

Finally, after spending an hour and a half searching for a store that sold can openers, I made it to Ithaca. I’m camping near the Finger Lakes tonight, and looking to go south tomorrow. No pictures because today was gray and blaurghy—hopefully some tomorrow.

Leaving today. I’ve wanted to drive across the country for about eight years, ever since I picked up William Least Heat-Moon’s spectacular memoir Blue Highways. Thanks to everyone who made this possible, especially my family and the HMS UA team. Because of your support, I won’t have to do the dishes for the next few months.

The plan is to stay off the interstate and other gross roads as much as possible. I bought a National Parks pass, so chances are I’ll make my way to some of those, but I’m trying not to plan more than a couple days in advance. To make some pocket change, I’ll play music on the street, and to save money, I threw a mattress in my back seat in case I feel like car camping. This will be the only picture of me, so enjoy it:

I’ll let you know where I end up today. Only the beginning!