Day 109 – PA to OH. Punxsutawney Phil + Home Safely at Trip’s End

Sunday November 18th, 2018 (full photo album here)

I woke up, and we had a large breakfast after some all-important dog petting and corralling:

This was important because the truck needed some tender loving car, and also some hard love. The frustrating but hopeful reality… those check engine lights from the day before were all gone, we could not get them to come back, and could not narrow the lights and codes down to a source. [As explained in the previous post, this would not be fully resolved until January 2019.] At the time, it was positive – the truck seemed likely to make it home without hiccups, and that was great.

The pre-planned maintenance was the next order of business. I knew that the tires on my truck, with close to 67,000 miles on them, were VERY much in need of replacement. This process was made easier by Rick’s shop and the lift therein…

… but only when we got them off did I fully comprehend how bad the tread was, and on the inside edges in particular:

Not to put too fine a point on it: with all the weight I was carrying, and the intensity of those Canadian unpaved “roads” a week prior in Labrador… it is approaching miraculous that I did not have a flat tire on the entire trip. I had those extra 2 spare tires, so 2 weeks ahead of time I had Rick order 2 additional tires. We swapped those new tires onto the stock wheels, leaving me with 2 empty brand new wheels (plus the original, untouched spare tire), and then did a transmission fluid flush. The truck was ready for another grand trek. But I would have to settle for the relatively short road home to Ohio.

I wished Rick and his wife well and thanked them both again, deeply. I was looking at the sun disappearing over the horizon, and recognized that, try as I might to fight it, I would need to depart and therefore be on the final drive for my grand trek.

It seemed reasonable to capture a snapshot of those “mountains” closest to home, the foothills of the Appalachians, as I zoomed north and west:

I had the time and wherewithal to squeeze in one final thing to see, and it was a damned good one. After years of driving by it on my way to and from Washington DC for college, I was going to go and pay homage to the holy city of one of my favorite films of all time. I was going out of my way to visit Gobbler’s Knob in Punxsuatawny PA.

I knew, as the snow flew down over me and then the rain took over for its own shift… I knew I would get there far too late and without anything close to sufficient natural lighting to get a decent picture.

I did not care.

It took a bunch of tries, but I got a halfway decent photo in the drizzling sky’s tears, showing me with my color-matched sweatshirt and the official sign for the place:

Passers-by may have diagnosed me as crazy, as I ran back and forth to the camera to adjust it. They may well have been correct. I did not care. On the end of the trip which often felt as though it was going to keep going on forever and ever so long as I kept setting up that tent and then driving for hours the next day… I had visited the nexus of such eternal dispositions. I could go home, finally.

The final 3 hours of my trip passed by almost imperceptibly. The rain and fog intermixed themselves with sleet and sometimes a touch of snow.

 

On 11/18/2018, at exactly 10:35pm, I made it home safely. I reached this final stop with an odometer reading 67,831 miles; under my own power; with all of the gear still affixed to the truck, and some 4 months older and 40 years wiser. I was even nearly 45 lbs lighter than when I started. But these are all details, to be explored in the next summarizing post to come.

At that moment, I took a look at what I saw, and knew that I was home safely…

… and I had succeeded at my lofty, unreasonable goals.

Unpacking [of material goods, new ideas, worries and hopes] would happen later of course. For that moment, it was sufficient to take my CPAP and pajamas into the house with me. A bed and a desk awaited me, maybe a bit more dusty than when I departed…

… but things were different, somehow. Imperceptibly, in some ways and more blatant in others.

I was far too tired and scattered to do much of anything besides brush my teeth and then crawl into a bed NOT mounted atop a pickup truck.

I don’t think I needed to do too much more.

I had made it home, safe and sound. 109 days of trip, over 33,000 miles of driving. A continent explored, with a stroll into Mexico, all 13 provinces in Canada, and all 50 of the US states (with the federal District of Columbia thrown in for good measure!). Incredibly, I had set out to do something unreasonable and maybe unwise, and I had succeeded fully.

Behind me was a colorful and vibrant jaunt around the states AND the provinces.

Difficult to discern if I was walking from teethbrushing to bed with a newly earned swagger, or exhaustion-induced stumbling. I think the balance is tipped towards swagger, if the growing panache of my storytelling and conversations of the past months were any indication.

Analysis of any sort at the time was lost in a roiling sea of emotion.

I was home safely.

My grand trek was over and done.

Day 108 – NY to PA. 50 States Complete + Clocks Galore + Visiting a Friend

Saturday November 17, 2018 (full photo album here)

The blaring of my alarm to wake up hit like a truck; the recognition that this was the last full day of my grand trek… that hit like a second, larger, and more ornery truck.

Where in the hell had 107 days gone? What manner of magicks had transpired to transport me such an inordinate number of miles safely and with a tan gained and an aversion to freeze-dried food earned?

I knew the answer to ~none of these things.

I packed up and had a quick meal at a restaurant nearby. My early rise was a necessity, as I was going to try and make it to Columbia PA. More specifically, to the National Clock and Watch Museum.

There was an Exciting New Experience, though, before the successful arrival at the Museum.

On 11/17/2018 at 10:46am: I was 5 minutes away from the Pennsylvania border with New York. Therefore, I was 5 minutes away from successfully completing the original goal of my trip, to hit all 50 states in a row by myself. So, what happened? OF COURSE I had a Christmas tree’s worth of instrument cluster lights (check engine, ABS, traction control, and TPMS) all wink into being, casting their angry amber glow onto my disappointed visage. Gaze upon my instrument cluster woes and know despair:

The codes were accompanied by the engine revving a lot more, the transmission shifting very late given the highway speeds, and just making me uncomfortable with the notion of the unknown problem[s] happening as I hurtled south. At the same time: know as well that I was galvanized into perhaps the most resolute desire I will ever know in my life. Through gritted teeth (and equally gritted spirit), I could not help but shout in anger “I DON’T CARE IF THE TRUCK IS WRECKED AS A RESULT, I AM GOING TO ROLL ACROSS INTO PA UNDER MY OWN POWER.”

On 11/17/2018 at 10:51am: I rolled across the PA border under my own power, thus succeeding at the primary goal of my trip…

No kindly old lady was present to offer me a sewn Revolutionary War flag, but it was good to have made it into PA. It was better to have a welcome center and rest stop mere minutes later, to be able to get out and visually inspect the engine bay and underneath the truck; and also to scan for codes. That could wait.

First, I added the final sticker, Pennsylvania, to the tailgate:

This completed the United States…

… and thus balanced out the day prior’s completion of Canadian exploration in sticker form:

What a juxtaposition of emotions, in that snow- and slush-infested parking lot. SO EXCITED at having succeeded against all odds. And yet *SO INCREDIBLY FRUSTRATED* to have such a slew of problems pop up, still so far from home. ……. and yet and yet, I was thankful as all hell at this level of problems [editor: or, more accurately these implied problems] occurring within the USA and not, say, merely 5 or 6 days earlier on the intensely challenging Trans-Labrador Highway in the middle of nowhere in Canada.

Thankfully, my mechanic buddy Rick was able to talk me through a few other potential diagnostic options, all of which I tried. Two lines of conclusion:

• AT THE TIME: it is almost certainly a transmission or driveline-related sensor, passing faulty data, and the data is so far outside of the normal range that the engine computer AND transmission computer have put themselves into a limp mode. No way of visually diagnosing this, and my code reader gave me clues but nothing concrete. The truck was very likely to continue to run poorly (revving too high, delayed shifts, etc), but it would work well enough to safely make it.
• 3 MONTHS LATER, IN JANUARY 2019: in retrospect, and to make a very long and frustrating process worse… it turned to be the right rear wheel speed sensor, being intermittently faulty. It caused a total of 11 check engine and ABS codes, all because the truck was smart enough to know that “there is no way that one wheel is spinning at 120mph when the others are at 65mph” and also smart enough to protect itself by reducing the complexity of the systems in operation. It just wasn’t smart enough to recognize that the intermittent nature of the problem was that specific sensor (so it took a LOT of diagnostic sleuthing to figure the damned thing out).

Sigh.

I made my decision – I would drive as far as I could to my next stop. It would be just as expensive to be towed to Cleveland from northeast PA as it would be from southeast (in the worst case scenario). So I did it.

I rushed south until I was parking in the lot outside the National Clock and Watch Museum. I resolved to see as much as I could, and enjoy it. Many other pictures in the day’s album/enjoy the highlights below:

• Ancient timepieces, including those based on water drips:

• More grandfather clocks from more centuries than you ever thought possible:

• One of a kind clock-related novelties such as the so-called Eighth Wonder of the World:

• … there was a LOT more besides. I was dazzled by learning details of everything from the way in which daylight savings time emerged; to the realities of train conductors influencing time zones, and lot more besides. If ever you have the chance, please do go and visit that grand museum.

This was my last public venue visited on the trip, and I think it was rather fitting to have it be an edifice dedicated to time. My trek had seen me sample the varieties of time, many I had known before in my life, but also many new ones besides. Boredom can take on contours and dimensions which are mesmerizing. And, even so, I had discovered that some of the most productive times in my life were enabled by that level of extended boredom. Driving along the splendor of nature for such a long time that it almost became mundane were rendered all the more poignant when I rounded a curve and involuntarily sat up straighter in my seat, struggling to incorporate the newest unbelievable beauty into my disbelieving eyes. I cannot fully explain it (neither at the end of the trip in 11/2018, nor at time of writing this post in 3/2019). But nevertheless, it was the leavening of time spent, time to soak in, time survived. This trip was my own safari through time and a chance to better understand my willingness to accept the strictures of it. The trek had of course involving me traveling through a LOT of space, mile upon mile upon mile.

And those miles were not quite done. I got onto the road, and took the time to soak in the final sunset, in my last state, on the last full day of the trip away from home:

Speaking of my mechanic buddy Rick, earlier? It was to his house, in Waynesboro PA, where I was headed to that final evening of the trip. I was going to visit him, his wife, and their beloved dogs.

Eventually, I rolled into their driveway, and with a great sense of relief turned my truck off for the second time that day. I went inside, out of the cold, and was warmed by their hospitality and the symbol of their house as my having made it… somewhere. I was not yet home, and I still had undiagnosed truck concerns. But I had made it to a place I knew, with people I care about and who looked after me. It helps that Rick is a master mechanic, who would be able to lend me a second set of eyes on the problems afoot.

I had made it.

I got to bunk indoors, which was much obliged (with such a cold night, so much exhaustion leading to a thoroughly ragged immune system, and home life to soon try to reenter). Sleep came rather quickly, and I was glad of it. I did not want to worry about the trip ending, but rather just live into the time as it was unfolding.

I had made it.

Day 99 – PEI to NB to NS to NL. Crokinole + an Atlantic Ferry

Thursday November 8, 2018 (full photo album here)

As I explained at the end of the prior night, I found out that campgrounds all across eastern Canada were all closed for the season. I woke up and did a slew of Google searching only to find that many of the interesting sites on the island were either closed or on reduced winter hours. The options which were open, like the Canadian Potato Museum, were too far away for me to reach and still make it to my ferry on time. The morning on PEI was, as a result, brief and disappointing. I turned around and aimed at that same Confederation Bridge to make it back to New Brunswick.

The only shot I managed of beautiful and green Prince Edward Island before hurtling back onto the mainland for a LONG day of driving:

Maybe next time I go there, I can enjoy the place a bit (and then pay the stupidly expensive toll to cross back to the mainland, of course, too).

A lot of driving was ahead of me (as if there was anything else on my schedule). Reaching the Nova Scotia line after a bunch of hours…

… I reached a fuel station at the crossroads I would visit twice that day – instead of going east towards the ferry, I headed southwest. Why? I was on my way to meet the owner and operator of Muzzie’s Crokinole, one of the businesses which manufactures the eponymous crokinole board. I had been emailing back and forth with the owner, and had mentioned to him my interest in visiting. I had no intention to bring many souvenirs home with me from the trip, but I had hoped to see about a custom crokinole board to commemorate my trip. My friend Justin, visited early on this trip in South Dakota, had introduced me to the game – his board is a wall hanging, decorative and art deco in appearance, and then comes down to be played when desired. The owner of Muzzie’s, named Murray, had been willing to have me stop by to check out his shop and chat about the custom board. It was pretty neat to see the shop…

… and even more interesting to see his growing international map of “where has he shipped crokinole boards”:

Perhaps most interesting of all – the only continent he hasn’t shipped to is Antarctica. One idea which had been brewing in my mind all trip was about what a sequel trip might look like (in very short: the pan-American highway, from the Arctic Ocean down to the southernmost tip of South America… and then take a ship to Antarctica. As I promised Murray in person, if I ever saw that dream through, and made it to the chilliest continent… I would be bringing a crokinole board as a gift to one of the research stations. How cool would that be?

I thanked Murray for his hospitality and his time, and after he helped me refill my water tank with his tap water. The last step, as the truck warmed back up, was to add the all-important sticker before departing Muzzie’s, for Nova Scotia:

Fiery orange flowers across Nova Scotia, and I captured some of the most fiery of all right outside of Murray’s house, and it was worth a stop to snap this:

That was the last stop of the day until I reached the city of North Sydney. I had a ferry to catch and it was the only one that night. No margin for error, no chance for redoing it, no wiggle room. I had two consecutive days with prepaid ferry tickets, and then plane tickets a week hence. I was going to make it.

So, I did.

I made it with about an hour to spare. I circled the entrance and then went beyond it to refuel on Nova Scotia (both due to needing fuel, and to an accurate guess that the fuel on Newfoundland would be more expensive). I looped back around, got tricked by poor road design, and then found myself queued up in the shipyard with its 2 dozen lanes painted for commercial and passenger vehicles alike to queue up, with gigantic ferry ships in the background:

Astonishingly enough, the ferries were even bigger than they appeared, with 4 or 5 decks of this cavernous size, chock full of vehicles far larger than mine, and so I was eyebrow-cocked at the odds of this parking garage they called an oceangoing vessel:

With visions of Leo and Kate Winslet rushing past me in the hallways of the ship, I took an elevator several decks upwards and eventually found my room:

It was to be an oceanic voyage of 8 hours across the Atlantic in early November’s wintry weather and whatever intense seas that might bring. I was glad to have paid for the cabin and a chance at sleep, instead of the cheaper upright seats in the main deck.

A chance at sleep and, by chance, the unexpected boon of a stern-mounted room with a porthole aiming my camera at the port of North Sydney:

Day 98 – ME to NB to PEI. Bridges + Borders + Beaches

Wednesday November 7, 2018 (full photo album here)

The Canadian border beckoned and was within reach. Game on.

I had me a very early start into a surprisingly warm day at 55 degrees around 7 in the morning. I wished Mark and Terry the very best, and thanked them for their hospitality. Between a chance at shower and laundry; a warm bed; entertaining discussion; and a short breather, I was well-suited for the race ahead of me. I took in the beauty of their yard…

… and got on the road. A fuel-up was followed by a LOT of winding Maine roads, which eventually led me to the Penobscot Bridge. I had previously photographed it during a Nor’easter, the last time I went through Maine (which is when I got to meet Mark and Terry in person for the first time) and I am proud to report that I got an even doofier face for this photo, thanks to the angle of the sun:

Great success! Not falling ice shards to dodge this time, either, so it made for an easier crossing. I continued weaving my way north along US Highway 1 towards Calais to cross into New Brunswick.

My memory of the obscenely expensive fuel in western Canada did not have me fooled for a second about the potential for cheaper fuel in eastern Canada. I stopped in Calais, topping off the truck and refilling all 24 gallons of jerry can capacity for the first time since the Yukon Territory – the extra weight was well worth the extra weight. This level of thinking about fuel consumption and costs was forward-thinking and also fear-inspiring. I had carefully tracked and logged fuel consumption for months and so I was all too familiar with beaucoup spacebucks being spent on diesel for my oil-burner. And, at the same time, I am also fully confident that these costs in time, fuel, gear, and stress are all worth every iota of value for the outcomes in my heart, mind, and spirit.

Fueled up and ready to rock and roll. Arriving at the Canadian border, I managed both of those, but not the way I wanted – I hit the rock of polite Canadian border police “well even though you have the paperwork from Western Canada, and even though you’re clearly camping, and even though you plan to camp in areas of Labrador and Quebec which are crawling with bears… you aren’t allowed to bring that shotgun into eastern Canada.” Subsequently, with a scowl and the grumble of my truck’s engine matched in volume and timbre by the grumble in my voice, I was forced to roll back into the United States. I managed to extend my scowl when there was a bunch of hullabaloo about the shotgun I had with me (again, in spite of having the proper American paperwork too) until a uniformed border patrol officer wandered over and conversationally quipped “wait, he is back? I just saw him rumbling into Canada 15 minutes ago!” That simple statement got me sped through – funny how that works.

At the advice of the Canadian border patrol officer I turned around and went over to Johnson’s True Value Hardware. For problems just like mine, and also given the remoteness of this small town, the hardware store included a small sporting goods shop (including a federal firearms licensed dealer, or FFL) and a bank of PO Boxes with an associated shipping department. Condensed into simple form, this meant that I had a place where I could ship the shotgun back home – specifically to the firearms shop nearest my house, where my old friend Mark works. I rushed in to the store like a cyclone hopped up on too much coffee, excitedly trying to explain that I needed to ship out a firearm to Ohio and quickly. Not a lot of steps, just 1) ship a firearm and 2) to Ohio, quickly. The store was very busy but eventually I impressed the alacrity required by step 2 until I got to speak with the person who could effect the paperwork needed for step 1. They packaged it up in a box which could hold the existing soft case and added the specialized label which all the various shipping carriers require to ship firearms. I thanked them and cyclone’d my way back out to the truck. All told, I had lost almost 2 hours because of the border shenanigans and then requirements to get the shipping set up. A small price to pay compared with having found no FFL and shipping option right near the border.

Entering eastern Canada, round 2 – this time I had no issues crossing into New Brunswick. I think it may have been the fastest of any border crossing all trip, either into or out of Canada. Just like that, I was facing a friendly Canadian welcome sign and friendly Canadian speed limit signs in their fake units of measure:

I got about a mile from the border and found a roadside pull-off where I could safely exit the vehicle for that most important of choices – adding a sticker onto a tailgate, regardless of weather:

My grin of satisfaction was so wide that I couldn’t help but get a picture of it (especially after a jaw sore from grimacing at the afternoon’s border frustration), but for the requisite full picture of the updated map:

Now the open road beckoned anew. Now, the truck rumbled up to cruising speed and stayed that way for a good bunch of hours. As per usual the sun began to set. Slightly less typical was seeing the skies turn into a veritable Mordor’s worth of Sauron’s angry red smoke:

All told, it was maybe the ideal afternoon: adoring the gorgeous views; surprised at the unseasonably warm weather at 50 degrees; annoyed that my 75 minute delay to cross the border had burned daylight; but OK with the outcome.

I was zooming along the increasingly rough (and therefore normal) Canadian highways – I was, after all, trying my damnedest to reach the Hopewell Rocks park on time to see them in the last smidgen of daylight. To make a short story shorter, I failed. I got there after dark and decided that the ~1.2 million signs warning about the treacherous beach and tide were serious enough to pay attention to – this is as close as I got to the invisible, fog-shrouded sea:

As I subsequently discovered, this would turn out to be the first of many experiences with the attractions of Eastern Canada being closed for the season since October 15. The frustration I felt would ramp up over time, but that evening it was particularly high (ruefully remembering ~2 hours wasted at the border).

My consolation prize: a very quick bout of astrophotography across the New Brunswick horizon, before the cold rain and heavy clouds got the last laugh:

A bit of behind-the-scenes view of setting up the camera atop the tent platform and focused on the depths of interstellar emptiness (with a single star my cellular camera was gutsy enough to manage to capture, too!):

I had, at the handful of stops along my way, tried my very best to find a free camping area in New Brunswick near the bridge to Prince Edward Island (PEI). I failed. I tried to find paid camping in that area and it was either non-existent or closed for the season. Drat.

I decided to cross the famous Confederation Bridge to PEI at night in the fog, and I never like crossing bridges – this was no exception. But I made it across and rolled up to the Jellystone Campground, which per their website seemed to be open. That was false – I was exhausted and out of options. I settled in at their neighbor, the Carleton Motel of PEI. Sleep was quick, as I had a ~14.5 hour day of travel behind me.

Although this sticker’ing picture was taken the next morning, I felt I earned portraying it on the day I reached PEI:

Day 97 – Wooden Sailing Ships + Visiting Friends in ME

Tuesday November 6, 2018 (full photo album here)

My land ship, the Titan, had served me incredibly well thus far. I had enjoyed learning about and visiting steel ships and submarines in Hawaii. I was excited to go a step back and learn about wooden ships at the last place there were built in the United States, in Maine. Among a slew of other fascinating facts – there were wooden ships used extensively during World War I and even in the very earliest part of World War II due to tonnage deficits amongst shipping companies.

What else did I see there, at the Maine Maritime Museum? A slew of things, including:

• models and drawings of the Wyoming, which was the largest wooden schooner ever built (done on site):

• a chance to marvel at the artistic sculptural scale model of the Wyoming, on site in the exact spot where it was laid and built:

• a model of the shipyards as they looked when they were shut down for the final time:

• a replica lighthouse interior with everything in place besides the mercury “bearings” to allow the light to spin freely (and is likely related to why a few generations of lighthouse keepers were stereotyped as being reclusive and overly peculiar, akin to “mad hatters”):

• an extensive exhibit on how Maine developed alongside oceanic trade and survival, and eventually was integral to the triangular trade which saw the colonies grow (richer and also more divided over slavery from early on):

• a series of iconic newspaper cartoons relating to the USS Maine and US expansionism…

• … and well as artifacts including some salvaged from the wreck itself, in Havana Bay:

• a detailed and flat-tired VW Bug and/or lobster mascot, outside of a piercing look into the realities of the ever-more carefully regulated lobstering business alongside changing (worsening for this industry) environmental conditions:

• the on-site (and sponsored) Bath Iron Works exhibit, for one of the major American shipyards operating for the production of destroyers and similarly-sized ships (which was located within eyesight, down the river):

… OK, there was a lot more, besides. The photo album has details. I had a grand old time learning A LOT of interesting facts. One more – the Soviet Union used to park “factory ships” off the coast of Maine to purchase much-needed fish for their all-too-often starving peoples. The Maine-fishery/Soviet connection was a new one to me. I highly recommend checking out the museum if ever you are in that part of Maine.

Next stop: visiting with an old friend, Mark. At his suggestion, we met up at Moody’s Diner in Waldoboro Maine, to have dinner. I know Mark because of the forums for my old VW diesel (like his, except his were amazingly well-kept – he had over 440,000 miles on one of them!) – and during a winter camping trip to Maine, he gave me a HUGE amount of help with that VW. This time around, I was glad to buy him some dinner and show him my current diesel truck, to his delight. A great time catching up.

And then, just like the last time I came through the area, Mark and his wife Terri were so gracious that they offered me a chance to stay with them for a night, to use the shower, the laundry, and not be in the tent in the cold rain. I gladly accepted and followed him back to their home in the woods. We enjoyed chatting for a good long while, and eventually their jobs required them to get some sleep (as did my knowledge of the border crossing ahead of me for the next day).

The truck has been photographed in many ways, but not often with a building as a monument to the graciousness and hospitality of good and decent people in the background. While the floodlight on the house is a more likely candidate for the source of those beams of light… it is possible that I managed a photographic record of the beams of radiant wellness created by good and decent people:

Maybe both, in this case.

Day 91 – VA to DC to MD to DE. Friends + Friends + Baltimore Harbor

Wednesday October 31st, 2018 (full photo album here)

Halloween had arrived, and the only costume I had in mind was a pair of shorts and a sun-resistant long sleeve shirt. My uniform, really, for the trip. A hotel meant a quick and straightforward getaway – rendered all the more positive for a lack of any vehicular tampering!

I had a busy day ahead of me, filled with friends and place and miles and states, a multiplicity of each.

First: I finally had the chance to visit the Lamb Center in person. A non-profit in the Fairfax area which is dedicated to the very complex and strenuous work of ministering to the homeless and helping them get onto their feet. This visit was not random – my seminary peers Dave and Deb have long worked with and now for the Lamb Center, and it was a pleasure to not only get to see them – but also to rejoice along with them at the triumphant successes of this vibrant and growing center. It is certainly not always easy (and I commend all the staff and volunteers there for their hard work in trying circumstances) but it was hope-giving to see them working so hard to do good:

They were also excited to be present (and capture, sheepishness and all) the Virginian addition to the map:

Sad to go but on a rigidly busy schedule, I bid Dave and Deb goodbye and rumbled through busy streets with infinitesimally short red light timers and even shorter distances between the stoplights. I think in at least one case my Titan was the whole distance from one light to the next. No matter – the next step was lunch with a few more old friends, with an equally long-deferred chance to visit in person. I met Andrew and Anthony at a Five Guys near Bethesda MD (some of my old stomping grounds from undergrad) and we enjoyed the chance to catch up in person, discussing everything from the ridiculous cost of living in the DC area (I do not miss that) and the difficulties of keeping in close touch with friends spread out over such a large area and with the responsibilities and requirements of our lives and work making it even harder (I keenly and sorely feel that, and not just with them but with many friends). It was, just like the morning, a very good time – and also far too short.

We assembled for the prerequisite photographic evidence, in this case making use of the shade of the superstructure of the camping rig:

They provided legal witness as I affixed Maryland, officially, to the back of the truck (while I also noticed a lack of sticker or space for the District of Columbia):

The third major task for the day: another set of old stomping grounds, but grounds I do not care for. Not one bit. I had the “pleasure” of driving north along Interstate 95 from the DC area through the Baltimore area, messy traffic storm and all. Stopping by the iconic Power Plant Barnes & Noble of Baltimore, MD seemed reasonable, and the Inner Harbor has a surprisingly cheap and sparsely-used parking lot (NOT a parallel parking nightmare). I took in the impressive shrine to capitalism presented by the power plant turned bookstore turned shared advertising for a chain restaurant…

… and then I promptly exited without buying anything from either venue. Having paid for parking, I admired a bunch of ships and a submarine from across the Inner Harbor, as the sun set in the background…

… mostly because the actual point of interest, the famous Baltimore National Aquarium, because it decided to be closed far too early. I was reduced to Christmastime window staring in unmasked frustration and desire, at an exhibit I would be unable to see on this trip. At the very least, the “window” was the entire front of the building, which is basically a gigantic terrarium:

My time in Maryland on this trip was, therefore, at an end. Back into the truck, back through the winding streets of Baltimore, and then back into the great unknown – Delaware.

More specifically, I was heading to the Blackbird State Forest of Delaware for the purposes of a decent night’s sleep. It was a few false starts as none of the roads were labeled in the park, and the most likely candidate road required driving through the ranger’s housing area, the maintenance sheds, the snowplow parking area, AND interpolating that “horse trail parking lot” was a sign which actually meant “drive this way to reach the loop with all the campsites.” No idea how I did not immediately find the campground proper. But I did, and the tent was quickly up – almost as quickly as I was out cold. As the next morning included, there were stickers to earn – the poor signage be damned!

Day 90 – WV to VA. Seneca Rocks + a Friend in Fairfax

Tuesday October 30, 2018 (full photo album here)

The sparse traffic on the nearby road got a bit less spare, and affected a tad of a rumble from a set of semi trucks in a row – this was enough to serve as an unwelcome alarm clock. As lumbering as Mikes can be, I lumbered and (according to some eyewitnesses within a 12 mile radius) grumbled mightily at the noise and equally unwelcomed sunlight. My primal shout of challenge (“boy it is too early!”) went unanswered by the sun; the next semi truck to pass did manage a throaty roar in reply.

No matter.

I emerged blinking and groggy and wrestled the big orange tent into a small black lunchbox of sorts, and squinted as I admired the Seneca Rocks in the clear sunlight:

Was I salty about the clear skies only deigning to clear up hours too late, after the low light pollution of the night skies could have enabled me to bask under the stars… but instead getting an evening of cloud cover? Yes, yes I was. But life is short and unpredictable and not always willing to play ball – so I rolled with those punches and shrugged – there will always be another night of skies to soak in.

For my day’s path, I took the back roads of WV through to Purcellville Virginia, hitting a couple of rounds of construction and/or school traffic. Having been in the Washington DC area for over 5 years I had it in mind to approach DC from a different direction than usual (north or south, functionally) – and I got my wish. As with the Blue Ridge Parkway, I got some spectacular splotches of fall amidst the large swatches of summer holding out – so the handful of images I took did not really come out. And that is, contrary to the implied spirit of this blog, entirely OK. The trip was a blast to document in word, image, and even some video – but the trip was also about embracing many dozens of hours per week in blissful quiet (excepting the delicious diesel drone and carefully calculated podcast choices). So I did a lot of that for this particular day of the trek – and that made for good prep for the intensity of returning to DC traffic with a far larger vehicle than my previous jaunts through that particular federal district.

This traffic was braved for a good cause, however – I was worming my way into the depths of urban traffic, urbane restaurants, and more specifically a restaurant whose logo features a royal headdress of a turban – Jaipur Royal Indian Cuisine. Not just food, either, but a long-overdue meal shared with my old college friend Chris. We laughed and had a grand old time. Then, we tried for an evening photo together behind the truck and the light sensor on the phone was a bit slow. We ended up with a less than happy-looking photo as both frowned at the camera lagging…

… but then we got our best Airplane 2 genial smiles in place and decided we DO want to please the court with a photo, and our unintentionally Indiana Jones vs Major Toht hats atop our heads, our smiley worked out nicely:

I dropped Chris off at the nearly Metro, and seeing him on his way, I saw myself finish the day’s drive.

I ended up at the Comfort Inn of Fairfax VA, not too far in miles albeit far in minutes. Funny, how after so many dozens of nights spent in bear and wolf country; after a night inadvertently spent sleeping up the hill from multiple prison complexes in New Mexico; after flying into the end of Hurricane Lane in Hawaii and driving into the end of Hurricane Michael in Florida… I felt the least safe I had felt in weeks on the trip, parking my truck in the downtown lot of that hotel. It was well-lit, sure – it had video cameras and the Fairfax police force operating all over the place because of how high the population density is. And even so – being in “civilization” had me itching and uncomfortable. No problems with the hot shower and proper bed (those are things I fully embrace) – but the embrace of so many people who were all rendered strangers and disengaged by the vagaries of city life, well, this trip had done nothing if not amplified my prior dislike for such things.

There was a time, not too far in the past, where I genuinely considered the possibility of buying a few light construction tools (a skidsteer and maybe a small excavator) and then packing up all my stuff onto a big trailer which my new Titan can tow – and move somewhere into the wilderness. Build myself a house of my own, by and for myself. Enjoy the peace and quiet and use that as a foundation for making better sense of a confusing and increasingly frenetic world. Somehow in the course of my trip, that desire (frankly an extreme desire) became blunted. That isn’t quite the right word, actually. I think that desire became molded into something new and unexpected, something more productive and engaged with the world (such as it is). Though I do not think I will be able to stomach moving back into the metropolis of Washington DC, I have gained more of a drive to pick a place to go and be and engage. It may not be forever, and it certainly may not be the right place on the first try – but as I will explore in a summary post at the end of the trip’s chronicle, I was realizing by this point on the trip (with a handful of states and provinces left to go) that I had a damned good sense of what those next steps might take me.

But we get ahead of ourselves.

I reached that hotel, parked and hoped for the best in terms of vehicular security, shrugged and walked inside to get a good shower and some decent sleep. When those basic needs are on the line, well, rhapsodizing can wait until tomorrow.

Day 74 – KY to TN to AL. Bourbon + Battling Poor Forest Maps

Sunday October 14, 2018 (full photo album here)

Sunday rainy Sunday, as the song approximately goes. Nothing is quite so deflating, when camping, as waking up to a tent utterly submerged by the force of the rains. Crawling out, we did that very specific careful dance/joust/yoga move where you need to run across a muddy hill at a campground without falling while also trying to get gear out of the rain as fast as possible. Maybe, to our neighbors, we acted as though we had seen something strange and were sneaking by it quickly? I know not.

We got on the road quickly and stopped at a nearby gas station with a large overhang – he needed to refuel, and I needed to send a bunch of things home to clear out some space in my overloaded truck. The chores for the day done, our next stop was the Woodford Reserve Distillery:

Bourbon is good and interesting and I have previously done the entire Bourbon Trail – suffice to say that I pointed Steven to Woodford as my favorite bourbon and the best of the distillery tours. We enjoyed seeing their iconic and unique 3-still system with traditional copper stills…

… and then got to experience the taste-testing process inside one of their historic rickhouses, which was a treat (as was the included bourbon candy accompaniment):

I highly recommend checking one or three or 10 of the distilleries if you are interested in how alcohol is actually made (but honestly, if you are in Kentucky for the purposes of such a tour, please do check out the Independent Stave Company, where the VAST majority of bourbon barrels are done with traditional coopering paired with modern cleverness). At the suggestion of the distillery gift shop clerk, we went just down the road a few miles to a new restaurant called The Stave. As one can surmise, this place is very much meant to draw bourbon patrons, as a stave is the proper name for each individual plank in a barrel… say, for instance, a bourbon barrel. As a yuppie-3/8 scoring business (on the yuppie restaurant scale) they were insistent on high quality ingredients and being true to their setting. This was great for us – we got to try a Kentucky staple, burgoo and *the best* cornbread, and washed it down with Kentucky’s beloved Ale 8 One (phonetically, “A Late One”) ginger ale…

… and then finished off our respective meals with some kind of divinely-inspired, tax-free, joy-giving and otherwise scrumptious best bread pudding in this sector of our galaxy. I am not sure I can be any more specific about how much we loved it.

All told, we we walked out to the parking lot and our respective vehicles, I can comfortably say that this was a delightful meal and brief visit together on my trip. Here is the requisite picture of us pointing to the state we spent time in, beautiful unbridled Kentucky:

Steven departed with his car full of crap from my truck, heading back up to Dayton.

I, on the other hand, needed to figure out where the heck I was going to go. Just like usual! I very much wanted to go see the Huntsville Rocketry Center in Alabama, very famous and integral to NASA’s efforts to get humanity out into the Stars. As such, I settled on driving towards the Franklin State Forest Tennessee, based on the (hopefully accurate listing for) free camping. I was not hopeful to have a dry night, though, with Hurricane Michael and weather systems it created spreading across the American South. That is fine, though – I cannot be stopped. 🙂

A bit more accurately: I would try to drive into Franklin State Forest. The trails into the place were not even trails – two of them turned out to be gravel-specked mudpits which were scarcely a lane wide. I am not especially crazy about getting stuck in the middle of nowhere by myself [Editor’s note – however I might be crazy, in general] so I thought I would give the third entrance trail on Google Maps a try – and nixed that plan too, when it was overgrown enough to guarantee scratches on the paint without guaranteeing a safe path in:

So.

Plan Q? Y? FF? Perhaps I ran out of numbers and hexadecimal numbers, but I was rolling with the punches. Rolling, in this case, southward towards Alabama…and maybe free camping if my boondocking Spidey senses were attuned properly. Bearing in mind that I had about 6 hours of driving behind me, and how late it was, one can likely imagine my delight at coming across the Walls of Jericho trailhead, right over the line into Alabama. I had made it – and, more important than a mere trifle like safe arrival, I had discovered not a single sign barring boondocking. Success!

Tent set up, fan inside on full to try and encourage the rain from the prior night to dry out, and I was fast asleep in one time zone, or another. Or both, as I found out.

Day 73 – VA to KY. Cumberland Gap + Visiting with my Brother

-Saturday October 13, 2018 (full photo album here)

Dawn failed to break – but the park rangers in their rumbling little diesel Kubota UTV were dawn-like, it turns out, in their ability to interrupt my sleep! I chatted a bit and got the very depressing backstory behind their obscenely bright vests and blinking lights on the UTV (a walking park ranger had been killed a few years prior due to sharp turns on site and a hapless motorist taking the curve too quickly – amazing, how many of the safety choices we make are in retrospect). I took in an eyeful of crunchy leaves, marveling at my 2018 experience of hottest summer in August followed by snow in the Arctic; then a chilly end to August before a warm September… all pointing to crispy leaves in mid-October Virginia. Makes sense!

Knowing I would be rolling into Kentucky, I added the sticker confirming this onto the tailgate before packing up:

Having slept in until nearly 11am, I was feeling pretty solidly good – time to follow the convoluted path back through Virginia into Tennessee, so I could get to the Kentucky entrance to the Cumberland Gap National Historical Park. Foremost, this place is famous as the trail blazed by Daniel Boone… the aptly-named Wilderness Road. This seemed a wise pilgrimage stop on my own wilderness road of a trip, so I couldn’t resist. Chalk this up to one of the manifold ways in which real history trumps most fiction – Daniel Boone got 30 guys together, gave everyone an axe, and then they just blazed a 200 mile trail into the great unsettled “west.” The importance here was that a slew of American Revolutionary War soldiers and officers had received land grants in Kentucky, in lieu of pay (or supplementing it) for their service… but there was no way to get to the place. The bison had worn a rough trail into the wooded mountains; a handful of Native American tribes had slightly improved them; Daniel Boone & Co. came in and made it wagon-capable. Though the artwork on site was slightly idealized…

… this story was too good to pass up. This also prompted most of my thinking for the rest of the day – people all along my trip had called me a trailblazer and spoke to my exploratory spirit…. but following paved roads set up by surveyors and teams of skilled laborers, I am not sure I can claim either title. I am comfortable living into being “intrepid as all hell” but until I have swept into a new continent and used a series of alliances with certain oppressed peoples to overthrow the preexisting hegemony while also carving new roads out of untamed jungles, well, I am not quite an explorer (or, for that matter, a conquistador).

This feat of trailblazing was forgotten as other routes were created or discovered; though the Cumberland Gap proved to be one of the most important supply junctions during the American Civil War (though battles never quite reached it). The fortunes of the area waxed and waned further as coal was discovered and then collapsed; the last big claim to fame was being the federal government’s choice of showcase paved roads (aptly named “Object Lesson Road”, in a rhetorical flourish putting William Jennings Bryan to shame) to try and convince the states to do it; this caused it to become arguably the first scenic byway in the country for automobiles. Thus – still a great fit for visiting on my trek (which can also be considered the chief scenic byway trip ever attempted on this continent?). I learned a slew of interesting facts – more details in the photos from today’s album.

Edified with knowledge and a renewed sense of purpose (at the very least to keep venturing forth into the unknown; maybe into an expansion of my coonskin cap collection), I walked back out to the truck and was astonished to 1) see license plates from Alaska; and also 2) perhaps the most abused Lexus SUV suspension ever accomplished…

… because while I can agree that lowriding makes for good songs, I have my doubts about the mechanical advisability of such a thing. On the other hand, maybe I am wrong and a wildly imbalanced passenger vehicle towing too much weight, creating a ~4500 mile long Tokyo Drift from Alaska on down, is fun!

I considered myself as having grown as a person (namely: grown even less trusting of other motorists and their choices) and got onto the road towards Taylorsville Lake State Park in Kentucky. My goals were simple: arrive safely; get a hot shower on that cold day; and then meet up with my brother Steven (coming down from Dayton OH to join me for a day on the trip). A few hours of driving later, I arrived and got partially set up on the side of a hill (who needs roads, after all):

I finished that all-refreshing hot shower and exited the warm bathhouse to see my brother pulling up – perfect timing. Given that he had departed home for med school prior to my truck being completed for the trip, he was suitably impressed by the ridiculousness of it all (the bumpers, the sheer volume of crap shoved into/onto the truck). We went straight to business – where would we grab some food! We settled on Ken’s Texas BBQ in nearby Shelbyville KY. Steven was in heaven, getting more than his money’s worth out of the all-you-can-eat option and the flavors were great. A huge meal, and all we wanted was a campfire with S’mores and a chance to chat. We got the requisite gear from Walmart and stopped by Lowe’s as the only place nearby reputed to have firewood. We returned to the site under cover of darkness – we did our best to start a fire. We are both Eagle Scouts, I must have you know, and even liberally applying gasoline we were unable to get that wet firewood to actually stay lit. It would flare up nicely…

… and then fizzle because of garbage quality, wet firewood. So, with our self esteem as Eagle Scouts on the line, Plan B paid out big – my amazing little wood burning pellet stove. Sure, it can boil 2 liters of water in 6 minutes because it gets so intensely hot due to an intake fan. We figured we could use it to start at least one log properly aflame…

… and it was still insufficient, even as a blast furnace aimed at the log, to stay lit. Plan C – melting/crisping marshmallows over the stove itself, and this was a great success. Chattering and snacking on inordinately unhealthy choices of desserts, we enjoyed the chance to while away the evening. Our appetites decreased inversely to the gentle mist becoming rain – so the first real drops were perfectly timed as we figured on calling it a night anyways. We rushed to get the gear stowed, and then settled into a tent rated for 650 lbs (and clocking in around 575 between the two of us) – we hoped for a chance to sleep free of any structural issues! Spoilers: things turned out just fine

Days 64, 65 – Friends in AR, then to MO.

Day 64 Thursday October 4, 2018 (full photo album here)

Thomas and I, as I added the Arkansan sticker you saw in yesterday’s post:

My day in North Little Rock involved doing a handful of things in the area, and it all started off with a drive in Thomas’ beloved Ford Raptor by driving us over to the William J. Clinton Presidential Library…

… to check it out in person. Though Thomas and his wife Jacquelyn had visited a few times previously, they always enjoy returning to show it to visitors (most of whom, like me, have no prior Presidential Libraries under their belt). It was not entirely surprising to experience how the exhibits were optimized/carefully crafted to tell a positive story about the facts involved, and I am sure that every other Presidential Library does something similar. The current temporary exhibit was showcasing American crafts which had been featured and highlighted in the White House over the past 25 years. The permanent exhibits were fascinating in their own right, though, including a few large cases filled with gifts sent to the Clintons by everyone from American schoolchildren up to visiting heads of state (plus the fact that legally, those gifts are the property of the American people and do not stay with the President’s family). Best of all, I got to set at Clinton’s actual desk in a recreation of the Oval Office as it existed during his tenure:

We finished off our visit by watching the on-site film with Bill Clinton himself as narrator. It was rather interesting to see photos and video of his time as governor in Arkansas, making it almost impossible to recognize him for the huge head of hair and beard he had while at Yale Law School. Having had a huge head of hair and a beard while working at Yale law school, myself, I suppose I’m a certain kind of kindred spirit.

Next stop: we drove a few blocks over into downtown Little Rock, and dined at what they call the Little Rock Flying Saucer. As a very German-themed bar and brat house, I had high hopes (for no freeze-dried food!). I had a granny smith hard cider and the German iteration of a Cuban sandwich – delightful! Finishing up, we got back into Thomas’s Ford Raptor.  Surprisingly, even as a passenger I could feel exactly what he reported as a driver – that the lightweight aluminum body meant that bad bumps would cause the rear end to fishtail a LOT, from time to time. To be fair, though,the transmission computer did a great job at quickly correcting for him. Having considered an aluminum Ford truck for my trip, it made me feel better again that I settled with the Titan that I got, being so firmly planted to the ground by virtue of being stupidly heavy. “Passenger vehicle” indeed.

 

A bit later in the hot and humid climate of Arkansas in early autumn (?!), we drove over to Pinnacle Mountain State Park and committed to the hike up to the summit. The first quarter mile of this 1 mile distance was a trail, with a lot of elevation gain. The remaining 3/4 mile was a series of large rocks with an intense elevation gain, leading to perhaps the most entertaining trail signs I’ve ever seen. Talk about understatement, because when you have to look closely at the sign on the trail to understand that a portion of the trail has a hiker with their head held high, but the steep portion of the trail has the hiker’s head hanging with exertion and sweat flying…

… and then you stop laughing at the sign because you look up and realize that you’re scaling boulders in lieu of a “trail”:

But, not being quitters, we clambered up the rocks. Along the way, we saw several tiny snakes and a whole bunch of lizards, and just prior to the summit took a gander at a coterie of hawks and falcons enjoying the labor-free task of lazily floating on thermals. At the top, I daresay we had a commanding view of the surrounding realm:

Receiving the prerequisite view needed to fill our souls, it was time to carefully pick our way back down the sheer rocks. Near the the trailhead, Thomas paused the conversation to point out the GARGANTUAN wild tarantula near us on the ground. Inside my head, all conscious thought was reduced to a fairly simple logical principle. Out loud, I believe I was reduced to repeating the word “NOPE. NOPE NOPE NOPE NOPENOPENOPE” and then asking if we might burn down the forest and/or depart as quickly as possible. I am many things, including brave in certain circumstances. The presence of a tarantula large enough to qualify, on the size scale, as “on the original short list of foes for Godzilla”… that is not OK. We made our escape from the park, grabbing custard on the way to try and help with the hot weather + the panic and primal fear of encountering an arachnid larger than a dump truck.

Settling in at the house (with showers to remove the hike/ritually cleanse the soul after such a spider), and then we engaged in the most important part of the day. You know, cooking up some brisket with Maker’s Mark bourbon…

… mashed potatoes with cheese in it, and fresh rolls. There is nothing quite so good as a home cooked meal. Especially when the person cooking is talented like Thomas.

The evening involved visiting a point of huge local pride, which also confuses all of us. Simply called The Old Mill, this site is an artificial mill made of out of concrete which was used in the opening scene of the film Gone With the Wind. For whatever reason, this spot is **wildly** popular with many people for their prom or even wedding photos. Although we saw it at night, it was, to put it mildly, not especially exciting or compelling.

Our Little Rock “must-see visitation” to the Old Mill completed, we made it back to the house and I gave them my housewarming gift: a brand new copy of Settlers of Catan:

Of course we gave it a play through – a grand old time!

In socializing over the game, Thomas and Jacqueline wanted to share some wisdom they had discovered recently, now both being in their early 40’s. Namely: in looking back, they couldn’t even remember any of their 30’s due to working so hard and never genuinely engaging with the things in life that they loved. They encouraged me to keep up the sort of spirit which had led me on my grand trek. I thanked them for this, but had to laugh a bit as I explained: my 20’s were equivalent to their 30’s, all work and no play. But even still, hearing such successful people share their heartfelt conviction about taking a moment to enjoy life… these are words I need to try and heed, somehow.

The evening had blossomed fully, and we all went to get some sleep after a grand day.

Day 65 Friday October 5, 2018

I woke up with every intention to sit down and finally take care of those unfinished items of business on my to do list, which were vital to trip completion:

• I needed to purchase tickets for the Canadian ferry from Nova Scotia to Newfoundland
• I needed to purchase tickets for the Canadian ferry from Newfoundland to Quebec (to get to Labrador)
• I needed to try to avoid crying too much at the price-gouging and purchase a flight up to the province of Nunavut
• I needed lodging of some sort in Nunavut, wherever I ended up visiting

I installed myself at the island in Thomas’s kitchen, and spent quite some time on the phone with various companies in Canada, getting all of those things settled. Canadian North and First Air are the only two carriers operating flights to Iqaluit (the capital of Nunavut) and they price-gouge like crazy. Even with the favorable exchange rate and buying so early, it was more than US $1400 for a round trip which would be less than 8 total hours of flying. Bleeeeeeeeeccccchhhhhhhhhhh.

These business items finished, Thomas gave me a hand in packing my truck and bid me farewell as the intense pace of my quest flared back up to full speed. I thanked him for such wondrous hospitality, and then aimed the Titan back towards Kansas City Missouri. I was still salty that all of Missouri was closed on Monday, and I was not willing to forgo the World War I Museum. This also served me well as it aimed me towards the stack of Kansas/Oklahoma/Texas, still to be seen on this trek.

A few interesting moments along my way:

• refueling along I70 north, ignoring all the scared-looking people on my way into the restroom, and walking back out to overhear “and then she started swinging a machete, man” and seeing 3 police cruisers in the parking lot, boxing in a van and yelling at the driver to get out. Another moment I was glad to have the old 9mm “please leave me alone” on the old belt.
• I managed to average 21.5 MPG over a few hundred miles, because of the magic of 63 MPH cruise control + not in the Rocky Mountains
• I rolled up to the campsite in Blue Springs at 12:02am, after having reserved a campsite by phone. The entry code given to me did not work and the overnight ranger phone number posted was not answered when I called. So I had to then find a hotel and landed at the Super 8 of Blue Springs, instead. Next to a GIGANTIC Harley Davidson convention/meet up of some sort. Because of course I did.

The day ended, and I was in a very good position to get an early’ish start come the morrow, to spend hours at the World War I Museum.