Just Can't Wait to Get On The Road Again

Every few years, we need a road trip but I'm not sure driving two-thirds of the way across the country in November was the best choice.  Still, any road trip where we are still married at the end can be considered a success, right?

You may know that Mark and I just returned from an adventure the likes of which we haven't seen in YEARS.  After seemingly searching to the ends of the internet, he finally found the ultimate, the PERFECT, the OPTIMUM, the just right recreational vehicle he has been seeking.  A "super C"garage hauler;  like a class-C but bigger and with cargo hauling capacity that allows you to carry motorcycles to races. This has a Freightliner chassis, a motorhome with sleeping for six (five comfortably).  And a garage big enough to carry a full-size vehicle. While I was thrilled he found it, deals must be acted upon and this one was in in Ohio.  And it's November.

The opportunity had to be seized so off we went, driving to Ohio in four days, picked up the great white beast, parked my car in the back, then headed home. We had a "bucket list" of 15 states we had not yet visited and six were picked off on the way to Ohio. Because of Winter Storm Avery's trajectory, we took a more southerly route home to miss the snow, knocking out three more states before connecting to Interstate 40 which we had taken across country when we were first married in 1975.  I hope to cover the trip in topics in a revival of my Beachcomber's Blog and I would be remiss if I didn't start with the food...or, more accurately, the brews that accompany so many of our meals when we travel. 

Often people remark on the fact that so many of our photos include (or are exclusively) beer.  Good microbrews from Humboldt and afar. "Hmmm.  Do you guys ALWAYS drink? Are you some kind of BEER connoisseurs?"  No (well, kinda) and no.  What we like is good food and almost without fail, we find it at breweries.

Why would we travel two-thirds of the way across the country to eat at Denny's? Or Applebees?  No offense to either but, we did that in 1975 when we drove to South Carolina soon after we married.  McDonald's ALL the way across Interstate 40 then coming home on "Eye One Oh" (Interstate 10 in CB lingo), it was Denny's. We had the "Superbird" (sliced turkey and some sort of white cheese on grilled sourdough) in every state we touched.  We like to think we have evolved in the past forty some years and seek to enjoy more of the culture in the places we travel.

TRAVEL=CULTURE=FOOD=PEOPLE.  While we may not travel as well as Anthony Bourdain, he once quoted Mark Twain, saying that  "travel is fatal to prejudice".   Traveling opens your mind and hearts to different ways of living and makes it a little harder to judge folks.  Don't get me wrong, there are assholes everywhere but, walking into a diner in Indianapolis or a donut shop in Canada to be greeted by a local asking "where y'all from?" never gets old.  Out of state plates are a good conversation starter.  And food options make life interesting.

On the road early one morning after "boondockin" at a truck stop in Kentucky, we searched the food options on the highway signs and spotted "Rodney's Southern Style Home Cookin". Mark is more of a breakfast foodie than I am but, while traveling on two good meals a day, breakfast has to be more substantial than my normal yogurt and granola.  We checked out the specials and, while I was tempted by chicken and waffles, I spotted chicken livers on the lunch menu and asked if that was an option early in the day.  "Oh, sure, honey, we can fix up a breakfast if you want". Really?  "You want eggs?" "Yes, two, over medium."Hash browns?" "Yes". "I'll go get that. You two are gonna be fuller `an a tick after this".  And she wasn't wrong.  Super yummy. Filling.  Learned about her brother Rodney. And her mama.  Honestly you can't have more fun than that early in the morning.

Just like our local, west coast breweries have fish and chips, local food offerings in land-locked states have other options. I asked our waiter at the Rebel Kettle Brewery in Little Rock what was good; how was the crawfish po-boy? He said it was one of his favorites (you can usually tell if a waiter is fibbing and why would they?  Bullshit does not make for good tips.)  It WAS yummy, crawfish overflowing from the bun that were added to my side salad so the little "bugs" were enjoyed two ways in one meal. Chicken tenders are prepared differently in different regions. Grits come as a breakfast side as often as hash browns. Or chicken livers. Even cole slaw is different as you travel across the country. These are things you won't find if you don't venture beyond the chain restaurant menu.  Oh, you know what you're going to GET when you stick to a chain you're familiar with but, what fun is that?!

We like our dark beer - porters, stouts, dark ales.  And we've tried them everywhere.  Well, not everywhere but everywhere we've been.  So far.  There are places we missed in the states we've seen and states we haven't even set foot in.  So many breweries, so little time.

I am Strong. I am Invincible.

I am strong. I am invincible…. Actually, I’m pretty ‘vincible’ but I tried this summer to be less so. These are two of my sisters, as we took a walk on the "boardwalk" at the Resort in Coeur d'Alene on a choppy day. But first I had to drive there.

My first accomplishment was replacing two bathroom faucets. For the handy folk out there, this may appear a no-brainer and, in fact, I found it was not technically difficult since I simply reversed the process after removing the old icky faucets. Learning the function of a simple basin wrench? Priceless. Learning that the issue with retrofitting of fixtures is not the actual installation but GETTING in there? Also priceless. Laying there. Crawling. Sprawling. Reaching up while laying, back arched, over the edge of a raised cabinet. Reaching around existing pipes. I can see that new installation would be FAR easier. It probably took me hours longer than it would have taken Mark but I managed it. And now I know I can. BooYAH!

Going from my father’s house to my husband’s at 17 makes one the perennial passenger. My mom didn’t drive until she was nearing 40, not long before I was born so I don’t know that I ever recall her driving with my dad in the car. Heck, if there was company, my Mom took the back seat, deferring her passenger seat to a male guest. Don’t most families leave driving to Dad? I take the wheel occasionally with Mark in the car but distance driving, except in the exceptional cases, is left to the man and I seldom go any distance driving by myself. All this leaves me with little experience navigating in unfamiliar territory. I did drive to Santa Cruz from Carson City twice to visit my folks but it was a 7-hour drive and easily done in a a day. No overnights. I've even made this same drive to Idaho but had the kids along to navigate and keep my occupied. Never alone.

This summer I changed that by setting a course for northern Idaho, fourteen hours away, and driving myself to visit my family. Just making the decision was huge. Then I had to ponder my choices and decide on a route. In hopes of commandeering a spare kayak for a jaunt, I also loaded all my paddling gear. I synced the iPod, packed some snacks and set off. The world was my burrito.

It's odd that there's a real difference between traveling as a passenger and driving on a trip like this. No conversation. but LOUD singing. Although you can't watch the landscape as much as when you're riding shotgun, you see fewer things but you see them differently. You have to pay real attention to signs, both speed limit and directional. And traffic. The real joy would be stopping when I want and taking pictures. Mark is not unwilling to stop but...lets just say I hesitate to make him pull over after passing a caravan of Winnebarges on holiday, knowing he will have to pass them all again after I take a picture or two. But, by myself? Eh...I probably didn't do much passing and don't mind doing it again. So I stopped. I stopped along 199 to enjoy the turquoise waters of the Smith River. On the second day of travel, having spending the night in a Pasco motel, I stopped to watch combines working the wide open fields in southern Washington. Honestly, this area is mostly bland desert but there were stretches of ag land, tended to by behemoth sprinklers that catch my eye every time we head this way.
While in Idaho, I stayed with my sister. Wine was consumed. While wine was consumed, we sat and pondered the birds in her cherry tree and realized there was an abundance of cherries in that tree. She fetched the ladder and a bowl and I climbed. We picked bowls full before the birds beat us to them. I did not fall out of the tree. To celebrate, more wine was consumed.I borrowed my sister's kayak and joined my sister-in-law and the Coeur d'Alene Canoe and Kayak Club on an evening paddle up Wolf Creek, off of Lake Coeur d'Alene. Pretty area, known for resident eagles though just one golden sat atop a tree watching us. Nice people and warm enough to paddle in tank tops at 8:00 at night.
On the way home later in the week, while cruising south on 395, somewhere in the dreary miles of middle Washington, I spotted this train. We were headed the same direction but it was going backwards. The first time I spotted it, it was heading through an ag area and I thought a photo in order. Think about it...the perfect opportunity to catch the front if I got ahead of the back....got it? So, I scurried on ahead to find a good spot to pull over and wait. I grabbed my camera, jumped from my car waiting for it to pass and ...CRAP, dead battery. Argh! I change the battery but the train has continued on. Backwards. The direction I'm going. I charge along, finding spots to pull over but too much junk to make a good photo. Finally, my last opportunity before it ducked to somewhere away from the highway, I pull over, take my last shot at it, surrounded by sagebrush instead of grassy fields but, still, not bad. For a train going backwards...in my direction.

In Springfield, on the way home, I, booked a room and found I was just around the corner from the Hop Valley Brewery so I wandered over for a plate of catfish and a pint of Stout before hitting the hay for the final six-hour push home in the morning. All in all, a great trip. I found that I CAN do this. I drove without getting flipped off once. I pulled into motels without prior reservations. I didn't get too lost and, when I did, found my way again. I successfully located a number of card-locks so I could save a little on the fuels costs of a 1600 mile trip and THAT is no easy task since card-locks are not generally located in easily accessed parts of town. This may not seem like much, but this was an important accomplishment for me.

This Killin Time Is Killin Me

I don't get out much. Traveling on my own is adventure but, on my own I make rookie mistakes. I forget things like pocketknives in my purse (no worries-TSA found it for me...). I forget my bag on the carry-on cart and feel the wrath of the tiny Asian lady who, I'm SURE had unkind things to say about me, had I understood what she was muttering to her friend after he retrieved my bag.

This trip is one I have undertaken for work, for an expansion of my job due to the unofficial freezing of vacated positions. Learning is good. Expanding my knowledge of the world I work in is good. Spending three days in Palm Springs with training managers from various law enforcement agencies, was going to be a great opportunity but, something coastal would have been my preference.

With the disappearance of airlines willing to serve Humboldt, my flight options were slim. I left Sunday evening, hopping through San Francisco to arrive in the land of golf courses around ten, threw open the door to my fifth-floor balcony and tucked in for the night. I checked into the conference in the morning and found myself with a cohort willing to wander town at lunchtime in search of a deli I had spotted on the way from the airport. After a navigational error, we found our way to Sherman's Deli, as did most of the employees from nearby businesses. No sooner did a killer hot pastrami on rye arrive, we asked for our checks and to-go boxes in order to scurry back through the blistering heat to not miss the next speaker. The evening meal found us on a lovely patio enjoying Chili Rellenos and me having a beer alone because she doesn't drink. I hate feeling like a lush.

Day two was more of an adventure. Lunch was provided to allow for"networking" so dinner away from the hotel was the respite we needed. We headed down the strip, checking out the menus being offered by the hosts, looking for something with outdoor seating and a reasonable menu. We decided on Azul when my companion was entranced by the gliding seats and attached tables. Two-for-one dinner Tuesday didn't hurt and the pomegranate Cosmo was the cherry on top for me. We sat near the entrance with her facing the bar. She noted the abundance of men. Okay...neither one of us was shopping so who cares..... "no really, there are a lot of men." And...? I looked around to find she was right...we were pretty much the only women. Then I saw her...him...gams up to there, turquoise heels and a bouffant to match, walking towards out table to invite us to the show that night. At that point, I looked away from the menu to see the display at our table for the "Judy Garland Show". Ohhhhhhhh. We found the Castro district of Palm Springs. Turned out my companion was less than "tolerant" and didn't get how these men weren't looking at women. Well....they don't LIKE women. "But the Bible says....". Yeah. We had to finally not go there when it became obvious there was a chasm that could not be bridged. I had a second Cosmo with a huge pile of mussels and we wandered back to the Hyatt where it became clear there were other issues, not the least of which was her use of the word "fornicate"...ewww!

So here I sit at the Palm Springs Airport awaiting my evening flight. I could be doing SO many other things not the least of which is celebrating Hope's 23rd birthday. Work is no doubt piling up on my desk. At over $9 for a beer, I can't afford to get drunk. It's 93 degrees outside, the terminal is filling up because weather in SF is delaying the flight before mine and others connecting to and from there. Soon, I'll find out if my flight will also be delayed. Considering I have a four-hour layover there, it matters little except the people-watching is far more interesting in San Francisco. As long as my landing in McKinleyville isn't later than the 11:59 already scheduled.

I just realized this was never posted because, although I'm getting better at using my XOOM tablet, there are a few skills needed for posting a readable blog and I'm not there yet - cut and paste evades me. Turns out I ate something I shouldn't outta `et at one of the airports and spent much of the evening and the following day with my gut gurgling and locating every restroom in the SFO terminal. Tummy still doing flip-flops and eating brown rice and smoothies to gently ease my way back into food.