Plow that median!

Hello all.

I would like to take the time to thank you for your cheerful comments, faithful followings, and accurate advice throughout our trip. It meant so much to us to be able to have some contact with those we know and love. Just as you checked on us at every chance we were pumped to get internet so we could see if CJ left us some witty comment, our parents were still checking in on us, or if Mike would ever comment again (it has been awhile buddy). Other than sunflower seeds, and actual gasoline, you all have been the fuel for our trip (souls). Thanks.

We are in Vegas. What a place. Lights everywhere. Excess everywhere. But, my family provided us with excellent (and free) accomodations (much better than the directions).

Home is next. Pasadena that is. I would like to encourage you to keep coming back because we have some videos, thoughts, and various anecdotes that time has not allowed us to share. We will finish this whole thing off with some more posts back home.

Yesterday was our largest day ever. Over 750 miles. The landscape played with our hearts. Veil, CO's ski lodges surrounded by trees of various shades of green, Utah's desert that turned into epic canyons (Eagle Rock Canyon forced us to pull over) and then brown Nevada that gives way to lights and more lights.

When I drive, Jordan turns on The Office on my laptop and we giggle. I remember almost every scene and hold my breath in anticipation. Jordan watches and laughs. I listen and laugh.

Here's to you and yours.

On the Backside of a Dog named Mia...

Date: 9/10/07
Time: 3:36 (CST)
Place: Just West of Hillsboro, Kansas
Weather: Rainy
Music: Ryan Adams
Mood: Strong to quite strong


We found California Lee. Last night around 11 pm our travel weary eyes fell upon a beautiful sight: Welcome to Hillsboro!

Hillsboro is a small town in Central Kansas that is home to Tabor College, sister school of our own beloved Fresno Pacific University. It is now time for the numbers game (Hillsboro edition)

2,000ish… people in the town of Hillsboro

30… minutes from the nearest town with a movie theatre

1… Ford dealership

385… dollars a month to rent a nice sized 2 bedroom house with a fireplace

40… minutes from the nearest town you have heard of (Wichita)

1… childhood house of Wayne Wiebe

1… fine Mexican food establishment

1… hospitable Shafter guy named Lee


So we arrived at Lee’s house, were introduced to roommate Andrew, and fell to reliving a few of our favorite trip memories. Hot shower followed by a bed (anything other than the back of a Focus shared with Jordan was welcome) that was longer than I. Brilliant night of deep slumber. After my shower last night I came out to find Jordan (next in line for a shower) completely asleep on his couch. Poor guy, all tuckered out.
So we took a Tabor tour (say that 5 times fast) this morning and had lunch at said Mexican food restaurant. The tour of the campus was great, made me miss FPU and remember all of the times. For not being Mennonite I am pretty well connected (Hartland, FPU leadership, Bethany) and so I was having a great time remembering names, connecting the dots on the Mennonite family tree, and enjoying a remarkable tradition. Jordan was in hog heaven. His dad grew up there, he has visited, his fore fathers possibly built the town, and he was related to or knew most of the donor names on brick, etc.

The Taor (a summer prank has left the college sign devoid of a “b”) library provided internet which provided maps, which provided direction. Denver is next (contrary to the rumors) and we shall pitch our tent in Cherry Creek state park tonight.


Things to look forward to:
1. the Rockies
2. the Take 5 candy bar that Jordan bought me at the Hillsboro Gas Station
3. listening to music while driving in the rain (I always like that)
4. gaining an hour
5. my Grandma’s birthday

Used, Abused and Confused in the Midwest

Date: 9/9/2007
Location: Iowa City, IA aka CollegeTown USA
Music: Sufjan playing softly in the background at Starbucks
Mood: Tired, in need of showers yet oddly hopeful

In a word, last night was verbose. After Chicago, a mad dash was made to Iowa. It was colder. The wind was crisper. So were our senses. Those acute senses led us to promising Iowan stop #1: Happy Joe's Pizza and Ice Cream of Davenport, Iowa. We entered the joint wearing standard California threads....you know, v-necks, flannels, scoopnecks, and '80s Nike sneakers. To the native I-O-Wands, it must have been like aliens were invading. Stares were given. We replied with hearty smiles. As we perused the menu, three 14 year old girls in dance/cheer outfits overheard us talking to the waitress about our trip. Despite our shifty shwifty appearance, they wanted to know what California was like. We told them it was an enchanted, dangerous and important place.....'liberals come from there!' we warned them. They gasped and offered us $6 fundraiser tickets for an all-you-can-eat pizza and soda buffet. The only catch was we had 15 minutes. Timee and I must have eaten at least a pizza and a half. It was terrible. But, on the road, terrible makes for sufficient sometimes.

We bolted out of there, our bellies full and headed to Iowa City. As we crept into the 'sleepy' college town, we were met by waves and waves and waves of black and yellow clad undergrads. It seems that the beloved Hawkeyes had just finished their game against Syracuse (whipping them 35-0) and it was time to jubilate and celebrate. We ended up meeting a few guys named Phil and Brad from a tiny town called Preston, Iowa. In long story short, we saw all Iowa City has to offer: smug literary grad school types at an off-the-beaten-path joint, miniskirts and football jerseys, a college town that lived up to its' billing. Things got weird around 2:30 and it was time to leave. We headed to the state park. Or so we thought.

We ended up driving around for about an hour trying to find a Iowa state park that was only 14 miles away from Iowa City. If you do the math, the odds are against us. After running into a raccoon-infested, deserted state campground that was supposed to be our home for the night as well as a 'rodeo' whose lights were still on at 3:30am, we decided it was best to find a place to park and sleep in the back of the car. And so we spent last night in the parking lot of Solon Public Library, uncomfortable as all get out. We now move our eyes toward Hillsboro, Kansas, where hopefully rest, shower and good company in fellow Californian Lee Waldron await.

With that, the only thing that counts is faith expressing itself through love.

Onward Christian Bloggers

Date: 9/6/07
Time: 2:53 (CST)
Place: Downtown Chicago
Music: City Sounds
Mood: Windy


Aha. The windy city is indeed living up to its nickname. The wind today is tremendous. But, we shall overcome.

Most of you know by now that the Dodgers let the Cubs win last night (yes, let. How else do you explain pitching Eric Stults and not playing Russell Martin?). The experience was still one to remember. We first gazed upon Wrigley while in the car, and it was simply beautiful. What a park. Parking was expensive (it always is), but our spirits could not be dampened. We were more than an hour early, but the bleacher fans were already filing in. Bleacher tickets are general admission so everyone was there staking out spots. It was fantastic. We found a group of Dodger jersey clad guys and sat behind them. We ate nachos and hot dogs. And peanuts. Soon the seats around us started filling with all kinds of people and everyone started chatting.
Yeah, we are Dodger fans.
Agh, come on, Cuuuu-bbies, Cuuuu-bbiiees.
Well, we are from LA
Oh, well. Why are you here?
We are on a road trip.
What? You drove?
Yeah.
Oh wow that is cool, you are all right. I bet those guys flew (to Dodger fans in front of us)
Yeah, homes, we flew.
Man, these guys are fans, they drove!
(Me looking from one to another not knowing what to do)
Saved by the National Anthem. We all stood and as the singer started someone a few seats down said in a whisper loud enough for us to hear “Is the singer Russian?”
He then yelled out, “The Cold War is over!”

We couldn’t keep from laughing. What is going on? Let me give you all some reference.

The Bleacher fans are apparently quite famous at Wrigley. They drink by the gallon. They yell as if they were on fire. But also, one fan explained to us, sometimes they forget a game is being played. So the talking and yelling and drinking continued and we made at least 10 friends (a law student, a girl from Visalia, a guy with a boat on Lake Michigan, a former Wyoming basketball player, etc.). I was shutting out a lot of the excess because I really love the Dodgers and I wanted to watch Juan Pierre’s every step and Matt Kemp’s every swing, etc. It was grand. Everybody yelled at me when the Cubs scored and I pouted and carried on for their enjoyment. In about the fourth inning the fans all started yelling and carrying on for no reason. Woo-Woo, they said. I was lost. Then they pointed out an elderly African-American gentleman that had a Cubs jersey on and was taking pictures with the bleacher fans. Apparently a homeless man somehow had started going to games years ago and he wears a personalized Cubs jersey (Woo Woo on the back) and goes around the bleachers signing autographs, taking pictures, giving high-fives, and starting cheers. Woo Woo.

The game ended. We called up our host and found our way back to his Pilsen apartment. Perfect. Brick building. Jordan keeps saying how he feels like he is in a sitcom. Wood floors, great paint, open feel. Our host (Derrek) went to CVC, then Trinity, majored in English and History and now is waiting on a teaching position to open up. His roommate (Chris) is a graphic designer and right now is designing Nascar’s website for them. Big time. Our third host is a cat named Lady Brett Ashley (I know you like it, Dad). (Side note: Jordan hates the cat with all of his being. He will never like the cat. If the cat spat out $100 dollar bills, he still would be reluctant to be friends with the cat. Despite his stellar name, the transcendent evil that emanates from his felinity will forever be a barrier in their friendship.) So we have talked city life, bikes, music, Hemingway, Gentrification, etc. Brilliant. We have made some great housing decisions thus far (other than behind the bathroom in Kentucky).

I have nothing more to say.

And now Jordan shall catch you up some other events. Take it away Jordan.

So yesterday we woke up late, were pounced on by evil Lady Brett Ashley and decided that it might be time to see the city. Being that the Loop’s (a word locals use to denote the downtown financial district and several other well-known districts) skyline is visually accessible for miles, we thought it wouldn’t be too hard to find where we were going. And by motor vehicle, it is pretty easy. On foot, it’s a different story. We drove around in awe of the gargantuan that is Chicago for at least 15 minutes. It was time to park and walk the streets. We found a Starbucks, opened Kerouac and an Apple laptop and went to town. It was at this point that we decided that Chicago should be renamed the ‘The Fickle Weathered City’. It rained, it shined. It hailed, tornadoed and snowed all in the span of 5 minutes. (3 of those things are not true.) The weather was like a 7 year old socialite from Lincoln Park who can’t decide what she wants at the posh boutique down the street from her parent’s loft. Regardless, the parking meter was quite expensive, so we decided to walk. We hit up some Chipotle and being full and happpy decided it was time for us to head back to the car.

This is where our mistake came.

Being the tech-and-direction savvy individuals we thought we were, we decided it would be best to sit across the street from a Caribou Coffee, commandeer free internet and find our way back. It proved more difficult than we thought and so we decided to walk. We walked left. We went 5 or 6 blocks. Not finding ourselves in familiar territory, we turned another left. Another 4 or 5 blocks. By this time, it was apparent we needed to ask for directions. The friendly Chicago traffic patrol directed us to Wacker Street where we knew our car was. We were supposed to head back the way we came 5 or 6 blocks and turn left. Once we reached our destination, we realized we were in the exact same spot as we had been. And there was our parking garage…..literally 30 feet from where we had been across from Caribou Coffee. We made jolly laughter in the street and went on our way.

The rest of the afternoon brought catch in Lincoln Park, a walk around Lake Michigan, and a long leisurely stroll back to Pilsen along Halstedt Street. Night brought dinner at a Mexcellent restaurant and tater tots, Elvis pinball and a photobooth at the Skylark, a divey place near the 90/94 Freeway. We headed back to our temporary home, content and happy. We slept til 1pm. And that’s where we find ourselves right now.

Things to do with our time left in De Vindy City…
1. Attend David Bazan show at the Beat Kitchen
2. Walk through Wicker Park one more time
3. Purchase Bears paraphernalia for Chicago uncle
4. Navigate ourselves to thrift store
5. Find Starbucks and post
6. Map out our next destination

I wish a pair of fringed chaps for Christmas for all of you this year.

Holla Back

Date: 9/5/07
Time: 11:31 am (CST)
Place: Anytown, Il
Music: Starbucks XM Satellite Radio
Mood: Brownish Spider, Brownish Leaf


Aghh. Today is Humpday. Not only is it Wednesday, the middle of the hump of this week, but it is also our Humpday. We are half way to the end. Humpday. It is all downhill from here.


Today is highly anticipated. Dodgers-Cubs in Wrigley. Too good. Dodgers have already won 2 and a third would make my Humpday. My allegiance to Da Blue has never been in question, but until recently Jordan was thinking of cheering on the Cubs. If anything this roadtrip has deepened our love for California athletic teams.

It has come to my attention (thanks Falk) that today is an important day. On this day in 1957, Jack Kerouac’s On The Road was published. Perfect. Also perfect: the poem that Garrison Keiller read this morning on The Writer’s Almanac. I am a huge fan of this show. So is Falk. Here is the link:
http://www.elabs7.com/functions/message_view.html?mid=253634&mlid=499&siteid=20130&uid=c126d83e50

Maybe more later. I will leave you all with a couple a videos that have been stacking up in my hard drive. Nope. Blogspot can't handle it. Can you blame them? The world isn't ready for it.

Last night we drove through endless cornfields and found our campsite with ease. The lady running the joint was not exactly nice. She was a Cubs fan and she was mad they were losing, then the two weird Kalifornia Kids showed up. Sorry Marge (Jordan named her Marge).

The camp site was grassy and buggy. Nothing a good tent can't help with. Good night. Up next Chi-Town.


Keep your fluids bodily.

Can we please put the Jelly in the Ice Chest?

Date: 9/4/07
Time: 4:44 EST
Location: Somewhere between Loo-uh-vulle, Kentucky and Indianapolis, Indianer
Music: The You, Me and Derek Lee official playlist‡Death Cab for Cutie ‘Blacking Out the Friction’
Mood: Chillin’ out of our minds

Well, it’s been an interesting couple of days, filled with a proverbial food chain pyramid, both the digestive type and the activity type. Our stay in Louisville was, in short, good-looking and attractive, like Michael Young in smallish, green snow pants or Indie Rock Jesus with a bevy of urban infrastructure, architecture and conjecture behind him. Once we woke from our enormous slumber at the Days Inn, we sat around like bums for a couple of hours. It felt the right thing to do. We watched Man of the Year with Robin Williams and College Jeopardy. Seeing that both Tim and I are graduates of a fine liberal arts institution, we both felt confident that we could have challenged Cliff, a pre-med student from UCLA, or Erin, a University of Nebraska undergrad with an absurd knowledge of words with silent ‘b’s. Our conglomerated comprehension of random fits and facts make us a great duo to rule the world through our Jeopardy prize money. Mr. Trebek, I will be contacting you shortly.

We decided we needed to see a bit of the city, and so, to the city we went. Tim, in his altruistic mindfulness, found that Louisville had a Germantown neighborhood that had historical significance. With my own affection and cultural heritage tied to the German motherland and its’ peoples, we decided to drive through. And it definitely was Germantown. By Germantown, I mean low-income housing with hardly any Germans at all. We initially stopped at the Germantown Café but our reason got the better of us when we saw no cars outside despite an intermittently flashing ‘Open’ sign. To save everyone the awkwardness of two unshaven Californians eating in a run-down yet cultured café, we decided against it. In truth, we probably didn’t want their food. They probably didn’t want our skinny jeans. We broke up without saying a word.

After our Germantown debacle, we headed to a neighborhood called the Highlands with the main intersection being Baxter Street and Bardstown Road. The Highland strip is quite a street, full of unique, independent shops (read Wild and Woolly Video), plenty of Irish pubs (read O’Shea’s, Molly Malone’s, and Willy’s) and a grand American strip mall smack dab in the middle of it all (read Walgreens, KFC, and Starbucks). We decided on Molly Malone’s, were served excellent Irish food by an overfriendly Irish/German/Korean waitress and set out to explore a bit. We walked up the street and down the other side. We didn’t say much but enjoyed the moment in itself. (Side note: At this point, Tim and I probably have exhausted a few hundred topics of conversation. It is good to get to a point with a person where silence is not only satisfactory but comfortable and relished.) We ended up talking to a tattooed, punk-rock girl of probably 19 who kept calling us ‘kids’ and saying how crappy Louisville was. We found it amusing and with our bellies full, our spirits high, and a need to see Georgia, our friendly 65 year old desk clerk at the Days Inn, we headed home for bed.

This morning, we rose, packed up and headed out to explore the city again. After reviewing our entertainment options, bank accounts, and possible locations to spend the night, we decided upon the Louisville Slugger Factory. Little did we know, it would be the best 9 dollars spent so far on the trip (with the exception of the money for the Nashville hostel). We took a tour of the factory, watched Grady Sizemore’s (of the Cleveland Indians) bats being made, inspected Alex Rodriguez and Derek Jeter’s carton of bats, and laughed at the humor of our host, Carmela. Our tour compatriots included a 4 year old who wanted to hit anything and everything anytime he got his hands on a bat, a 70 year old man who had quite possibly the largest droop of a belly I have ever seen and 2 Yankees fans who were way too cool for school. Wait, isn’t that how all Yankees fans are? Regardless, we explored the Louisville Slugger Museum, took a couple of rounds of BP (batting practice, not bucolic preliminaries), acquired two mini-bats and went on our merry way. We were so happy we stopped in Sellersburg, Indiana out of sheeer delirium.

Several things you need to know (and/or things we never thought would happen)…
1. We are now back on the Peeb and J. I didn’t really want to open with that one.
2. We slept on a grassy slope in the back of a Kentucky state park bathroom. Weal weeuhd.
3. Louisville has some of the greatest architecture in the United States.
4. We miss our family and friends, significant others and significant brothers/mothers.
5. We will reside tonight at Turkey Run State Park. Booyakasha.

Until the next Starbucks……spectacles, Van-Nesstacles, wallet, and watch!

Date: 9/3/07
Time: 6:20 pm (EST)
Place: Louisville, KY
Music: Air Conditioning
Mood: Sleepy

We apologize for the lack of posts. Hostels are not conducive to blogging, BTW.


Let’s begin.

Saturday night we went with our fellow foreign friends to see some brilliant bluegrass band. Our Aussie friend Marty found this great band and with some doubts we set off with them to the Station Inn. Turned out to be a good decision. Neither Jordan nor I are particularly drawn to Bluegrass, but we are drawn to our UK/Aussie friends and so we went. Turns out we were seeing this incredible band made of up Grammy nominees, Reba McIntyre band members, and this guy who wrote the number one country hit in the country right now. Brilliant. Put us in a good mood.


Sunday was check out day. That means that we slowly packed up, went out to eat with our friends, took many pictures, drew Indie Rock Jesus’ likeness on the common room wall, and basically delayed the inevitable as long as we could. I have never felt instant community like that before and we didn’t want to leave. When a bunch of Spaniards showed up and were given our beds we knew it was time. But, our friends wanted Chinese and Ron (remember the Asian Godfather of Nashville hostels) told us of a cheap Chinese buffet. Perfect. Buffets are good because we can eat until we are full enough to last until Chicago.

After dinner it was already 8pm and my favorite band (Over the Rhine) was playing nearby. How could we say no? We didn’t.

It was real good.

Then we hit the road, Jack.


And found ourselves near Bowling Green. We have never been to Bowling Green. It was midnight but we figured why not poke around a bit. We found nothing but Hardee’s and then we couldn’t find the highway and then we found Hardee’s again and Mr. Hardee (19 year old Derek) helped us to the highway where we turned our attention to Nolin Lake State Park. It should have been called Backwoods State Park or Impossible to Find State Park. We drove around the lake. We started to get real tired. We got cranky for the first time all trip. We could have been in Nashville.

Finally we found the campground at about 3:30am (CST) and then found out that it was full. Perfect. There was a quaint little church down the road (Kentucky loves their quaint little churches) and we decided we would camp there. Won’t a church be nice to us? Tomorrow is Labor Day, will anybody even see us? These were the questions we were facing. We decided to shower at the camp ground and then head to the church. So we parked and got out our assorted toiletries and sundries. That is when we discovered that Jordan left his travel bag of toiletries and sundries in Nashville. Perfect. (For the record I left my sleeping bag bag in Nashville). So I brushed my teeth and then we pulled out our sleeping bags and slept on the grassy slope behind the bathroom. We were so tired that we actually slept pretty well, but in order to avoid a fine or prison term or other unpleasantry we left at 6:30 am (CST). For those keeping track at home that is not enough sleep. We drove to Louisville (saw a family of deer, some roadkill raccoon, and crossed into the EST), found a Starbucks and decided upon getting a hotel room. With so much time left in our trip now is not the time to get sick, tired, or in a fist fight. Sweet ole Georgia let us in early and we napped for a few hours. Tonight’s plans include a record store and more sleep.


Highlights of last 30 hours or so:
1. Napping
2. Telling the drunk Tennessee fan how much we love USC (not fully true) and Cal (also not fully true) just to see how many times he would cuss at us about it.
3. Talking about Barack Obama with random folks in Nashville
4. Deer
5. EST

Looking forward to:
1. Chicago
2. Food
3. Cold weather
4. Lots of comments from all of you
5. Crystal Meth
6. Playing Catch in a Louisville park
7. Swimming in Lake Michigan


Until next time… pop tarts to you and yours.

Nashing our Ville

Date: 9/1/07
Time: 5:18 CST
Place: Our Backyard
Music: Architecture in Helsinki
Mood: Southern/sweaty
Temperature: 98 degrees (yes, like the band)
Humidity: 95% (nothing like the band)


Well, well, well. We have been quite busy since we last posted. Nashville has not disappointed in the least. We are indeed safe in Nashville living it up at the Music City Hostel. Let me back up.


Last night we arrived in Nashville a little after 11 pm. Between Little Rock and Nashville we stopped only once. For burgers. In Brownsville, Tennessee. Wow. We had DQ, played catch and loaded up on sunflower seeds. We were put back a bit because Jordan Wiebe has the luckiest arm East of the Mississippi. Whilst throwing the ball back and forth, Jordan incidentally throw one wide right. I lunged, but alas it was out of reach. I turned to watch it bounce once on the downward slope of a 3 foot ditch and then fly across said ditch and directly into a hollow steel pole. Said steel pole was approx. 60 ft. long and only about 1.5 feet in diameter on the near side. Our ball was lost forever.


But!

Jordan bravely scooted himself in the backside of the pole. He squished and squirmed about 30 feet amidst chicken fries, 32 oz. cups, and used intravenous needles until he reached our beloved ball and returned a hero. Bravo, Jordan, bravo.


So the rest of the trip into Nashville was as smooth as two Kalifornia Kids asking for the nearest Starbucks in a gas station where not a single employee has ever heard of Starbucks. Pretty smooth.


We were met at the hostel by 3 smoking young lasses (smoking refers not to their physical appearance but to their habit of choice) who directed us to “door c” where Ron lives. He knew we were coming in late and was ready. We know nothing of hostels. He only knows hostels. Ron had Jordan and I sign away all of our rights, gave us some general instructions and led us to our room. Common area, common bathroom, three bedrooms. Our room has one closet and two bunkbeds. We are both on top. Our roommates are an Australian couple who are traveling the world. Entire world. They left in December and are headed home after the Americas (South, Central, North, etc.).

We headed out to see the nightlife and after a few confused blocks found ourselves at the Vanderbilt partay. It was a lot of Oxford shirts, blonde heads, and a cover band that opened with Jon Bon Jovi and made their way through Journey, Def Leopard, Ozzy, Sweet Home Alabama, and so on. The only exception to the perfect Nashville cover band was their rendition of Teenage Dirtbag by Wheatus. Do you remember that song? I didn’t. We started feeling jolly. We were in a big city surrounded by peers and so we started trying to make friends. Alex was wearing a pin stripe seersucker suit and ended up being from San Diego. He went to Cornell. He was drunk. Tyler was almost falling over as he swayed next to us in the back. He likes Bonnaroo (the music festival) and says “you have to go, you have to”. Well our new friends had afforded us laughs and little more. We were excited to hang out with some Nashvillans (I thought of that myself) and they were all proving themselves drunk. We enjoyed the music some more and continued to stick out like Jack Kerouac’s thumb. We were 0 for 2 and decided that was enough. We sang along “Take me down to the Paradise city, where the grass is green and the girls are pretty”, talked to the band’s guitarist, Stevie, and headed home.

Home provided some more good moments. Mainly consisting of foreign drunks, Wisconsin anarchists, and Emmill who worked for Willie Nelson for 23 years and needed $11.35 to get somewhere. Bed was a welcome sight.


This morning was brilliant. We are two of three Americans at the hostel. Ireland, England, and Australia are all represented and we just missed the Dutch and Swedes. It is all pretty crazy, really. We rented 2 beach cruisers and hit the town with Mitch (think: other American, biked from Wisconsin, hoping his friend who went to visit his peace corp girlfriend in Jamacia comes and gets him tomorrow; he is a perfect blend of Jamin Chepernich and Matt Creer, although few of you know both of those gents, see picture of person you don't recognize). Nashville was not built for beach cruisers (or is it the other way around?). Lunch near Vandy, downtown cruising, lots of sweating.

Now we have entered a lazy afternoon that shall melt into a Southern night.

Our Splash into Tennesee...

Date: Ocho/Trente Uno/Dos Cero Cero Siete
Time: 7:24 SentrAL Stanturd Time
Location: Memphis, TN
Music: Art Brut ‘Moving to LA’…..Eddie Argos is drinking Hennesay with Morrissey
Mood: Turtle’s the Champ!

Well, the great state of Tennusee has thrust itself upon us. Several great things have happened already, only 7 miles into the state. First, our virgin gaze upon the waters of the Mississippi did not fail to disappoint. The aquatic juggernot held high ideals, what with the images of Tom Sawyer and Jim floating on their rickety wooden raft swirling in our head. In a sense, we feel old Poopie is our own floatation device on this large river of America. In another sense, it’s a 1000 pound amalgamation of metal, plastic, rubber and automotive genius. Thank you, Mr. Henry Ford.

Second, the Memphis skyline has been the most impressive thus far. If we had time, I believe we’d like to climb to the top of one of these and take in the vast array of neighborhoods Elvis walked in a drunken stupor. Indie Rock Jesus, however, did get to take a photo with the skyline. Tim and I are both jealous. The Lord gets whatever he wants as a travel partner!

Third, we have been excited at the prospect of carpool lanes. It seems that Memphis is enough of an urban city to constitute adding such a lane. Seeing that we are three, we find these accommodations most advantageous. It is also conducive to passing the millions of J.B. Hunt and Werner semis that seem to own the road. Side note: Oversized loads with trucks that have dragging tailpipes should not be doing 80mph. Upon our notification to the owner of the truck, we got a Southern wave and a knowing grin. Do these people not care about the safety of their fellow traveling compatriots? Side side note: Watching a drunk motorcycle driver at a safe distance on an Oklahoma turnpike is one of the most terrifying/amusing experiences one might have in the land of toll roads.

Our current mileage sits at 1885 miles. For those counting at home, that is more than halfway across the nation. 2000 miles looms before we hit Nashville. Bangarang.

Tim and I have discussed several times how the reality of our trek has not begun to hit us yet. We are hoping that when we actually have time to experience a city, the magnitude of our adventure will hit us like Brian Urlacher during his New Mexico high school football days.
It is difficult to comprehend this when one is always in transition and that has been our reasoning for our lack of understanding. I think it makes us feel better.

We have made contact with our Nashville hosts at the Music City Hostel and are planning an arrival of 10:30pm, enough time by our standards to do a little exploring. Good food, live music, a park, a thrift store and a place to buy 2-sided tape are on our short list.

Places I would have liked to stoop along the way….
-Germantown, Tennessee….to reconnect with the glasnost of my forefathers
-Oakland, Tennessee. It has got to be as ghetto as its’ West Coast counterpart.
-One of the 18 large white crosses along I-40…….I think we’ve past the Western Hemisphere’s largest cross at least that many times.
-The birthplace of legendary exercise guru Richard Simmons. The man with rainbow spandex onesies was born in Arkansas. Who knew? (That was a complete fabrication, although I would like to see where he gets his brown Afro from.)
-A place to photograph the simple beauty of archaic Midwest farm equipment lying in overgrown green fields…..there is a photographic attractiveness that forms when rusty metal meets foliage and a blue sky filled with clouds that look like they house cities on top.

We look forward to our Nashville stay and love you all.

Goodness, graciousness and Gimli-power to all of you.