And That's a Wrap.

I'm bad at saying goodbye, so I'm going to put it off for later.

We got up early this morning, knowing that the last leg of a journey is often the most difficult, since there comes a point where you simply want to be there and no longer be in the transient mode that is travel.  I personally adore travelling and have been lucky enough to do quite a great deal of it in my life, but one of the best things about a journey is that it does come to an end.  That gives you the chance to savor your experience, to make the time more meaningful.  

I can't say that this will be a particularly interesting entry, but you should read it anyway.  If only so you can tell me you did without lying to me.  Because it would make me sad if you lied to me.

We packed, ate some breakfast, and headed out to the road.  For once, we didn't need Martha May, since Mom's been visiting LA/Pasadena and Ventura for a long time.  So we hopped on to 101 and headed up towards Ventura, where our first stop was the graveyard that many members of the family are buried in.  Mom bought some roses and we visited the graves.  Next up was a short little visit with Shelly so we could see all the work that she'd done with the house.  We promised ourselves only a thirty minute visit.  I can't remember if we kept that promise or not.

So back we went to the car and onwards we went on our long drive towards San Jose.  Guys, I'm not going to lie to you.  I'm tired of driving.  I would be okay with never driving again.  There's a wall and I've hit it.  I've hit it so hard.  Oh well.  I'd beaten all the levels of Angry Birds, so I kind of stared into space for a while.

We decided to pull over for lunch in Solvang, the town with the really Dutch name.  And we ate at a place that I'm told that quite a few of you may have been to...

Of course, we had pea soup.  I mean, what else would you have in the area where split pea soup was invented?  Mom wanted me to take a picture in one of those cut-outs so I was a soup chef, but I said no.  I'll put my head in a T-Rex's mouth (if it fits) but I will not be a fake soup chef.  I don't know why.

Guess what we did next.  No, seriously, guess.  You give up?

We got back into the car.  And drove.  For hours.  Can we talk about time for a second?  As everyone knows, time flies when you're having fun.  As everyone also knows, time drags when all you want to do is stop driving and just get somewhere.  Someone invent a teleporter.  I'll pay you in love.  Not money.  Just love.  That should be enough.  

At long last, we got off on 85.  I immediately called Dylan to let her know that we would be there in around 15 minutes.  The resulting noises between the two of us may have broken the sound barrier.  It's highly likely. Then Mom and I took a wrong turn, but Martha guided us safely to the apartment.  I saw a platinum blond streak out of the corner of my eye and knew that Dylan knew we'd arrived.  There was lots of hugging and squeeing noises and general glee.  It was fantastic.

It didn't take that long to unpack the car; though I had a significant amount of stuff, it wasn't that bad.  It's all ensconced in the apartment while Mom and I lounge in the hotel.  Next, Dylan, Mom, and I headed over to the hotel to check in, followed by the obligatory visit to the legendary Psycho Donuts.  I got to see all the changes to the shop, while Mom was there for the first time.  Dylan and I explained it all and then, of course, we went home loaded up with goodies.

Next we decided we would go to an early dinner, since Dylan was going out for the night and Mom and I were tired.  We headed to Ojale, a nearby Mexican place that has some great food.  The nachos are loaded like no other, and there's a lot of food that's good quality.  A fantastic end meal to the journey.

Mom is in California until Sunday; tomorrow is filled with errands and general running around before dinner with some of our other cousins.  So I guess this is it.  It's time to say goodbye to this blog.

This journey has been an adventure like no other.  I could almost use up an entire thesaurus with all the words that pop into my mind when I try to describe it.  I am generally a person who loves the idea of a home and connects very deeply to the area around her.  But every once and a while, something stirs in my veins and demands that I move.  And did I ever move this time.

I cannot thank all of you enough for reading this blog and joining me on this journey.  I've truly enjoyed writing this; it's re-sparked my creative outlet.  It is with no small measure of sadness that I end this blog, but I know that it's started something in me that's new and precious.  I'm hoping that this will teach me to write 365 days a year, even if it's just a paragraph.

And as for you, reader, I hope that this has made you want to travel.  There is nothing quite like it.  The world is at your fingertips.  Go ahead and grasp it.

And remember, always take the road less traveled.

It's more fun that way.

This is Now a Food Blog

Greetings all from sunny Pasadena!

You might say, "Why, Becca, you're so chipper today!  You're usually tired and a bit grumpy, if we could be honest.  What's happened?"

There was no driving today.  That's what happened.  For one glorious day, we didn't drive more than ten miles.  For one glorious day, there was no carrying suitcases or truck stops or using public bathrooms.  As the multiple uses of the word glorious may indicate, it was glorious.

...We didn't really know what to do with ourselves.  I got up relatively late (8 am) and meandered upstairs for breakfast on the deck.  Can we talk about that?  Breakfast on the deck.  In November.  It's so warm here.  After breakfast, I wandered back downstairs.  The internet was calling to me.  It has the sweetest siren song.

In the end, Mom and I decided that we wanted to take a small walk around the Rose Bowl.  So we drove down.  Haha.  But we walked for quite a bit.  Longer than we meant to walk for, in fact.  This is in part due to these inconvenient things called "fences" that are on this earth only to thwart my mother and I as we attempt to get back to the car.  Fences.  I hate them.

Eventually we defeated the fences.  One day, there will be a book written to commemorate our valiant triumph over them.  We got back in the car and drove over to the shop, where we were once again given a fantastic lunch, courtesy of Peggy.  I won't add that much in the food description section, mainly because Mom ate the sandwich I'd already described, we both had a Caesar salad, and I had some pasta salad, which was light and creamy with a beautiful palette of colors and crunch because of the vegetables mixed in with it.  Don't you worry, though.  I'm saving the food descriptions for later.

Next, Peggy joined us and the three of us went to the Norton Simon.  It's a museum that's based off of a private collection.  And what a private collection it is!  There are Rembrandts, Goyas, Picassos, Degas (a lot of Degas), Botticelli, Van Gogh, and many more.  I hadn't known it, but the museum actually contains one of my favorite paintings, a Renoir called "Reclining Nude" which I have always found a simply mesmerizing piece.  It's a beautiful museum, well arranged with a fabulous little garden.  And they gave us a free Degas print as we left!  That was nice of them.

After that, we returned to the house and hung around for a bit.  I'd give you a blow by blow, but it would be kind of boring.  We just had a nice, relaxing day.  Eventually, our cousins Ted and Ted showed up, so we spent some time chatting and hanging out with them.

Then we all went to dinner.  Because this is a food blog now.  Gale's Restaurant is a long-time favorite out here, and tonight was no different.  We started with some bruschetta, which featured wildly fresh tomatoes that perfectly complemented the thin Parmesan cheese and the lightly toasted bread.  Next, Mom and I split a platter of roasted figs.  Figs are my favorite.  They're robust and flavorful without being too filling, and the way the flesh splits underneath your teeth, so soft and supple!  Not too mention the quiet crunch of the seeds hidden in the flesh, just enough texture to make it a little more firm.  These particular figs were stuffed and roasted with blue cheese, which heightened the fruit's taste.  The sprinkle of balsamic kept the food from being too sweet with a hint of acid.  Delicious.

My next course was gnocci with mushrooms and oven-roasted pork.  The gnocci was handmade, which I could tell because they looked a bit more like little pasta blocks and from the way they melted in my mouth.  Flour and butter and pure deliciousness.  The mushrooms were perfectly sauteed and melded beautifully with the cream sauce, while the pork simply fell to bits in my mouth.  Spectacular.

Okay, I'm done with food now.  In part because I am still too full to really think about food.  So that's what you get.  And dinner was, of course, filled with great company and lots of laughter and cheer.  Always a good time.

The rest of the night will also be relaxing; Mom and I get up early in the morning for the final leg of the journey.  This time tomorrow, I will be in San Jose, my new home.  It's all very exciting and a bit surreal.  I cannot wait for my life to unfold, and I'm so pleased that all of you decided you wanted to read about this journey that's the prelude to the real journey.

This is most likely the penultimate post on this blog; I truly hope that you've enjoyed reading and that I've made you laugh (or at least smile...come on, I at least made you smile) at least once.  See you tomorrow night.

Total miles today:  NONE.
Total mileage: Go look at the other post.  How lazy can you get?  (I am too lazy to look at the last post to put the mileage here)

Tomorrow is a new day.

Tardy to the Party

And lame to boot.

I didn't post last night because I was exhausted.  I went to bed around 9:30 and then proceeded to do what every single exhausted person does.

Play around on the internet and neither sleep nor get anything useful done.  Y'know.

So now we're playing catch-up, but we're also playing wind-down.  That's right.  This blog is coming to an end.  But don't burst into tears just yet, reader.  We're still good for another post or two.  Because it ain't over 'till it's over.

Let's get started.

We got up bright and early in Kingman, Arizona, knowing that we had a bit of a drive ahead of us and that the clocks would lie to us as we crossed into the final timezone.  After hitting up Starbucks, we headed forth into the great unknown, the barista looking after us with tear filled eyes and whispering  "Godspeed."  I wish this had really happened. It would have made my day.

And then--hold on to your hats, folks--we drove.  And drove.  53 miles from Kingman, we crossed into California. I tried to send out joyous texts, but was denied by a satellite conspiracy that left me without a signal.  So, grumpy yet exuberant, I settled into Angry Birds.  Of course.

And then was promptly distracted by the appearance of the fruit guard.  I know, I know.  What's a fruit guard, Becca?  Just beyond the border to CA, there's a little tollbooth-esque station stretched across the highway.  There, you are supposed to stop.  A kind person might comment about your license plate ("New Hampshire, huh?") and then ask you if you're carrying any fruit in the car.  Once you deny it, you're allowed to carry on into the wilds of California with your fruitless car.

It is safe to say that I was extremely confused.  Mom explained that CA takes their agriculture very seriously and they were checking to make sure that we didn't have any fruit to contaminate theirs, as I often make it a hobby of mine to gather diseased fruit and launch it into crop fields.  Bad habit, I know.  I can't help it.  So we passed the lovely fruit guard and drove on.

The next stop was just outside the Mojave desert, where we decided we needed gas. Because no one wants to be trapped in a desert without gas.  It's just asking for trouble.  So we pulled off the highway and into the nearest gas station, where we both promptly had a mini heart attack about the gas prices.

How much, you ask?

Let's try $4.79 on for size.

I promptly required reassurance that gas was not this expensive in all of CA.  I received it. We piled back into the car.  (Someone really ought to go through and count how many times I have said "we got into the car" in different ways.  Someone who isn't me.)

Next stop was Pasadena, CA, the home of a majority of my mother's side of the family.  The very first stop was, of course, the shop, as "The Kitchen" is known in the family.  We greeted Peggy (well, I did as Mom searched for parking) and then got to choose a lovely lunch from the shop's ample offerings.

Have I mentioned that this is about to become even more of a food blog?  Because it is.

Lunch was exquisite.  This is often (if not always) the case of food from the shop.  Mom had sesame noodles and a side-salad that is one of the most fantastic things I've ever had.  It was lettuce, blue cheese, green apple, pomegranate seeds, and a vinaigrette.  It made for the perfect light bite; the texture of the lettuce lightened the slight bite of the cheese, while the apple and the pomegranate brought forth sweetness and provided lovely crunch.  The dressing was light and added flavor without masking any other flavor.  I had a half of a turkey and cranberry sandwich.  The turkey was moist, the bread was crunchy and delicious, and the cranberry chutney just gave your mouth a good time.  For real.  I also got some grilled asparagus (in my immediate family, always pronounced "as-pa-ray-gus" because we're weird) with goat cheese, orange rind, and a fantastic dressing.  The goat cheese was a soft and mild alternative to the tang of the dressing, and the asparagus was just charred enough to have a slight earthy flavor.

Mwah.  (That's me kissing my fingers like an Italian chef.)

Like I said, this is now totally a food blog.  Because that's what we did.  We ate.  And we ate well.  Other than that, we mostly napped/internetted through the afternoon until Peggy came home.  Then we went to pick up the little ones, which lead to inspired text/post by me.  ("4-year-old cousin keeps looking at me askance as he tries to figure out if he really knows me or if all the adults are lying.")  Walter was confused but cool with it.  Eaton (the 4-year-old) was unsure but blossomed as soon as he realized that yes, I would love to talk about his book on animals with him.

By the time the four of us returned home, Shelly had arrived.  Did I mention that this is leading up to a family gathering?  Because it is.  Much chatting and laughter was had as we drank wine, played around, and drank some more wine.  Eaton and I went on a spelling spree with the little foam letters he'd gotten that day.  Turns out, even after college, I can still spell.  Good to know.

At long last, Shawna appeared (Walter and Eaton's Mom, just so you're all up to date) and there was much hugging, a little more chatting, and more wine.

Then we sat down for dinner (the food blog returns).  Peggy had some food delivered to the house, so we feasted on chicken enchiladas, spanish rice, the most fantastic guacamole ever, and some coleslaw salad.  The enchiladas were fantastic, just the right amount of spice in the sauce, with moist shredded chicken that was perfectly seasoned.

Then came dessert.  We're talking churros dipped in homemade dark chocolate fudge sauce.  You know that type of sauce that you just want to eat by the spoonful?  You're all thinking of one particular sauce right now, that sauce that's been a part of your life for a while and just fills you with delight and anticipation.  That was this sauce.  It was fantastic.

Okay, I'll stop talking about food now.

Really, it was a fabulous night (have I used that particular adjective in this post yet?  Find out for me.)  We don't get to see the CA family that often--though I suppose that will change now for me--so it was nice to have the chance to catch up and hang out.  Also fun was knowing that we didn't have to drive the next morning.  HALLELUJAH.

I already talked about my failed attempt to go to bed, so I'm just gonna go ahead and vent for one second.

Those of you that have driven west for long periods of time know my pain.  You know that once you hit midafternoon, a certain thing happens.  What certain thing?  THE SUN TEARS OUT YOUR RETINAS FOREVER.  Seriously.  You are just forever driving into a haze of blindness and unicorn tears in the form of sunbeams.  It's ridiculous.  And painful.

I just needed to get that off my chest.  Now I'm gonna go write the next blog post, which is most likely the penultimate post.

Miles today:  324 miles
Total mileage:  3428 miles
Angry Birds:  DECIMATED.
Stomach: Full.
Sun status:  Blinded by the light.

I Miss Phillip.

Confession time.

I am not good at math.  In fact, you might say I suck at math.  You might even say that I'm bad enough at math that I lost three hundred or so miles somewhere in the midst of calculating our total mileage.  Even including today's mileage, my count wouldn't have been close to our actual count.

What is the actual count, you ask?

Read on.

We woke up early in the morning in Albuquerque.  This is probably because of the time zone change; I still don't really do this thing called 'early.'  We quickly threw all our stuff the car and checked out since we knew we had a long day in front of us.  And I mean a long day.  Our first day still rates as the worst, but we beat our record again.  After we hit up Starbucks (can I get paid for that?  It counts as advertisement, right?) we pulled right onto the highway.  Martha told us the mileage.

319 miles.

It's also worthy to note that she was taking us through some convoluted route that took us onto Historic Route 66, which put that number much lower than it should have been.  LOTS OF MILES.

We drove straight on to Holbrook, Arizona.  Though we would have loved to make a lot more stops, the sheer amount of driving we had to do nipped that in the bud.  Holbrook was a decent halfway point.  More importantly, it had a highly recommended Mexican food place.  Priorities.  We have them.  And at long last, the curse of the Mexican food gods was lifted.

Joe and Aggie's Cafe was open!  We were both pleasantly surprised.  I think we'd hit the point of expecting disappointment.  And we certainly were not disappointed.  Mom had some fantastic chili rellenos.  I stole a few bites.

And there was enough food that it didn't even matter.

Next, we drove down to a classic little motel that's the definition of culture appropriation (I'm sorry Mom, but it is) where you could sleep in a wigwam.  That is, all the rooms were separate buildings in the form of wigwams.

Then we were off again.  This time, the destination was Sunset Crater, which is just beyond Flagstaff, Arizona.  (By the way, if this entry is disjointed, I'm sorry.  I'm watching American Horror Story and blogging during the commercials.  Because I'm tired and I can.  Do I sound petulant yet?)  I don't really remember much about the drive, as I was busy defeating every level of Angry Birds.  We got to the crater and realized it's not actually so much a crater as it is a volcano.  Sunset Crater Volcano.  It's got some interesting aspects.  The lava flow field was pretty cool; it's a field of black, crumbling rocks. I imagine it's much what Lord Voldemort's heart looks like.  (Looked like?)

Either way, it was nice. 

Then, as usual, it was back into the car.  As I drove, I was once again struck by the majesty of the Southwest.  I don't know why it's so magical to me; perhaps because it is so very different from my usual surroundings.  Here, the colors seem deeper, the sun brighter.  Like the night sky, you're reminded of how small we really are.  The world opens around you.  You can see for miles in any direction.  It's beautiful, humbling, and awe-inspiring.

That's my romantic moment for the day. 

For dinner, we just hit up In-N-Out Burger.  I have to admit, eating it outside of CA felt a bit like cheating.  I know it's not just a CA thing.  But in my head it is.  And let's admit it, my reality is more fun.

There's probably things I'm forgetting.  My brain is a sieve these days.

OH, RIGHT.  The mileage.

Today's rang in at 491.

Total after corrected for my horrid math skills:  3,099.  That's right.  

Oh my god, my poor car.

Previously On...

You know what?  I don't like chronological order today.  Let's shake things up a bit.

Mom and I just got back from dinner, which was just at a little restaurant that was part of hotel.  It had decent Mexican food.  We had been aiming for one of the restaurants recommended by Roadfood, but it was closed. There's been a spate of bad luck with restaurants, particularly Mexican restaurants that we wanted to eat at.  More specifically, the last three we've intended to eat at have been closed.  The Mexican food gods are angry.  It's the only explanation.  Dammit.

I just want to let you all know that originally I was going to say "PREVIOUSLY..." before each segment of the day, but decided that would get annoying for everyone involved pretty quickly.  It was a clever idea for a millisecond.  Then I was going to go with "Last time on Law & Ordah" but I can't afford the right to use it.  As you can see, I've cleverly avoided it for now.

So before dinner, we pulled into the hotel after a long, long drive.  How long, you ask?  Remember waaaaay back in that third post, the one that was the first actual post about driving and travelling?  There was a number in there.  A number about the amount of miles our GPS told us to drive.   Today, we beat that number.  After we got on the highway out of Amarillo, Martha May (Whovier) told us that we needed to drive 282 miles.

Let me say that again.

Martha May told us we needed to drive 282 miles on Route 40.

And there was much cursing.

We'd just completed that drive.  It was long.  Texas is really flat.  I mean, really flat.  You can see for miles.  There are a lot of wind farms.  It's rather like crops of super-tall spinny white things.  Pretty sweet.  But not.  I really wish there was more to talk about.  But there wasn't.  I could indulge you all with a clip of Mom and I yodeling as we drove.

I won't.

Previously, before our little soujourn along route 40, we decided that we should head down to Palo Duro Canyon.  What's that, you say?  You've never heard of Palo Duro Canyon.  Really?  I mean, really.


We hadn't either before planning the trip.  It turns out that Palo Duro is the second largest canyon in the US.  If you need to ask what the biggest one is, I suggest you Google the terms "grand" and "canyon" together.  Something should come up.

Palo Duro is astoundingly lovely.  It's gigantic, panoramic, and doesn't have the hordes of people like the Grand Canyon.  Which really is the best part.  There are moments when you honestly think, 'well, if my car breaks down, I'm gonna die.'  (This is what we call hyperbole, by the way.)  I made Mom keep a sharp eye for rattlesnakes.

As you can tell, we didn't see any.  How can you tell?  You would have heard me screaming all the way in New England.

I honestly can't do Palo Duro justice.  There's no way to describe the sense of open space, the deep ruddy wine reds that spill across the soil to form serpentine patterns, the powder blue of a slightly clouded sky and the shocks of sunshine yellow leaves clinging to trees that are just beginning to sleep.  So instead, I'll give you a picture.

Can you click on the picture to make it bigger?  Hold on.  YES.  You can.  Click to make it bigger.

It still doesn't do it justice, but I suppose it'll have to do for now.  So Mom and I drove down and through the canyon.  Every once and a while I would yell and she would stop so I could take pictures.  She was very tolerant.  It probably helped that I would take a few pictures with her camera, too, when she asked.  I was particularly fond of what I dubbed "the yellows."  The yellows were the trees that lined the river.  Mom thinks they're cottonwoods.  Either way, they're very, very yellow.

My favorite yellow.

It's just at this yellow that the best part of the day happened.  As usual, I was taking several photos that were only altered a tiny bit when Mom called my name very urgently.  I had a mini heart attack.  When you're as ridiculous as I am, there's a rattlesnake under every pebble.  Every.  Pebble.  Instead, she was pointing out at the road, where I laid eyes on a rather unusual sight.

I'd like you all to meet Phillip the bobcat.  Yes, I named him Phillip.  Yes, he is a wild bobcat that just so happened to meander across the road.  He was actually relatively cooperative when it came to taking pictures.  (Lie.  He liked the tall grass that only showed his ears and parts of his face.)  It was very exciting, though!  I had to remind myself that this is not the type of kitty you pet.  Because that would have been bad.  Though I'm sure Mom would have stopped me.

So we hung out with Phillip a bit before he disappeared back into the brush around the road.  Too many people beside us had pulled over.  Clearly, Phillip is not a Leo, or he would have enjoyed being the center of attention a little bit more.  Then we drove out of the canyon and started heading back to Amarillo for lunch.  Lunch was at a little place, the Goldenlight, across from the aforementioned closed Mexican restaurant. It is on the National Historic Register.  It was good, relatively fast, and cheap.  A good decision.

Now, I know you're all dying to know what we did before Palo Duro. 

We ate breakfast.

Fascinating, isn't it?  Breakfast is just one of those meals.  It simply ensnares the mind and the senses.  (I hope you read that in Alan Rickman's voice, because that's how I heard it in my head.)  It was a nice slow start this morning.  Tomorrow morning will not be, as we're driving across almost all of Arizona.  It's gonna be a day.

Mileage today:  353

Total mileage: 2387

Total Angry Bird levels beaten:  73

As always, there will be more pictures on Facebook at a later time.

For everyone who has left feedback, on Facebook, by email, or here, thank you so much!  I'm so glad that you're enjoying the blog.

And now, before I end the post, a public service announcement:

BRUSH YOUR TEETH (or you'll get cavities).

Yet another postscript from Gretchen: Meeting Phillip was quite exciting. Becca was actually taking pictures of the flood indicator on the road when this bobcat strolled (there is no other word, except, maybe, sauntered) from one side of the road to the other about 30-40 feet in front of us. By the time Becca stopped looking at her feet for rattlesnakes when I called her name, he had moved into the grass. Becca still managed to get a good shot or two, but then he disappeared. Still, he was the highlight of the day.

My Mexican food frustration grows. Three times we tried a Triple D or Roadfood Mexican restaurant, only to be denied. I don't care if it was Sunday or Monday night; these places should have known we were coming. I was going to compare tamales and chiles rellenos across the Southwest. Oh well.

It will be interesting to see what tomorrow's blog will be like. We're not sure we'll get any touristing in because it is a haul across the remainder of NM and then all of Arizona. See you tomorrow!

Something Clever Goes Here (I'm Tired, Okay)

Sorry if this is a little incoherent.  I'm sitting in the midst of a pile of pillows in my Batman PJ pants with Elf playing in the background.  It's almost too much relaxation to handle.

We got up nice and early in the morning in Fort Smith and lolled about for a bit as we waited for breakfast.  And what a breakfast it was!  We started out with orange-cranberry juice (surprisingly good) and then got some apple-cranberry oatmeal.  It was cranberry day.  And cranberry day is awesome day.  Then, we got a full breakfast with Eggs Benedict, potatoes, and tomatoes.

After breakfast, we headed upstairs to grab our things to pack the car.  We quickly discovered that we'd locked ourselves out of our room.  It had to happen at least once.  So we went downstairs with our shamefaces on and recovered an extra key.

TIME LAPSE GOES HERE.

Next thing you know, we're toodling along on Route 40--a route that we have become and will be very familiar with during this trip--towards Oklahoma City.  That's right, new state!  Oklahoma is long.  And windy. And, by windy, I don't mean lots of curves, I mean blowing wind, lots of strong blowing wind.  And really not all that memorable, honestly.  But that's okay, Oklahoma.  50 is a nice, big, round number, so we'll keep you around.  For now.

Our first stop was in Oklahoma City at the Murrah building, better known now as the Oklahoma City Memorial.  For those of you too lazy to pull up Google, the Murrah building was the federal building that was bombed in 1995, with a high number of casualties.  The memorial itself is striking.  It features two towering black walls inscribed with 9:01 (before the bombing) and 9:03 (after) set across a reflecting pool.  Nearby is the Field of Empty Chairs, which marks each victim of the bombing.  It's somber and beautiful at the same time.

After the Murrah building, we were going to get lunch.  But quickly realized our planned lunch place was actually closed at that time on Sunday.  Sadface.  So we piled back into the car (shocking) and headed over to the National Cowboy Museum.  WHICH IS GIGANTIC.  We had lunch there, too.  I was going to omit that, but I didn't want y'all to think we were starving.

This was a super-fun museum.  I started to fade rather quickly, since I knew we had a long drive after it, but there was some truly fascinating stuff there.  We moved a bit quickly to make our time limits, but we saw some lovely paintings.  My favorite room was the Native American dress; the beading was just extraordinary. I was also fond of this lovely lady, who I have nicknamed "Little":

Little does not live up to her name.  She's 18 feet tall and 16,000 pounds.

We wandered the hallways for a bit, navigating the treacherous area with only our street smarts and a hard-won map.  In proper cowboy fashion, we won it in a duel with the admissions cowboy.  Worked out well.  Our last stop was the store, where I stared at all the rhinestone-studded belts.  So shiny.  It was hypnotizing.  

And then it was time.  We needed to get back into the car.  The next stop after Oklahoma City was Amarillo, Texas, which was around 200 miles away.  Awesome. 

ANOTHER TIME LAPSE THAT INCLUDES ANGRY BIRDS, DIET COKE, AND CURSING OUT TRUCKS.

Finally, we were getting close to arriving at Amarillo.  After we checked in, we walked the 100 feet to a Texas Steakhouse and almost face-planted in our food from fatigue.  I don't even remember what the food tasted like.  Foodish, I assume.  

Just like the last post, mileage will be added to this later on, after I remember to bring in the scrap of paper with my mile markers on it.  Can you tell that it's no longer the beginning of the trip?  I'm getting lazy.

Mileage today:  293.
Total mileage:  2034.  Dear everything, that is a lot of miles.

And yes, there are a lot of cowboy hats in Texas.

A Gretchen post-script. The Murrah Memorial and Museum was amazing. It immediately transported me back to that day in 1995 when I sat glued to the tv (I had taken the day off), crying and fearful. Little did we know then, that some six years later we would go through that kind of experience again on 9/11. The museum covered everything and was very moving. We ended up staying much longer than anticipated, which is why we missed the restaurant, Ingrid's, which closed at 2 pm. Alas, I was looking forward to yet another Guy Fieri recommendation.

The Cowboy Museum was a hoot. It was a totally eclectic mix of significant art (Bierstadt, Remington, Russell), Native American clothing, jewelry, and information, cowboys in movies, and the Rodeo Hall of Fame. My favorite was learning about all the events in rodeos and how the contestants gain points. There was much to explore, but we missed the 65 kinds of barbed wire somehow. I wished we'd had more time, but the 252 mile journey to Amarillo was calling, so we headed out. Four hours later, here we are, ensconced in Amarillo, surrounded by many Texans. New Mexico tomorrow.

Posting from the Past

As you may have noticed, this blog post is a day late.  Or maybe half a day.  Or a quarter of a day.  The point is, I’m writing this knowing that it will actually appear on the sixth day of our journey instead of the fifth.  Why, you ask?

Godzilla.

Actually, there’s just no internet at the place we’re staying.  (Yes, that is an ominous soundtrack playing in your head as you read those words.)  But that’s perfectly okay, since it’s an absolutely adorable B&B in Fort Smith, Arkansas.  More on that later.  Unless I forget.  Now on to the blog post I’ve been writing in my head all day.

America, let’s talk about names.  Now, I’m not talking about Andromeda, Shoshanna, or Calliope (the female trio that runs opposite of Tom, Dick, and Harry) but about town, park, and other such names.  America, you’re ridiculous.  The names of places are ridiculous.  Today alone we drove past “Texarkana” and “Toad Suck Park.”  I wish I was lying.  You’re off the chain, America. 

Those were some of the highlights of driving today.  We left Memphis a little late—around 9 in the morning—and promptly crossed the Mississippi River into Arkansas.  We made a stop at a Waffle House just before Mom keeled over from hunger.  Crisis averted by my brilliant map reading (there was no map involved).  The Waffle House was very waffle-y.  I just kept thinking of Der Waffle House from “Dead Like Me” and chuckling on the inside.

We got back onto the highway and headed to our stop at the Clinton Presidential Library.  I finished another 25% of my puzzle and destroyed some piggies with angry birds as Mom jammed out to some tunes.  The library was cool, but we were both a little surprised at how little it actually contained.  Mom knew a lot of the information.  I kept marveling at Bill’s snow-white hair, which I aspire to have when older.  One of the exhibits was a Lego exhibit.  It was half awesome, half hey wait I could totally do that.  But still pretty interesting.

I’m not entirely sure what it had to do with Bill Clinton.  Just go with the flow, people.

After we had a quick lunch at the Library—our first salad and first vegetables in days—we headed out over a bridge that crossed the Arkansas River.  It was nice.  Then we meandered in the Wetlands that are nearby and kept in the name of Bill.  “Wetlands” is a bit of a stretch, by the way. I would call it a decent-sized pond with some marsh grass.  But what do I know.  

Next we piled back into the car.  I was driving, so there was some groovage and a slight disregard for the speed limit.  Martha guided us faithfully towards Fort Smith, where we were meeting up with Debbie Groom, another member of the Civil Chief Mafia.  I’m getting in deep with this mob, guys.  You may need to stage an intervention.

Debbie gave us a lovely tour of the US Attorney’s office.  Mom was jealous of the decorated walls and such.  I tuned out much of the law talk that followed and at first was afraid—no, I was petrified—that I had left my phone in the car.  BUT I WILL SURVIVE.  We all chatted a bit and it was quite lovely, then we followed Debbie over to the B&B place that she’d arranged for us.

It really is a fantastic little place.  The Beland Manor used to be a manor (duh) but now functions as a B&B.  Our bathroom is the cutest thing ever.  It’s sky blue and I just want to do some handwashes in the tub.  But I’m not quite domestic enough to actually do it. 

We chatted a bit more.  We’re talkative folks.  Then Debbie led us to Rolando’s, a South American restaurant with some fantastic food.  Look, you can even see how fantastic it is and be jealous of us!  

That’s always a good thing.  We realize we’re getting towards the land of Mexican food, but I could eat Mexican until I drop and never be upset about it.  So there.

 Finally, we returned again to the B&B, where we said goodbye to Debbie.

Mom and Debbie, bein' Civil Chief friends.

I discovered the white noise machine.  It has a heartbeat setting, which is both hilarious and ridiculous at the same time.  I wanted to re-enact “The Telltale Heart.”  Denied.  Which is lame.  I’ll add pictures to this post tomorrow (when I can actually post it) and then I’ll get to sit down and write ANOTHER post, just because I love you all so much.

By the way, green apple Jolly Ranchers are great.  Thanks, Holiday Inn Select!  We love you too.

Postscript from the next evening, aka tonight: dear lord I really must love you guys.  I'm exhausted.  But I'll give you another update anyway.  

Don't start a riot while you wait.  It'll happen when it happens.

Mileage, etc, comes on the 14th.  I wrote it down and left it in the car.  Oops.

Mileage today: 286 miles
Total mileage:  1741 miles

A postscript from Gretchen: It is always interesting to see what Becca chooses to write about. My primary recollections from the Clinton Libraty were the replica of the Cabinet Room, and sitting in Miss Reno's chair for the Department of Justice, and the incredibly happy kids sliding down the hills outside the library on pieces of cardboard. It was just like traying at college, except that there was no snow and no cafeteria trays. They had such a great time that every other child that came by was begging his or her parents to let them join the fun. It was clearly such fun that you had to smile.

We continue to enjoy ourselves and the experience of seeing the country by car (and eating our way through Road Food and Diners, Drive-ins ands Dives). Becca continues to be a great traveling companion who is up for anything.

Postscript about Mom's postscript: I FORGOT THE HAPPY KIDS.  I KNEW THERE WAS SOMETHING I MEANT TO POST ABOUT.  It really was like college.  Just less beer.  I guess I'm seeing into my future, since I don't think I can live without sledding.

You Know I Wore My Rhinestone Jeans

We're gonna start the blog a little differently today.  With a picture.  The best picture I've taken this trip.

This is where the "Welcome to Mississippi" sign was supposed to be.  I was a little late.

Now that I've shared my masterpiece, we can get to business.  As you may recall, on the last episode of Masterpiece Theater, we were still in Nashville, Tennessee.  Today was a relatively short trip down to Memphis.  For those of you who are geographically challenged, Memphis is not in Mississippi.  It's still in Tennessee.  More on the MI thing later.  

So we hopped in the car and drove.  Well, Mom did.  I played--you guessed it--ArtPuzzles.  Speaking of which, I still need to complete the puzzle.  Oh, and I played some Angry Birds, too.  Today we didn't have any stops en route to Memphis, because all of the stops were in Memphis itself.  Herself?  How do you refer to a city?  I suppose I shouldn't choose to gender a city.  Memphis is an itself.  

Our very first stop was at Uncle Lou's, a dive just outside Memphis (or maybe inside, I wasn't paying a lot of attention) that's been featured on Food Network's "Diners, Drive-Ins, and Dives."  You may have noticed that Food Network has a significant impact on our food life.  That sentence isn't leading anywhere, I was just wondering if you had noticed.  Anyway, we walked into Lou's and decided that we needed to order a 7-piece to share.  It came with two sides and biscuits; we chose onion rings and coleslaw.  For those who are truly interested in our diet this trip, we also chose the mild marinade.  Mom and I kind of stared at each other across the table as we waited.  We were both tired.

Then the food came.  And I swear, it was like glitter in your mouth.  Which is uncomfortable in real life, but in the land of Becca's similes is a fabulous thing.  This was the best chicken we had ever tasted.  It was moist, almost fell off the bone, had perfectly crispy skin and just the right amount of kick in a robust and flavorful marinade.  The biscuits were fluffy and you could taste the butter; they were cooked to a perfect golden brown and had just a hint of sweetness.  As you might have guessed, we gushed about it.  The server kind of laughed at us.  Hey, buddy, we're from New England.  We don't get biscuits like this up there.  So if you're ever in Memphis, look up Lou's.  Here's a visual to help you out.

Look, there's Guy Fieri.  It's like he's been there or something.

After our delicious and filling lunch (we waddled to the car) we headed to the place Mom had been talking about for the last day and a half.

GRACELAND.

And that's where the title of this post comes in.  I specifically wore my rhinestone-studded jeans for this beautiful occasion.  I knew Elvis would appreciate it.  There are quite a few pictures from Graceland.  You get to see them later.  Once I edit them and make them prettier.  They'll also be on Facebook, because I cannot abide the load time for the photos on this blog.  It makes me crazy.  And guys, I'm already trapped in a car for a majority of eleven days.  I don't need to be any crazier.  So you get one picture.  Now, some of you may expect the front of Graceland itself.  Nope.

The Pink Cadillac.  My favorite part.  Which is weird, since I don't like pink.

Graceland was the perfect mix of myth and legend, a place where you could reach out and almost grasp that insubstantial sort of energy that runs through the air of similar areas.  There's so much excitement and an underlying sense of respect that blends together to form a place that's different.  It's a house.  But it's not.  It's Elvis's house.  It doesn't matter that it's been years.  It's still his place, and there's so much of him with it.  It's like glancing at fame in your peripheral vision.  

Now that I'm done waxing poetic, I'll talk a bit about what we did see.  We were on a bit of a time limit so we could see the other attraction of the day (more on that later, obviously) so we jumped right onto the bus to Graceland itself.  We toured through the house (lots of pretty chandeliers), saw the hall that housed his gold/platinum records (it's really long), and also saw Elvis's (and his family's) graves outside the house.  Which is a little creepy.  I think.

Next, we hopped the bus back over to the plaza and hit up the car museum.  Because old cars are goddamn amazing.  The pink Caddy was pretty spectacular, but there were a few other prizewinners that you get to be in suspense about until we update our Facebooks.  The last place we hit up--aside from the gift shop, naturally--was the tour of Elvis' jet, "Lisa Marie."  It was pretty cool.  But we needed to make another engagement.  So off we went to the National Civil Rights museum.

As some of you may know, the National Civil Rights museum is housed in the Lorraine Motel.  The first thing you see upon getting to the museum is this:

The wreath that hangs right on the balcony at room 306, marking the spot where Martin Luther King Jr. was shot on April 4th, 1968.  

It's rather arresting to see in person.  Most people I saw (myself included) took a picture and then stood there for a moment, just looking up.  After a few more pictures, we went into the museum itself.  There are no pictures from that since no photos are allowed, but I will tell you that it is an absolute must-see if you are in the area.  It's informative, gut-wrenching, eye-opening, sickening, and beautiful all at once.  You ask yourself a thousand times how people can possibly treat other people in such ways; then you remind yourself that the world still has a long way to go.  You read about people--men, women, and children alike--making a stand that could easily cost them everything, including their lives.  This is the point where I usually make some sort of flippant comment.  Instead, I'm going to only say this: go to this museum.  I learned things I never knew, things that should have been taught in school but were glossed over.  

After we walked through the museum, we headed across the street, which houses the second part of the museum--the place the shot was fired from.  We went a little quickly, since we were both tired and the museum was closing relatively soon.  

I can't say there's much more news after this.  We made our way to the hotel, just a few streets over from Beale Street (which, I'm told, is the most hoppin' place in Memphis.  This might explain the earplugs in our hotel room.)  We haven't eaten dinner yet, so I can't really report on that.

OH.  I can update you on the theme song.  We did not yodel.  Instead, we realized that there really only is one answer to "do you have a theme song to this trip?"  And the answer is another question.  Do you know the way to San Jose?

I thought those last few lines were clever.  Feel free to disagree.

Here comes the end of the post, in the form of the usual tally.

Mileage today:  212 (according to Google Maps; forgot to check the odometer again)

Total mileage: Whatever last post's was plus 212.  I'm too lazy to look it up and then do the math.  

(...fine, it's 1455.  Except we drove out of our way into Mississippi so I could get another state, so it's actually around 1500.)

Total Angry Birds levels defeated:  59.

What?  You guys want more?  

Fine. 

Have another picture from Graceland.

(My rhinestones were better.)

Postscript:  We've been to dinner now.  We walked down the street to Beale and hit up the Blues City Cafe, where we were promised good ribs and fantastic tamales.  Sadly, neither was delivered.  The tamales simply couldn't live up to the homemade ones we got that one year in Santa Fe, and though the ribs had a good rub, they were a little dry.  You can't have two tens in one day, though.  It'd ruin you.  So since we had a ten at Uncle Lou's, we were destined for not-as-greatness.  We did make a few friends at the bar, though.  Always interesting.

The only other new bit of news is that Mom won't let me unleash my inner Cinderella and ride around Memphis in a twinkle-light festooned horse-drawn carriage.  Sigh.

Another postscript, this time from Gretchen: Becca had thought she had evened the score with her father yesterday, when she got to hold Mickey Mantle's bat (evening out the fact that she did not get to see the Boss with Corey and I in 2009), but the score went back out of alignment today when I reminded her at Graceland that Corey had actually seen Elvis perform in Las Vegas. Curses, said Becca. We're having a great time. Arkansas and another Civil Chief visit tomorrow!

This is Bat Country! Lies. This is Deer Country.

Obligatory Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas reference is obligatory.

So we started out bright and early from Indianapolis, around 8:30.  It was still too early for me.  Mom drove first, as usual.  I was originally going to sleep, but the siren call of Angry Birds (18 levels defeated) was too much for me.  So I destroyed some piggies as Martha dutifully led Mom to our first destination: The Louisville Slugger Factory.  Shockingly, it was located in Louisville.

Which is in Kentucky, by the way.  Which means that I grabbed another state for my collection.  We crossed the state line and I was up to 34 states.  (For a full list, email beccacollectsstatesinsteadofstamps at unitedstates dot com.)  Riveting, I know.

Anyway, we parked the car and made our way towards the factory.  It was very easy to find, mainly because of the humongous baseball bat that resides right outside.  We'd found our first "World's Biggest" of the trip.  And it's the World's Biggest Baseball Bat.

They really weren't kidding.  It's a big bat.

It was a little intimidating to stand next to, but I did it anyway.

The next logical step was to actually enter the museum.  We hung out in a room full of memorabilia and looked around for a bit as we waited for the tour of the factory  to start.  Then we saw it.  The roped off area.  It contained the bats of baseball greats.  We had to take them.  Obviously, this is a lie.  First of all, the nice attendant invited us in and asked us which bat we wanted to hold.  I'll save the surprise of our picks for the photo captions.  It helps build the drama of this post.

I chose Mickey Mantle's bat.  That's right.  I'm actually holding Mantle's bat here.  I texted Dad to tell him.  According to him, that makes up for me not getting to go to the Bruce Springsteen concert that he and Mom attended without me.  I'm not so sure.

Mom, of course, couldn't resist Big Papi's bat.  

So after we held the bats of famous people, we got to go on a tour of the factory itself and watch the bats be made.  It's actually really an amazing process.  The billets (the cut sections of the tree that are made into the bats) are carved out into bats by master craftspeople in about thirty minutes.  In the 1970s, that is.  Today, the fully automated machines carve the bats out of the billets in 30 seconds flat.  I'd give you the full details, but I signed a contract in blood.  There are no pictures because that was in the contract, too.  But it truly was a fantastically informative tour.  And at the end, the guide gave us souvenir mini-bats!  Which could work well as impromptu murder weapons.

After the factory, we needed lunch.  Mom had already picked out a place on my uncle's recommendation: Lucy's Paradise Cafe.  We toodled along through the town and finally reached it.  It's actually Lynn's Paradise Cafe.  Luckily, GPSes only care about the address, not the name.  It was a truly unique place.  The lights mostly consist of ugly lamps that have been collected through the years.  There are disco balls ever.  Neon-colored walls bright enough to blind a blind man all over again.  In short, my kinda place.

It also had fantastic food.  I ordered a bourbon burger; Mom went with the "sandwich" that Alton Brown recommended as the best sandwich in America.  According to the menu, that is.  Now, I put sandwich in quotation marks for a few reasons.  I could write out the reasons, but I've been told that a picture says a thousand words.

"The Hot Brown Sandwich" (or something like that).

It's basically turkey, sourdough, and some other things drowned in cheese.  So. much. cheese.  With bacon on top.  Needless to say, it was delicious.  Also needless to say, we ate ourselves a bit sick.  And forgot to take a picture of the food before we started eating it.  Y'know.  I can say that I have never eaten a sandwich from a bowl before.  Now I have.

After lunch we made our way to Mammoth Cave.  

Once again, shockingly enough, Mammoth Cave was indeed mammoth.  According to our tour guide, it's over 392 miles of cave.  And that's just what has been discovered.  Now, when we were on our way to Mammoth, we made a non-fatal but still no fun error: we forgot about the time change.  So we arrived at 1:40 for the 3:45 tour.  Oops.  There was more Angry Birds. And even some map-reading.  For educational purposes only.

But, finally, we got to go into the cave.  We did the relatively easy Frozen Niagara tour.  It was both informative and oddly reminiscent of my geology class.  Weird.  It was a lovely cave, though.  Damp.  Cool.  Filled with buggies.  A true 10/10 on the cave market.  (I did like it, really.) I'm only going to put up one photo of the inside of the cave.  Rest assured that there will be more put on Facebook.  Because I like caves.

 After Mammoth, it was time to head to Nashville for the night.  But first, we had to face our biggest challenge of the day: navigating the National Park at twilight.  With about 8 million deer on the loose.  There were three deer in the parking lot alone when we left.  Surprisingly, we only encountered three deer on the road.  But it was a tense seven mile drive.  Thanks to my video game expertise, I triumphed.  TAKE THAT, DEER.  

On we went to Nashville.  Mom was a little jumpy because of the night driving; I was busy being overjoyed about these fantastic 70 mph speed limits.  Oddly enough, most of the locals only go one or two miles over the speed limit.  After New Hampshire, where people regularly go 5-10 over, it was a little bizarre.  But we made it to Nashville in one piece, then promptly misheard the directions and missed a turn.  As it turns out, the Opry Conference Center and all of its parts is HUGE.  But it does have pretty lights.  At long last, we pulled into the hotel.  Dinner was quick and easy, nothing special. Clearly the next step was too watch The Big Bang Theory and pretend to blog, then actually start blogging.  

As you may have guessed, I've really got nothing left to talk about.  So we'll take this moment to do the usual mileage count.  I'd make a chart, but that's too science-y. 

Today's mileage: 314 (Indianapolis to Nashville)

Cumulative mileage:  1243

Total Angry Birds levels beaten:  46

Also, Laura, we don't have theme song for the car yet.  Deal with it.  Or leave us suggestions.  If we don't get any music suggestions, we'll pick up yodeling.

And come on, no one wants that.

Does this count for my NaNo?

So I've been made official blogger of the trip, though Mom will take over on nights when I'm simply too tired or when I'm just lazy.

We spent the night in Ohio with Steph, who now has an ode dedicated to her in the form of a travel blog post.  We were pretty bushed, so Mom and I headed to bed early.  The next morning, we moved a little slowly to get ready.  Then we got the tour of the town, which had also been Steph's childhood home.  She pointed out several different old family homes and taught us a little about the town.   It was fun, and some of the homes we saw were absolutely ridiculous.  For example:

This mostly hidden monstrosity is Lebron James' house.  Because apparently he lives very close to Steph. Small world.  Steph also took us by University of Akron.  FEAR THE ROO.  Apparently, despite being called "The Zips" Akron's mascot is, in fact, a kangeroo.  And there's a commemorative hedge statue to prove it.

We drove around the campus for a bit, looking for a certain statue that we would "know when we saw it."  Oddly enough, that was exactly what happened.  I present to you the polymer statue:

It's either rock candy or a conceptual statue that speaks to the economic and social impact of gluing together goldfish gravel.  I don't know.

It was a very pretty sculpture, and it really towered above us.  Though I was the only one who got out of the car, having been designated photographer.  I suppose I'm okay with that.  The other thing that struck me about Akron U was how BIG it was.  There's nothing like going to a big campus to drill home how small your 2,000 person liberal arts college campus was.  There were even traffic lights IN THE CAMPUS.  It was like a whole new world.

Before we saw Lebron's, Steph took us to the Don Drummer Gallery, where I promptly fell in love with a lot of jewelry.  Once again, I found myself wishing I was a millionaire.  I'd have a room for jewelry alone.  The gallery was quirky (it was sort of a complex of several fun-colored houses--purple and orange, lime green and bright blue) and it really was just delightful.

Steph and I agreed to pose in front of the place for posterity.  That, and because we're awesome.

I look a little weird in this picture.  Concentrate on the totally awesome metal flowers instead.  So then we piled back in the car and headed back to Steph's house to grab our suitcases and say our last goodbyes to Reno, the fluffiest of them all.  We gave her our goodbye pats (which lead to purring.  Reno, oddly enough, makes a contented little rumble that sounds an awful lot like purring when her ears are rubbed in a certain fashion.  Perhaps one day she'll be the dog that forever heals the gap between the dogs and the cats.  We'll see.)  She was sad to see us go--or so we like to think--but we immortalized her in photo:

The next stop was, of course, the all important lunch.  It's difficult to set out on a five hour drive with an empty stomach.  After some consultation, we decided that despite what promises to be a steady diet of so-called "road food" (burgers, fries, diners, etc) that we would go to Swenson's, a nearby drive-in that's a small local chain.  So we took two cars and promptly confused everyone else in the parking lot by parking both and then piling into just one.  But the server was cool with it and we happily ordered while I exclaimed over this:

You read that right.

Fried. Bologna.

We did not get fried bologna sandwiches, as it was implied that one might be quickly felled by a heart attack.  Next, we bid goodbye to Steph.  The next picture might imply that we went back to her house.  The picture is a lie.  We said goodbye at a gas station.  Because that's the way it should be. 

Mom and Steph, bein' friends.

So Mom and I hopped right on to 70 S towards Columbus.  And we drove.  And drove.  I did a majority of the driving this day, since Mom did so much yesterday.  We finally switched around the IN border.  And I beat another 9 levels of Angry Birds.  I just want to be completely honest with you right now--I'm actually running this blog so I can brag about my Angry Birds prowess.  The travel is just secondary.  

Now, as a small aside, I have always wondered about the phrase "open highway" because most highways I've driven on have been crowded.  Today, I found out what it meant.

Open.  Highway.

At long last, we arrived in Indianapolis, the home of another of Mom's friends, Jill and her husband Tom.  I first met Jill five or six years ago, when I was beginning my college search.  Therefore, this felt oddly full circle.  But still awesome.  We were also joined by Tom Walsh, a colleague and friend of both Jill and Mom.  (Have I mentioned that Jill and Tom are Lawyer Mafia?  Well, more specifically, I believe they're Civil Chief Mafia.  Either way.  Lawyers.  There was a lot of law talk at the table.  I got to text as a reward for my patience.)  Mom had originally told me that Tom Walsh would be joining us in such a manner:  "Tom Walsh is joining us! He's driving all the way from Chicago!  Isn't that fantastic?"  I nodded vigorously and cried, "Yes, it is!  I have no idea who that is!"  She promptly filled me in.  And yes, you read that correctly.  Tom Walsh drove all the way from Chicago to Indianapolis just to meet us for dinner.  Which is pretty rad.

Anyway, we had a lovely dinner that was filled with law jargon, which is a plus simply because I got to use the word "jargon" in this post.  It was nice to see Mom with friends and colleagues, even if I didn't always understand the phrases being bandied about.  I'm an English major, guys, but I have my limit.

After dinner, we realized that the staff probably wanted to go home, since we were the only table left and it was around 9:30 or so.  So, naturally, we took pictures first.

Mom, Jill, and Tom Walsh.

Clearly, Tom (Jill's husband) and I didn't rate pictures.  But that's okay.  We didn't really want to be in them anyway.  We all said our goodbyes, and Mom and I headed off to the hotel for the night.  

Before I wrap up with the mileage we did today and the total mileage for the trip thus far (though they are guesstimates, as I forgot to check the odometer before coming inside) I want you all to know that I've been working on this blog post for over an hour.  Because the stupid photos took forever to load.  But I'm dedicated.  

As we go to bed in Indianapolis, we have traveled 293 miles (according to Google Maps) today and a total of  929 miles in two days.  

Yeah, that's a lot of iPod playlists.

Ode to Steph (make up your tune)

Mom and I started off bright and early this morning. By that, I mean it was still very dark when we left at 5 in the morning. Mom was first up in the driving schedule, since I basically cannot function until 8 or 9 am (on a good day). So while Mom drove, I slept in the passenger seat. It was awesome. I woke up around the time we hit Bennington, Vermont, a place I was familiar with only because I had driven through the same way two weeks earlier to visit a friend in Clifton Park, NY.

Bennington is a cute little town, most noticiable for the moose statues scattered along the route to route 7. Obviously, we took pictures.

(The one above is my favorite, which is why it's being posted despite the photo quality)

Mom mentions that I missed the drive into Bennington, which means I didn't get to see Prospect Mountain and Greenwood Lodge, where Mom spent many weekends and vacationed at during her ill-spent youth (Steph contributed to the writing style of this piece).  Mom insists she actually worked there, but we're a little doubtful.  She says confirm with Stuart Scharff, who drove her back and forth from NY, many times.

I went back to sleep after Bennington.  It was still too early.

The next time I woke up, we were just pulling into Troy, New York.  Again, I recognized the place from my trip to Clifton Park.  We headed down 287 S and then connected to the NY Thruway, heading west.  As we pulled onto the Thruway, Martha (our GPS, who speaks very properly and often startles me out of a cat nap) informed us that we were to continue for 272 miles.

Mom and I just kind of looked at each other.  Because, well, that's a lot of miles.  So on we went.

We have now reached a very specific point in this blog post.  The point where if this post was a movie, we would cut to a montage of people looking out windows, watching the world whiz by.  Movies do this for a reason.  The reason?  Driving 272 miles is boring.  It just is.  It stretches beyond the point of "oh, look at this new place" and into the "look,it's another tree, lovely" territory.  But we stopped here and there, getting some coffee, taking a little break to walk, etc.  Places like Chittenango.

I'm particularly fond of the people in the background.  I wish we'd talked.

After Chittenango, we drove on.

We finally decided that we would have lunch in Buffalo, NY.  I was driving at this point; Mom was looking at a fantastic book called "Next Exit" which details all the places off each exit off the interstates in America.  There was only one place to eat in our minds.

The Mighty Taco.  There was no other restaurant for us.  Now, there is a story behind Mighty Taco.

When my dad was an undergrad, he attended SUNY Buffalo. Like most college students, he and his friends ate when the dining halls opened--at 4:30 in the afternoon.  So, by 8 or 8:30, they were all hungry again.  So they went to Mighty Taco.

Which is why we went to Mighty Taco.  (Yes, okay, it's not really a classic story in the sense of a beginning, climax, and end, but it's what you're getting.  I'm sure you'll survive.)  In the end, it was much like Taco Bell, but with much less gastrointestinal distress.  But it was fun to go to a place that had been a part of my dad's youth.

After lunch, Mom started driving again.  And damn, did we drive.  We ended up making the rest of the trip as a straight shot--no breaks.  We left Mighty Taco around 1:30 or so; we arrived at Steph's house at 4:30ish.  Mom drove the entire way.  I'm not sure why.  In the meantime, I beat 19 levels of Angry Birds.  I'm pretty cool.

Once at Steph's, we said many many hellos to her and Beano (Reno) the fluffiest golden retriever ever.  We got a little tour of the new house, which is fantastic, and then took a walk around the neighborhood, as Mom and I were both moaning about finally being free from the car.

Steph served us a fantastic pot roast and has promised us a lovely dessert as well.  It's fantastic to see her once more before I become a California girl (since it will alter my personality instantly) and to have the perfect stopping point.  Puppies, pot roast, Steph, and (of course) wine.  It works well.

As a brief summary of today--good job if you read the whole thing--we drove.  A lot.  To be specific, 636 miles.  It's a start.

B.