I Love My Wife

Hello friends,

I'm writing this post because it seems only fitting that after 42 posts about our travels, all written by Beth, that I should thank her with a post of my own.

Beth was the greatest race car passenger that I could ever have hoped for. She took turns driving, iPhoned us places to eat, loaded addresses into the TomTom before I could throw it out the window, and told you all the story of our trip so it felt like everyone was with us.

I helped a little in the beginning, coming up with one liners and funny pics for the blog, but she was the master storyteller that had you checking for updates in the mornings, and then calling my Mom when no update had been made(Carol Hangey). She did an awesome job with this thing, and for that I am thankful. What started as a little part of our trip, turned into something bigger than we both could've imagined. People we didn't even know were reading up on how we were doing, because it was FUNNY.

Did you guys know Beth was this funny? I only new she was a little funny, not real funny. She had ME cracking up about things we had already done, jokes that had already been laughed at, and on the edge of my seat talking about ME driving in Utah. I was there. I shouldn't have been so amazed. But I was.

Throughout this entire trip, we never once screamed at each other. We didn't really even fight. Oh, she did scream at me once, but it was "RAVINE!!!" as the truck was sliding towards said ravine.

She is an excellent camper. After only three days into the camping part of the trip, she could break down camp while I was in the shower, and have it all packed in the truck and ready to go. She also could set up camp while I was building the fire. She didn't complain about bugs, or being dirty, or being hot or cold. She enjoyed every minute of it.

At least I think she did, she never told me otherwise.

She's proud of her camping skillzzzuh. I'm proud of her too.

She was also ready to party the entire trip. I took more naps than she did. But she would be right by my side at the bar for as long as we could stand. At least she could stand, there were some nights where I couldn't stand. Not well, anyways.

Beth, we had the adventure of our lives, and I'm so glad I got to share it with you. I'm glad I get to share the rest of our adventures with you too, I just need to build up some more vacation time first.

Love you hun.

P.S.- I totally see what you mean about the spacing thing after inserting pics. It is effing obnoxious. What a pain in the ass. Oh well, at least the blog is free.

Elvis is Awesome.

After BBQ, there were naps.


Naps are cool. We don't get to do many of them, though, because napping is time you could spend seeing stuff in a place you've never been.




But after lots of BBQ, there must be naps.



And then we felt like we could go out and explore Memphis a little bit. Mike led us to the Flying Saucer, a bar right in the center of Memphis not far from Beale St.



They have plates everywhere -- Mom Morris, they covered the cieling in Willow plates. Really. (I know no one else knows what the hell I'm talking about, but Mom Morris used to collect them).




They also have a thing like a Mug Club, only instead you enroll and you get a tee shirt. Then you have to drink 200 beers to get your name on a saucer (read: plate). We met Dan who is about 137 beers into round one and nice as hell.

He bought us pint glasses when he found out we were on our honeymoon. In the background of the picture you can see the plates all over the place.

So anyway, we shut that bar down. And we woke up early for The King.




You may already know this, but Mom Schwind loves Elvis. I mean, super loves Elvis. The Schwinds even had a dog named Elvis. So there was no way we weren't going to hit up Graceland. (Mom Schwind: Look closely at Mike in the photo below).



Which is expensive. Yeah. $60 for two tickets.




And you don't even get to see the second floor. Yeah. They keep it closed off out of respect for Elvis, who never let any guests upstairs.



Ripoff.




But you do get to see a whole bunch of other stuff, like the costumes he wore and the long hall of Gold Records he received. Fact: Elvis only won 3 Grammys and they were all for his Christian songs.



Another fact: Elvis didn't write any of his songs, but he produced them all himself.



Yet Another Elvis fact: Elvis did not name Graceland "Graceland." The family that lived at Graceland before him did. Elvis liked the name so much, he kept it.





I could go on forever. You learn a lot about Elvis when you go to Graceland, but mostly you learn that Elvis was a super-nice guy. He donated a ridiculous amount of money to charities and causes. He loved his daughter and loved hanging out and having fun with his friends.




Elvis' Grave Fact: Flowers (real and fake) come almost daily to Graceland, and the folks who maintain the place put out every bouquet, wreath, etc. that's recieved and keep it at Elvis' grave until they wilt. Pretty cool, huh?





Mike was in charge of the camera, so we have approximately nine million pictures of Graceland, all available upon request. Mom Schwind, we know you will request :)




Still Another Elvis Fact: Elvis liked to be the family interior decorator. His taste is questionable even by 1970's standards. See pictures for details. The stone wall is an indoor fountain. That green shag carpet? Its also on the cieling. No, really.



Believe it or not, Memphis was actually the hottest city we visited on the trip. With the heat index it was 109 degrees, and it was humid. Painfully humid. We wanted to stick around and further bask in the glory of The King, but air conditioning was calling my canckles into the cool.





Off to Nashville...

And the Winner of the Mike Ribtacular Tour Is...

We would like to submit a surprising fact:

Trip Advisor rates the Days Inn Graceland as the #1 hotel to stay in around Graceland and the #5 hotel in all of Memphis.

We have determined that this is not saying much for the hospitality industry in Memphis, TN. If you are in this business, you should consider opening something up around Graceland, as it would appear you will have little competition.

This sign is right outside our Days Inn. This quote is actually all over the place, and after visiting Graceland, I think Lennon may have been on to something.

Anyway, before we went out in Memphis, we hit up Marlowe's Barbeque -- purportedly the #1 place to go for Memphis-style ribs. Mike got a half rack and I got pulled pork.

First of all, both were too fatty. There was also no sauce on the table, which I find unacceptable. I had to ask for more sauce to put on my pork. Overall, it was kind of a let down. We got a sausage appetizer, and, actually, that was the best meat we consumed at Marlowe's.

So, the winner of the Memphis vs. St. Louis Rib Tasting Tour is...

Saint Louis!

Scottie, you were an excellent St. Louis barbeque ambassador. Pappy's was far superior to Marlowe's. Although neither were as good as Daddy D'z...

You Really Can See Saint Louis in a Day. We Did.

From Columbia Mike and I followed Scottie to his place in the ghetto of Saint Louis.

No really, its a little shady. And by "shady" I do not mean "having many trees to provide shade."

I mean "had to park our truck in another, safer neighborhood to make sure it didn't get broken into."

But Scottie's place is really nice...

And so is Saint Louis. We made a pilgrammage to the Arch: The Gateway to the West. But we're getting ahead of ourselves here, folks. There is barbeque to discuss first.

You see, this part of the cross country trip is the Rib Tasting Tour. Yes, we were going directly from St. Louis to Memphis, so you know what that means: a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity for Mike to taste, compare and judge St. Louis ribs and Memphis style ribs back-to-back. Folks, this is like Food Network type action.

So Scottie has done some advance research for us and found Pappy's, a no-frills, out-of-the-way joint with picnic tables and plastic tableclothes -- which means its not just going to be good -- its going to be damn good.

And damn good it was. The ribs are served dry, which means you can expirament with sauces, and they have three: hot sauce, original and Sweet Baby Jane. The latter two are molasses based and sweet and thick, which works perfectly with their vinegar cole slaw.

They also have deep-fried corn. Yeah, really. Sounds good. Looks good. Mike would describe it as "kernels of oil popping in your mouth." We reccommend you stick with conventional corn preparations.

Results of the Great American Beth and Mike Rib Taste Off in next post.

We also hit up a Basilica nearby which was covered in mosaics. For those of you who don't know, I have a (completely worthless) art history minor and grew up Catholic, so the Cathedral was pretty cool. Its cool even if you don't have my worthless minor and grew up agnostic, because there are over 47 million tiny pieces of glass tile covering the walls an cielings.

All these intricate designs and illustrations were created out of one-inch square pieces of glass. Its pretty awe-inspiring.

Now, if you have been paying attention to baseball at all, then you know that the All-Star Game and Homerun Derby were taking place in St. Louis while we were there. This is not great timing on our part, because Major Baseball Events = Lots of people and traffic.

But we made it to the arch. The arch is sweet. You can stand below it and look up, and this thing is ENORMOUS. As it turns out, anything enormous is cool. The largest cross in the western hemisphere, the corn palace, giant artichokes. Whatever. You make it big, they will come.

Apparantly you can take an elevator to the top, but Scottie and Tawna had done this and told us that the ride to the top is horrifying. The elevator has to move on an angle as it moves up, and the creaking and banging resulting from this movement is enough to scare you out of elevators permanantly.

So we passed on that.

Instead, we went in search of beers. Scottie took us to this old part of town called Soulard, which reminds us of New Orleans a bit, only more brick and it smells better. But many of the restaurants and bars have awesome outside seating areas. The one we went to, McGurk's, had lush gardens, wrought iron cafe tables and a waterfall that ended in a pond full of coyfish.

Great place to hang out and have a beer.

So we had two.

Then Scottie took us to his favorite part of Saint Louis: Forrest Park. The park is larger than Central Park in New York City and perhaps has more to offer. There are museums, all kinds of tennis and raquetball courts, running paths, and a boathouse with a restaurant where we, of course, drank beers.

This is where Scottie goes running and where Scottie and Tawna like to take Hannah -- their flipping adorable Austrailian Shephard (of course I might be biased...).

We topped off our incredibly full day with killer Thai food at Basil Spice on Grand Street, which is the "Chinatown" of Saint Louis. Then we did what all good Saint Louis citizens do on a hot night: we got frozen custard at Drewes.

Drewes is crazy good. The parking lot is packed, but the lines go super-quick. I especially loved the service:

Me: I have vanilla.

Chick Working at Drewes: Really?

Me: Why. What should I have.

Chick Working at Drewes: A flavor.

I get Oreo. It is amazing. It is superior to Scottie's raspberry and Mike's peanut butter cup. They have frozen custard envy and we are all fatter and happier than before we went to Drewes.

And the next morning we are sad, because we have to leave our friends and head to Elvis...

Una Buena Noche con Amigos en Missouri

On Sunday evening we arrived in Columbia Missouri where Tawna lives all the time and Scottie lives on the weekends -- many of you know they are doing a bit of long distance for a spell while Scottie finishes his post-doctorate in Saint Louis. Tawna is a large animal veternarian, but there aren't many horses or cows in the city, so she is a couple hours west.

You all know Scottie either because he is your friend from high school or because he was one of the best men in our wedding.

Scottie had correctly estimated our arrival at 3:50pm (you scientist, you) and beers were open by 3:57pm. After a couple rounds, Scottie and Tawna took us to a winery near there house where the wine is marginal but the view is awesome. You can get a bottle and a basket of bread and cheese and sit at a picnic table overlooking the Missouri River -- also known as The Big Muddy. Nickname is for obvious reasons -- see picture for details.

Tawna and I killed a bottle of Chardonnel.

"What the hell is that??" You ask.

It is "A complex white wine" according to the label.

I couldn't tell you if it is a good "Chardonnel" because I still don't know what that is, but Tawna and I believed we were much deeper and more complicated people as a result of drinking the wine.

Or we were drunk. Whatever.

After views and drinks, we went back to Scottie and Tawna's house and they cooked us up some muy bueno fish tacos while we drank Mexican beers and listened to the Fiesta Friday mix.

"What is on the Fiesta Friday mix?" You ask.

Well, none of us could name a song or an artist, but we can tell you that it made our hips wiggle and our feet move.

Or we were drunk. Whatever.

I think we all could have stayed up and chatted all night, but we were all a little worn out from driving (or working, in the case of Scottie and Tawna) and we hit the hay.

But it felt like we were home for a night, so we got a really restful night of sleep.

"C" is for "Corn Palace"

From South Dakota we headed to Iowa to see Aunt Robin in the little town of Sheldon. On our way we passed corn. And cows. And hay. And cows. And corn. And hay. And cows.

It was fascinating. And by fascinating, I mean "horrifically and epically boring."

See picture at left for details on the fascinating scenary. Now picture 300 miles of it.

But interspersed amongst the cows, hay and corn were signs for Wall Drug. According to Aunt Robin, Wall Drug is the South of the Border of the Midwest.

This is so. And that wouldn't be enticement for us to stop there, as we already know how filthy and absurd South of the Border is.

But billboard advertising worked, friends. It lured us in. Because it offered... ready... this is how easily we are suckered... it offered...

FREE DONUTS AND COFFEE TO NEWLYWEDS!

I was like, "Hell yeah! Done and done!"

We went, and it is jam-packed with knick-knacks and coyboy paraphanelia and a dinosaur that roars (really) and fountains and a gorilla playing a piano in "The Small Salloon" (really) and rockin good donuts.

Coffee was marginal.

See picture above for details. Mike is featured next to the overweight woman in pink who wouldn't get the hell out of my shot.

From there, we were back on the road, sipping our coffee, enjoying our donuts, when (Mike's point of view here -- I was focused on the donut):

A Dodge pickup comes alongside of us, on the left and a bird, which resembles a sandpiper, starts walking along the side of the red dodge. Then, it apparantly gets the suicidal urge to walk out in front of the red Dodge, and clears the red Dodge.

Staggering. But not as staggering as what happens next.

Suicide bomber bird then flies directly into the grill of the Tacoma.

Thunk!

Mike: "Oh shit! Did you see that?!"

Me: "Oh shit! It didn't come out the back of the truck!"

We then laughed for like thirty minutes and made dead bird jokes. A sampling:

"Mike has a license to drive and a license to wed but now he has a lisence to kill."

"We just committed involuntary avion manslaughter."

Funny, but not as funny as the Corn Palace in Mitchell, South Dakota.

Mitchell would like you to know that their Corn Palace is the World's Only Corn Palace, thank you very much.

And its great. No really. It isn't constructed entirely of corn, but there are giant murals all over the inside and outside created of entire ears of corn. In fact, the three little scenes above "America's Destinations" are all in corn.

Get this, they change the murals every year because the birds eat them.

Inside used to be a gymnasium of some kind but now they just have booths of South Dakota stuff for sale. And you can buy anything made of corn, resembling corn, relating corny jokes, etc. that you can imagine.

We stocked up.

Then we headed to the car. I'm about to get in when Mike says, "I think I found it."

You know what he was talking about. Oh yeah. He found the bird. We had been carrying that thing in our truck grill for 200 miles.

But now we were like, what the hell do we do with it? My first instinct was to keep driving and hope it fell off, which Mike briefly got behind, until we realized we could potentially show up at Aunt Robin's with a dead bird in our grill.

So we drive a mile, pull off on the side of the road and Mike pries it out with the camping shovel.

This is real deal, folks, not a re-enactment. Yeah, Mike is getting a dead bird off our bumper, and I'm taking pictures.

Whatev. The car felt a lot lighter without all that bird and guilt weighing us down.

From there (by "there" I mean "bird's final resting place") we were only about a hundred plus miles from Sheldon.

When we arrived, Aunt Robin, Harry (big black dog) and Snappy (little pup) were waiting for us with Iowa goodies and an awesome place for us to relax. Aunt Robin's house is huge. You can get some serious bang for your buck in Iowa. Her rooms have thier own rooms. You can go on vacation, in another room because its so far away you'll need time off to get to it. Crazy.

Anyway, Aunt Robin takes us out for a "real Iowa meal" at the Pizza Ranch, which is a bit like a Ci-Ci's pizza but it was started in Hull, IA which is only a few minutes away. Furthermore, some of the folks she works with at her job work there, so she has a personal tie to the place.

Its also one of two restaurants that isn't fast food in Sheldon, IA. These folks are farmers -- going out to eat is not on the priority list.

I have to apologize again for my failure to take pictures in Sheldon. This is what happened in Denver and California (only in CA Kathy was taking pictures and gave them to me -- thank god -- or we would not have the exploding watermelon photos, and what a shame that would have been).

But we can tell you that Sheldon is small. Everything closes at 5pm. On a Friday. It is very family oriented, so everyone participates in all school, church and community activities. Their high school mascot is the Orabs. This is not a thing/person. It stands for their school colors: ORange And Black. ORAB. Get it?

The folks are really nice there. We met Rhonda, the manager at the Pizza Ranch, and we had strawberry-rhubarb dump cake with Diane and Brian. Diane and Brian are the reason Aunt Robin lives in Iowa, and although we are sad that she is no longer in Manassas where she'd be closer to us, we're glad such awesome folks like Diane and Brian are there with her.

We've got to be honest, while Sheldon is a super-small town, it is also really nice -- for three months out of the year. The rest of the time it is nice, but totally covered in snow and can be below zero for over a month at a time.

We say, "No thanks."

But it was great to see Aunt Robin and catch up. We told her all about our adventures so far and chatted about what she's been up to (she's almost done her program to become a pastor!). We stayed up late talking and looking at pictures. Then we got up and had breakfast and had to hit the road.

Thank you Aunt Robin for showing us your town. We're so glad you love it there -- we love it too and we'll be back... just make sure its not snowing when we come.

Rushmore Rubble: "Why Didn't They Clean That Up When They Were Done?" -- Joe Morris

Wyoming may have given us a chance to cross another state off the list, but, really, that's it.

On to South Dakota and the Black Hills.

First, we found a campground in Deadwood, which is in Northwest South Dakota. This was kind of a fail. See, all the cool stuff in the Black Hills is 40+ miles south of Deadwood.

Our bad.

But that didn't stop us. We headed straight to Mount Rushmore, because its totally what you do when you go cross country. And while Mount Rushmore is very impressive and extra-super patriotic, its also kinda boring. We took goofy pictures to entertain ourselves.

The other entertainment came from the mission. Mission: Rushmore Rubble.

I really wanted a piece of Mount Rushmore Rubble to bring home to my Pop so he could put it in his garden.

Mike and I examine the options. We could 1.) Get a rock from wherever and just lie about it. 2.) Break the law and climb on the rocks and get the real deal.

How did we know climbing on Mount Rushmore is illegal? Well, first of all, there is a sign every foot and a half along the walking trail informing you that "Climbing on the Rocks is Illegal."

Second of all, 11 Greenpeace protestors had been arrested two days earlier because they had unfurled a 65 foot banner next to Abaham Lincoln's head. See awesome You Tube video for details:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1A9_xj77rcQ

But did clearly marked signage and recent arrests stop us? Nay, friends. I found a hunk of Rushmore Rubble about the size of my head, and Mike (my hero) was ready to go for it.

He hops over the fence...

I scream "Noooooo!" Because I am a wuss.

But Mike is not (and he is my hero) and he climbed on the rocks, grabbed the piece of rubble, and handed it to me.

I wrapped it up in a sweatshirt because I was afraid we'd get in trouble. Biiiiig wuss.

But we have it!!! Pop, you'll love it. Its the real deal from the Real Rushmore. Real Rushmore Rubble. And its totally illegal.

From Rushmore we went to Custer State Park, where Mikey made friends! See picture with hairy animal and donkey for details.

Aren't they cute? They came right up to the truck and were checking things out like, "You got any snacks, dude?"


Nature is cool.



We could have seen more wildlife, but they charge you $12 a person to take the Scenic Wildlife Loop through Custer State Park.




Eff that. We just cut through on 16A (free) and saw the one animal Mike really wanted to see:



Cool, right? This guy is actually a lil buffalo. They get enormous. And you can see herds of them if you pay the $12 because Custer is home to one of the largest herds of buffalo in the world.



But we were ready to get back and get food -- which is when we realized that Deadwood wasn't so much of a fail after all.



We went to a little below ground bar called Hickock's Ugly Horse Saloon. We went there because it was honestly the only place to eat that wasn't a casino, but we almost left because seeing the buffalo had given Mike a hankering for a bison burger and they didn't have any on the menu.



They had pizza, which is what I wanted. So we stayed and drank beers with the bartender's entire family and her boyfriend and her brother's girlfriend. Really. They were all there. And they were nice as hell.



Meet our friends in Deadwood. From left to right we have:
Brandon, "senior staff member" of the Ugly Horse Pub and singer in crappy rock band.
Joel, quiet boyfriend of Darcey, who does not attend UConn, but who does make a killer pizza.
Darcey, who was our bartender and a helluva nice girl who is studying to be a teacher.

We shot the shit with them for hours, chatting about places we'd been or should go and secret spots in the Black Hills that only locals know about.

We got a little tipsy... and drove back to our campsite talking about how nice Americans are. I'm not sure we'll make it back to Deadwood, but the place treated us really well.

Colorado: We'll Hug Those Trees Too

Colorado is beautiful.




That's an understatment. Hmmm.... how to explain....




Colorado is motherhonkin beautiful.




We had extra time in the morning before we had to start heading to Wyoming, so we decided to take a hike in Rocky Mountain National Park. Mike hunted down a 2 mile hike that took us out to Alberta Falls.






And we are so glad he found it because this was some excellent nature.




We walked through an Aspen grove (see picture for details), alongside creeks and through pine forests. The weather was cool, the sky was bright blue and the park was showing off. When we got to the end of the hike, a waterfall gushed from the boulders and we climbed up to the top so we could watch it barrell down the side of the cliff.


Everywhere we looked, the view was really, truly, honest-to-god awe-inspiring. In every direction, there were snow-covered peaks and steep slopes down the sides of the mountains covered in a bed of pine trees. Just look at the first picture on this post -- that view was 360 degrees from where we were standing at the top of that waterfall.


From the Rocky Mountains, we headed to Fort Collins to have lunch and a beer and check out Scottie and Tawna's old stomping grounds. Sweet town.

But then it was time to drive out of Colorado and into Wyoming. And while I believe (because Cade has shown me pictures) that Jackson Hole Wyoming is fantastic, I can tell you western Wyoming is not. It is grass and cattle. And that's it. We drove until we couldn't stay awake anymore, then crashed at a Super 8 (my mother's version of camping).

We were up early the next day, because we were headed to South Dakota and the Black Hills.

But we'd go back to Colorado. We'd go back tomorrow.

Why You Plan Your Cross Country Trip

We have to start with an apology and an explanation. You see, we have no pictures from our trip to Denver.

However, we feel there is a reasonable explanation.

We travel from place to place with full tourist mindset: take everything in, then take a picture of it.

Day after day we travel and see new sights and have new adventures. Its amazing and wonderful...

But sometimes we just want a break, so when we reach a friend's house we put down the camera and relax. We have a beer, usually eat killer food and catch up with said friend. But we do not take pictures.

And, unfortunately, that is why we do not have any pictures of Cade, my friend from New Hampshire, or his boyfriend Jeff or their adorable dog Piper or Cade's super cute house in Denver.

And so I feel that this post does not adequately explain how relieved we were to arrive in Denver. After the Sixteen Hour Drive and then another six (or maybe it was more, can't remember) hours to Denver, it was an incredible relief to see a familiar face and eat a homecooked meal.

Cade's homecooked meal could have fed the entire neighborhood, and it was so good I would have eaten it all myself but my stomach wouldn't expand any further. It was refreshing to consume meat cooked on a grill rather than in a broiler and potatoes cooked in an oven rather than a deep frier.

The next day we met Cade for lunch and he showed us around the city a bit. This is the part I wish I had my camera for, because the library and the art museum are both displays of some of the most creative architecture I've ever seen. Especially the modern art wing of the museum: it juts out and folds in on itself all along the Denver skyline.

Then, Mike and I headed back to Cade's and I kind of had a meltdown (you already know this if you are my facebook friend).

You see, we had everything up to Mendecino planned out. We knew where we were going, where we would stay, when we would get there.

But everyone says, "Don't plan too much." They say, "Leave room for spontaneity." They say, "You're going to want to play some of it by ear -- that's the adventure."

This is not good advice.

Actually, maybe its great advice for some people, but its not for us. We are planners. We are not comfortable with the discomfort of not knowing where we will sleep the next night. We are concerned we are missing great opportunities because we have not done pre-arrival investigation.

But we had already taken the bad advice, so for the return trip, we weren't entirely sure what places we wanted to stop at or what sights we wanted to see. We changed our arrival date with Cade three times and Aunt Robin in Iowa twice. We had three hours in the Rocky Mountains, but wanted more. We put Chicago in, we took Chicago out. We had no idea what to do with an extra day after St. Louis.

We were a hot mess, friends, and it was kind of freaking us out.

I cried. This moved Mike to action very quickly (excellent husband).

We sat down in front of the computer, took a look at everything, and came up with a plan and a route. But then we realized we had to leave Denver early to accomplish it.

I cried a little more. Then we said goodbye to Cade and hit the road again.

So we decided to see Rocky Mountain National Park at sunset and stay closer to the park so we could see a bit more in the morning if we had time.

As you can see, we caught the sunset. We drove into the park from the Estes entrance and drove up the main trail to about 12,500 feet and watched the sun go down over the Rockies. We stood 25 yards away from a group of elk (they're the ones with the giant antlers that make them look like they're going to tip over) and shivered and watched the view you see in the picture.

The white patches on the mountainside are snow. Oh yeah, snow in July. We were up so high we drove right past some snow. Could have jumped out and made a snowball. We actually thought about doing it but it was damn cold and we were wearing shorts (strategic error).

Then we headed back to Boulder. We were going to stay in Estes Park or Longmont, which are closer to the park, but there was a rodeo going on.

No joke. How awesome is that. A rodeo.

Anyway, the rodeo had attracted more than a few visitors and the two towns were packed, so we found a Best Western in Boulder with rooms larger than my home and crashed there.

We went out for drinks at Mountain Sun Brewery, located on Pearl St., just outside the pedestrian mall (for those of you who know Boulder). It is the hippiest place in hippyville, but those hippies are nice as hell. Really. They found out it was our first time there, and bought us a sampler of all their most infamous beers. Then, our waiter (named Mike, actually) found out that Mike (my Mike) brews beer, and brought us the "Beer Bible" -- the book of recipes for all their beers.

Well, friends, these were some hoppy beers. And you know what hoppy beers means? Very high alcohol content. And Mike (my Mike) and I hadn't had any lunch. You know what Mike and I hadn't had any lunch plus high alcohol beers means? It means we got drunk. Quickly.

But we had a blast doing so, because all the folks who work there chatted us up about our roadtrip, and really loved that we were doing it as a honeymoon. They loved the idea so much, they picked up our tab.

How cool is that?

I cheered up. So did Mike. We are still bummed that we didn't plan enough to spend more time in Denver. Miss you, Cade, Jeff and Piper. We'll be back... and we'll do Chinese.

The Sixteen Hour Drive

The Sixteen Hour Drive was destined to happen sooner or later. I mean, who goes on a road trip across the country for five weeks and doesn't do at least one all-nighter.

I can tell you we started to lose it a little bit at the end. When I claimed a star in the South was actually the Star Wars Death Star, we knew we were tired.

Anyway, I feel the drive is best summed up in statistics:

Start: Mendecino, California.
End: Salt Lake City, Utah.

Number of States Driven Through:
3: California, Nevada, Utah

Direction Headed:
East. Sometimes exactly East. So exactly East that there was a perfectly straight line across the TomTom screen.

Number of Times We Stopped For Gas:
4. Mike could probably tell you our average gas milage. This information available for nerds upon request.

Miles Traveled:
957

Miles Traveled If You Don't Count TomTom's Foray-Into-Nowhere Outside Mendecino:
927

Number of Times One of Us Complained About How Boring the Desert Is:
1,247,982.

Smelliest Part of Drive:
The Great Salt Lake. Smells like someone put rancid milk, doggie doo-doo, feet and b.o. into a lake, stirred it up and plopped it in the desert to further ferment.

Most Interesting Part of Drive:
Finding a Starbucks in Reno, NV.

Number of Time Zones Entered:
2

Number of Times We Tried to Convince Ourselves that Setting Up Camp at Three in the Morning Would be No-Big-Deal:
47

Number of Hotel Rooms Purchased in Salt Lake City at 3:45am:
1. $42.99. Worth every penny.

The Beginning of the End

Our last night in California was spent in Mendecino, California -- a small town sitting above cliffs overlooking the Pacific Ocean. By small, I mean population a few hundo. The reason we went to Mendecino at all is because we had actually been there before. When we drove up the coast from San Francisco (with Holly, Cory, Steve and Kelly) to Arcada (sp?) for Scotty and Tawna's wedding we stopped in Mendecino for dinner, because it was the first town we came across that still had restaurants open.



Actually it had one restaurant open, the Mendecino Cafe, and when we returned on this trip we stayed at a B&B right behind the Cafe. Weird.

Our room at the Seagull Inn had a view of the ocean and two adirondack chairs for enjoying the view. In the morning the innkeepers brought us fresh scones with clotted cream (Mom Morris -- real clotted cream) and a split of champange because we happened to mention it was our honeymoon.

It was cute and cozy and romantic.

I wish I could tell you hilarious stories about Mike and I in Mendecino, but, honestly, it was a quiet night. We walked down by the ocean and through town. We had dinner and drinks at a local pub.

We called it a night early.

And, folks, I must tell you, sometimes you need that when you're partying as consistently as we have. Even when we're camping, we're killing a six pack each night.

But in Mendecino, we just took it a little slow. Maybe it was because it was our last night in California. Maybe it was because we knew when we got up the next morning we would start heading East for the first time in three weeks. I don't know.

I know we woke up the next morning a little off. A little not right. And we couldn't seem to shake it.

It didn't help that motherhonking TomTom decided to take us down a dirt mountain road for 15 miles in an attempt to get us back to the highway.

Honestly, the trip didn't improve much from there. We stopped at a town called Upper Lake (actually located on the upper half of Clear Lake in central California -- not just a clever name) to eat lunch. We were starving, so we put in an order quickly. Then, no drinks, no server, no nothing for 45 minutes.

So you know what we did? We are such badasses...

We walked out. Yeah we did.

We walked directly out the back door where no one could see us.

Take that, random cafe in Upper Lake.

I should mention that it took us 15 minutes to even decide to walk out. Yeah. We're real tough.

But Clear Lake is rather nice. The bluest water we've ever seen, thus leading us to conclude:

Lesson We Have Learned #4:

Brian Summers is Right. Water is Blue.

See picture at right for details/evidence.

While BS is convinced water is blue under any and all circumstances, we just want to note that in certain locations where the water is clear and the sky is clear the water looks super blue.

However, Upper Lake, while pretty, still sucks. Here's why:

Okay, you know road flaggers, right? Those people who have the nauseatingly boring job of standing in the middle of a road -- way way way away from the construction -- and turning a sign to say "STOP" when cars are to stop and "SLOW" when you are supposed to go. Why are they always such jerks? I don't know what that job pays, but minimum wage is definately more than enough.

A monkey could do that job. Actually, I think monkeys should do that job. Wouldn't that be fun?

Back to the story: There is a flagger on the road that winds around Clear Lake. She turns the sign to say "STOP." So we stop. Then she walks backward 30 feet. We stay put. She starts waving us forward. We go forward. We go past her. We realize we have technically just run a stop sign and are headed directly into oncoming traffic.

Fortunately, the traffic was construction vehicles and they politely stared at us like we were so stupid we deserved charity until we passed through.

Then, it happened. The flagger on the other end waved us over. And she chastized us.

No, I am not kidding. The woman says (please read with voice of scorn and condecension) "The other girl was waving you to pull up closer, not go through." Mike and I looked at this woman who had tanned so much she aged herself 20 years. This woman who was hiding a serious case of Jersey hair beneath an orange hard hat. This woman who reaked of Marlboro Reds from 10 feet away. We looked at this woman and wanted to say, "Who the hell are you?"

Mike really wanted to say that. But we just said, "Sorry, we misunderstood."

Polite. Apologetic. The appropriate response.

You want to know what she said?

"Yeah. Misunderstood."

Like we were lying! Like we are construction-site rebels? Like we are sign-ignoring, asphalt-destroying, head-on-collision-loving construction site rebels.

Are you kidding me???

I wish she were a monkey.

This was the first 3 hours of a 16 hour drive...

Mike's Current Hamburger Count

We're up to... drumroll please...

Eleven.

California: 2

Colorado: 1

And we weighed ourselves at Cade's house in Denver, and we have decided that his scale is wrong.

Because it makes us feel better.

So... About That Fruit in the Road...

From Big Sur we traveled north to Roseville, where my other best friend from high school, Kathy and her boyfriend Ryan live.


For those of you who have not done this kind of traveling before, you should know that once and a while you need to regroup. You need to do laundry, purchase D batteries for the air mattress, get haircuts and oil changes, pay bills. These kinds of everyday, ordinary things still need to happen even when you're on the road. In Roseville we got to do some of that.

We also got to blow stuff up. Wait... I'm getting ahead of myself. I've got to tell you about Old Sacramento first.

Kathy and Ryan took us to a section of Sacramento called Old Sacramento, or Old Sac (haha) for short. The place looks like they took it straight from an old western. It looks like an old mining town, complete with one room school house and (un)covered wagons.

Opportunities for hilarous photos abound.

The Sacramento River runs right alongside the town, and there's even a hotel on a riverboat you can stay in. There are penny candy stores, Old Time Photo places, and people walking around looking like turn of the century gun slingers.

After adventures in Old Sac (hehe) we headed back to Kathy and Ryan's place to gear up for our Fourth of July celebrations.

Okay, but first we've got to tell you about Kathy's fireworks purchase. Dude, Kathy bought some fireworks from a stand outside a Safeway and was going to wait to fire them off on the Fourth, but after we all had a few beers, Ryan got an itchin' to set them off early. But he started small. He just lit a sparkler.

But it didn't sparkle.

Then, Kathy's like, "It smells like Sandlewood."

Inscence.

(Insents? Inscents?) Smelled lovely. Not a firework. Totally hilarious. We stuck it in a cup and let it burn while we set off the rest of the pack. Turns out fireworks smell horrible, so the incense was actually pretty convienent.

Anyway, Ryan's buddy had recently made a trip to Mexico and returned with a true Cherry Bomb. You know, the big, red seriously down-to-business fireworks that are illegal in the US.

And Kathy had recently purchased a watermelon.

And we all agreed, the two must be united.

Background: Kathy's neighbors who have two adorable kids were also hanging out. These kids got the Fourth of July of a lifetime.

Now, I have seen some fireworks. Bethany Beach shoots them off over the beach every year and the display is so ridiculously enormous it threatens to burn down the town. The beach is usually coated in firework debris the next day.

But I haven't seen this. This is what happens when grown adults have too many beers and decide to act like they are 13.

Its awesome.

See cherry bomb in hollowed out watermelon for details.

So instead of taking it to a park (of which there are quite a few just a few short yards from Kathy and Ryan's) or parking lot (of which there are quite a few just a few short yards from Kathy and Ryan's) we decide we'll just set this sucker off in the street right in front of the house.

Excellent idea. Solid judgement. No one will notice. Definately not. Its probably not going to really blow the watermelon up anyway.

Wrong.

Mike and Ryan lit the cherry bomb, turned and ran. Somehow Kathy was Johnny-on-the-Spot with the camera and got this shot of the cherry bomb right as it was about to annihilate the watermelon.

Oh, and it was Total Annihilation. It happened so fast, but the sound was so loud, it set off a car alarm... 5 houses down the block.

No, really. It sprayed watermelon chunks on cars 25 yards away.

And this is the stain it left in the middle of the road. This is what was left of the watermelon.

FANTASTIC!

I highly reccomend this activity for all Fourth of July Celebrations. Assuming you can get to Mexico and procure a Cherry Bomb.

This picture is a bit hard to see, but it actually shows you the extent of the explosion:

Mike and Ryan went around picking watermelon off of neighbors vehicles and the rest of us collected watermelon chunks out of front yards -- two houses down.

Kathy and Ryan, you were worried you'd be our lamest stop. Nay, my friends. We are now the envy of every man we know who has ever had a hankering to blow up a large fruit. And let's be honest -- that's actually most guys. I know my Pop is jealous.

We hope we have started an annual event.

Thanks to you both for the huge laughs, great beer (too bad you didn't have very much of it, huh?) and the hook up ;) If you keep blowing things up, you can garuntee we'll be back.

"We Did It!"

I'm sorry folks. We are super-behind on the blog, and I'm going to see if I can catch you all up since I'm up pretty early (its 8:00 am in Colorado).

From Arizona, we headed west for one final time and set off for sunny coastal California.

One thing Mike and I have continually remarked on about this country is how fast the geography changes. Sometimes the desert seems to go on forever, but then you'll get over a mountain and suddenly acres of flat green land will open up before you.

Driving into California, you pass through the San Bernadinos, which are a really beautiful sight on a blue-sky day, because the mountains are soft ripples rather than crisp jagged edges, and they are covered in golden grasses. After hours of desert driving, suddenly these "Sharpei Mountains" (that's what Mike and I started calling them because from a distance they look like a pack of Sharpei puppies huddled together in a heap) almond orchards began popping up.

These gave way to vineyards as we headed into Paso de Robles, where we turned north and opened up our windows. It was so wild -- it had been 100 degrees under a scorching hot sun for miles. Then we travel up a bit in elevation, get nearly as west as we can go and the sun is suddenly mellow and the breeze is strong.

And, as you can see in the top photo, "We did it!" We made it to the Pacific Ocean -- on our two month wedding anniversary! Mike says he timed it that way... clever fellow.

Only a few miles up Highway 1 we saw a sign for elephant seals, and we just can't resist. There are quite a few people gathered there snapping photos so we know its worth it. And it was -- look at them all! Aren't they cute? They're huddling together for warmth while they sleep. They make some wierd noises, though. Kind of like Cory after he eats a Fiber One Bar.

Highway 1 is at least 100 miles long and all right beside the Pacific Ocean. The roads bend and switch inside canyons and along cliffs, so the whole stretch is extremely accessible. But what is so strange to Mike and I is how pristine this area remains. On the East Coast the shoreline is wrought with massive homes, boardwalks filled with beach fries and caramel corn, and vacation-goers in inappropriately small bathing suits. Mike and I tried to think of an undeveloped stretch of beach as long as this one on the East Coast and we couldn't. (We triple-dog-dare you to figure one out.)

Big Sur, which is a vague term for the area along Highway 1 between the Pacific Ocean and the Big Sur River (from West to East) and encompassing small beach towns from San Luis Obispo to Carmel.

Californians call it "a mindset." I kid you not.

Anyway, our arrival in Big Sur was exceptional, because we got to see this:

The sun setting over the rocky cliffs of the Pacific. Everyone should be so lucky. This is one of those moments (and we've had a few so far) that Mike and I looked at each other and said, "Our life rules."

I know I mentioned in a previous post that we were having trouble obtaining a campsite in Big Sur. At the last minute a site opened up in Phiefer Big Sur State Park and we snatched it up.

However, we were arriving at our campsite in the dark, which meant that we had to set up the tent, in the dark. This, for some reason, is a most dreaded task of campers. People haul-ass to locations and risk life and limb simply to arrive at their campsite in time to set up their tent with a pinch of sunlight in the sky. Well, if setting up a tent in the dark is a camping badge of honor, please hand us ours, because we set that sucker up in less than 20 minutes by lantern light.

Who's a camper now, huh? Yeah, this guy. For further proof, Mike took a picture of me breaking down the tent. You see, we have unspoken, unofficially assigned duties when we set up and break down a campsite. Mike does the fire (and a mighty fine one, I might add). I handle the air mattress. The next morning, Mike deflates and folds the air mattress, I break down the tent. Mike felt it was important (and I agree) to document me taking down the tent by myself so that everyone actually believes I did it.

It has the added bonus of showing you how rockin' awesome our campsite was. About 25 feet behind our tent was the Big Sur River and we fell asleep listening to it flow past us.

However, it is really really cold in Big Sur. We had out sweatshirts and jeans and fleeces, and Mom Morris, Mike busted out the greatest Christmas gift ever: the flip flop socks. They are fleece socks with a big toe so you can slip on your flops with ease.

Oh man, folks, these things are awesome. Mom, you are going to have to comment on here and let people know where you got them, because these suckers were so perfect for cool California nights. If I remember correctly, this is exactly where and what they were designed for.

Please ignore mystery stain on Mike's shorts. It did come out.

Anyway, from our campsite we headed north and en route to Kathy and Ryan's place outside of Sacramento, we stopped and drove the 17 Mile Drive in Carmel. In case you aren't familiar, the 17 Mile Drive is a 17 mile stretch of coastline home to white sand beaches and the infamous Pebble Beach Golf Club.

One of its most scenic spots is the Lone Cypress, which has been sitting out on this cliff all by its lonesome for hundreds of years. My parents took me there when I was 14 and I took a super-cool picture of the Lone Cypress, prompting my Pop to purchase a necklace with the Cypress on it which I wore in high school for years. It was really cool to go back and take another picture 15 years later with my husband :)

But the best picture is next. We totally stormed Pebble Beach Golf Club. Oh yeah. But we did it like total wusses. Mike made the sign, we pulled up alongside some snooty golfers, both hopped out, I took the picture, we scrambled back in the truck and hauled out of there like we had just robbed the place. But it was totally worth it:

This truly is one of the most beautiful places on earth. So it should come as not surprise to you that the homes are enormous and expensive. As are the vehicles in their driveways. If you haven't been there in a while, you might be interested to know that the 17 Mile Drive homeowners got together and bought the road. No really. Then they set up 6 toll stations and you now have to pay $9.25 to drive the road.

But you should do it. You should pay the $9.25 and see what the Pacific Ocean looks like here and put your toes in the water and watch the waves crash against these giant rocks. Its just not anything like the East Coast, but its every bit as peaceful.

From Carmel to Roseville for Fourth of July shenanigans galore...