Cross country, Part Four

NOTE: Part Four of a chronicle of my drive from Seattle, WA to Washington DC from September 23, 2007 to October 3, 2007. I drove a 1989 VW Camper (Vanagon/ Westfalia) and camped most of the way.

The rest of the series may be found here:
Part One
Part Two
Part Three

Day 8: 9/30, El Reno, OK to North Little Rock, Arkansas. 396 miles.

A long day and a good one. Sure, my knee ached and I was tired. But I stopped as much as I needed and got where I wanted to go. Tomorrow, Nashville, and interaction with real live friends!

I stop for breakfast at Braum's and have a brief conversation about the high winds with a rancher. He's going out to check on the cows, who aren't happy. I'm driving across the plains in a narrow, tall vehicle. I say, "I'd be hunkered down too if I could!" He laughs.

After a not very memorable drive, following the AAA guide, I pull into Burns Park in North Little Rock. It's a regular city park, but tucked among the picnic areas and basketball courts is a nice, woodsy RV Park/campground. It's $14 for electric and access to the bath house and that's good enough for me. One thing I've learned is that I want to be as close as possible to the bath house. Running around strange campgrounds at night is no fun. I pick my spot then I drive off for gas and an adventure.

I haven't decided what to do about dinner. I had a big lunch (Mexican, again, my search for BBQ was fruitless) and I'm not hungry. But what I really want to do is find the movies.

I reach Little Rock proper, which is only a few miles away. I find gas and I drive through downtown, then south of downtown and make a big loop around the city. Mom calls and we talk while I drive. She is impressed with my driving progress. We get off the phone and I've given up on the movies. And then, it happens, I find a theater and I hear myself say, "Well, blow me down." I'm a few minutes late for "The Brave One" (only so-so) but it doesn't matter. (This decides the dinner question: milkduds it is. I never do find BBQ in Arkansas.)

I think about asking for directions back to the freeway but decide not to. I follow the same road, continuing my loop, and find my way right back to where I need to be. I laugh and think, "I can't even get lost if I want to!" Please note: I did not want to get lost.

Back at the campground, I'm ensconced in the camper with the screens on and all the windows open. This place is full of mosquitoes, but the camper can handle it. It's going to be a warm/cool perfect night. I hear the crickets and that's it. The other campers, mostly in RVs, but at least one tent, are completely silent. I hear a plane landing nearby. I'll keep the radio quiet (not the real radio, podcasts) so as not to disturb the neighbors.

In the middle of the night, I hear a small creature climb a tree next to the camper. I close the back hatch. I think it's a possum.

Day 9: 10/1, Little Rock to Nashville. 387 miles.

I am bound and determined to get some BBQ today and with that in mind, I stop in Jackson, TN. I am almost stymied again, but on my way back to the freeway, I spot this little place:


It looks authentic so I pull in. Turns out the owner is from Chicago. The sweet tea is terrible but the ribs and fries (!) are edible. Since I'm the only customer, the owner keeps me company while I eat.

I make it to Nashville around five in the afternoon. KJ isn't home when I get there but Steve is. We hang out and he gives me a much needed beer. When KJ gets home, I give them a "tour" of the camper and they are duly impressed.

I mention I crave BBQ but since I had some that afternoon, they take me to Mexican with some friends. It's a good group but I pass the evening in something of a daze, since I drank more than I had in a week. It was fun.

I sleep extremely well in a real bed.

In the morning, someone (KJ or Steve? I can't recall) has made breakfast. And coffee. I am very happy.

Then, I'm back on the road.

Day 10: 10/2, Nashville, TN to Chilhowie, VA. 336 miles.

The best thing about this day is that I go through Knoxville, one of my old hometowns. I always say I'm from Seattle, but before Seattle, I lived in Knoxville for about six years. I attended kindergarten through fifth grade there. I like Knoxville and there is one thing about it that I know with certainty: where to get good BBQ. If you are ever there, you have to go to Buddy's. Here is what I ate:

This is the beef plate. The pork is probably better. You'll also notice that the most excellent hush puppies are already gone. And the sweet tea? Perfect! Makes up for the atrocious stuff from the day before.

I drive right through Knoxville, on Kingston Pike, starting on the outskirts of town, near my first neighborhood, West Hills. Then through the University area where it turns into Cumberland Ave., near my second neighborhood, Fort Sanders. Then right through old downtown where I pick up the freeway again.

As night starts to fall, I pick a random place to stop. It's an un-pretty RV park. RVs are interspersed with small houses. The old man clerk isn't pleasant, but for $19.95 he sells me the right to park in an inconvenient spot (too far from the restroom!). It's fine. Tomorrow I'll be home

Day 11: 10/3, Chilhowie, VA to Washington, DC. 355 miles.

I stop in Staunton, VA for an overpriced lunch in the old railway station. At least the surroundings are pretty. As I get back into the camper, a man says hello. He tells me he did his medical residency years ago near Seattle. He's wearing a UNC cap, so I mention that I went to grad school at Carolina. We smile broadly at each other before I pull myself into the driver's seat and start on the last leg of my trip.

Less than a mile from home, this greets me:



It blocks my most direct route home, but doesn't slow me down much. I am so happy to be home.

Grateful for: home.

Cross country, Part Three

NOTE: Part Three of a chronicle of my drive from Seattle, WA to Washington DC from September 23, 2007 to October 3, 2007. I drove a 1989 VW Camper (Vanagon/ Westfalia) and camped most of the way.

The rest of the series may be found here:
Part One
Part Two
Part Four

Day 6: 9/28, Durango, CO to Clayton, NM. 285 miles.

As I come over the Raton Pass from Colorado to New Mexico, I listen to local radio and hear an announcement that the Raton Tigers will play football in Clayton, NM that evening at 7pm. I was hoping to make it past Clayton, to make up for lost time, but decide that if I'm tired when I get there, I'll stop in Clayton and go to the game.

I go to the High School football game, inspired by my favorite tv show, "Friday Night Lights." The Clayton Yellow Jackets (colors: orange and black) are playing the Raton Tigers (colors: yellow and black). To my surprise it costs $5 to get into the game! Guess that's what happens when it's the main entertainment in town.

The team


I sit near a family, the two sons (8 and 5?) are next to me, their parents are in the row in front of us. The younger boy has no qualms about clambering over me to fetch refreshments ($1 for hot dogs, popcorn, soda). No one seems to notice the stranger in their midst. I cheer for the home team when appropriate. The crowd is full of families, old folks and teenagers. Everyone wears ribbons with the team colors or black and silver. Some ribbons are attached with garters to the legs of boys and girls.



The Jackets are getting stomped. Halfway through the first quarter there is 30 minute rain delay and I retreat to the camper. I go back to the game and at halftime, the Homecoming king and queen are crowned. Each nominee is escorted across the field at the 50 yard line, by two adults (usually, but not necessarily, the parents). The game announcer reads a list of each kid's accomplishments. One of the boys is a football player and he wins. As soon as that happens, I guess that the girl in the blue gown will be the homecoming queen, and she is. How did I know? She is the cheerleader. I wasn't sure if it was just a popularity contest, but as soon as I knew it was, well, then it was easy to tell who would win.



After the homecoming ceremony is over, marshal music starts playing and the announcer comes over the loudspeaker again, "Well, now we were supposed to have the fireworks, but they're cancelled due to high winds. You can imagine them, though."

With that, I decide to wrap it up and I drive the camper five blocks back to the campground. I settle in with a movie (via computer) and pray the camper is not blown over.

Day 7: 9/29, Clayton, NM to El Reno, OK. 355 miles.

The driving today is rough due to high winds. The van does not like mountain passes, but the consequence of driving over them is going slowly. Gusty winds of 20-30 mph mean being blown all over the road and tense shoulders from hanging tightly to the wheel. Not fun.

Because of van-enforced slowness, I did a lot of my driving today off the freeway. It's much preferred, but the wind, oy, the wind! Hopefully, it will be better tomorrow.

Part of my off-freeway driving took me to parts of historic Route 66 where I happened about the Sayre, OK "Hoot & Scoot."

The sign


Part of the festivities included classic cars. And there it was, my dream car:

Ok, I guess my real dream car was the convertible Malibu with the white top and red body, but this pretty SS is damn close.

Plus, motorcycles! See Harleys:


After three nights in the camper, I decide to stay in a motel. It feels like heaven due to cable and a bathroom. Ah, the HUGE things. Later, I go to do some laundry and consider driving into town. I don't make it and go to a fast food place between the laundry and the motel called Braums. If you're ever in Oklahoma, "parts of Texas," Kansas, Arkansas or Missouri, go. By far the best fast food I've ever had. I get a "junior" meal, which comes with a 12oz milkshake, a few fries and chicken fingers. Best milkshake ever! And the chicken was actual pieces of chicken, not "nuggets." (It was so good, I go back for breakfast the next day.)

Grateful for: being able to stay in motel if I need to and Braums.

Cross country, Part Two

NOTE: Part Two of a chronicle of my drive from Seattle, WA to Washington DC from September 23, 2007 to October 3, 2007. I drove a 1989 VW Camper (Vanagon/ Westfalia) and camped most of the way.

The rest of the series may be found here:
Part One
Part Three
Part Four

Day five: 9/27, Monument Valley to Durango, CO. 196 miles.
First thing in the morning, after breakfast of oatmeal and coffee, I go to meet a tour guide for bumpy drive through Monument Valley. It's me and two women in their 50's (?) who are there to do hearing tests on the kids in the local schools. They are pleasant touring companions and one even takes a good picture of me at John Ford's point:


It is possible to drive one's own vehicle through part of Monument Valley, but even the public road is bumpy and not suitable for all vehicles. I don't even consider taking the camper. If you pay for a tour, then you get to go off the main road and see other parts of the Valley. Since I've been dreaming about visiting this place since I saw my first John Ford western, I don't hesitate to take a tour. I feel slightly guilty that my main excitement about being in this place is because of the movies. But what can you do?

The tour vehicle:


As I recalled from the one other time I visited the Navajo Reservation, stands selling jewelry are everywhere:


At our first stop (not pictured), I buy a long beaded necklace with a little carved black turtle pendent (a fetish). The lady tells me that the turtle symbolizes patience and self-sufficiency. I decide I'm like a turtle, driving around in my modern-day covered wagon. Instead of wearing the necklace, I hang it on my rearview mirror as a totem. It's still there.

My group:


A famous view, "The Window":

More spectacular-ness:




I am so, so happy I went to Monument Valley. It's the bit of the Southwest I'd been hoping to see on every other trip I made to that part of the country.

After the tour, I get on the road, determined to make it at least until Durango, CO. At one pit stop, where I also buy an ice cream bar snack, an older man talks to me. He asks, "How far is it to Warshington?"

I'm puzzled and wonder, "How does he know I'm going to Washington?" I don't say anything and just look at him and smile.

He says, "I saw your license plate."

Ah. "Oh, it's far. It's taken me about four days driving. But I'm slow. You could do it faster."

"Eh, I'm a slow driver too. I need to go to Warshington."

"It's beautiful up there."

Next stop is Durango. I "check in" to an RV camp. The proprietor only charges me $20, which is $15 less than the regular price, as she puts it, my "rig is so small." I go into town, buy a couple of things: a thermal mug for coffee, a small plastic container (must decant! it's a mania), and an extension cord for the 12v outlet at Radio Shack. (I plug a variety of things into this outlet to charge them during the drive but my adaptor keeps falling out. The extension cords solves the problem.)

Durango is the fanciest little mountain town you'll ever want to see with loads of touristy clothing and gift shops. It's main claim to fame is a narrow gauge steam railroad. I don't ride the train but its whistle is heard all night throughout the town.

I have dinner, which is quite good, and a 10oz beer. On the walk back to the van, I'm asked for directions. Perfect! I say, "I'm not from here!" They say, "We are! But we live on the mountain, we never come to town." The man repeats, "We live on the mountain" a few more times. I say, "It's ok, people ask me for directions wherever I am. Not sure why."

He says, "You look like a local. And you look competent."

"And like I won't kill you!"

"That too!"

We walk along in the same direction and I spot the place they're looking for and point it out too them. Guess they asked the right person after all.

At the campground, I settle in. My neighbor to the right comes over to ask me about the camper. He's a man, seemingly alone, in a little pick-up truck with a camp top. We talk for a while. He asks me about the camper. I point out all its features: the two burner propane stove (propane tank is under the van), the sink (a water tank is under the van), the double bed "downstairs" and the pop-top with another bed "upstairs," the fact that it plugs in (charge everything!), and the little fridge that doesn't work (or does it?). I go on and on about other things too. Later, I realize that I didn't ask him where he's going or anything about him. Sigh. I realize that I miss talking to people.

Grateful for: random conversations.

Cross country, Part One

NOTE: Part One of a chronicle of my drive from Seattle, WA to Washington DC from September 23, 2007 to October 3, 2007. I drove a 1989 VW Camper (Vanagon/ Westfalia) and camped most of the way.

The rest of the series may be found here:
Part Two
Part Three
Part Four

Funny thing about me, right after I come back from a long trip, I don't like to talk about it. Especially if it was in anyway annoying, engaging or frustrating. My drive across the country in September/October was all of those things. I think I'm finally ready to edit and post what I wrote at the time, plus flesh out bits of the story.

UPDATE: Obviously, I need to provide some context. In September, I went to Seattle to claim a 1989 VW Camper (Vanagon/Westfalia) that belonged to my mother. She gave/sold it to me (I paid her the price of the repairs she made over the last year or so, much less than the actual value of the vehicle). Mom and I negotiated this exchange for a couple of years and I finally decided, enough!, it was time to get the camper.

I haven't owned a car since moving to DC eight years ago, so it was with some ambivalence I took possession of the camper. Mom also seemed to have some hidden agenda at work and I'm pretty sure there are many strings attached to this "gift." I'm sure I'll discover those soon.

Before leaving for Seattle, I'd plotted a drive that would take me from Seattle to Washington DC via Arkansas. Why Arkansas? I've been to every state in the county except: Alaska, Hawaii, Mississippi, Alabama and Arkansas. Arkansas was the one new state I could reasonably make on this trip. I allotted ten days for the drive and that's about how long it took. I made one unscheduled detour, which added a day of driving, but it was worth it.

The first three and half days of the drive were done with my mother and her dog. The dog was an excellent traveler. I wish I could say the same for the humans. On the third day, Mom picked up a rental car in Salt Lake City and we continued as a caravan for the rest of that day. On the morning of the fourth day, Mom headed back to Seattle via Bryce and I continued south to Monument Valley, my unscheduled detour. The rest of the trip remained as planned.

Part one of I'm not sure how many parts follows:

Day one: 9/23, Seattle to Oregon.
Camp in a tiny state park campground. Don't make it to Idaho as planned. I blame Mom's very slow getting ready process. Fasting the day before didn't help either. Another Vanagon parks one spot over from us, making three campers total. Mom asks (in her sly, teasing way) the other Vanagon camper if she thinks it's a coincidence that there are two VWs at the campground. The woman says, "Oh, I don't know them." Sigh. At least I laugh when Mom tells me about it.

Me and the camper in Oregon:


Day two: 9/24, Oregon to Idaho.
We make it to Idaho, though it's slow going. No time to stop in Boise, but we do drive through town and take a look. While I'd hoped we camp at Antelope Island, in the Salt lake (and so did Mom), we don't have the stamina to make it that far.

Instead we stop at Crystal Springs, an hour north of Salt Lake City. $15 for no hook ups OR water (which they didn't mention). Another $5/each gets us into the pools fed by the spring water. We take a soak after cooking dinner in the camper.

Day three: 9/25, Idaho to Utah, Capitol Reef National Park.
Big argument about I'm not sure what in the morning. Mom says the dog is afraid of me because I'm so angry. Hilarious, because the dog is following me around! Whatever. I'm growing more disgruntled by Mom's poor van-housekeeping. Oh, right, she screamed at me the day before about the folding seat in the back and how I broke it. Forgetting that it's now MY van and not her problem if it is broken. Not the easiest transition ever.

We drive to Salt Lake, get breakfast. Walk around the Temple Square area a little and pick up Mom's rental car. Whew. Things are much easier from here out.

Once we're off the freeway the drive is gorgeous.

We continue driving to Capitol Reef National Park. The dog stays with me as does most of the stuff. As we get closer, I decide that we should stay in a motel. I pull into one a few miles from the park and the first thing Mom says is, "I don't like this kind of gas." I explain that I'm not getting gas, that I think we should stay in the motel. She reluctantly agrees but by the next day grants that it's a great idea.

As it turns out, the Capitol Reef campground is full! What luck that we didn't try to stay there.

A glimpse of Capitol Reef:


We do a bit of the breathtaking scenic drive. Then a fancy dinner at the Rim Rock Inn. The food is delicious and the place is full of Europeans. The waitress correctly identifies the dog as a labradoodle. We split a full dinner and dessert and are quite full.

Day four: 9/26, Cap Reef to Monument Valley.
This is my last day with Mom. We drive to the nearest look out point and take a 600 ft hike to see goosenecks. Totally worth it. I go my way and Mom goes hers.

I get directions (or confirm them) from the Ranger to Monument Valley. The day before, I decided to go, even though it will cost me another day of driving.

On my own, I take part of a very short hike in Cap Reef. Then I drive through. I almost run out of gas and temporarily loose my brakes before driving down three miles of dirt road switchbacks. Brakes come back and I make it.

I spend the night in a no-frills campground in Monument Valley. I can look out of the van window and see the moon rise. It's unbelievable. My aunt calls to see if I'll be in DC next weekend. She is pleasantly taken aback when I tell her where I am. (It's one of the few spots where I'll get cell-phone reception for days.)

Monument Valley:


Grateful for: driving.

I'm back

Who wants to hear about a boring old cross-country drive when you could be entertained by ridiculous stories of non-dating?

Yes, yes, I will write about the trip. I have some notes and, in all likelihood, they'll go up without much embellishment. I also have a very few pictures and a few of those will be worth posting. Ideally, I'll put together one or two or three pictorial-type posts. That's what the weekend is for!

Ok, so, to the non-dating stories. First, SL (Spanish lessons guy). I'd like to assure you that he is not dangerous nor is he a player. He's stayed in touch with me by email and phone regularly throughout my trip. He even emailed me today.

He's also calling me "baby."

Now, there was a time when I had a boyfriend who called me "baby" and I didn't like it one bit. At first. Then, I realized, I did like it, even though my initial reaction was negative. So, I know that if my boyfriend calls me "baby" it's fine and I like it and I don't find it patronizing.

But when a guy I've only met twice, kissed briefly and talked to on the phone a few times starts calling me baby, I have to wonder, "What is up with that?" I also have to think that he wants to be my boyfriend. (Scarier thought: he thinks already is my boyfriend.)

SL also insists on coming to my soccer game on Saturday. For a variety of reasons (including a memorial service), it turns out I'm not going to soccer on Saturday. Even if I were, I wouldn't want SL to come. I'm bad at soccer and I don't want him calling me baby when he's NOT my boyfriend in front of a bunch of women I barely know. That won't do.

In response to his email today, I said that I wasn't going to the game but maybe we could do something else. Next time I do have a game, I'll tell him I don't want him to come. I have a tendency to give in to the steamroller because I expect people to pick up on my hints of "no" and avoid having to actually say "no." But, baby, this calls for a real "no."

If that were my only non-dating story, I would have gone with a post about the trip, but I have one more to share. I've only exchanged a couple of brief emails with this fellow via the free-site, but I like him and I think it would be fun to meet. So, just today, I wrote to him and said (among other things), "We should have coffee sometime--what do you think?"

What would you expect his response to be? Take a second and think it over. If you're like me, you were not expecting this, "Love to!" And a bunch of stuff completely unrelated to getting together.

I responded (not asking for specifics, but mentioning coffee again) but I'm done with him unless he takes a little initiative.

Where is the happy medium between "Love to!" and SL's insistence on seeing me play soccer?

Perhaps it's the other guy I'm emailing with. He's done nothing but be reasonable and friendly, so I don't have much to say about him. We'll see how long that lasts.

Grateful for: home.