I finally updated this thing. It took all the strength in me to do it. I even put up some pictures! look here!

nantucket

Thursday morning we awoke early from a nearly sleepless night and boarded a flight to Charlotte North Carolina where Mike’s friends were to pick us up. We stayed in a suburb of Raleigh for several days and spent our evenings nerding out over board games and beer before I boarded a train to the great capitol, Washington DC where I stayed for nearly a week with only one overnight snag. Mike was to take his own train to DC wednesday morning, but was turned away due to excess baggage. In a fit of uncertainty about how to transport him and our stuff north, I rented a car at the DC  train station and headed south in the cheapest most easily destructible car on the rental market. It was however quite zippy and once I overcame my fear of being decimated by a massive semi, I enjoyed the maneuverability and spunk of a car smaller than the front cab of the RV. Plus the gas mileage was great.

As I made my way south as quickly as possible, the once drizzle of rain turned into a full blown storm. A spun-out car and the women inside collected her self and probably praised god and modern anti-lock breaks for saving her life.  Cars slowed to the regular speed limit and puddles collected quickly alongside the road.  Between the rain and the spit-up of semi tires, the visibility was poor at best. Surfing the endless array of mediocre radio stations, I came upon the familiar drone of the broadcast test warnings that happen here and there. Usually they indicate it’s only a test, and should a real emergency occur, the sound will be followed by instructions. For no real reason, aside from that pop radio is no more ear friendly than the emergency broadcast system, I continued to listen.

“Meeeeeep. Meeeeep. Meeeeep. A tornado warning has been issued for the following counties…” A tornado?! Uh, okay. I don’t know where I am. Southern Virginia maybe? North North Carolina? “The following counties in North Carolina are advised to find a safe place until the tornado advisory passes. A small room in a brick building such as bathroom or closet is recommended. Meeeep. Meeeep. Meeeep.” So I guess a plastic Toyota doesn’t count as a safe place? That’s okay. Sure, I’m going to North Carolina, but I’m pretty sure I’m going to Wake County and they didn’t mention that county, so I should be fine.  I call Mike. “Where am I and where are you and where is this tornado?” After a long confused google mapping session via cell phones, we determined I was north of them and the tornado is south of them, all is fine. “Meeeep. Meeeep. Meeeep. A tornado warning has been issued for Wake County. Meeeep. Meeeep. Meeeep” Great. Me and my plastic car are going to get sucked up in a tornado, and I didn’t even pay for full coverage.

As I continued driving, cautiously looking around for circular cloud formations or anything the resembled the ominous presence of a tornado, I weighed my options: keep driving? stop and take shelter at that Starbucks over there? Out of sheer impatience, and a twinge of hunger in my tummy, I opted to keep driving. The accounts of the tornado on the radio were uncertain; it touched down here, it was seen there, no one really knew because the visibility was too low to say exactly what was going on aside from that there might or might not be a tornado very nearby, and that there had been one, or several, nearby that afternoon. As I entered Wake County, the rain was so heavy the storm drains were beginning to flood and puddles were taking over the roads.  Lightening was striking as often as 10 times a minute and I decided death, or even the cost of Alamo car replacement, wasn’t worth arriving a few minutes early. Plus, the radio told me it was raining four inches an hour. As I looked for a place to possibly take shelter should I see a funnel cloud come my way, the wind started to pick up. I pulled over outside of a red lobster for no other reason than that the location provided decent visibility on all four sides. I kept the car on so I could listen to the rather useless updates on the radio that told me of all the unfamiliar locales where the tornado might be. The winds picked up more and a few branches fell of trees which put me into a small panic so I quickly darted across the parking lot towards the red lobster entrance. A couple in their late 60s stood there looking at me strangely; they were completely oblivious to the tornado warning. When I told them, they responded with a careless “huh” and got into their car and drove away.  Apparently I, being a west coaster, am not accustomed to the ferocity of Southern storms. So I retreated back to the car and waited longer.

Finally the winds calmed and the rain lightened. I was ready to leave, when: “Meeeep. Meeeeep. Meeeeep.” Not again! “A flash flood warning has been issued for Wake County.” A flash flood? Hmm, that doesn’t sound as bad, I think this car would function better as a row boat than an airplane. I started the engine, and continued my drive. A short distance later I was safe in a house with a small bathroom should we need safety, though the tornado warning had ended. It turns out the trajectory of the tornado was directly between where I parked and where Mike was staying with friends, so I guess it’s a good thing I pulled over.

Here are some pictures of the tornado and it’s damage, or proof of my near encounter with a tornado (as I like to think of it).

Lazy lazy lazy. I haven’t done anything with this blog-along in ages for no great excuse aside from that of abject lassitude and indifference as to the burning inconsequence of my day to day exploits. What has occurred since the most recent episode of blog-a-thon? It was late April when we found ourselves traversing the great interstates of windy New Mexico, cheerily making our way south to see some white sand and an old friend in a nearby New Mexican town. Almost half way between our destination and the interminable Los Angeles-esque suburban sprawl known as Albuquerque, a perpetual thump thump made an aberrant appearance under our tire. Concerned for our safety, but hopeful we could fix the tire alignment on the RV, we pulled over in Socorro, a small town known for it’s “Very Large Array” and not much else.  As our luck would have it, not only did we have a bad tire, we had six bad tires. Thank god we purchased six new used tires before leaving Portland only to need to replace all of them 4000 miles later. With our plan thwarted, or at least delayed, we took up residence at the only RV park in town and waited for more tire places and second opinions to open for Monday business. Weighing our options, we came to the conclusion that the best bet would be to replace our two front tires to ensure safe passage to a larger town, and then decide to replace the other four (with a grand total of nearly $1000 for 6 new tires), or sell the harridan and fly east. Taking another day to delay our decision making and to research RV selling options (by which I mean Craig’s List advertising), we finally opted Wednesday morning to return to Albutross and dispose of the RV for as much money as one would pay. We decided to post an ad asking everyone who was interested to come to a particular Walmart parking lot at a 5:30 pm to inspect the vehicle in person. I advertised it at a fairly low price thinking my best bet was to get it sold quickly and then move on. When we approached the lot at 5:15 we wondered if anyone would show up, but as we made the left turn into it, we heard a loud voice yell to us, “Is that the RV for sale?” As we pulled into a parking spot, we noticed a swarm of people racing toward us. Families, old couples, and bearded ladies alike showed up in adoration and envy of our fair priced vessel, and the first question asked was not if it ran, but “How are you going to do this?”

I decided the only fair way was to let everyone who wanted the thing was to tell me how much they’d pay and give me their name and phone number and I’d  call people from a remote and secure location that evening, but that in the spirit of capitalism, the vehicle would ultimately go to the highest bidder. A bidding war ensued, and the stakes were further raised when someone offered to pay $1000 over the advertised price. Several people scampered off cross and defeated. In the end there was one mechanic family who remained and when they matched the highest bid we accepted their offer for the sake of easiness. They followed us to the airport and waited patiently while we packed the few belongings we would take across country. We checked into a motel room, lugged our massive bags into it, and finalized the details and cash payment for our beloved Minnie. We said goodbye, retreated to our posh room with plumbing and air conditioning, and relaxed into the night. Or at least we tried until Mike interjected a grave and odious thought; “What if all those hundreds are fake?” Panicked, we ran down to the hotel desk and awkwardly asked for one to be marked for authenticity. Relief. One was good, they should be good. And fortunately, save several still traveling in my wallet, they are.

i received a rude comment on here about my sarcastic post regarding the pathetic regulations on utah’s alcohol sales and their specially manufactured beer for public purchase. i have no idea how this person even found my blog, as it isn’t (or at least shouldn’t be) easy to find. it’s kind of sad that people have nothing better to do than misread one travelers sarcastic comments on tight state regulations and take personal offense and feel the need to defend all that is good about utah and utah’s beer.

that aside we’re in north carolina and have been spared of 4-5 days of constant driving by taking the wonderfully civilized and fast form of transportation known as airplanes. more on the insanity that lead to this decision latter…

windy. warm. dead snake in the road. a lot of dust.

i wanted to take the time write a witty commentary on the endemic condition of female rv drivers that appears infect this country, but faced with laziness i will resign and simply say this: i have never received so many strange looks, stares, and grimaces as i have while driving the minnie winnie. most of these looks come from old men.  i think it must be a very emasculating experience for them. or at least i hope.

more more more finally!

“Determine that the thing can and shall be done, and then we shall find the way.”
- Abraham Lincoln

Nothing seems like more fitting emblematic cheese than to start a commentary on Utah with a quote from a past American president. Utah is enigmatic. It is both enchanting and terrifying. With its rugged cowboy terrain, craggy cliffs, outdoorsy spirit, and redneck religious persona, it seems as though it is a state that belongs in the Northwest but is stuck in Mormondom. Happy to visit, and happy to leave, we spent a total of three nights there.

Determined to not be quelled by the storm, we snuck up to Bryce Canyon yesterday and raced back just in time to narrowly dodge the ferocity of the snowstorm. The drive up highway 89 looks like an old cowboy movie with dude ranches and horses. The occasional contrast of dilapidated shanty towns and RV parks pop up along the way too. The highlight of the drive was passing several Utah prairie dogs, which were far fatter than I’d ever imagined a prairie dog could be.

The multifarious weather, from sun to snow in a matter of seconds, made it hard to capture the landscape with any level of skill and determination, so we resigned ourselves to fleeting moments in the cold and long refuge in the nearly warm car. The prodigious nature of Bryce Canyon can hardly be reduced to data information and pixels, but we certainly tried.

Now we are in Flagstaff Arizona where a snowstorm and pine trees greeted our arrival. This did not fit my sun and sand stereotype for the state. Tomorrow we will go to Sedona where I’ve been once before and mostly remember everyone being really old and a turquoise tourist shirt that would become the scene for an unexplained mystery that perhaps I shall tell of later.

click here.

We’ve hunkered down for the night in a small town in southern Utah called Kanab. There’s a Jehovah’s Witness church across from us. It seems as though snow is forecasted for much of the region as well as the Grand Canyon which kind of puts a damper on our plans. We made it to Zion, though we may have to scratch Bryce Canyon off the list. I’ve adjusted to driving the minnie winnie, but don’t think I’m about to try and trek through snow just to see more pretty rocks.

spring in zion, despite the snow storm...

Today we sprung a new leak, however  this time it wasn’t the scent of burning power steering fluid or hot coolant, as our other leaks have emitted, this one was more acute, and more disconcerting. It was gas. Mechanic Jess crawled under the RV and discovered the leak was coming from what she described as “the thing with wires and plugs that sticks out on the back of the gas tank” (which is the apparently the fuel pump). Upon further examination, phone conversations with Dad, emailing photos to Dad, and tinkering with screwdrivers, clamps, and gloves, I came to the conclusion that it was a rubber cap that had cracked and was leaking.  Because we were in pretty much the middle of nowhere at this point, we drove to a town with a population large enough to have a Jehovah’s Witness Church (Kanab, population 3,564). Upon arrival I stopped in a gas station and asked the attendant (who I’m pretty sure was 13) where there was a mechanic in town. He chuckled awkwardly and glanced to his left where a tall skinny man with a red hat and dirty blond moustache was standing. He was it. I described the problem and told him my own diagnosis, he crawled under the RV and verified I was in fact correct, replaced the cap, and we are no longer a fire hazard on wheels. Or at least not as much so. All in all, fixing it was $20, plus gas.

gas leak

We also managed to fix the huge whole in the roof of the minnie, with only a few odd looks from passers-by. To do so we pulled really close to a dumpster and crawled on top if it. Because I was still too short to get on the roof of the RV, Mike crawled up and used a whole roll of duck tape and a thick black garbage back to seal it. I think it should hold through the 35 mile an hour winds that are currently blowing outside.

Last night we stayed somewhere called Coral Pink Sand Dunes State Park in Utah around Zion National Park. We drove for miles and miles down a deserted road with no cell phone reception in the dark thinking we’d arrive to a desolate and ramshackle state park, when low and behold we stumble upon sleek adobe ranger stations, hot clean showers, and a huge group of French tourists. The sand dunes were not too extraordinary and I missed getting pictures of them because the wind was so intense it was all one could do to avoid getting sand in her eyes.

We did however build our first campfire. This after countless nights of arriving at a site and realizing we should have gotten firewood and hot dogs only to be too lazy and tired of driving to back track and go shopping. However, what’s required with campfires and hot dogs? Beer! Blue Moon Belgian Ale to be exact… kind of. We knew that Utah had some weird laws about booze, but when we went into the gas station and saw more “boutique” varieties we got dizzy with excitement and bought some without further investigating the great legends of Utah low alcohol content. About half way through my second beer I arrived at an alarming feeling of disappointment; I felt normal. In a moment of panic I held my beer up to the wee bit of light coming off the camp fire and low and behold the numbers 3.2% glared at me. 3.2%. This wasn’t a delightful American interpretation of Belgian ale, this is a sad Utah derivative of such, more aptly called Belgian Dismale. Utah is beautiful, but the beer is depressing.