Are You Afraid of the Dark?

(By Tracy)

I’m currently rumbling along Interstate 10 in California (California?!) as Dad’s passenger in the cab of the U-Haul. Tom is riding with Mom in the Escape, and Erika is driving with Michelle in the Accord.

I am amazed that we have really come this far. We are only about 150 miles from Los Angeles, and I still have not been able to wrap my head around the idea that we won’t be driving all this way back in a week or two and that California is actually our destination.

However, I’m getting ahead of my blog-self who last left off a few days ago in Colorado.

Now, I was told by Tom (who, as I said, is not currently with me and therefore cannot explain himself or argue otherwise) that he has a thing or two to write specifically about the Arches National Park. So, I’ll only describe that briefly, then move on, letting Tom fill in his details when the time comes.

The drive from Vail, Colorado to Moab, Utah on Tuesday night was not quite like any other drive I have done. At least two hours after the sun had completely set, we were still on the road. We were all tired, and I wasn’t thrilled to be a driver in the dark, but we were getting close and I was eager to get to the hotel and get to sleep. My parents had arrived at the hotel about half an hour before we did, and it was the last 20 miles or so that were simply bizarre.

At that point the road was only two-lanes wide, with the Accord’s headlights in my rearview mirror being the only lights I could see. The bizarre thing which happens in that kind of darkness is that there is absolutely no way to know what is “out there.” What I mean is, there could have been a herd of elephants sitting on the side of the road with bags packed, waiting to hitch a ride, and I would not have known.

(For those of you who may not know: my parents’ house, which I grew up in, is on one of the main streets in our town; my bedroom window faced the street for the first 15 years of my life. Without air conditioning, our windows would be wide open on the warm summer nights, and the steady sound of traffic going by became a soothing sound to me. Also, I did not have to worry about the scary monsters that come in the dark because I always kept the window shades open and had the light from the streetlights and headlights. So to me, driving in that pitch black into Moab was a little unsettling to say the least.)

Anyway, Wednesday morning came, and we headed out after breakfast to visit Arches National Park. The main attraction at this park – its various rock formations - is astounding. Cars drive along the main roads of the park, with their passengers looking out miles in any direction at the orangey / reddish rock that stands tall in all kinds of shapes and sizes. Although our Midwestern group tends to shy away from the heat and much prefers the air-conditioned comfort of our vehicles, we could not pass up the opportunity to park the car and hike up to one of the “window” arches. This arch was massive, spanning maybe 75 feet with a hole in the middle of around 30 feet. It stood about 25 feet tall. (Note: these are estimations from Dad, my most trusted estimator.)

Our moods shifted as we relaxed in the shade of the open “window” that was made in the large stone. We sat for a while in awe, especially after looking up and seeing the vast crack in the stone above us, stretching almost completely from one side of the 30 foot opening to the other. The whole park was truly amazing.

But like I said, I’ll let Tom tell the rest of that story.

The Arches were not the end of our excitement for Wednesday. The other half of the day would be spent finishing the six-hour drive to the Grand Canyon, where we would find our hotel for Wednesday night.

All was going smoothly, albeit a little behind schedule, until a couple hours after the sun had set. Again I found myself in the driver’s seat, this time with Michelle next to me. We were following the road to the park, which eventually became the road through the park. And again, I found myself driving through near pitch-black darkness, although this time I could barely make out trees on the sides of the roads.

After trying to call my parents on the cell phone and realizing that we had no signal, it dawned on us that there was the possibility of our GPS losing satellite reception. We scribbled down the next few steps in case that happened (yes, we did have a map, too, but a map does little good if you find yourself lost somewhere in the Grand Canyon).

We continued the drive. After a little time a car came up behind us (the only car we had seen in quite a while), which is when my imagination started going. I have seen very few horror movies in my day, primarily because my imagination for terrifying things is quite healthy as is. I asked Michelle what we would do if the person in the car behind us turned out to actually be a psycho killer, and she tried to calm my fears. I pulled aside to let the car pass, watching my back as directed at the start of this trip.

Shortly thereafter, we saw a yellow traffic sign with a picture of a large cat and the words, “Next 10 Miles.” New fears and scenarios came to life in my mind – a giant bobcat could jump out of the woods and (the possibilities grow here)

1. Cause us to get into an accident that would leave our cars un-drivable and leave us stranded who-knows-where with little resources beyond the cases of bottled water I insisted we keep stocked in our car at all times or

2. Attack the car from the outside, using its mighty fangs to tear through the roof and giant paws to crash through the window, leaving little of us for park rangers to find except maybe some rubber tires.

Of course we made our way to the hotel fully intact without any wild animal sightings. When we reached the hotel and got in contact with my parents, they asked us if we saw what we had been driving alongside most of the way – the Grand Canyon itself. (Probably better that I was not able to see how close we had been. Imagine the new scenarios, taking into account a drop of a couple hundred or thousand feet at the edge of the pitch-black road.)

The Grand Canyon was tremendous. I am not sure exactly what I was expecting, but I was pleasantly surprised by what I found. I knew it was big, but I didn’t realize how big it could be. It is amazingly huge, and imagining how it was formed left us bewildered. I was happy to see that the park isn’t commercialized (I imagined something perhaps like Niagara Falls), and it was great to enjoy a picnic in a quieter area of the park. In the few short hours that we were there, the weather varied from still, sunny and hot to breezy, rainy and warm, and hearing the thunder boom and echo from the other side of the canyon was unbelievable.

So as I wrap this entry up, Dad and I are just driving down from the mountains into a valley full of lights. Our altitude dropped from 1,500 feet above sea level to -2 feet. The street is now six-lanes wide, each block has a streetlight, and the glow of Palm Springs and the surrounding area brightens the night sky.

I love nature and find it to be awesome and breathtaking, but something tells me that I will sleep well tonight.

"There's More Than One Kind of Rich," Or: "One Person's Hole In The Ground Is Another Person's Hole In The Ground"

(By Tom)

I don’t really know if the stereotype about the Vail area (specifically, the town of Edwards and the “community” of Beaver Creek) being a hoity-toity haven for the super-rich ski set is accurate, because we visited in the summer, when there’s no snow (or obscenely wealthy people) on the slopes. I do know, however, that it seems to have about three times as many Starbucks per capita as the rest of the places we had seen to that point.

I can also say that the area is very pretty in the summertime, and provides an excellent backdrop for an invigorating bicycle ride (or, for my sisters Erika and Michelle, ziplining tour). Ultimately, though, at least in the summer, the place was about as remarkable as a hole in the ground.

Actually, I’d give a slight edge to the hole. For while the Vail area is, again, very pretty, it feels more like a higher-end outdoor shopping mall than anything, a little too heavy on the manufactured charm and a little too light on personality, with just the shuttered ski lifts and vacant, green ribbons of cleared land cutting through groves of pine trees to remind us of the region's true attractions.

The unmarked, unadorned natural hot spring we stopped at, on the other hand, had personality to spare. That was about all it had, but still.

Tracy’s parents had discovered the hot spring on a previous trip to Colorado, and after a stunningly dramatic jaunt down I-70 through Glenwood Canyon, we got off at Exit No. 345*, drove about half of a mile into the hills and pulled over to the side of the road, where we got out of our cars and plunged into the underbrush. After a hike of about 100 yards or so, we arrived at the hot spring, a six-by-six hole filled with murky, brown, bubbling hot water, complete with a sitting area made out of boulders, bleached-out, splintering plywood, and what looked to be a rubber floor mat from a car. A middle-aged man wearing an open, rainbow-colored shirt, canvas hat, and sunglasses sat cross-legged next to the spring, thumbing an iPhone and slouching in such a way that his hairy belly folded in on itself and spilled over the waistband of his swim trunks. As Tracy, her parents, and my sister Erika dipped their toes into the water, it occurred to me that we may have been disturbing the man’s solitude, but he just kept staring at his iPhone, maintaining eye contact with the machine through at least ten minutes of loud, boisterous hot-spring-oriented conversation among our party.

Though I declined to take off my shoes and socks and stick my own toes in, and though we were standing in the middle of nowhere in sweltering heat, and though the water was dotted with thick clumps of blackish-green algae, I couldn’t help but fall under the hot spring’s spell. Maybe it was the sulfur in the air, but there was something about this humble natural wonder, unfettered by modern amenities and almost untouched by commercial interests, an isolated little secret in the Colorado mountains.

The true hidden gem of the day, however, was even farther west, close to the Utah border: Rim Rock Drive, in the Colorado Monument National Park, just south of Grand Junction. The 23-mile-long road meanders through and over one of the most jaw-droppingly beautiful desert landscapes I’ve ever seen, rising and falling 2,000 feet through a collection of otherworldly rock formations and sparse, green shrubbery. I kept expecting to see Wile E. Coyote chasing the Road Runner with an ill-fated, rocket-powered contraption strapped to his back. Instead of that, however, all we saw and heard was nature, along with the occasional flash of lightning and the low but faintly ominous rumble of thunder in the distance.

*Actual exit number redacted to protect the hot spring's hidden location, though I'm sure you can find it in a guidebook if you really want to.

The Georgetown Loop

(Post by Tracy)

Monday morning we drove out of Denver and towards the little town of Silver Plume. We watched in awe as the altitude reading on the GPS went from 5,000 feet up to 11,000 feet.

Silver Plume looked like it has one main thing going for it: tourists come here to board the Georgetown Loop open-air train. The train makes its way along the mountains to the town of Georgetown. Along the way, tourists have the option of stopping for a tour of the former Lebanon Silver Mine.

At the opening of the mine, claustrophobia almost got the best of me. I forged on, though, following our tour guide all the way to the end, where we saw equipment that was abandoned on the day that the mine was closed with the passing of the Sherman Act. Amazingly, while the mining pulleys and excavation equipment looked historic, I can attest to the fact that shovels have not changed much since the 1890’s.

We also learned from our exceptional tour guide that, in a pinch, rubbing the residue from the Aspen tree’s bark on your skin is a natural sun-screen alternative. And while I’m at it, did you know that the Aspen tree is not really classified as a tree? Technically it is a “tree-like plant.” Now you’re ready to join your local Colorado Trivia Team.

After the train ride, we ate lunch in Georgetown at a nice local restaurant that did not have any fruit on the premises. In an effort to be healthy (and because neither baked beans nor coleslaw has ever been appealing to me) I asked our waitress if it was possible to substitute fruit as a side to my sandwich. She thought about it, said, “I don’t think we have any fruit,” but said she would write it down on the ticket and see what happens. A few moments later, she came back saying that there was no fruit in the kitchen. I gifted Tom an extra little side of baked beans.

We finished our meal. We bought ourselves ice cream. Mom befriended the owner of the local homemade-lotion-and-soaps-shop. We went on our way, hearing the train's whistle (two long, one short, one long) fade behind us.

3rd Celebrity Sighting

(Post by Tracy)

Since sometime in college, whenever I meet someone from Denver, I am almost always asked if I am related to the Bishop of Denver: Bishop Charles Chaput. (Answer: no relation that we know of.)

As we started to plan this trip, it fell into place that we would be spending Saturday in Boulder, Sunday in Denver and Monday near Vail. When Saturday night came, we were sitting in our Chautauqua cabin planning what we would do about Mass in the morning. Tom voiced his preference for evening Masses, and Dad pulled up the Cathedral’s website to check. Call it fate if you will: there was a 6:30 pm Sunday Mass at the Cathedral, being said by Bishop Chaput.

We arrived at the Cathedral for Mass Sunday evening after leaving Boulder that morning (delicious brunch at the Chautauqua to send us on our way) and leading ourselves on a short driving tour of the Denver area.

So we are all clear: I'm going to file Bishop Chaput as the 3rd celebrity that I have met on this trip. One reason I feel confident in calling this a celebrity sighting: both Mom and I snuck our cameras out from the tenth row of the Cathedral to sneak a picture of the bishop during the opening prayer.

When Mass was over, we joined the line to greet the bishop on the way out. Dad shook his hand first and said, “You and I share the same last name.” Bishop Chaput asked if our family was from North Dakota (not quite), and still told my dad, “It’s always nice to meet a cousin!” Since I had Tom set up as my paparazzi, we were able to snap a quick picture with “Bishop Sha-pew” before heading out.

We went to dinner at Benny’s (Mexican restaurant) and enjoyed a few pitchers of margaritas before calling it a night.

"Colorado: America's Natural Masterpiece," or: "Thank God We're Not In Kansas Anymore"

(By Tom this time)

Entering Colorado, the most striking thing (in a state full of striking things) is the color scheme: blues, whites, greens and browns, bold and brilliant. It’s a happy mix of all the shades one can find in a cartoon picture of a globe, true “Earth” tones; the perfect blend.

Fittingly, our time in Boulder (our first stop in Colorado) was spent visiting places where people search for (or think they’ve found) their own perfect blends.

The most obvious place to see this is at the Celestial Seasonings headquarters. The herbal tea powerhouse offers tours of its production facility, complete with a stop at the “Tea Shop & Emporium” (which should actually be, but sadly is not, a "shoppe") and free samples of as much of the stuff as you can put down. As we were reminded much more than once, the company’s process revolves around finding the perfect blend of herbs and flavors.

First, as an avowed fan of Morning Thunder, I will say that Celestial Seasonings does seem to accomplish this goal with regard to their teas. However, as to the tour itself, if it is a perfect blend of anything, it is of touchy-feely references to “all-natural goodness” and heavy doses of antiseptic corporatism. The tour guide was friendly, cheery, and forcefully, repeatedly insisted that nobody touch anything, photograph anything, or walk in front of her, ever. The tour video featured a smiling, sweater-wearing executive, whimsical artwork and a handful of vaguely chilling references to some all-controlling body called “The Hain Celestial Group." And while the company’s “blendmasters” are purportedly honor-bound to seek perfection in every batch of tea they make, according to the scenes I saw in the video, they do little more than spoon liquid into their mouths and nod approvingly.

But then, there were things like the freely flowing vats of herbal tea, and the “Mint Room,” where one can be exposed to near-narcotic levels of peppermint and spearmint. The company also seems to have a genuine interest in creating a working business model that provides consumers with a healthy (or, at least, harmless) product. And everyone seemed to enjoy themselves, myself included; in addition to a bladderful of sampled cups of Sleepytime Vanilla (a new flavor!), I walked out with a decorated mug and an armful of tea. So while the vibe may be more “board-pleasing-PR-campaign” than “flower-children-making-sweet-nectar-from-Mother-Nature’s-bounty,” maybe this is the blend Celestial Seasonings is going for.

The folks who built the Colorado Chautauqua in Boulder, where we spent Saturday evening and Sunday morning, were also going for a perfect blend, and they got much closer than Celestial Seasonings. In the late 1800s and early 1900s, a “Chautauqua movement” saw “Chautauquas,” or parks, springing up across the country as places for adults to educate themselves while enjoying both nature and culture. Constructed in 1898, Boulder’s Chautauqua (one of only three remaining in the country) features several quaint cottages, lots of green spaces, a restaurant, concert halls and hiking trails with access to the mountains in the backyard.

Our cottage was spacious and impeccably appointed. Meals were delicious. Our morning hike (our first close encounter with Colorado’s majestic wilderness) provided a workout and views that were both breathtaking in their own way. We even got to peek in on the tail end of a barbershop quartet "Harmony Festival." Though the park’s high-minded founders may have had visions of a more ambitious curriculum than that pursued by most of the modern-day vacationers who use the park, the Chautauqua, in many ways, represents an ideal mix of nature and culture, a truly perfect blend of the best Colorado has to offer.

Of course, perfection is in the eye of the beholder. Where I see perfection, others may see a collection of ratty old sheds surrounding a grassy expanse where old people can roam freely with their Pomeranians, listening to barbershop quartets.

Which leads to today's Trite Travelogue Moral: though Colorado may be a tempting place to seek it, and some may come close to finding it, there is no one true "perfect blend," whether you're striving to mix nature and culture or hibiscus and rosehip. Or, to be even more trite, your blend can be as perfect (or imperfect) as you want it to be.

Next stops: Denver, where we enjoy some gut-busting chili verde; Georgetown, where we find ourselves 1,200 feet underground and 9,000 feet above sea level in an abandoned mine; and northwest Colorado, where we try to keep our eyes on the road and not on the jaw-dropping views to be had from Rim Rock Drive.

The People You Meet on the Road

(Post by Tracy)

Almost two years to the day that I first moved in, our apartment was empty again. It looked strange and new without any of our stuff. It was a reminder that everything from here on out will look a little strange and a little new. All of our belongings were packed up in a rented truck, except for two suitcases that would accompany us on our road trip west to our new home: Los Angeles.

As we make the trip, and maybe even after we start to get settled, we want to share our stories with those who are interested in our new adventure; the plan is for Tom and me to take turns writing entries as we go.

Anyway, Tom and I turned in our apartment keys Tuesday morning, had a goodbye meal with friends in Chicago Tuesday night, and headed out Wednesday morning. Our first stop: St. Louis, Missouri.

Started off with a great dinner with great friends: John, Matt, and Matt’s girlfriend Catherine. After seeing the guys, Tom was about ready to quit our plans for L.A. and just relocate to St. Louis instead.

John was an excellent host and tour guide for our time there, taking us to breakfast the next day and then to see the Arch. Later in the day, John suggested that we stop at Ted Drewes Frozen Custard, where our trip started to get even more exciting.

We walked around the side of the building to read the menu and saw a two-man camera crew pointing professional-looking equipment at an older man in a yellow polo shirt and khaki pants. Standing in the St. Louis heat, directly in the sun, I had trouble focusing on anything other than the decision at hand: chocolate-dipped cone or a sundae? So it meant nothing to me when I heard John whispering loudly, “That’s Ted!” Recognizing him from the local commercials, John had identified a local celebrity. We assumed he was filming another commercial and were excited to chat with him, until our focus was shifted to a slightly more impressive celebrity – the host of the British Travel Channel show “World’s Greatest Motorcycle Rides.”

Step aside, Ted.

While not one of us knew his name until I just looked it up right now, Henry Cole (we think) was a cool guy. They were currently filming historic Route 66, having also left from Chicago with Los Angeles as their destination. It was funny to hear this Brit’s opinion of Los Angeles (“You gotta take it for what it is – then it’s great”) and his opinion of the London neighborhood where John stayed while studying abroad (“That’s posh!”) I asked to take a picture of him and his bike, and then he invited me to sit on the bike while he took my picture. Sample video for you to see our new friend Henry. So if anyone out there has a VCR or TiVo and gets the UK Travel Channel, let us know.

Now, travel in time with me, fast forwarding about 24 hours to Friday afternoon. Time again for a stop on our trip, a stop at a unique little town that history buffs and fans of classic computer games might know: Independence, Missouri (read: the start of the Oregon Trail).

We pulled up to the first good-looking gas station that we saw, and as I started the gas pump, I heard from over my shoulder, “Oh, wow! Y’all are from Wes-caw-sen??” The 60-ish man talking to us had walked up to our car, was dressed in red and white Kansas t-shirt and backwards hat, and had noticeably yellow, crooked teeth. He seemed extremely friendly. He asked about our trip and told us how he likes to go up to Wescawsen for good walleye fishing (“Get out there at 7:00 in the morning, catch all the walleye you can, drop the fish off at 9:00 and then go back out for more! Even though really that’s not allowed!”) He also insisted that I had the strong accent.

When the tank was full, I wrapped up the conversation and hopped back in the car, and he sent us off with what seemed like an innocent, “Take care and drive safely!”

I could tell that Tom was nervous about the old codger being so forward, but I figured we were on our way and we were fine. While Tom (with passenger Michelle in tow) pulled his car away, and Erika and I got readjusted in our seats in the Escape, he walked back up to the car. He leaned his face towards Erika’s face through the passenger window, and he leaned one arm on the open window. He wanted to let us know about the detour back to the highway, which was a friendly gesture, but he followed it up with more, “Take care,” “Drive safely,” and then “Watch your back.”

Watch your back?

He said it in the same friendly tone as “Take care,” which, while that should have made it seem less threatening, just made it more bizarre. We rolled the windows up and drove on.

We spent that night in Hays, Kansas. We made it there safely, with only one driving snafu: Tom became temporarily hypnotized by an evangelist van and followed it off the expressway. Luckily we were able to set him straight, find the next entrance ramp and continue on our way.

We spent today (Saturday) mostly driving from Hays to Boulder, Colorado. We did stop at a small museum in Hays that had some neat dinosaur exhibits where a mechanical T-rex scares small children (and Michelle). The drive was smooth, and I am very happy to say that we had no rain, no storms, and especially no tornadoes while in Kansas. (I am hearing about all the weather in Milwaukee and Chicago – frequently, as I am still getting the severe weather alert text messages to my phone – and am thinking good weather thoughts to all of you in that area!)

So that’s the first entry. Hope you enjoyed it. Take care, and watch your back!