I miss the spontaneous road trips of my youth, where you and your friends convince that hanger-on type guy who no one likes but always shows up at the parties you go to loan you his car so you can get more beer, then after you get more beer instead of bringing it back to the party you go on a spontaneous road trip, with everyone drinking in the car, though hopefully not the driver too much.

Then, who knows how it happens, you wake up one day and you're no longer comfortable, well, flagrantly breaking the law, meaning you can never recapture the fun of those road trips, because even if you tried to do it you would be nervous the whole way. It's gone, baby, like the rest of that youth you squandered.

Let's get lost, lost in each other's arms

Let's get lost, let them send out alarms

And though they'll think us rather rude

Let's tell the world we're in that crazy mood

Let's defrost, in a romantic mist

Let's get crossed, off everybody's list

To celebrate this night we found each other

Darling, let's get lost

Let's get lost in a romantic mist

Let's get crossed, off everybody's list

To celebrate this night we found each other

Darling, let's get lost.

A few years ago I needed to travel across country from the Great State of Idaho back to the Harrisburg, PA area. I was leaving ID for good, and one of my friends from college showed up to help me make the trip. It was just us, in my old Pontiac. I picked him up from the airport and after one last night of partying with some old friends at area bars it was time to head on out into the great unknown.

Instead of taking a generic ID->PA mapquest routing of traveling to Wyoming and taking local roads to connect to I-80 (consisting of a ~36 hour trip) I decided to select a more northern route for its scenery and unique local color.

Day One: I-15 to Butte, Montana. After saying goodbye to all my friends who were able to make it out of bed the next morning to go to Denny's it was time to head off. After a brief ride on I-86, we started our trip on I-15 into the great wide open. Commonly known as one of the most beautiful highways, a good time was had by all. Of course, I-15 to Butte, Montana is only a few hours on I-15 and I wanted to see more than truck stops.

We connected off on ID-33 to ID-28 and headed North toward a connection with US-93, the continental divide and the Montana line. I saw some of the more spectacular things on the trip during this portion. Small towns that time forgot totaling no more than a few people, but which had their own zip code, post office, general store (complete with grizzled old traders sitting out front who would tip their cowboy hats at you when you walked by). We passed interesting landmarks, and marveled at the vacant land for miles. There were entire stretches, such as between the start of 28 and Leadore, ID where there was nobody for 60+ miles. One of the coolest things on the trip was a crop duster that was apparently following us around, and at one point actually crossed the road inches from the surface to land on a dirt strip along the "highway."

Eventually we got through Salmon and some crazy driving dumped us out at Gibbonsville, the last piece of civilization before the Montana line. The air was thin up there, but the main street was full of life. It looked like something out of an old Western, but we eventually found a microbrewery that catered to both tourists and locals.  I wish I could find more info on the place and link to the brewery but since the whole county is only 7,800 people you'll have to trust me on this.

Anyway, since it was getting later in the day we decided to head on up US-93 and across to Montana. Periodically I had seen (usually on sketchy pickups) bumper stickers saying "Pray for Me, I drive US 93." It couldn't be that bad, right? Even though the stretch of river through Gibbonsville/Salmon/Lemhi county was nicknamed "The River of No Return" and the pass over into Montana was a 7,014 ft monster locally known as "Lost Trail Pass" it was probably okay, right? Wrong.

You really really really do not want to try this going in your car. We were traveling up, and I would not want to try it with gravity helping you down. The engine was constantly revving up to 5000rpm or more as we traveled up what seemed like a 45 degree angle, and every 10 feet it seemed like there was another switchback. Helpfully, the highway department had put giant runaway vehicle areas at the bottom of each switchback the size of 3 football fields in case you slid off. I remembered when living in ID of hearing about fatalities from idiots who tried to drive that in the winter or at night and now I understood why. So, as a reminder: FOR THE LOVE OF ALL THAT IS HOLY DO NOT ATTEMPT TO TRAVERSE THE US 93 PASS. In retrospect, it was worth it. I have only been to 30 states but ID-33-28-US-93 is some of the most scenic driving I have ever done.

We eventually spent about 45 minutes calming down and waiting for the smoking engine and brakes to cool off at the top where there is a nice rest area as a joint venture between Idaho and Montana. If my interpretations of the signage were correct, the border actually cuts the park in half and the mens room is on one side of the border and the womens just on the other. I thought that was cute. Anyway, I said goodbye to Idaho and got back in the car.

We continued through Montana along MT-43 and backtracked around the remote Beaverhead national forest to a rather vacant portion of I-15. Of course, this was the first time back on the highway and there was nobody for miles. What to do? Obviously it was time to check out the engine and make sure the US 93 pass did not harm it. There may have been some excessive velocity at this point, but I can't say for sure. New Rule: What happens in Beaver Head County, stays in Beaver Head County.

Eventually we got into Butte, Montana and drove around until we found an eclectic and exciting hotel: The Hotel Finlen. It's historic, elegant and you'll just have to check it out for yourself. We didn't realize until after the trip that the price for the motel section (where we stayed at) was only a few dollars less than the opulent hotel, with rooms that hosted presidents and copper barons of old. Shit. So, after an evening of bar hopping, including at the Silver Dollar saloon, we retired to the Hotel bar, the Cavalier Room. Elegant and simple. We met the denizens, who clearly hung out there every evening. Scottie, our bartender, was a cut above most. We learned the the Cavalier was a meeting spot for the rich and famous of Butte, and that I was sitting in a Senator's chair. But it was okay, because he wasn't in town tonight. There was also a corner of the bar known as the "Shark's Corner" wherein chronic womanizers would play the roles of Statler and Waldorf and comment freely about saloon happenings to anybody who would care to listen. Spaten was the local drink of choice, or as Scottie would say "Can I set you up with a Spot of Spaten?" There was much drinking and revelry.

Eventually we went to a local 24 hour eatery, but were told it was only 24 hours on certain evenings. Although they didn't lock the doors or put up a closed sign. That's just how things rolled in Butte. I remember some random guy in the streets yelling obscenities at passer-by, the cops getting called and the ensuing beat down occurred while the townspeople watched. They don't put up with your shit in Butte. Good times.

Needless to say, I woke up a little woozy the next day to hear something about the Chancellor of Germany calling for early elections. I wasn't still drunk or anything, just somehow CNN had gotten on in the middle of the night. Explain that one.

Part II will happen again later as this is obviously more lengthy than I had intended.

Disclaimer: None of these pictures were taken by me, I wish I had electronic copies of mine.

Spread it on!

A few years ago I needed to travel across country from the Great State of Idaho back to the Harrisburg, PA area. I was leaving ID for good, and one of my friends from college showed up to help me make the trip. It was just us, in my old Pontiac. I picked him up from the airport and after one last night of partying with some old friends at area bars it was time to head on out into the great unknown.

Instead of taking a generic ID->PA mapquest routing of traveling to Wyoming and taking local roads to connect to I-80 (consisting of a ~36 hour trip) I decided to select a more northern route for its scenery and unique local color.

Day One: I-15 to Butte, Montana. After saying goodbye to all my friends who were able to make it out of bed the next morning to go to Denny's it was time to head off. After a brief ride on I-86, we started our trip on I-15 into the great wide open. Commonly known as one of the most beautiful highways, a good time was had by all. Of course, I-15 to Butte, Montana is only a few hours on I-15 and I wanted to see more than truck stops.

We connected off on ID-33 to ID-28 and headed North toward a connection with US-93, the continental divide and the Montana line. I saw some of the more spectacular things on the trip during this portion. Small towns that time forgot totaling no more than a few people, but which had their own zip code, post office, general store (complete with grizzled old traders sitting out front who would tip their cowboy hats at you when you walked by). We passed interesting landmarks, and marveled at the vacant land for miles. There were entire stretches, such as between the start of 28 and Leadore, ID where there was nobody for 60+ miles. One of the coolest things on the trip was a crop duster that was apparently following us around, and at one point actually crossed the road inches from the surface to land on a dirt strip along the "highway."

Eventually we got through Salmon and some crazy driving dumped us out at Gibbonsville, the last piece of civilization before the Montana line. The air was thin up there, but the main street was full of life. It looked like something out of an old Western, but we eventually found a microbrewery that catered to both tourists and locals.  I wish I could find more info on the place and link to the brewery but since the whole county is only 7,800 people you'll have to trust me on this.

Anyway, since it was getting later in the day we decided to head on up US-93 and across to Montana. Periodically I had seen (usually on sketchy pickups) bumper stickers saying "Pray for Me, I drive US 93." It couldn't be that bad, right? Even though the stretch of river through Gibbonsville/Salmon/Lemhi county was nicknamed "The River of No Return" and the pass over into Montana was a 7,014 ft monster locally known as "Lost Trail Pass" it was probably okay, right? Wrong.

You really really really do not want to try this going in your car. We were traveling up, and I would not want to try it with gravity helping you down. The engine was constantly revving up to 5000rpm or more as we traveled up what seemed like a 45 degree angle, and every 10 feet it seemed like there was another switchback. Helpfully, the highway department had put giant runaway vehicle areas at the bottom of each switchback the size of 3 football fields in case you slid off. I remembered when living in ID of hearing about fatalities from idiots who tried to drive that in the winter or at night and now I understood why. So, as a reminder: FOR THE LOVE OF ALL THAT IS HOLY DO NOT ATTEMPT TO TRAVERSE THE US 93 PASS. In retrospect, it was worth it. I have only been to 30 states but ID-33-28-US-93 is some of the most scenic driving I have ever done.

We eventually spent about 45 minutes calming down and waiting for the smoking engine and brakes to cool off at the top where there is a nice rest area as a joint venture between Idaho and Montana. If my interpretations of the signage were correct, the border actually cuts the park in half and the mens room is on one side of the border and the womens just on the other. I thought that was cute. Anyway, I said goodbye to Idaho and got back in the car.

We continued through Montana along MT-43 and backtracked around the remote Beaverhead national forest to a rather vacant portion of I-15. Of course, this was the first time back on the highway and there was nobody for miles. What to do? Obviously it was time to check out the engine and make sure the US 93 pass did not harm it. There may have been some excessive velocity at this point, but I can't say for sure. New Rule: What happens in Beaver Head County, stays in Beaver Head County.

Eventually we got into Butte, Montana and drove around until we found an eclectic and exciting hotel: The Hotel Finlen. It's historic, elegant and you'll just have to check it out for yourself. We didn't realize until after the trip that the price for the motel section (where we stayed at) was only a few dollars less than the opulent hotel, with rooms that hosted presidents and copper barons of old. Shit. So, after an evening of bar hopping, including at the Silver Dollar saloon, we retired to the Hotel bar, the Cavalier Room. Elegant and simple. We met the denizens, who clearly hung out there every evening. Scottie, our bartender, was a cut above most. We learned the the Cavalier was a meeting spot for the rich and famous of Butte, and that I was sitting in a Senator's chair. But it was okay, because he wasn't in town tonight. There was also a corner of the bar known as the "Shark's Corner" wherein chronic womanizers would play the roles of Statler and Waldorf and comment freely about saloon happenings to anybody who would care to listen. Spaten was the local drink of choice, or as Scottie would say "Can I set you up with a Spot of Spaten?" There was much drinking and revelry.

Eventually we went to a local 24 hour eatery, but were told it was only 24 hours on certain evenings. Although they didn't lock the doors or put up a closed sign. That's just how things rolled in Butte. I remember some random guy in the streets yelling obscenities at passer-by, the cops getting called and the ensuing beat down occurred while the townspeople watched. They don't put up with your shit in Butte. Good times.

Needless to say, I woke up a little woozy the next day to hear something about the Chancellor of Germany calling for early elections. I wasn't still drunk or anything, just somehow CNN had gotten on in the middle of the night. Explain that one.

Part II will happen again later as this is obviously more lengthy than I had intended.

Disclaimer: None of these pictures were taken by me, I wish I had electronic copies of mine.

Spread it on!

...that I don't have to be in class on Thursday. It was the 2nd Tuesday before Thanksgiving, around 2 in the afternoon. I was in college but a buddy and I were playing pool because that was the semester I scheduled myself four day weekends. An acquaintance of ours was like what the hell are you doing. He boasted something about the next time he had to be in class. I boasted that I could go across the country and back before I had to be anywhere...which gave me an idea.

I purchased an Ameripass for about $300, made a couple arrangements and a buddy drove me to the greyhound station. I was in Dallas by the anniversary of Kennedy's assassination then caught a hockey game with my friend in Tucson the next night. I spent a couple nights in southern cal, which convinced me to move there given that it was 70 in November, before I turned around. A six hour lay over in the Vegas greyhound station was more entertaining than any of their lame ass shows and I was in Kansas City for Thanksgiving. I spent an evening with a very interesting stripper in Denver and was back home and famished almost exactly 9 days after I'd left.

It wasn't the kerouac of road trips but it sure did include a lot of interstate.

It is easy to buy small plaster models of what you think life is like.

So I was dating the girl who I eventually married, and she had just graduated from college on a Friday afternoon (in central PA).  Her friend's parents had a beach house in South Carolina, so we hopped in the car around midnight with the intention of getting there around 10am the next day, driving in shifts.  That part of the drive actually worked remarkably well, other than that fuzzy feeling you get driving on two hours sleep at six in the morning while SC state troopers give you hard eyed stares and buzzard shaped shadows dart in and out of your line of vision....  On the trip back, however, we made the mistake of detouring off of I95 to take a "scenic route" through tidewater North Carolina.  Bad call - we got stuck behind a school bus for TWO HOURS.  Same bus.  I can't imagine a two hour school bus ride...but apparently some sadistic school administrator in NC thought it was a good call.  I'm a little more understanding now of the relatives I have in NC that homeschooled their kids...  So anyway, taking the scenic route was my idea, and the girlfriend was...less than thrilled.  Fortunately the NC to PA part of the drive went smoothly enough that by the time we made it back, we'd more or less patched things up.  If the detour had happened closer to PA, though, I think right now I'd be single...

Ce n'est pas une pipe. C'est une signature.

Last year I flew out to California on business - I had a stop in San Francisco and one to make in Irvine aka "The O.C". I figured with my wife joining me, we'd make a road trip of it and drive down from San Francisco to LA rather than fly.

The trip started off with hail. I don't know how often it hails in San Francisco but having pebbles smack all over your rental car (wondering if your credit card covers hail damage and not feeling so smart for declining the rental insurance) makes driving feel more dangerous than it probably is.

Then around 2 hrs from LA, the highway police were forcing people off the highway because....it was snowing.  Snow. In California. 2 hrs from Los Angeles.

Well after 90 mins or so of sitting in the only restaurant that served that exit (boy that Denny's manager was happy that night), I figured..screw it, I have my laptop with MS Streets and Trips, I'll just use the local roads to get where I'm going.

Now I dunno if everyone who reads this is familiar with the interstate system, but in some areas of California, the interstate is pretty much the only way to get between two points on the map.

The "local roads" took me (and the 20-30 cars who decided to try the same thing) into the Los Angeles National Forest.

And it started snowing even worse.

The LA Forest basically sits in a mountain range North of LA. You have to go over the mountain (windy roads) to get back to civilization. After 60minutes of going up this mountain at 5mph the cars ahead of me came to a dead stop.

Turns out that the road had pretty much turned into ice ahead and the cars were slipping back DOWN the mountain and into each other.

Did I mention I was driving a low slung rental impala?

Anyway, turn the car around  drive down the mountain and take what is listed as a "forestry road" which on the map heads into a nearby town.

Ever heard the saying the map is not the territory? Well buddy there is a reason for that. On the map the road goes across various identified streams and one assumes (if one was inclined to think about it) that there are bridges or culverts or something.

What you don't expect when driving in white out conditions going 30mph is to suddenly have your car run into a stream whose slippery-rock stream bed is part of the forestry road.

The only thing that carried me to the other side was the momentum of the vehicle as I had ZERO traction in the water. Due to my expert driving skills (read sheer luck), I managed to maintain control of the vehicle and find our way into the town whose roads were an unblemished white. It was clear that no one had even been thinking of driving in this weather for hours.

The rest is pretty much anti-climax -- the road had a highway on-ramp and since the highway had been closed for hours, I had the entire interstate to myself. Got in the middle lane and drove the next 60minutes into LA.

When I got to my destination the car looked as if I had taken it mudding -- CAKED in a combination of dirt/ice/snow.

Scariest road trip ever.

Memory is a strange bell, jubilee and knell.

   I've spent less than half an hour of my life behind the wheel, so obviously a driving story is out. Throw in a general lack of wanderlust, and the only real bad weather driving I've seen personally was on the move to Arizona-- mountain pass in Utah (?), pounding storm on winding two lane road, at night, in a rental truck. Spooky, but we probably could have pulled over at any point and just let the storm pass, so it wasn't a huge deal.
    No, my bad travel story is on a bike. Remember that big storm that hit Seattle in about 1997-8? You know, the one where marinas and other buildings were collapsing from two days worth of snow? Yeah, that one. No, I didn't go biking in that storm proper-- you can't really stay up once snow hits about four or five inches deep, and this was well beyond that. No, my worst night happened a couple days later, after the cars had beaten the snow down enough that I could get around. (Compact snow is easy to bike on, as long as you stay loose and ready for your wheels to shift a couple inches without warning. Kind of like slaloming, I guess.) Longest ride home from work, ever.
    See, that day had finally seen some warming, and with it a lot of rain. A welcome change, as it brought the snow pack down a little, but the problem for me was getting home after the sun went down. The temp went from about 40 to near 25 in an hour or two, but there was still plenty of water too active to actually freeze. So its nine at night, and there's ice everywhere-- and you don't ride on ice at all. But walking the ride is just as bad, because it throws your center of balance somewhere else than over your ass, which is no fun when you're having trouble getting traction with your boots. For better or worse, I rode. Not very fast, and not the entire way, but man, it was shitty. Water running over ice is even less fun than straight ice, and just over half way home I could feel ice forming on the inside of my boots. (The feet got soaked almost immediately.)
    No damage in the end, and hardly the worst conditions ever biked in-- but it's my worst, even topping riding at 7 degrees on a sunny day over bright, bright snow, or biffing three times on New Years Eve when dealing with patches of freezing fog at 3 AM. Sometimes dealing with the Arizona heat doesn't seem so bad :)

Ex ignorantia ad sapientiam; e luce ad tenebras