The beginning...or the end?

The journey began without much thought. I began to see how my future trips with AWL would go. I packed the entire car. He was responsible for his bag of clothes. I even packed his kitchen supplies and cooked up some yummy road snacks. I think he forgot underwear or something essential like that. However, after packing EVERYTHING we needed and the slackline and various books AND having somehow been deemed the knower of all things in all other states, I somehow forgot to pack the crash pad so we could boulder (which is climbing smaller stuff with no ropes, hence needing something softish to land on, i.e.. crash pad). I never heard the end of it. ESPECIALLY IN COLORADO.

"Oh look at those cool boulders...wish we had the crash pad."

"I thought we brought the roof rack so we'd have more space for the crash pad in here."

"I can't believe we can't boulder in BOULDER, Co."

(These are samplings that may or may not have been said, but they at least give the sense of what was going on.)

 He never wished he had an extra pair of underwear...

Meanwhile, we started our exciting trip! Our first stop: PA!  While I wanted to get the heck out of Dodge, it was our solemn duty to remain in PA for one more day. I was okkaaaayyyyy with it, but to be honest, my whirlwind plans were not set in the great state of PA. But, there we were in grand Morris, PA living the simple life.  Turns out, it was a pretty cool experience. You see, there happens to be a certain huntin' cabin (you can't say huntING, it's just not the redneck way.) where all the manliest adventures have taken place out in bumblepuck, PA. I was regaled with tales of massive bears practically knocking down the cabin door late at night, A Paul Bunyan type character (AWL) with vein busting muscles splitting the largest logs for the biggest wood pile that could sustain other bearded manly men for the brisk, world ending cold winter ahead, and many other manly tales. To all of this I ooooed and ahhhhhed and fluttered my eyelashes! (Just kiddding, that made me gag just thinking of doing that.)

Upon entering the cabin, which I imagined to be something like a wigwam with dirt floors and tarantulas taking up neighborly residence in the deep dark corners of everything (much like the scene from the one Indiana Jones movie where they are stuck with their elephant in the jungle and bats and pythons and huge bugs OH MY! came at them), I was surprised to find a bunch of lazy boys and couches and quite honestly, with a little swiffer action and some bug spray, one of the roomier, nicer kitchens I've witnessed in the mountains. I mean, it was basically a man cave in the woods. Needless to say I liked it.

So we bunked up in one of the rooms alternating between covering ourselves from the mosquitoes, and kicking off the covers so we could sweat pints instead of buckets and had a good old rustic time at the cabin. Waking early in the morning I had a unique after thought:

"This is a perfect place to murder someone... Is that what is going to happen?!"

"Did he take me here to END my trip instead of BEGIN it?!!?"

I looked around the place, and it seemed a lot less homie. There were all kinds of butchering tools, shovels, axes and a thing outside they used to drain the blood from the deer. There was NO ONE AROUND. I remember the night before looking up in the second floor area where there were lines and lines of old spring mattress beds that looked like a haunted orphanage would have. Maybe he's done this before! And he has a LOT of experience chopping things into little bits...

...Maybe this is like that scene in Indiana Jones...but Indiana Jones is the BAD GUY!

Apparently my brain melted from the heat overnight and oozed through my pores with my sweat.

Needless to say...I made it past the house of horrors.

Tripping...For Two.

As my super loyal follower (HI MOM!) must know, I have driven across the country before. This would be the first time I successfully circled the nation with another human being, however. Unlike last time, I brought a companion. And to everyone's surprise, including my own, it was NOT Bert. Even though he wanted to...



As I was informed about half way through the trip while in San Francisco, it was rather ballsy of me to drag someone I had been dating for a handful of months through the U S of A in the tiniest car imaginable (with NO CRUISE CONTROL as I have been notified SEVERAL TIMES throughout the last three weeks).

To be completely honest, I kind of didn't think that through when I decided WE were going to do this. I know you're shocked at my lack of foresight. I know. AND to be completely honest, I don't think HE thought it through either. Some similarities are emerging!

Here's the thing though. As you may have noticed. We survived. I mean, yes of course we survived the travel. More importantly, we survived EACH OTHER! It was touch and go there a few times, trust me. BUT we did it.

 

It is not easy being physically next to the same human being for hours on end with such acute movements, even those movements start to hurt. I mean HE WORE THE SAME SHORTS ALMOST THE WHOLE TRIP! Thank goodness the scenery was changing OUTSIDE the car!

Weird microhabits start to form within the TINY TINY little red Hobbes we called home for the last three weeks.

First of all: I learned about the scan button in my car. I mean, I KNEW about the SCAN button in other cars, and I have even read the button on my dashboard. Here's the thing, though. Have you ever just NOT NOTICED something because it's always been there? Like the dishwasher? You know that thing that other people use like EVERYDAY, but you only see it in a passing fancy?! You know it!!!! That's my SCAN BUTTON!

 (Side note: one year I thought my mom got a brand new oven and I was so psyched about it, only to be informed that it would be NICE if it was a new oven. It was really loudly, even though I was right next to my mom.)

Scan button is really cool, unless you're a LITERAL stones throw from Mexico. Then you just find out about Mexican Rock N Roll and weird Mexican country hybrid music. That's when you play "OH MY GOD, IS THAT ENGLISH?! PUSH THE BUTTON PUSH THE BUTTON!"

Second: You play really creative games like "I bet you can't catch that combo in your mouth!" I know, it sounds complicated. Let me tell you the rules. At random moments in the long long LONG LONG LONG LONG LOOOOONNNNNGGGGG drive through Nevada you are asked if you would like a Combo (a pepperoni combo for those who are using all of their five senses).

If you say Yes: Suddenly the car needs to be expanded which can only be done by two humans simultaneously pressing against their respective door with their backs, resulting in the two players facing each other. This has to be done within seconds, with the driver only able to drop their jaw for moments only while facing the other player. The heat is on! Talk about a moving target! The passenger MUST launch the combo from basically inside the passenger door, as the pressing of their body has rendered them something like Han Solo as he was trapped inside his carbon frozen sepulcher.

If you say NO: You basically get pestered and tickled violently in a rolling red cage (WITH NO CRUISE CONTROL) until you say yes.  OR you get a combo thrown at the side of your face...

Beware: this is an extreme sport. Both people in this game have chipped teeth now.

Third: With the new realization that I do not ALWAYS have to drive because there is someone else on this earth that knows how to drive stick shift, and they happen to be on the trip with you, you now have plenty of time to experiment with new hairstyles.

I can hear you now: 1: Jax, that was a run on sentence. 2. Oh no! Jax is getting girly!
My reply: 1. I know. Indulge me. 2. You. have. no. idea.

The hairstyle I have mastered is absolutely remarkable and actually has two versions.  You start by putting your hair in two pigtails. Then, you meticulously twirl your hair for hours and try to find your favorite piece. THEN! You discover you have a favorite piece on EACH SIDE! GAH! THE GLORY! Next, you further discover that if you put them BOTH over your lip and make a pucker face...VOILA! you have a girlstache! (this is a mustache for girls. I'm brilliant!)

Wait, wait, wait WAAAAAIIIIITTTTT! Now for the alternate! After hours of giggling at yourself incessantly and trying to kiss the driver with a mustache, you discover even MORE! If you use the remaining part of the pigtails, you can wrap it around your chin and then you have a FULL ON BEARD! DOES LIFE GET BETTER!? DOES IT!?

Oh my god, pull over....we need to breath real air. Time for a beer....or would you like a Combo?

Whoa! I tripped...again!

Soooo, I was supposed to go to Peru this summer and see the ruins with my best friend in the whole world. Whelp, my bestie decided to be difficult and reached right into her leg, gripped her tendons like a bull on it's way out the gate and ripped them right out of her leg. She always was difficult. In any case, there's no best friend trip without the best friend. She decided to heal the ACL and I decided to wallow in self pity and extra energy....

....

...yeah right.

Like I could sit still that long.

My hands started to shake right from the first day of summer vacation. I can't stay in pa! I recruited a friend of mine, rob, and we went to beautiful New Hampshire. Rumney, NH has a name for itself in the climbing world. Longest approaches to the climbs I've experienced on the east coast. Oy! But it helped keep the wanderlust at bay....for about a week. Then my guy, let's call him AWL. My family will appreciate that. Anyways, AWL and I saw there was a hurricane on it's way and thought the best possible thing to do would be to meet it at the jersey shore. That was a pretty good litmus test to his ability to deal with me for an extended period of time. I have already whipped out the sass and the sideways toe tap even WITH the arms crossed! AAANNNDDDD he didn't run away! I'm in shock!

Even a long weekend at the shore couldn't satiate the need to travel. I thought I could handle this!

Weeeellllll...

 I decided to test how much my guy and I could tolerate each other in an enclosed space for real. Naturally the obvious choice was to drag him out west to the home I wish I had. God save him. This is the big test...

We're still in PA. The land of my birth that I have rarely ventured from. Before we leave the place entirely, I was informed that I had to come to beautiful Morris, pa.  Family visits are a must. Along with a visit to see AWL's family, I got to see the ultimate man cave:

I mean, the "huntin cabin." There's no "g" I'm told. This was meant to shock the teacher in me I'm sure. But if you're going to visit bumbleflick nowhere you have to play by the rules of the great white hick :-)

  I loved it, of course. All bazillion spiders and beetles and god knows what unheard of man diseases there could be out there. Right next to a creek with the possibility of bears knocking on the door. No running water. Parking the car in knee high grass. I definitely found a guy that speaks my language.

Next morning, AWL and his dad set me on the back of a Harley and weaver me through the mountains to the Grand Canyon of Pennsylvania. Angela, I know, don't chuckle at them. They don't know how awesome we are either. Or how massive the actual Grand Canyon is in reality. But this spot is gorgeous, even in the pouring rain.

We'll be crossing in to Ohio and maybe even Indiana by tonight. And do you know the best part of the whole drive?! I get to be in the passenger seat writing this time!

Here's hoping we both make it to California alive!

Cheers!

Drinking with your moral compass

So we were in the hotel of curiosity...

As it happens, in the coldest, Siberian-like state of winter, there is a blues bar....RIGHT IN THE HOTEL. Very curious, indeed. Nothing says Winter Olympics quite like the blues.

 I have come to love drinking with Daddy. He is perfect for this place, as he is a curiosity himself. I didn't realize how strange it was to have such a good relationship with your dad until college. College can expand your mind without ever stepping foot in the classrooms. I recommend college for that simple reason. Where else can you go to find a collection of people from all over the world (or at least the country) and LIVE with them and really learn about such a vast collection of philosophies and cultures and PEOPLE? The only time I experienced it to that level was my college life. I would give anything to have it back again. I imagine that is what it is like to live in Washington DC, except people have things to do. College is the casual Friday of life. People are friendlier, happier, and apparently have very little to do. (This coming from the Elementary Ed. major. I can just imagine the uproar I just solicited from the science departments, particularly PREmed. But then, those people are so busy, they probably never participate in casual Friday anyways. :-)

In any case, you may find the theme is quite obvious in this series of blog articles. My Daddy is amazing. He has tried to write his "musings" to his children every year the past few years and it has only inspired me more than his actions have. It is an extremely special thing to be privy to the thoughts of your moral compass. I have been validated in so many things that I thought MIGHT be true to his philosophies and I have become aware of so many other things I had not considered. Daddy is what everyone should have, a true example. He is not infallible. There is always something to be desired when it comes to a human and the life of that human. As examples go, however, he is far superior to anything I have seen or heard. Especially when it comes to sitting on a bar stool. You should definitely have a drink with your moral compass.

You'll come to find little nuances to drinking. It's not really drinking after all, it's socializing and relaxing... with liquid. At a bar, everyone is your friend (and a celebrity). Just because you came in with your Dad and his best friend, doesn't mean you can't turn to the person next to you when there is a lull in the conversation or someone goes to the bathroom! I love walking into a bar with three friends and walking away with a handful more. There have been more than one incident that I have gained phone numbers and networked a friendship at a bar. It's not weird, it's real. Angela and I promised a lady in Boston we were going on a cruise with her this summer. I still have her phone number. I promised a friend at a bar that I'd go to the New River Rendezvous to climb and it was the best experience I had last year.

Don't forget all the celebrities at bars. I think it's the dim lighting. All those gorgeous people...
We found the guy from the Green Mile. You know, that big guy who saves everyone by spitting out weird bugs out of his mouth?! This guy:



I swear. The bartender was Michael Clarke Duncan. His drink of choice was Jameson. We were best friends. He also owned the bar.

And then there's that moment when you are giggling incessantly because the bassist in the band is grabbing your hand and making you strum his strings.  Then you turn to look to your left and look as your moral compasss, the man who is supposed to set your standards in life and show you the way through this mucky world...he's cracking up! The bassist is flirting with you right next to your daddy, and he is beet red...laughing to the point you think he may have a heart attack at any moment. Your daddy is drunk Jax. He's drunk and now he wants a pizza. You're reliving your college days.

WITH

YOUR

DAD


Point proven Daddy: Never grow up all the way. Got it.

The hotel of curiosity

So we settled into our hotel at Lake Placid and I was quite pleased, but it really doesn't take much after being folded and packed into the backseat of a pickup. They handed me a key, which on its own is amazing. What hotel still uses keys? I guess the kind that don't "get a lot of our kind 'round these parts." BUT best of all it was on a carabiner. Its that natural. In the same way I always know where my car keys are, and how that comforts me because it's locked on, this carabiner said "welcome home."

(So much so, I had to take a picture)

Then we started investigating our rooms. I've moved around quite a bit in my short life and from experience and habit, I tell you this is one of the greatest joys! Going into prospective shelters and picking out "your room." Trying to beat your little sister to the best room in the house. Opening up every door to see what magical worlds might exist on the other side. And DRAWERS! Open the drawers! Who knows what you might find! A severed hand! A diamond ring! Dust bunnies! It could be anything! I'm still not sure why we were doing this. There were four children above us in line for the throne and there were definitely never 7 separate rooms for all of us. Obviously the little ankle biter was going to be in MY room, and I wasn't going to have a choice in where we were setting up shop.

BUT this is a vacation. One where I paid, therefore I get my own room! WOOOOOHOOOOOO! Finally! So much room for activities! It's like a surprise behind that door. It could be the magical door in The Lion, The Witch, and The Wardrobe. Mr. Tumnus could be in there! And with a key on a carabiner, anything is possible!

At first look, you think to yourself, "Ah, what a quaint little mountain town, this Lake Placid is. Just the essentials."

And then you realized you paid over 100 dollars for this one night...

in the downtown RESORT of a former Olympics town...and the remote doesn't work.

...and you may or may not be missing furniture...


...or at least a picture or mirror...

However curious it seemed at first, it was not initially noticed by me. After my experiences sleeping in my car, at truck stops, or in a hammock out in the woods all summer, this seemed pretty posh. Until Debbie Downer (I mean my dad) walked in and started giggling. "What is this place?!"

"I dunno, there's enough room for my snowboard to sit. That's good."

Interior designer Dad came to scope out my room and was just in absolute awe. "Take a picture of the end tables!" he said. "Do you believe this! They don't match! None of it does! It's like this hotel went to a yard sale at a beach town and picked up what they could!"

It truly was all scrapped together. I hadn't noticed...

I did notice that the intention for this room was to get extensive reading done in our one or two night stay, but not the usual Bible, or on rare occasion, the Book of Latter Day Saints. "No no, we foresake religion for...Stephen King!"

I bet they have a 13th floor in this hotel too...

Of course, beyond the unique yard sale room of curiosity, where thankfully there was no mirror, I was cold to my bones. Adjusting the temperature is such a treat in a hotel, because its not your electric bill buddy! Heat it up until it's a sauna!

....BUT wait...

Two heaters? No wait, I think that one is broken...

...and wait, this one...

How do you turn it on?
Which way is hot?
What temperature is it at right now?
Is it working?

This here is the real curiosity...the Russian Roulette of keeping yourself warm. You may be freezing yourself out after dinner, or you may be cooking yourself like a turkey...who knows if it's even on. Good luck and Godspeed!

Time for a drink!

Spaving

In my rush I forgot to explain SPAVING. This is a word that my dad has created to describe my mothers shopping habits. She SPends tons of money on good deals in order to sAVE money. Somehow, however, the bill remains over my dad's allotted shopping expenditure goal....which is to say $0. SPAVING ladies and gentleman.

Trips with Dad

I am a blend of both of my parents for certain. And both of my parents have very STRONG personalities. You'd be certain about that if you knew my Daddy. Perhaps you're questioning that about my Momma, but they don't know what they started when they combined their own stubborn personalities together. She may be quieter, but she IS. Momma is uniquely and quietly STRONG in personality.

I am already digressing...

The point here is that it's a competition to have a relationship with your parents when there are six of you looking for some kind of attention and some kind of unique bond. After all, the genetics are limited. We all came from the same two people. There is only so much rearranging of the code you can do. We certainly can't all be the favorite. That's Matt. Matt is the favorite, he's always been the favorite. My mom can try to hide it all she wants, but ask her what Matt was like as a child and she'll just say "he was my HAPPY baby. Always smiling."

 Do you know what she called me?

 Plate head.

I was 10lbs 4oz. of pure birth canal joy. I ruined my chances of being the favorite before taking my first breath. She doesn't have that glint in her eye when she talks about me when I was a baby. I can't imagine why not, between the fact that I made her lactose intolerant, had ridiculous ear infections and cried constantly. Still have the scar tissue on my ear drums to prove I had tubes in my ears. I was a pudgy big-headed gem. She passed me off to my older sister who needed a doll to play with.

 (Mom, it's all dramatic effect, I knew you loved me the moment you stuffed me in the pile of kids to get chicken pox so I could get it over with :)

And Daddy loves his Mattie too. Sure he had to give him three cars to total in two years and track him down when he sneaked out to Marsh Creek to do God Knows What, but seriously Matt is carrying on the fish tank dream. They go to the fish store twice a month to check out all the exotic fish that Matt will eventually kill. They're keeping the word "**spaving" in existence. They play ball with their respective dogs in the yard. Its cute. 

I mean Mattie Matt is hard to not love. He's really a great guy. He's always looking out for you and forgives you really easily when you're being a brat. He makes everyone feel special like when he calls you Jacks Sprat. AND MAN he gives great hugs. I'm just saying, I understand.

I am, by no means, the bottom of the six. Mainly, because the rest of us are pretty tied up with all of the antics we've put our parents through. (Except Dan.  I'm pretty sure he's second in command on the rankings. State Champs. I've memorized the highlight film because my dad can't stop watching it.) So the last four of us scrap together what we can and make a competition of it. Mostly, though, we compete on who can mess it up worse. It's a fun game.

I do have one thing though. And that's traveling with Dad. No one else gets to weasel their way into more trips with Dad than I can. I've been able to sneak into Utah to visit Daddy more times than anyone else. I've sweet talked myself into "Dad and the boys" trips. (Alaska was fun guys, right?!) I've almost died following my dad into a crazy adventure more times than I care to recall, even from way back before I knew the rules of canoeing around barges in the Delaware river. If Daddy is Batman, I'm definitely Robin. I won't even mind sporting the tights and cape if it means we get to go somewhere or do something cool.

Since my dad retired, or as he calls it, made a career change; we've been taking about a trip a year. Last year we took our best friends out to the Grand Canyon and almost died for the billionth time. It was FANTASTIC! It was one of the reasons I decided I needed to experience more of my own country. This year, we took a weekend trip up to Lake Placid (and Old Forge), New York and played on snowmobiles. As in any trip one ever takes, it was filled with interesting places and experiences that perhaps will never be given any kind of justice in writing.

BUUUUTTTTT that won't stop me from trying! TO THE BATCAVE!

Before our trip even began, we lost a fellow traveler to the trials and tribulations of adult life that I so frequently try to avoid. Namely, responsibilities. Job responsibilities. Family responsibilities. Yuck.

And then there were three. Daddy, Rick, and I piled into the massive F-350 that's size is a juxtaposition to the seating capacity. As in all trucks, there are only really two seats. The two in the front. Sure sure, they put "seating" in the second row. It's about as luxurious as an old church pew after a long-winded Christmas homily from a deaf priest. So the long-legged older and wiser bulls sat stretching out like lions on the Savannah up front while I snuggled with six or seven bags with more corners than are logically allowable for cube shaped luggage. I had room for half of me. Let the 8 hour ride commence! Ever so often the old bulls would take it upon themselves to stretch their necks and turn to check the hand they could see stabbing through the piles upon piles of travelling necessities. There's still a pulse! Squeeze my hand if you need to breathe or go to the bathroom!

There is very little in the way of obstacles if it means I get to visit something new and different. I may have developed the beginnings of a hump on my back, but all for the glory of the road!

We arrived to magical Lake Placid around 4:30. It was like coming upon the North Pole. Sleepy with Sandman snowflakes sighing through the atmosphere, we came upon the luxurious downtown village hotel. By luxurious, of course, I mean it had a roof and rooms and free coffee. Poor Jerry, the desk clerk who undoubtedly was not ready for my Dad to come huffing in, did his best. You see, it's hard to park a farm truck anywhere but in a field or a superbly long driveway. Parking it in a "city" is just laughable. Then you add piles upon piles of snow and a tiny parking lot of about twenty spaces serving an entire downtown hotel. You get a very flustered and severe Daddy on your hands.

This is where the relationship of Rick and Dad starts to show. Rick volunteered to get out of the nice cozy truck and plunk down to the hotel to see about parking. Rick is always so generous with his expectations and considerate of what other people are feeling. Rick is the good cop. He politely rings the bell. Not too harsh, just enough to be noticed. Really just a tinkling to the ear. He kindly asks for Jerry's name first. (this is a proud habit of Rick's, he always recalls everyone's name) He asks about a recommendation for parking because we have a large truck and the parking lot appears to be full. Jerry points us in the direction of the municipal lot and Rick is happy and willing to report this back to Daddy.  ENTER BAD COP. He can't help it. Daddy has an impressive ability for thinking through logistics and an immense distaste for obstacles keeping him from naps. Not a good combination. Jerry gets "the look."

"The look" has famously made businessmen and employees break into instantaneous inexplicable sweat attacks. I've seen grown men on the verge of tears without exactly knowing why just because my dad gives them the stare down. I'm pretty sure my dad negotiated down a hot tub salesman with such intensity that the contract of sale included the man's resignation. I've witnessed car salesmen scurry out of their offices for backup because they couldn't concentrate on the math with my dad staring them down with "the look."

Jerry broke into a sweat and a stutter started to develop half way through the interrogation of said municipal parking lot where one would have to move their vehicle in the afternoons because it becomes a private lot. Wrong answer Jerry. Wrong answer.

Daddy never really yells. He speaks. slowly. deeply. glowering. It's absolutely terrifying. Jerry knows. He scurried away like all those car salesmen before him and tried to figure his way out of this predicament. I'm pretty sure he was trying to lift people's vehicles out of the snow and scoot them over so my dad could park his truck in the front row. Too bad he's no superman. That would have been nice.

Turns out the municipal parking lot wasn't so bad. Also turns out that we got front row parking at the hotel the next two days because Jerry just loves my dad that much (and apparently managed to dismiss the other cars in the lot for the next day). Also, Jerry seemed to have lost a few pounds by the following day. Something in how my dad threatened that he never would have ever come here if he knew about the parking situation in a downtown hotel really stuck with Jerry. I understand. It feels a lot like not being ready for the President of the United States. It's not really your fault, but all the same, disappointing the entire country can really affect you.

Rick and I cringed inside and acted nonchalant. I think I began whistling and strolling the tiny foyer, really inspecting the inside of my coffee cup; curious about how the free coffee could be so hot. No one likes seeing a man under duress. Especially not when it's because of your relative. Yet, the benefits of travelling with someone who can throw his weight around allows us to forget about the uncomfortable moments. And honestly Jerry, whats with not having parking for trucks in UPSTATE NEW YORK?! We loved Jerry for the rest of the weekend. He really was a super nice guy and we chatted with him every morning we were there. We certainly did leave him with an impression though.

TO BE CONTINUED...