S-M-A-T. I mean, S-M-A-R-T.

You'll have to bear with me on this post. I'm in Flagstaff, Arizona at 7,000 feet elevation and my thoughts come trickling in at a painfully slow pace. Who knew Arizona had mountains? I guess I always knew they had the whole canyon thing going on but I didn't put it together that a higher elevation was needed to create them.

I was going to have a friend join me for a couple of days in Arizona. I found out about the extreme altitude and quickly suggested that he join me at sea level. My inability to form coherent thoughts is not nearly the worst of my symptoms. The headaches and nausea aren't even so bad. The trouble comes with how insane I get with my moods. I have the patience of a child and as soon as I get the least bit frustrated (which happens with little provocation here) I feel ready to rip people's heads off and then, while holding their heads in my hands, start bawling my eyes out. Oh, I'm a good time once I get above 4,000 feet. Have you seen "The Exorcist"? You know the part where the little girl's head spins around? That's me with altitude sickness.

Anyhoo, a quick update on my travels. Two words: San Diego. And a word to describe the Diego: heaven. In La Jolla, I stayed with a friend that has life figured out. La Jolla takes the award for Best Place to Live. Not only does my friend live in La Jolla, but she is just blocks from the beach in a house that my sister-in-law has accurately dubbed "The Barbie Dreamhouse." I have a new goal in life and it is to follow in Sarah's footsteps. She has done it right. I spent a week there while having some of the most amazing and relaxing days of my life. I know that is an extreme statement, but I stand by it.

Now its three days in Flagstaff seeing Sedona, Phoenix and the Grand Canyon. Then I move on to Santa Fe for a couple of days of soaking in the New Mexico scene. Then its to Denver to catch a plane to Pittsburgh for Christmas. After the new year, its hard to say exactly what I'll be up to but its looking like I'll be spending the winter in Portland, Oregon. Its calling me back but I figure I better see if I can survive a Portland winter before making a full move. I'll keep you updated.

Its time to see the Grand Canyon. Please ignore any spelling mistakes or grammar faux-pas in the above post. I should be thinking a bit more clearly by the next entry. No promises, though.

Hello, L.A.

Slumming it in the hostels and eating my meals of cheap carbs and sugar is going to be hard to readjust to after this last week of luxury in LA. There are two unrelated things that I've learned while in LA this past week: 1) LA is exhausting and 2) Family means everything.

The events of my week have revolved around my commutes. Thats what I do here in LA. I go somewhere and then I get in my car and I go to somewhere else. Its not the destinations that make a lasting impression in my mind, its the commute. My main events here seem to be surviving freeways and negotiating traffic. My memory of this city will be of white knuckles and prayers to St. Christopher, the patron saint of travelers.

But so far, so good. With the energy draining drives, my days get limited to one to two small activities. My reprieve from the tension is staying at my Aunt and Uncle's house. I've been sleeping like a queen in a bed that wraps itself around my body and on sheets that are like swimming in butter. Butter, I tell you. Believe me, reverting back to my hobo ways is not going to be easy.

About Thanksgiving: I have this theory. The theory has to do with the fact that holidays can be a trying time for people. Although its supposed to be a time of joy and love and blah, blah, blah, a lot of times there is just a melancholy that hangs around and a feeling of stress. My theory about why this is, is that what we all want is to have the holidays be like they were when we were little. And as adults, we can never achieve that. I must say, though, I came pretty close this year.

My family from Los Angeles would come to Pittsburgh to visit every year. The Thanksgiving holidays that I spent with them were the ones that I remember the most. This Thanksgiving I pretty much reverted back to being 10 years old. Although my aunt, uncle and cousins have all changed in the way that growing up makes us change, they are so much just as I remember them. Its going to be hard to one-up this Thanksgiving, so I told them that I'd just need to come back every year.

I'll end this post with a pic of my cousin Kim, myself and my cousin Chrissy with their dogs, Zoey and Benjamin:

The dogs don't get along and are in perpetual quarantine from each other for fear that one will eat the other. So for us to try and get them in a picture together, we were running the risk of one of the five of us not walking away with a face after the shot. Or we were going to get a damn cute pic, like above.

Fish apathy

Remember, in one of my first posts, how I took a picture of the food that I was taking with me on my trip? The pile of food included carrots and nuts and oatmeal. It steered clear of processed sugar and empty calories and, unfortunately, any kind of taste. Oh, those were ambitious times.

This was the breakfast that I had a couple of days ago when I was going down the Oregon coast:

I kid you not, it is called a "Trucker's Delight." This morning I had a full serving of waffles with butter and syrup, a bagel with cream cheese and a bowl of frosted flakes. Please notice the lack of the fruit/vegetable and protein food groups. I have created my own system of food groups that revolves around carbs and sugar. I actually thought to myself that maybe if I put more butter and cream cheese on my food that I could get close to a full serving of dairy.

Now I spend quite a bit of my day doing the math trying to figure out how far I need to walk and which meals I need to skip to insure that I don't need to be rolled back into Pittsburgh for the holidays. Although, as long as I can get my seat belt to fit around me and am able to move the steering wheel without my belly getting in the way, I'm good to go.

I cruised through San Francisco the other day. I went into the city for one night, staying at a hostel, and walked as much as I could in one day and took in the sights. I realized afterwards that I didn't get one picture while I was there. If you would like to see pictures of San Francisco, please google them. You'll get the gist.

Once again, family and friends made my day. I got to see Mill Valley, stopping by to see close friends of my family. It made my week. I'm passing through Monterey right now and am on my way to spend Thanksgiving in Malibu with extended family. Mom and Dad: I love you both and am going to miss you for Thanksgiving. But I am so incredibly psyched to be seeing my aunt, uncle and cousins (Jane, you will be missed.) Its going to be strange to not have grey skies and rain and cold on Turkey day but I'll just have to make-do with sun and warm weather and the beach in the 'Bu. I'm taking one for the team here.

With all of the Steinbeck that I'm reading, it only makes sense that I would stop by his stomping grounds, Monterey, California. Here is a picture of me with a statue of my man:

I was reading "Cannery Row" while sitting in a coffee shop on the actual Cannery Row. I have to say though that I was hiding the cover of the book as I read. I was worried that I might look like a tourist; and I put a lot of effort into being a tourist while not looking like a tourist. I'll never see the people here again, but it is still incredibly important to me to make strangers think I'm cool. My own behavior baffles me. I think I might start strutting down the street, from now on, giving winks and shooting off finger-guns as I pass people. That way there could be no doubt that I was cool.

I did slip into the Monterey Aquarium for a quick look. I don't think I get aquariums. Fish just don't do it for me. Maybe I feel a slight twinge of excitement when seeing a shark. Jellyfish can hold my attention for a half-minute, but thats about all. I think this is just something that I'm going to have to accept about myself. Another self-discovery made on this trip: I have an indifference to marine life.

Here is a pic of a jellyfish (I forget which kind.):

Passionate car sickness

Aaaah, Mendocino. I could get used to you. I had high expectations and they have been met. First things first, please notice my new dream bench:

It might be hard to notice the bench, being that it is between such a picturesque town on one side and crashing waves on the other. You may remember, there was a bench that I found on Antelope Island that I said I would frame when I got home because it was in such an amazing location. But I believe it just got the boot. This bench is the winner and it will be put in a heart-shaped frame. To put the cherry on top, I spent the time with my man, John Steinbeck. I'm reading "Tortilla Flat" and, again, I revel in Mr. Steinbeck's constant genius.

(Side note: if you have the book, please check around page 23 for the paragraph that describes the correlation between the amount of wine in a jug to the common actions of the paisanos. I was so impressed that I wanted to call someone and read the paragraph to them because it seemed like such a gem. Ben, we may need to have a Steinbeck book group when I get home; we can take Mary Ann's idea of a salon. Mary Ann, you're invited, too.)

From Portland, I did a reorganizing day in Eugene, followed by a day in Coos Bay, then went on to Eureka, California, which I used as my home base while checking out Redwoods National Park. I was able to do a fantastic hike at the Klamath Overlook, leading to this view:

Yesterday, I went from Eureka to Mendocino passing through Humboldt State Park. This took me to the very top of the infamous Route 1 that goes along the California coast. My dad had actually called me that morning to warn me of the intensity of this road, so I kind-of had a feeling it might be difficult. But really I didn't believe him. How hard could a road be?

There is a 20 mile stretch that goes from inland California to the coast that is insane. I've never been car sick while driving before but I had to pull over 3 times yesterday within those 20 miles to pull myself together and shake off the motion sickness. I was actually to the point where I was telling myself to "just make it one more mile." You may have to experience it to believe it. I did text my dad right afterwards to let him know that he was right. I said that I would never doubt him again. He has told me he is "going to preserve that text for posterity -- and as a reminder."

I had mentioned that Portland marked a turning point in my trip where I realized that I'd have to start thinking about reality again. During my 10 minutes of sitting still, I've come up with my big goal to try to achieve after this trip. It, in general, is to live passionately. My top three ways to do this (I'm huge on top three lists) is:

1) Stay close to family and friends. I've realized that although I've seen some amazing places on this trip, the highlights have been when I reconnect with people in my life and when I meet and make new friends.

2) Eat well and exercise daily. To "eat well" is in one part to keep myself thinking straight but also to become a little less meh about food and a little more aware of taste. Exercise for me is walking or hiking which gets me out and looking around me.

3) Take time to sit still and take time to write. Doing both of these things helps me to slow down and let experiences seep in a bit more.

I have to admit, this is all pretty easy to do when on the road and going to beautiful places. Check back with me when I'm working a nine-to-five job and taking care of mundane life chores. I'm interested to find out how I incorporate living passionately with doing laundry, getting groceries and paying bills.

I'll close this post with a picture that I like to call "Big Tree. Tight Pants.":

A tourist in Pittsburgh

I am back from the vacation that I took to get away from my vacation. I have now reported back to duty in Portland, Oregon, ready to for my continuing travels. I've been having such a blast in Portland and have loved being around friends and family in Pittsburgh, that it has felt like it would be difficult to get back on the road by myself again. But I have a feeling once I get about 10 miles down the Oregon coast on my way to San Diego, I'll be just fine. Plans from here are pretty simple: make my way to Cannon Beach, Oregon on the northern end of the Oregon coast, then go straight down the coast until I almost hit Mexico, then head back inland. This trip was originally going to last until about mid-October. Obviously, I missed that deadline. Then I planned to be finished with the trip by Thanksgiving. It looks like that is not going to happen. Before my trip to Pittsburgh last week, the thought was to finish at Christmas, but even that is on the verge of going out the window. I'm starting to suspect that there will be a day in the future, maybe sometime like next October, when I'll be in Punta Arenas, Chile saying that I'll stop as soon as Thanksgiving comes again. Although, if thats the case, then I either found a Sugar Daddy to fund my trip or have robbed a bank. And being that my free-wheeling ways have felt great, it will probably be the bank robbing idea. Don't worry, I've watched Bonnie and Clyde -- I know just what to do.

A note on going to Florida: my family have definitely passed the test of fantastic vacation-mates. I think I had a concern that I would be awoken out of bed the first morning at 6 or 7 and told that a tour bus would be picking up the family in a half hour to take us to a Colonial village, which would be followed up by a 3 hour session of marathon shopping and topped off with a family throw-down of Scrabble. Instead, it was a lot of freedom to do whatever I wanted (long walks, reading, napping, swimming) at whatever pace. It reminded me why I enjoy being around my family so much.

Following up with the title of this post, when I got back to Pittsburgh, I treated myself to a day of seeing the city's tourist attractions. I've lived there all of my life, yet never have I done such a thing. I applied my research methods that I use when in a new city and applied them to my home town and ended up visiting the Strip District, the North Side, Station Square and walking around downtown (pardon me, dahn-tahn, as the Pittsburghers say.) I thoroughly enjoyed myself and I vow to always take full advantage of any city where I might reside in the future.

Side note: I stayed with my friend, Meredith, and her family in Portland. One morning eating Turkey Bacon with her kids, Winslow and Ellie, I said that a piece of "bacon" looked like a lower-case 'h' (I realize this was a huge stretch.) Winslow identified the "bacon" as a goose riding a baby buffalo. I have been blown away by his genius. There is no other correct identification of this shape. Feel free to share your own shapes of Turkey Bacon in the comments section. We all play this game, right?

Oregon to Florida

I had one commitment to keep since deciding to do this trip. My family had planned a vacation to Florida eons ago so I had to make sure to keep that priority. This means that I caught a plane from Portland to Pittsburgh to Florida to unwind with some beach time. Life is hard.

I've got another front runner for final destination: Portland, Oregon. Something just clicks for me there. Probably it has to do with the fact that I wouldn't know the first thing about living in a city that has sunshine for more than 50 days out of the year. Having sunny day after sunny day would so cut into my nap time. And the kicker about Portland is that I truly don't believe there is a city that is in a better location -- mountains to one side; ocean to the other.

My visit to Portland was accentuated with some good ol' hospitality. A friend of mine opened her house to me and took me in like I was family while I was there. I had no idea that a gesture like this would rock my world like it has. This has made me vow that wherever I end up, I am going to have a major set-up for any and all guests. Hold me to this. And after some friends were kind enough to make sure I saw all of the necessary sights of Puddletown, USA, I am also vowing to always offer my services for any sight-seeing that may need to be done.

Portland did mark a bit of a turning point for me with this trip. I had planned pretty extensively my routes and activities up until Portland but passed there, I haven't given much thought. Obviously the next step is to go down the west coast, but I think what is really concerning me is I think I'm on the down-swing of my trip. Thus far, I've been journeying away from reality. I've been moving away from all of those adult things that I need be doing, like getting a job and an apartment and starting to be a contributing member of society again. But now its time to circle around and to begin thinking realistically. Say its not so.

The Oregon coast:

My workspace in Astoria, Oregon:

Pay it forward

I've been having a nagging feeling that I need to do a blog post on how I got here. Here, as in, on this trip. You know when you stay at home on a Saturday, just watching TV and then you ask a friend what they did that day and they're all like "I got up this morning at 6, cleaned my entire house, ran 10 miles, saved a puppy from drowning and talked someone down from jumping off a bridge" and then you feel really useless in comparison. Its happened to me many times and I tend to walk away hating that friend. I have this worry that I'm that annoying friend -- posting on this blog, putting up pretty pictures and acting like this is just how I live, flying by the seat of my pants.

The truth is that this whole expedition is very out of the ordinary for me. I hate change. I find immense comfort in having my own space in the form of an apartment and spending lots of time watching ridiculous TV shows and surfing the web. I like to do something on a Monday and know that I will be doing the exact same thing the next Monday and the Monday after that, etc. There was a time when I went years without going outside of the state of Pennsylvania.

Long story relatively short, in the spring I started to have fun with just the thought of an extended road trip. In my free time I mapped out where I would go if I could. Then I talked obsessively about it with friends and everytime I'd bring it up they would say I should do it. It got to the point where I'd talked about it so much that I either had to truly do it or just let the idea go.

I did a whole process of listing everything that could go possibly wrong if I did the trip. Then I came up with possible solutions for those problems. I have a feeling that my mind was already made up at this point, but I did the list as a way to get realistic and to make sure I had thought of everything. My big obstacle was giving up a job that I really enjoyed. I realized though that I would always have a reason to not do the trip because of something. There had to be some sacrifices, and, if the job had to go, then I guess I just had to let it go and lead the tough life of unstructured days and lots of free time. Someone has to do it.

Months ago I read about a friend going to Brazil to follow a passion of his. I was down on myself that I didn't do such things, but, luckily, turned it around and asked myself what I would do to live life a little fuller. I hope this is a "pass it forward" type of influence. I'm debating whether I should end this post with some sort of joke to lighten the mood and not sound so "Go forth, and live your dreams!" but I'll leave it as it is.

Here are some pics from my week in the Olympic Peninsula:

Mt. Rainier:

Hurricane Ridge:

Trail to Cape Flattery:

Hoh Rainforest:

The continuing adventures of the Rivers ladies: Seattle

If you ever need a stellar travel partner, you will find none other than my mom. I might consider letting you borrow her for a trip but don't take the opportunity lightly. You will be hitting up the town with a woman that, by the time you get to the destination, will be able to give a dissertation on all local customs, history and etiquette, and be able to throw in an essay or two on what not to wear. When she gets the idea of going to a city where she has never been before, while that idea is still just a kernel of a possibility, she will begin making a library of every book that could possibly help her get a foothold on the in-the-know. (She went to Italy once and we still have the two full bookshelves of research materials as evidence.)

As side-wheel to this traveler, its pretty much a vacation dream. I go on auto-pilot and let her call the shots and find myself eating some of the best gosh-dang food of my life and see shows that I never would have thought to check out in the first place and come back from a trip and am able to answer "Yes, I did" to any question that involves "Did you see...?" And, as a loving mother, she has mercy on me. For each of the afternoons I took my own siesta (did I mention I love naps?) back at the hotel, regained my energy and rejoined her conquests for the evening.

So mark up Seattle as another successful venture, adding it to the list of NYC and Chicago, and if I have my druthers, to the future visit of Santa Fe.

What makes me especially grateful for my mom's companionship is that I've entered the Pacific Northwest region in a bit of a funk. This area feels so heavy. Its the best way that I can describe it. I have to say, when I entered the Rocky Mountain area of the states, I went through a period of adjustment. I felt out-of-place and a bit lonely. Mother Nature wasn't really opening her arms to me, with all of those jagged ravines and stand-offish pine trees. Now, I have hit the Pacific Ocean and I'm getting that feeling again. It feels very alienating and, although everything is so lush and green, it kind-of makes me feel like the earth and ocean and rain just want to swallow me up. The good news is that I eventually got used to the mountains and started to feel at home and, most likely, the same will happen here.

And this area of the states makes me have the same feeling that I get when its the Autumn season in Pittsburgh. I love this season. I love the air getting cooler and the sky getting darker. It makes me listen to more Elliott Smith and Leonard Cohen and makes me want to take more long walks but it gives me this sweet melancholy feeling that is not good for my moods but I just can't help sinking into it. I've never been able to figure out its pull. And the heavy Northwest makes the mood even more irresistible. We'll see how this goes.

Quickly, on to the specifics of my travels: After Seattle, I spent two days on the San Juan Islands. Those are the little chunks of land that are floating off the coast where it looks like someone has taken a bite out of the state of Washington. (Who says I don't have a knack for travel descriptions?) I had to become fluent in reading ferry schedules in order to get on/off/between the islands. I have surprised myself that I managed to make it back to the mainland. I spent a night on the main island at a hostel (at a place where I never even saw the owners, I just picked up my keys, left my money and then spent the night in a house with two other people that were guests. Bizarre experience.) Yesterday I went to Orcas Island to the Moran State Park and did a three mile hike around Cascade Lake. I felt comfortable to do the hike on my own because: a) no bears or moose have managed to ferry themselves across to those islands and any other critter that I would've run into would have been little challenge for me and my pepper spray and b) if I hike around a lake, I can just hug the coast and trust that I will eventually end up where I started. Famous last words.

I'm back on the mainland in Mt. Vernon, Washington. Its a reorganizing day before I do a week and a half tour of the Olympic Peninsula and then end up in Portland. Oh, and a heads-up, I'll be back in the 'burgh November 1st through the 6th. Although, if you would like to hang out, you'll have to cart my butt around being that my car will still be parked on the west coast.

View of the San Juan Islands from the top of Mt. Constitution (Orcas Island):

Hiking around Cascade Lake, Moran State Park:

The life of a rock star

I promise I haven't forgot about you. You are always on my mind. Update the blog, update the blog, update the blog. But, you know, it can be so exhausting living like a rock star: the nameless cities, the unending road, the sex and drugs and women (just kidding about the final three, Dad.) My true reality is that I eat breakfast at diners with swarms of septuagenarians, I spend my days either driving listening to educational podcasts or I sit people-watching and reading , then end my day heading to bed at the ripe hour of 9 or 10. I spend more the life of a grandmother then of a rock star.

I'm in Wenatchee, Washington, right now. The Apple Capital of the World. You know of it, right? I'm spending some days in random cities between Boise and Seattle; trying to get the feel of eastern Oregon and Washington. Its my first time in both states and I'm zig-zagging my way through, trying to see as much as possible.

From Coeur D'Alene I drove down the western border of Idaho. I'll call Idaho the Crying State. I listened to all of my Josh Ritter songs in alphabetical order for five hours. The crying occured because of the sequence that: Josh Ritter is from Idaho and his sad folk songs needed a good listening to in order to enjoy the state --> Josh Ritter is my friend, Sara's, fav singer (or her self-united husband, if you happen to read thatschurch.com, which, if you are from Pittsburgh, you really should) --> Sara is one of my prime partners in crime and is the Laverne to my Shirley (or the Myrna Minkoff to my Ignatius Reilly, if you've read "A Confederacy of Dunces", which, if you are a breathing human being, you really should) --> Sara has moved to Boston as of August and we now are separated by many states for the first time in years. Thus, the tears. But they were needed.

I stayed a night in Riggins, Idaho. It was a spontaneous stop. I got tired to driving, found myself in a cute town in the middle of the mountains that had one hotel, and decided to spend the night. I checked the Riggins website to find something to do to pass the evening and found a recommended scenic drive to the top of Hell's Canyon to look at the Seven Devils (a range of mountains.) Long story short, the road to the top turned gravel within five miles and continued that way for another fifteen. I knew I should have turned around but got stuck in the mindset of "I've made it this far...". I ended up ascending 6,000 feet at a rate of 25 miles an hour, only to turn around when I almost got to the top because I started to fear a serial killer was going to be the only person there when I got to the lookout. This is the best picture I got:

I passed many cows on the road, getting close enough to almost get their flies in my car. I obviously have no fears of pulling up close to a cow, and would find it very ironic if, after my chronic fear of bears, a "cute" cow charged my car, and when I got out of my car, invited her friends over for a good maiming.

So, my car went through the abuse of a fifteen mile, straight up-hill and then straight down-hill road, only to get a semi-decent picture, the view of a cow and me cursing the website that ever suggested I try that route.

Boise treated me well. Again, it offered a many-mile paved walking path that connects the various parks around the city. I'm really digging the walker-friendliness of Idaho. I went to a recommended diner, the Flying M, and restrained myself from buying everything in their eclectic gift shop. And I visited their Basque Cultural Museum after finding that Boise is a hub for immigrants from the Basque region and found it an interesting culture to know more about.

I came to Wenatchee by way of Bend, Oregon and was extremely impressed with the homey feel of Bend. Its a much recommended visit. And today I will see the Pacific Ocean for the first time on my trip. I'll be staying in Ferndale, Washington, right below the Canadian border. Then, its off to Seattle to be reunited with my mom for a 5 day visit. I'm counting down the hours.

Random pic of a shoe tree somewhere in Eastern Oregon:

The art of sitting still

To sit still for 10 minutes sounds so easy but it has become a very difficult commitment for me to keep. Its an exercise that I've been trying to do since starting my trip: I find a nice place, usually a bench by a lake or the ocean or any other body of water (the above picture is where I sat still on Sunday), and set the timer on my phone (otherwise I'd cheat), and make myself sit still for 10 minutes. Rules: no music, no books, no talking to anyone, no planning what I'm going to do that day and no thinking about my next stop. Objective: to see what comes to mind when I let myself listen and to notice what is around me.

But you should hear the excuses I come up with to skip it for the day. Mostly, its that I'm in the middle of something and feel that I just don't have 1o minutes to spare. Or that its boring to just sit there and I don't want to endure the boredom. Many times, while trying to be zen and enlightened, my brain goes to "What will I wear tomorrow? I'm hungry. It would be better if I were sitting over there. How much longer do I have to sit here? Whatever happened to Jerry Springer?" But every once in a while, I'll have a little breakthrough of thought. It makes it worth it.

I think the last time that I wrote I was in Missoula, Montana. Instead of describing Missoula, I'm going to stick with the philosophy of "if you don't have anything nice to say, then don't say anything at all." That should do the trick.

I headed north to Whitefish, Montana, after that, and paid a visit to Glacier National Park. As beautiful as the park is, I, unfortunately, timed my visit at an inopportune time. There is one road that cuts through the park, "Going to the Sun" road, and this is known to be one of the most beautiful drives in the U.S. Right now, though, there is construction in the main pass in the center of the park. That means to see the parts of the park that are currently open, one needs to drive 15 miles into the park from the west, turn the car around and drive the 15 miles back the same way, drive two hours around the park to the east entrance, drive 15 miles into the park from the east, turn the car around, drive the 15 miles back the same way, and then drive two hours around the park to the get back to Whitefish. Obviously, I don't mind driving for long periods of time, but I like to be going in one direction without the knowledge that I will be returning the same way in a half hour.

My great idea for how I'd cope with all of the circular driving was that I would go for a hike when I reached the east entrance. But we've already discussed my issues with that. I was going to muster up my courage, buck the system and count on the trail being fairly well populated, but I went about 500 feet and ran into this sign:

I happen to be a rule-follower in life. I've come to terms with this trait of mine and have learned to accept it. When a list of rules are posted letting me know that THERE IS NO GUARANTEE OF MY SAFETY if I do not follow the rules and that hiking alone is NOT RECOMMENDED, I obey. I not only turned around but I became paranoid that a bear was watching me read the sign, ready to pounce because of the sheer irony that I was reading about how to not get attacked by a bear, so I did a fast walk back to my car.

Now, I'm sitting in comfortable 75 degree weather, in the sun, in Coeur D'Alene, Idaho. There were two places on my trip that were imperative visits: Bar Harbor, Maine, and Coeur D'Alene. I think my desire to come here mostly came from the fact that I like to say the name Coeur D'Alene, but whatever gets me here, right? For me, the highlight of this city, is that there is a 40 mile paved walking/biking trail that starts somewhere beyond Coeur D'Alene to the east and continues to the Washington border, where it then continues another 20 miles. The chances of me making use of the entire trail is extremely slim and incredibly ludicrous, but I like the option that, if I were insane, I would have the option to safely walk/bike 60 miles.

Alright, beautiful day. Must make use of it. Will write later.

Random pic of me in Glacier National Park:

The Masses and Me

Oh, National Park Systems, I just don't know how to handle you.

My disclaimer before I begin my diatribe against the disastrous path of my perfection: I am so grateful for this trip, and for mother nature, and for the many humans that populate this fine earth, and for the process undertaken by the government to attempt to preserve nature's gifts. Yeah, National Park Systems! But I can't figure out how to find a peaceful, all-encompassing method of enjoying these meandering mazes of parading tourists.

Let me bullet-point list this, if I may:

• Bears, serial killers and serial-killing bears: My two main fears for my safety on this trip include befriending a serial killer only to find myself turned into a human suit and toppings for a pizza; or coming across a bear. To be honest, I think I'm more fearful of bears. When I was safely on the east coast, I imagined that when I got west, bears would be so abundant that one would just stand in the middle of the interstate, wave me to the side of the road, use one claw to open up the top of my car like it was a tin can, pluck me from my seat, and pop me in his mouth like I was a piece of popcorn. I was even afraid about my stays in hotels out here, thinking that bears would just come to my hotel room door and knock on the door politely and then maul me.
  I've gotten out here and found that thats not quite what they mean when they say "Bear Country" but I'm still fearful of taking more than three steps into a wooded area. Which leads me to:
  
  
• To hike or not to hike: I knew this would be an issue. So I'm on my own here, I'm an amateur hiker and, as stated above, am fearful of becoming bear fodder. I've talked to some women, though, that have no problem hiking by themselves.
  I've considered this option for myself but have some issues with this: a) my before-stated shoddy sense of direction and lack of short-term memory; b) the vivid images that I have of anything from free-falling off the side of a mountain, to a small twist of an ankle that leaves me stranded alone, thirsty and cold in the middle of nowhere; and c) the fact that if I'm by myself and I do run into a bear, I won't have anyone with me to either provide a distraction to said bear while I run in the other direction, or if all else fails, someone that I can toss to the bear to satiate his/her appetite a bit while I run in the other direction.
  Alas, this leaves me confined to the safety of my car which leads me to:
  
  
• The motorcade of the masses: I am not the only person that has found reasons to not get out off their butts but, instead, just enjoy the scenery from their car. That seems to be the preferred method of sight-seeing. But this means a slow creep, and I mean slow creep, through the park. When I first get to the park, I'm usually OK with this. I'm rubber-necking with the best of them and I'm still in a relaxed, loving mood. After the second hour, my patience is long-gone. I ache for an open highway and a speed of at least 45 mph. I start to make my way out of the park but I still need to wade through the molasses-like progression while no longer possessing any resemblance of relaxation or love.
  Then, there is the phenomenon of the pull-over. There are many little side pockets on the road where one can get out of the car, stand still, breathe a breath of fresh air and then resume the parade. There are so many of these, though, it doesn't make sense to pull over at all of them so you need to select which pull-overs are worth your less than two hour attention span. When you see another car pull over, you start to think they know something you don't know, and maybe you should pull over. But then you find that you are out of the parade only to be in the midst of a crowd of people with cameras.
  Then there are pull-overs that no one has stopped at that look like a great private spot for reflection and a moment to get away from the motorcade, but then a car behind you thinks you know something they don't know so they pull over and now you have company. For me, this is a continuous cycle. So my inner dialogue goes: "There. I'll pull over at that spot. No, someone is already there. Next one, though....OK, this one. No, I think if I continue I'll find a better view. But I will stop at the next one...There. I'll pull over here. But that car behind me is so close and I've made up my mind to do this a little too late so I'll just pull over at the next one..." and after ten "maybe" pull-overs, I do a true pull over, snap a few pics, don't know what else to do with myself and resume the parade/pull-over debate.

There's a dose of belly-aching for the day. Please take time to review the disclaimer again at the top of the page. In whatever form that I get to see the National Parks, I am grateful.

Random Pics:

Me, at the top of Rendezvous Mountain, Jackson Hole, Wyoming:

Mammoth Hot Springs, Yellowstone National Park, Wyoming:

What I've listened to in the last week:

"Fashion Nugget" Cake

"I'm Wide Awake, Its Morning" Bright Eyes

"Ga ga ga ga ga" Spoon

"Happenstance" Rachel Yamagata

"Hail to the Thief" Radiohead

"Get Away From Me " Nellie McKay

"I Might Be Wrong: Live" Radiohead

"Featuring 'Birds'" Quasi

"Kid A" Radiohead

"East Is The Past" Pete Bush

"Let It Die" Feist

"Daydream Nation" Sonic Youth

"Marquee Moon" Television

"Check Your Head" Beastie Boys

"BBC Sessions" Led Zeppelin

"New Moon " Elliott Smith

"Alligator" The National

"One Plus One is One" Badly Drawn Boy

"16 Greatest Hits" The Mamas and the Papas

"Panama! " Various Artists

"Yoshimi Battles the Pink Robots" Flaming Lips

"Reading, Writing, Arithmetic" The Sundays

"Watery Domestic" Pavement

"Show Your Bones" The Yeah, Yeah, Yeahs

"Terror Twilight" Pavement

Audiobook: "Barrel Fever" by David Sedaris

Audiobook: "Me Talk Pretty One Day" by David Sedaris

Audiobook: Discs 1-3 of "A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius" by Dave Eggers

Podcasts: lots of "Wait, wait...", "This American Life" and "How Stuff Works"

If you've got the money, honey, I've got the time

The title of this post is a line from a song my grandma would always sing. It goes on to say "...we'll go honky-tonkin' and have a good time." My Grannie wouldn't just sing this, she would belt it.

She passed away three days ago. She had battled with dementia for years -- so many that I can't remember when it started. My mom wrote an email to friends and family relaying the news and it was worded more eloquently then I could ever come up with:

Often we think of death as a time of sadness but when dementia is involved it can not be characterized as such. Ana Luisa has finally reunited with her beloved Sig and all the Anglades and Delannoys who have gone before. Momma breathed her last Friday, September 17th, at 5:30 pm. Her spirit is finally free of a body and brain that were no longer functioning. It was a peaceful ending, long overdue. She donated her body to science so there will be no funeral but in November(date as yet to be decided) we three daughters will celebrate her life in a memorial dinner [. . .] Let me repeat that it is a relief and blessing that the husk that was left is gone. We have missed and will miss her dearly but she has not been with us for quite a while. Her spirit is free now and at peace. Our loss is great but the memories are what put a smile on our face and a joy in our heart.

The grandmother of the last few years was not the same grandmother that I remember. When I think of my Grannie, I remember being little and waiting for her to arrive at the airport (she lived in Louisiana.) My family and I would stand at the end of the gate's ramp (this was when you could go to the gate) and wait for her to come off of the plane. She'd usually be one of the last off the plane but when she started coming down the ramp, you couldn't miss her. She fancied wearing the loudest of colors, especially hot pink. She wore hot pink lipstick at all times. It was called "Cherries in the Snow". She loved the name of it so would mention it frequently. I would be so excited to see her when she arrived -- it was like a kid of my age was coming that I could play with.

She was fond of using southern phrases. She taught me "Well, cut my legs and call me shorty" (a form of "Can you believe that?".) Going to the bathroom was always "draining the canary." When my mom would drive us around, my grandma would say "Annie, you're close enough to that bicyclist you could take his socks off while leaving his shoes on." My brother and I taught her "Put the pedal to the metal", and she would yell out "Annie, put the pedal to metal!"

Lastly, her philosophy in life was to have a sense of humor, no matter what. She had told me a sense of humor was one of the most important things in life. To this day, when I'm all upset about something, I think of that and try to look at the funny side.

Its been difficult to be on the road while this is going on back home. The hardest part of this is that I can't be home to support my mom. I told her this and she told me that she couldn't have thought of a better place for me to be. She said she's living vicariously through me and that she's been praying that my Grannie has now joined me on my trip here in the West. I hope so, too, although I also hope my grandma has a sense of direction because she's my go-to person next time I'm lost.

Thanks for letting me take a moment to remember her.

I heart Utah

It seems my luck with hostels has run out. Actually, I don't know that its a matter of luck, but rather a lower standard of living for the Mountain region hostels then with East coast hostels. I'm in Jackson Hole, Wyoming now and the Teton Village hostel (creatively named "The Hostel") looked promising with all of its rustic, mountain decor but evolved into my most nightmarish attempt at sleeping thus far in the trip. I kept coming back to "I'd rather be camping; I'd rather be camping." My belief is that outdoor bugs and dirt are preferable to indoor bugs and dirt. And I actually sleep better on rock-hard ground then on rock-hard mattress. And I'll take incessant chirping of crickets over the incessant herd-like stomping of elephants in the form of pre-teen boys in the room above. Again, patron saints became involved as I tried to pray to a patron saint of sleeping, hoping for some sort of spiritual tranquilizer. The saints must be getting pretty sick of me.

We last left off with me arriving in Denver. I stayed there for five days, moved onto Moab, Utah for a day and a half, landed in Salt Lake City for three days and arrived here in Jackson Hole yesterday. Denver was a fantastic reprieve from road-tripping. One of my best friends, Jess, lives there with her boyfriend, Matt. They are like family to me and have graciously offered their apartment as a landing ground for me while I'm out west. I did a bunch of maintenance chores while there: uploaded more audio books (from the Denver Public Library, which they probably do not condone so don't tell anyone); made sure that air pressures and engine liquids were at appropriate levels in my car; did laundry; and ate lots and slept lots. My main highlights were a hike in the Garden of the Gods:

And an afternoon of puzzles in Washington Park (Jess and I are a pretty lethal crossword puzzle-solving duo):

We were just missing our third partner in crime, Sara, and Denver wouldn't have known what had hit it.

I moved onto Moab last Sunday with the plan of staying two days. After about 15 minutes at the "Lazy Lizard International Hostel", my stay shrunk to one day. It was reminiscent to me of the trailer park that Nicolas Cage and Holly Hunter lived in in "Raising Arizona." I'm sure there was a baby named Junior running around there somewhere. The "front lawn" furniture consisted of car seats taken out of junk cars, a refrigerator box side table and a pail of cigarette butts. But I made sure to catch Arches National Park before leaving the area and was awe-struck with nature's feats:

The drive to Salt Lake took me through two other National Parks where I tried the ol' hold-the-camera-out-the-window trick for this shot:

This puts me in Salt Lake City. I have to admit that I've been party to some stereotypical views of the city. I was practically ready to be carded when entering city lines so they could check my religious affiliations, and then, finding out I'm a gentile, run me out of the city with torches and pitchforks. I was, in some part, expecting to see the horse and buggy as the main mode of transportation and women with bonnets and men with long beards, and then realized that I had mixed up the Mormons with the Amish and I slightly altered that expectation. But not by much.

But then I got there and I fell in love. SLC is actually giving Minneapolis a bit of a run for its money as head-runner for my favorite places so far. I don't know if I was specifically looking for it but the city seemed to be one of the most progressive that I've been to. There are tons of coffee shops and hip stores. The young folk are all tattooed up (I have a neutral stance on this but find it a sign that times are a-changing for the city.) I've been reading about how the Utah liquor laws have changed as of last summer. I guess there was a system of applications and memberships to bars just to get served a drink and glass partitions between bartenders and patrons for reasons I haven't figured out. But that has changed now and I have a feeling places are making the most of it.

And it has Antelope Island State Park a half hour away which has turned out to be my favorite outdoor area thus far. Instead of describing it in too much detail, I'll let you do your homework and look it up. What I loved about it was that it had rocky beaches and lots of wildlife but the interior island is like the midwest plains and then becomes mountains. Its like the island has a little bits of different parts of the US. And I found my dream bench there:

Packing a camera; but rarely unpacking it.

I went through a photography phase about three years ago. I took pictures of everything. I was that annoying friend that would constantly be yelling "Wait! Let me get a picture." Then, like so many of my phases, it passed. I now say that I "appreciate photography." Which is true. I love looking at and studying other people's photography but my camera collects dust.

There really seems to be no better time to get back into taking pictures then on this trip. Yet, I've refrained. Like so many other things in life, I tend to make picture taking into a complicated process involving the need for perfection. Here is my thought process when I see something worthy of a photo: "Should I get a picture of that? Yes, I should. Will I look like a tourist if I pull my camera out? I will, so maybe I won't take a picture. But I really should take a picture because its beautiful/strange/a moment that will embarrass someone later. Maybe I'll just hold my camera by my side or I'll hide behind a tree/inside my car/around the corner of the building. Fine, I'll just look like a tourist. But, is there a better angle/better lighting/better subject? I want this to look artsy, not like its going to be put into a family photo album. I'll just come back later when no one is around/it has better lighting/I have a new camera." And in the end, I don't take the picture.

A lot of times there is something beautiful that I see from the car. I could pull over and take a picture but pulling my camera out of my purse and getting out of my car would take effort. So instead I hold the camera out the window and take a random shot:

Or I aim my camera out the window while driving 75 mph:

Both options really compromise the photo op.

Quick Badlands story: I did a drive through Custer State Park yesterday. The park is known for its abundance of prairie wildlife. I made an excellent decision to try a gravel country road and came to a field that first had antelope, then had tons of prairie dogs. Prairie dogs might not seem so exciting but they intrigued me enough to make me go through the effort of trying to photographically document them. So I see a family of prairie dogs running towards a big black rock by the side of the road and pull up to the rock to get a picture and the rock blinks an eye. It was a bison chilling out by the side of the road. My first thought was "he's going to eat me." My second thought was "I need to get a picture." And my third thought was "Now he is going to eat me." I realize that the chance of the bison eating me is slim, being that they are herbivorous and all. But they could at the least maim me pretty badly and then barter me to carnivorous wolves later. So here is the picture that I got:

Notice the healthy distance. [Side note to the quick Badlands story: I briefly looked up bison on the web to see if they truly didn't eat meat and found two interesting facts: 1) In the U.S., the words bison and buffalo are interchanged and mean the same animal, but buffalo is a misnomer. True buffalo live only in Asia and Africa. 2) Bison are among the most dangerous animals to humans in the national parks system. They may look slothful but they are really agile little suckers.]

Miss Rivers goes to the Dakotas

Let the altitude begin. I know when you think of the Dakotas, high elevation doesn't come immediately to mind. Large expanses of nothing come to mind. But right now I'm in Lead, South Dakota, in the heart of Black Hills National Forest and the elevation here is 5,200 ft above sea level -- the same as Denver. I have found that I struggle with even the slightest altitude change. This just compounds my situation. My short term memory is sketchy, my sense of direction is horrible and at any height above Mt. Washington, my thinking slows to a dribble. When I think of me in altitude, I think of when I was in the second grade, in the Rockies for the first time, and throwing a fit because I could not get a hat on my head. Just picture me as a little girl, looking at a simple hat and not being able to figure out how to get it on my head. It was that bad. Its still pretty bad.

First, back to Fargo. The last post left me in a posh Hilton in Fargo, hibernating through the holiday. And that pretty much sums up my visit. I did one walk into North Dakota State University and I did a quick drive through downtown Fargo. My big question for my visit was: Does Fargo have big buildings? Fargo is the largest city in North Dakota and I had been wondering if this meant having skyscrapers or something of the sort. The answer is no. It has a Main Street and Broadway intersection that rivals Craig Street in Pittsburgh. The rest is a mix of Monroeville's Rte 22 and a small Regent Square. If you aren't from Pittsburgh, then skip that part and just go with the answer that Fargo does not have skyscrapers.

On Labor Day, I drove from Fargo to Lead, South Dakota (in the southwest corner of SD.) Its a 7 to 8 hour drive if you go with my GPS's suggestion of interstate highways. But interstates are for suckers, are they not? I like to romanticize the back roads. I mentioned in one my first posts, though, that there are drawbacks to the two-lane highways. Bathrooms are few and far between and gas stations are spread out. But those are back roads in the East.

In the Dakotas, back roads mean there is nothing. Truly nothing. No bathrooms, no gas stations, very few other cars. I came as close as I have ever been to running out of gas in the Middle-of- Nowhere, South Dakota. If you put your thumb and pointer finger as close together as possible, but without them touching, I was that close to running out of gas. For over an hour, I watched the gas gauge go lower and lower and I prayed for a gas station. I was praying to relatives that had passed away and to St. Anthony (he's the patron saint of lost things; it doesn't make sense that I would pray to him but he's the only saint with whom I'm on a first name basis. I have to pray to him all the time -- remember, that shoddy short term memory thing.) I did those prayers of "if there will just be a gas station, I will never...blah, blah, blah ...again." For me it was stop eating so much sugar and give up swearing. My gas alarm dinging started going off and I was ready to pull over, have a good sob and then wait for help from a stranger. Then, I went over a hill and there was a gas station. Somebody pulled through for me -- probably St. Tony, we really are close. I have never had such an urge to hug a gas pump. From now on, the gas tank doesn't get lower than half-tank while I drive through the west. Oh, and I'm not really going to give up sugar and swearing; I'm pretty sure the Big Guy knows I was just joking about that.

Lastly, a quick description of Lead. Lead is an old gold-mining town. Its 3 miles from Deadwood and about 15 miles from Sturgis. Deadwood is notorious for being a Wild West town and is where Wild Bill Hickok was killed. Sturgis is the central meeting place for Harley-Davidson bike riders. When you put this all together, you get an interesting mix. Its part Disneyland/Tourist Trap, trying to make money off of its history. Its part biker town, with an emphasis on gambling and bars. It also has that remote mountain town feel to it. I'm feeling a bit out of place. The hardest thing about this area for me is that I have no cell phone reception. It is such a disconcerting feeling. I had no idea that my cell phone is like oxygen to me and that I get panicked without it. There will be a part of me that is going to be very happy to get back in touch with my outside world. Next stop: staying with Jess in Denver!

Minneapolis, with a heart shape drawn around it

I have fallen in love with Minneapolis. Its like New York City but in a more chewable size, with nicer people and a midwest vibe. I realize that this smitten feeling is happening in the summer season and that in winter, it might be a different story; but with all of the coffee shops and diners and art museums and easy public transportation and walkable neighborhoods and tons and tons of great bench spots -- all of that might out-weigh cold temperatures and lots of snow. I'll have to test that out, though.

I, luckily, befriended a local and got the low-down on what I needed to see and do. And this person happened to be an artist -- a photographer, at that -- and had a show going on in town, which I checked out. It was give-me-goosebumps fantastic. Please check out his work and revel in his genius: www.timpphoto.com. He will be famous one day and I will be all "...I knew him when..."

So I spent three fantastic days in Minneapolis. My room accommodations were at the Minneapolis International Hostel. Usually, at hostels, I bunk in a room with other ladies but I decided to get my own room for this part of the trip. It ended up being a room the size of a closet up in the attic:

I was standing in the doorway for this picture. The room ended on the other side of the bed and there was one chair and a bedside table in the nook to the left. The only way to stand up straight was to stand in the skylight window (you can kind of see it at the top.) It sounds like I'm complaining but I found it to be perfect. It was all the room I needed. And larger rooms just mean larger messes for me.

Instead of writing a full report on hostel-living, I'll do a quick pros and cons rundown:

• Pros: Cheap (usually $25 to $35 a night in places where hotels would cost over a hundred); located in the downtown areas of cities, right in the middle of everything; they have a comfortable feel (kind-of like a mix between being at home and being at summer camp); they have kitchens that you can use and laundry facilities and usually the house host will put out information on the cheap places to eat and things to do for free; its easy to meet new people from different places.
• Cons: Being in the middle of town, it can get noisy at night (in Newport, the hostel was in the bar area and from two until five in the morning I got to listen to the drunks trying to get home and some of them seemed to be trying unsuccessfully. There was one long stint of people right outside my window debating how they were going to carry the token drunk girl home, complete with said drunk girl crying and apologizing); rooming with other people can make it hard to get to sleep (I've roomed with a girl that snored loud enough to drown out my dad's snores, a woman that had incessant coughing fits through the night, and a sleep-talker who would have moments of talking loud and fast until someone else in the room calmed her down).

I do need to admit, though, that I am writing all of this while I'm sitting in a suite at the Hilton in Fargo. That's right -- living the high life in Fargo. I cashed in all of my rewards points on the credit card that I've had for the last ten years. Its labor day weekend and my plan is to hibernate in luxury while the masses take to the highways for picnics and what-have-you. I've got Diet Coke and Twizzlers and US magazine and a jacuzzi bathtub. Well, helllloooo, Saturday night.

Random pic of Northern Minnesota backroads:

What I've listened to in the last week:

"Shake the Sheets" by Ted Leo and the Pharmacists

"War on Errorism" by NOFX

"Rabbit Fur Coat" by Jenny Lewis and the Watson Twins

"Yellow Submarine" by the Beatles

"Painful" by Yo La Tengo

"Z" by My Morning Jacket

"27" by Mon River Ramblers

"One Beat" by Sleater-Kinney

"All Hands On The Bad One" by Sleater-Kinney

"New Moon (Disc 1)" by Elliott Smith

"Bangmasters" by Van Morrison

Soundtrack of the movie "Marie Antoinette"

"Cassadaga" by Bright Eyes

"Let It Be...Naked" by The Beatles

"Daybreaker" by Beth Orton

"Kicking Television" by Wilco

"The Early Years" by Tom Waits (was a perfect match for Northern Minnesota)

"Just Like the Fambly Cat" by Grandaddy

Audiobook: Discs 1-3 of "Holidays on Ice" by David Sedaris

Audiobook: Discs 4-5 of "Chelsea, Chelsea, Bang, Bang" by Chelsea Handler

Audiobook: Discs 1-4 of "Tale of Two Cities" by Charles Dickens