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