June 21, 2004
Ah, California! Can you smell it?
Even the smell was familiar, I realized as I grabbed my bags from my car. It was a different smell than the one I had left behind in the mountains of western Wyoming that morning, just after coffee and hugs with a friend who graciously let me sleep on her couch for two nights. It was different, too, from the dusty desert smell of central Nevada, where I'd planned to lay my head. It was a peculiar combination of pine, sage, and dust that means only one thing - I was in the Sierras. I'd driven 250 miles more than I'd planned that afternoon in order to cross the California border. It was too tempting not to.
That was a week ago, nearly, and the next day I drove across the Bay Bridge and south to my parents' driveway. I've spent the time since doing...well, not much. Recovering, I guess. Soaking it all in, absorbing how much has changed, how much hasn't, in both this place and in myself. And I still can't seem to get over being tired, a feeling that has plagued me since Boston.
I've done a little bit of statistic gathering. I drove 11,328 miles from March 12th to June 15th. I slept in 35 different beds, and on one couch. I passed through 28 states (21 of them new to me) and two foreign countries. I ate way too much fast food, something that means I'll spend more time that I probably want to at the gym this summer.
Here's what my "visited states" map looked like before this trip:
And here's what it looks like now:
create your own personalized map of the USA
I still have a few holes to fill, but I more than doubled the number of states I visited, plus I added Ireland and the province of Ontario, Canada. Not bad for three months.
I have a few holes to fill in in this blog, as well. I hope to do that in the coming week or so, as I slip back into a writing routine. There are still tales to tell, so be sure to check back in!
I haven't figured out yet what I'll do with this blog now that this adventure was over. Should I continue posting about my life? Leave me a comment and let me know your opinion!
June 13, 2004
Backtrack: New England
(I have decided to stop trying to post entries in chronological order, at least not strictly. The events in this entry took place May 22nd and 23rd.)
It was cold and wet and dreary on my drive through New England, but that didn't make it any less pretty. I drove down narrow highways through small towns and past trees. So many trees – miles and miles and miles of trees.
After crossing the border into New Hampshire, I drove for hours without seeing too much in the way of civilization. Clearing after clearing of small cabins and larger custom houses passed by in the cool forest. But there were no fast food outlets, no coffee shops, and no hotels. All was quaint and rustic, so I was a little shocked at a flash of neon off to the right:
TATTOOS & BODY PIERCING
The motel was nothing special, but the room was clean and comfortable and within walking distance of a decent restaurant/brewery. Not that there was anything else close by, but that was enough for me – a warm room, a comfortable bed, and a decent place to eat. A decent place to eat with an actual stuffed black bear for a mascot. This bear, according to a sign, was hit by a truck near the restaurant a few years earlier. Hmm. I hoped this was the only black bear I would encounter that night!
I hit the road after partaking of the store-bought donuts at the hotel's free continental breakfast. Withing 20 miles I came across another hotel, better looking than the one I'd stayed at, and then another and another. It seems I was on the verge of civilization when I stopped. Oh well.
I was on the verge of another aspect of the New Hampshire countryside, as well. The dense line of trees broke from time to time to reveal lakes full of dark water. There were lakes of all shapes and sizes through this stretch of New Hampshire, and the resorts, cabins, cottages, and equipment rental stores to accompany them. I could tell, without asking anyone or stopping at a tourist information booth, that this was a recreational playground area. In good weather.
This day, it was deserted, or at least there weren't any people out on the lakes or beaches. I did see plenty of RV's on the road, people sitting in coffee shops, smoke coming from cottage chimneys. But at 48 degrees, no one was out on the water. They were partaking in the other New Hampshire tourist pastime: shopping. Like Oregon, New Hampshire does not have sales tax. It does, however, have more than it's fair share of outlet malls.
It was at one of these that I stopped for lunch. Actually, I stopped to use the restroom (one of the hazards of small highway driving is a lack of state-funded rest stops) but I was glad I did. If I hadn't stopped, hadn't been intrigued by the variety of stores and amount of people walking around, I never would have walked into Wilson's leather. And I wouldn't have walked out half an hour later – after trying on nearly every black, waist-length, zippered leather jacked in stock – with a bargain: the raspberry-satin-lined, waist-length, zip-up, soft black leather jacket of my dreams (or at least a two year search) for a mere $60 (original price tag: $250). So what if it is last year's style? I'll be wearing this puppy for years to come.
And I fully admit to succumbing to weakness and buying tank tops I don't need at the Gap outlet. I bought them thinking I'd hit sweltering heat in the Midwest. Instead, I've encountered chilly temperatures, cloudy skies, severe thunderstorms, and tornado watches. I've had more use of the leather jacket than the tank tops.
States on the East Coast are small, at least to my Western mind and driving habits, so I quickly entered Vermont after leaving the outlet malls of New Hampshire. Not that I would have been able to tell the difference without passing a "Welcome to Vermont" sign. More trees, a few lakes, different colored license plates. Soon enough, I happened upon the largest New England lake of all, Lake Champlain.
I was in Burlington, VT, a town that, on a different day, I would have delighted in exploring. The downtown was compact, well-maintained, and full of small shops, cafes, and restaurants. What it did not have a lot of are hotel rooms. There is one hotel in the proper town of Burlington, and they were full up due to the university graduation. I ended up where I didn't want to be, on the strip of chain motels near the airport. I should have driven back into town for dinner, but I couldn't muster up the energy, and ended up having a not-great piece of fish from the hotel restaurant.
I didn't see much of the lake until the next morning, when I picked up a pastry and coffee from an independent coffee shop and parked near the park, next to the police station (something I didn't realize until I went to leave. I think I'm lucky I didn't get a parking ticket). I could see across to New York on the far shore, or at least I thought I could. Maybe it was just one of the lake's many islands. In any event, the ferry I'd hoped to take across the lake wasn't running for another week. With an extra hour's drive in front of me, I headed north, crossed the short bridge to the larger islands at the top of the lake, and made my way to upstate New York, a day of skirting the Canadian border, and a date with a lighthouse.
June 12, 2004
Welcome Vista
At first I couldn't be sure I really saw them. Was it a mirage, a trick of a mind that wanted so badly to see? Or was it - again - only clouds and a trick of light and distance. A corner turned, a clear sky, and I was sure.
Mountains. Great big dark jaggy mountains. The Continental Divide.
These were the tallest mountains I'd seen on my trip, and maybe for longer than that, as I didn't cross any mountains on my southern route tothe east. And today I'll cross them, or at least cross the first range, over a pass nearly 10,000 feet high. That's the pass, not the mountains. The mountians will be, I don't know, twelve, thirteen, fourteen thousand feet high.
I'll spend the next two nights in their breath-stealing heights, visiting with a friend. They will very nearly be my last two nights on the road, at least for this trip. I estimate one night in Nevada - probably Winnemucca - before descending to the Pacific Ocean and home.
I'd recognized it for most of yesterday, the feeling of being home again. Which seems strange, since yesterday I was in South Dakota, and I'd never been there. But so much of the terrain was familiar. The natural vegetation didn't have the bright green resonance of the East Coast. It was brown, dry, sere. The scattered buildings were wood, not brick or stone, and often made of logs. Granite spires, small bubbling streams, pine trees, even bison and pronghorn made me feel at home.
This was familiar territory, if unseen by me before this day. I knew these roads, I knew these people and their customs. Did I really feel more relaxed, or was it just my imagination? I felt like i could drive forever, but I knew that would be foolish, knew that once I left the Interstate, town and motels would be few and far between. Today is soon enough for the windy roads and high passes and breathtaking vistas.
Yeah, mountains. Great big dark jaggy mountains. The West. Home.
June 07, 2004
Details to Follow
In the past two weeks, I've driven through New Hampshire, Vermont, upstate New York, Ontario, Michigan, and Illinois. I've spent the night in a lighthouse, put a face to an on-line friend, re-connected with relatives long unseen, and met relatives I didn't really know existed. I saw both Bill Clinton and George Carlin speak in Chicago, and now I'm on the road again.
What I haven't done in the past two weeks is write. I do want to tell you - in full detail - about these experiences, I just haven't been able to put them down, not in the way I want to. The stress of a long journey, so much time spent alone, the detail and depth of experiences - it is all taking a toll on my brainpower.
In a week or ten days, I'll be home again. Some of what I want to say may make it on this site before then, or it may not. It will all, eventually, be here. I promise.
June 01, 2004
Finding Nathaniel
The second half of my trip was quickly proving to be more jam-packed than the first. I think this is because I planned down time for the first part. The second half has been mostly unplanned, and I think I have tried to do too much. I hadn't seen everything in Boston, of course, in my 36 hours there. But getting up on Friday morning, I had no idea what I wanted to do. Worse, I couldn't seem to muster the energy to do anything. My feet and body were tired. My brain was exhausted and in threat of shutting down if I tried to do one more hour of wandering the Freedom Trail or going to Harvard or even walking past Fenway Park.
I decided I needed a task, one that would take me out of the hostel and out into the city, but that wouldn't take too much brain or foot power. Seeing the graves and burying grounds the day before had given me an idea.
My mother's mother was a Gorham, and it was in elementary school that I first learned a Gorham had played a role in my country's fight for independence. Nathaniel Gorham, potentially a relative, though that hasn't been confirmed, was a Boston area businessman. He sat on the committee that "framed" the Constitution, was president of the second Continental Congress, signed the Constitution, and – along with his partner Rufus King – once owned great tracts of land in Maine and Ohio (though he was forced to return these lands to the government in the 1780's). Having viewed the graves of other patriots of the era, I decided to try and find his grave.
I started by asking a ranger at the National Park Service office. I thought perhaps they would have a list, but they didn't. However, the ranger pointed me to a website that has thousands of listings of gravesites of famous people. It was on this site that I discovered he was buried at the Phipps Street Burying Ground, across the river in Charlestown. It took me a while – and two different maps – before I found out exactly where that was, but it turned out to be a short and easy T ride.
The neighborhood wasn't great, cheap looking apartment buildings, lots of kids hanging out in front of the CVS store on the corner, a little boy in only a diaper running away from his mother in a concrete yard. But the grounds was right where I expected it to be, though smaller and not as well kept as those along the Freedom Trail. And the gates were locked.
I looked in vain for a way to get in. Was there another gate along a different side? No, most of the rest of the yard was closed off with chain link fence due to a nearby construction project. Then I actually stopped and read the sign: Nathaniel Gorham, president of the Continental Congress (buried in an unmarked grave)…I guess it didn't matter that I couldn't get into the graveyard. Still, I looked at the fence again, just to see if I couldn't climb over. In the end, I decided not to chance it and left.
But there was still hope of finding other graves of other Gorhams from the same era. In Maine, there is a town called "Gorham" and one called "West Gorham." I'd seen them on a map. Maine wasn't on my original itinerary, but is so close to Boston, I decided I couldn't pass up the opportunity.
Boston had been hot and humid the day I went grave searching, but when I packed up to leave town the next day, the thermometer barely hit 50 degrees. I decided to take the scenic route, as usual, and thought I might stop in Salem. I took the wrong highway, though, and ended up driving around the tip of Cape Anne, instead. This is a rugged and beautiful piece of coast, but also fairly empty. There weren't many places to stop, and with the chilly weather and high winds, I decided not to. Except at this pier, where I could look across the Atlantic Ocean to Ireland.
I didn't stop again until I'd crossed the state line into Maine. I had a nice bowl of chowder as an independent restaurant and tried to warm up. I hadn't known about the chilly weather and wasn't dressed right. I hung out in the restaurant as long as I dared, but never quite stopped shivering.
Back in the car, I double checked my map and soon turned left. West. Homeward, though I knew it would be a long time before I got there. The first truly westward travel of the journey. And barely an hour later, I saw the first sign, which looked very weird to me. "Gorham" and an arrow. Gorhams, this way. Gorhams to the west.
It wasn't long before I was there and saw the Gorham name on everything from gift shops to gas stations. I wondered if it would be easy to find a cemetery, and would the town have more than one, and would there be an actual Gorham buried in it? And then, there it was, on the side of the road, the town cemetery. I braked hard and jumped out of the car with my ski cap on and my camera in my hand and I'm sure I startled some poor local driving by when I ran across the road.
It didn't take long to find the monument, either, as it was on the main pathway bisecting the yard. "King/Gorham" it said, and figured the two families must have intermarried, though I couldn't tell that from the names inscribed there. This is where Rufus King, Nathaniel's business partner and a fellow signer of the Constitution, is buried. The oldest Gorham is Frederick, son of William. I believe William is the oldest of Nathaniel's sons, though I'd have to check to be sure.
I didn't find any other Gorhams, and went back to the car. Before leaving town, I got gas, hoping the receipt would say "Gorham," but it didn't. Farther along the small state highway, Gorham this and Gorham that continued to pop up, but with decreasing frequency. Eventually, they petered out, and I crossed the border into New Hampshire.
Duck Riding
With tired feet, I looked around for another way to experience more of Boston. I'd seen these funky trucks in other cities, but hadn't taken a tour on one yet. Boston was the place to take a duck tour.
Ducks are amphibious trucks, built during WWII for beach assaults, such as that on D-Day. The ones that give tours in various cities are leftovers, ones that didn't make it overseas. They can negotiate a river or harbor with the same ease as they navigate city streets, which makes for a unique perspective on a city.
Drivers/guides on the duck tours, at least with the Boston company, dress up in costumes of their choosing. We got a guy who teaches ESL and dresses as "Captain Paul Reverse." He was a jokey guy, but my duck was full of jaded adults, and most of the jokes fell flat. I fell bad for him, but he seemed to take it in stride. He's probably used to it.
Our tour started at the Prudential Center, not far from the hostel. At first we passed sites I'd already seen – the state house, Faneuil Hall, Quimby Market. Then we turned down a different path and drove on a bridge past the Science Museum, down a side street, along a dirt road and into the Charles River. Our guide asked how many people wanted a big splash. We all voted "yes" and he sped up as if he were going to drive down the ramp full speed, but slowed to a sane pace at the last minute.
On the road, the ducks have a top speed around 25 miles per hour; in the water, it's full steam ahead at 6 knots. Not a speedy vehicle any way you look at it! But it was fun tooling down the river, looking at the cormorants and bridges and buildings and the people walking and cycling the trails.
From the river is one of the best places to view the progress of the Big Dig. This is a construction project that has been wreaking havoc with Boston traffic for a decade, and looks to take another two or three years before completion. There will be a new tunnel under the river, better roads, and XXX acres of new parkland. But right now, it is a construction site and looks like it. Not the prettiest of views, and I heard rumors of hurrying some things up and/or spending money to make it look better in advance of the Democratic National Convention in July.
The duck is too big to drive the streets of the North End, but we did drive along its edge after coming out of the river. I'm sorry now that I didn't take the time to wander around this oldest of Boston's neighborhoods, but I invoked what is becoming a common phrase on this trip: A reason to come back!
We got to fight commuter traffic through town back to the Prudential Center, and soon the tour was over. It was a quick walk back to the hostel, leaving time for a nap and a shower before heading down to Newbury Street for dinner at an Italian/Moroccan restaurant. This is a very cute street, rows of brownstones with shops in the basements and sometimes on the first floor. Lots of restaurants, most with sidewalk dining areas, little boutiques, more music stores (the neighborhood is near the Berklee School of Music). I walked around a little after dinner, but found myself becoming bored with my own company. The easiest way to deal with that is to go to sleep, so I headed through the warm night air to the hostel to do just that.
On the Trail of Freedom
When I told people I was going to Boston they all, to a (wo)man, told me I had to take "that walk," the red-painted one that went to all the historical sights. They were talking about the Freedom Trail.
The Freedom Trail is truly a red brick or red-painted line linking 16 sites related to the Revolutionary War. The sites stood separately until a couple of decades ago, and now they form a 2.5-mile walk around old Boston and over the river to Charlestown. There is a map available from the National Park Service, whose office in Boston is annoyingly in the middle of the trail rather than at one of its ends. But the trail, though 2.5 miles long, winds back on itself, so the office isn't really that far away.
Some of the sites have signs, and some you can go into for free or a fee. The trail starts at a "T" station, which makes it easy to get to from anywhere in the Boston area. I think it ends near a "T" station, too, but I didn't walk the whole thing at once.
I walked from the hostel to the start of the trail, a mile or two along Boylston Street and past Boston Common. It was a nice walk, mingling with commuters on their way to work and watching birds and squirrels frolic. I found the start of the trail and made my way to the first stop, the Massachusetts State House. If I remember correctly, its gold-filigreed dome used to be copper, and that copper was made and formed at Paul Revere's shop.
Two of the stops after that were "burying grounds" – today we would call them cemeteries or graveyards. The first burying ground was very interesting. Graves here included that of the people killed in the Boston Massacre, one of the pivotal moments leading up to the war when a snowball fight escalated to musket fire and ended with five dead. Plus the graves of Samuel Adams, Ben Franklin's parents, and the woman credited as "Mother Goose." Though several of the headstones here were as old as those I saw in Ireland, the inscriptions were still legible. A sign told me it was because of the hard slate they used. And several of the headstones bore the same decoration, a winged skull. I rather liked it.
After the burying grounds, I came to the old Massachusetts State House. It was from the small balcony on the end of this brick building that the Declaration of Independence was first read to the public. And just a few steps from that is Fanueil Hall, a meeting hall built in the 1760's and expanded in the 1820's to its present size. This is where patriots would meet to take about the new laws being enacted, such as the Stamp Act, which placed an unfair burden on England's American Colonies. "Taxation without representation is charity." I can't remember who said that, but it came up several times during my stay in Boston. This is also the hall where escaped slave Frederick Douglas told his story, where suffragettes called people to allow women to vote, and where John Kennedy found out he won the presidential election in 1960.
Across the river in Charlestown is a monument to the battle of Bunker Hill (though at the time of the battle it had another name). The monument is an obelisk and looks like a much smaller Washington Monument. You can climb to the top here, 294 steps up a winding staircase with stone walls close on either side. My thighs started burning and my pulse raising before I'd hit to 75th step, but I made it all the way to the humid enclosed top and was rewarded with great views of Charlestown, the harbor, and across the river to downtown Boston. From there, I could also see the next stop on the trail, the U.S.S. Constitution.
She is also known as "Old Ironsides," a nickname she gained in the War of 1812 when crew members noticed how cannon balls bounced off her thick oak hull. She is still a commissioned ship in the US Navy, manned by Navy personnel, but she doesn't leave her berth very often nor go very far when she does. I arrived late in the day, too late for the last tour below decks, but I was able to wander around topside. There are still cannon, but no ammunition.
There were more sites back across the harbor in Boston, in the North End, sites such as the Old North Church, where the lanterns were lit ("one if by land, two if by sea") before the battles of Lexington and Concord (or was it the battle of Bunker Hill?). Although I took the ferry across the harbor and landed near Feneuil Hall, I was worn out. I jumped onto the nearest train and went home, exhausted and with a head so full of facts, I don't think I could have put in any more information.
With all the monuments and statues in Boston, you know they have to be cleaned some time. I just didn't think I'd see it. Nor would I mistake this bird for part of the statue, as I did until I saw it turn its head.
The "new" and old Massachusetts State Houses:
More items from the Trail, including the inside of Faneuil Hall:
To Boston
One purpose of this trip was to tick states off of my "been there" list. With that in mind, I chose to drive some lesser roads through Rhode Island, and I had a simple lunch in Newport. Nothing fancy – just a sandwich in a coffee shop, and a quick drive around the harbor area. It's a pretty town. I'll stop back in there if I ever go that way again.
Driving into Boston was more harrowing than driving into New York City. I had directions from Mapquest, but wasn't prepared for expressways that disappear beneath the city, and streets that curve around and go in all directions. I ended up completely lost. But, as luck would have it, I also ended up on the same street that the hostel is on!
Checking in was easy, though I had to switch rooms to one that had a locker. I didn't want to leave my laptop lying around the room in a place that big, although the rooms only have 6 beds apiece, and the security is good.
Actually, I'd say this hostel, a member of Hostelling International, is one of the best I've stayed in. There was always someone at the desk, the kitchen is clean, there are free donuts and coffee every morning, and nearly every evening, there is a free, organized activity – a trip to a museum, or to see a band, or go to a nightclub. The kitchen, dorm rooms, common rooms, and bathrooms were always clean, if sometimes cluttered. They weren't quite full when I was there, but I've heard it is imperative to have reservations during the summer. There is a T station (Boston's subway) a block-and-a-half away, and just around the corner are several cheap eateries, a music store, a small grocery, and a Starbucks with for-a-fee wireless. It was a great set up for me.
I looked in the free weekly when I arrived, and decided to head down the subway toward Harvard to have dinner and catch a band. The club is several different small venues and a couple of dining areas serving Moroccan food. It was very good (chicken and beans and rice and a beer). But when I went to walk around the building to the right door for the venue, I didn't like the looks of the street very much. It reminded me in some way of Market Street in San Francisco, with a few bums, not too many people walking around, all the storefronts closed with metal gates.
I don't know if it was my instincts, or if I was tired, or what. But I left then, got back on the subway, and was in bed and asleep by eleven o'clock.
Home and Away
At home, the dogs, Tayto and Blackie, went crazy with greeting us. After a light supper, we took them up to TickNock for a walk.
I forgot my camera and kicked myself for that almost as soon as we got up there. The sun had finally came out over Dublin, and from that height we could see beautiful vistas. The dogs had a blast running along the road on the way up and chasing after a stick on the way down.
Well, Tayto had fun chasing after the stick. She is the hyper one of the two dogs, the one that always has a toy in your lap and wriggles like crazy when you walk in the door. Blackie is calmer, and mostly stays under the table unless she really wants to be scritched. But she did enjoy grabbing hold of the stick in Tayto's mouth and making Tayto growl.
The walk up Ticknock was a steep one, and I thought how nice it would be to have that close by, to be able to take the dog up there every day, or nearly. We have some places in the San Jose area to take the dog, but very few where she can be off-leash, and none that would be that empty. We were the only ones there. Of course, it was nine o'clock at night, the sun not yet setting, and that wouldn't happen in San Jose, either!
Tommy would be gone to work before I got up the next day, so I said my goodbye to him before going to bed. He and Aideen both tried to get me to change my ticket, and I might have if it wouldn't have cost me. For only the third time on this trip, I was sad to have to leave somewhere – or, more accurately, someone.
Aideen and I had a quiet morning; I spoke to Tom briefly on the phone, and Aideen gave me back the part of my manuscript she'd had time to mark up. All packed and into the car, then the airport and the plane. I tried to sleep, but it was impossible – my jetlag was gone, finally.
Soon, I was back on U.S. soil, back in my packed-full car, and on the highway. I'd decided not to try going back into New York City. Instead I headed north from JFK, through Queens and the Bronx and into Connecticut. And traffic. And hour to go five miles, and all I wanted to do was find a hotel and go to sleep.
I ended up at a nice Holiday Inn, on the same floor as the guest laundry. I holed up for the entire next day, doing laundry, reading, watching TV, and napping. I didn't see the stone towers of Yale University, a hundred yards away, until I went to dinner that night. I couldn't seem to muster the energy to do a campus tour. Instead I slept some more, and in the morning, hit the highway for Boston.
