Alaska Days 1-3

Miles: 2,384
Average MPG: 19.2
Gallons: 124.17
Bears and Wolves: 4
Alaska Beards: 3
Miles Hiked: 0

Well we made it to Denali National Park...technically a private campground just outside the park called Grizzly Bear Campground. It's a brisk night with a low of about 48F.  We are camped overlooking a beautiful river and are enjoying the soft ripple of water over smooth stones. Yulia, Nick and Mirella drove very well and covered the bulk of the distance.  My specialty was the night time sections.  I remember a little road trip I took in college with Trevor, Lili, Sam, Joe, and Jean.  They killed the days and I owned the night (the trip was from Hillsdale Michigan out to South Padre Island, 30 hours of sweet blacktop).
For some inexplicable reason I have been blessed with excellent sight (20/10 right and 20/20 left) and, when properly caffeinated, very good reflexes. So I love the night drives.
We only had one little issue on the way up (besides a few minor wrong turns), the Canadian Mounties!? On the U.S. / Canadia (YES! the proper name for "Canada" is Canadia, or America's Hat, or that loft apartment above a really great party) border we hit a little problem.  When the border agent asked for our passports and an explanation of how all the passengers knew each other he got suspicious and told us to pull over to the parking area.  We complied and went inside the 1960s era facility. A stone-faced Asian Mounty asked me to explain how these disparate people all happen to be going to Alaska. I felt his subtle implication loud and clear: you must be smugglers trying to get some of that chine-white American common sense into the warped world of Canadia...and I won't let you, Eh!
While he and his comrades in Mounty-dom removed every last piece of gear from our car and using the most sophisticated techniques known to a Canadia-ian, a portable X-ray machine (no doubt loaned from the U.S. Border Patrol) found that we are really boring people, no booze, knives, tactical nukes, or copies of Calvin and Hobbes Revenge of the Baby-Sat (this book must be illegal in Canadia where anything fun must be viewed with suspicion, apparently including some Alaska-bound crazies in a rental car with Colorado plates). During my interroga-...I mean "cordial interview" with the Mounty, his questions led me to explain the hierarchy and organizational structure of Mars Hill Church.  I thought that was hilarious, but I tried to keep a straight face. My 5 month internship under the executive elders and their assistant really came in handy.
After surviving the Mounties, we snagged some snacks and dropped the Traverse in gear to cross the great wastes of Vancouver Before Christ and the desolate Yukon. Along the way I played California by the band Phantom Planet which Tina convinced us to change to "Laska, Laska...Laska, Laska, Oh here we come!"
I also made the mistake of self-disclosure. I told two stories that led to the creation of a mad inside joke. So in an attempt to kill an inside joke by making it a Google-able outside joke, here goes:
I was once studying with my grad school colleague Greg Teplow.  We were studying in a coffee shop (propably Zoka in U Village) and my tall and 30% African American buddy turns to me and says in a bold voice, "You Sir are a Racist!" And he immediately goes back to his notes and books.  I an sitting there kinda stunned and trying to avoid eye-contact with all the curious people looking at the little mostly white looking guy with the tall mostly black looking dude as they mentally place bets on how many second it will take the white guy to die after the black guy leaps across the table.  Greg was totally joking but the awkward reaction in the coffee shop was priceless.  Another odd story comes from my buddy Joe Seaver who had a brother who inspired him. When someone sneezes in most of the English speaking world the proper response in to say bless you but what do you say when someone coughs?  Joe's answer was brilliant: "SHUT UP!".  So I disclosed these two stories to my travelling companions.  So for the rest of the trip Josue led us in a chorus of "Shut up you racist!" Or "Shut up Sir" Or "Racist Cough-er" at random times for no apparent reason.  It was great fun. On highway 37 we saw 4 black bears just on the side of the road. At Whitehorse Yukon Terrotories, we enjoyed a nice meal at Earl's Restaurant.  They actually gave me a sweet design idea for my house.
We made the Canadia / Alaska border at 4AM and after a laugh with the lone border patrol agent over how bad Canadia's roads are and the majesty of the Alaska state bird (the mosquito) we were back in the land of awesomeness. American roads are far better than Canadia-ian roads and actually are crowned so the rain water actually runs off of it instead of pooling.
By noon of the third day we had resupplied in Fairbanks and turned South to Denali.
Now some Pics:

 The Park Sign

 I managed to pick up a hood ornament.

An example of the beauty we encountered on the drive North

Special thanks to Bardo Pond, and my old musical friend Mogwai for providing the tunes for this blogging experience.

Eight Keys in a Chain

Miles: 9376.3
Gallons Burned: 323.3
Caffeinated Drinks: 55
Gigabytes of Pictures: 24.9

I was reading Don Miller's "A Million Miles in a Thousand Years", and he quoted Steve Pressfield who said that a writer must push through the resistance that he faces when trying to write. The bigger the resistance, the more important the story. Not to say that this blog post is world changing, but I really am not in the mood/state of mind to write. So here goes.
More about Florida:
I woke up at Flamingo Everglades at 7am and started south towards Key Largo the first of the hundreds of small dots that stretch 175 miles into the Atlantic and Gulf of Mexico. The drive was great and I was impressed with the sheer extent of all the causeways so much like a concrete belt keeping them from floating away.

As soon as I hit Key West, I drove around getting feel for the place. When I hit the intersection of Elizabeth and Fleming, I saw and grabbed an open parking space in front of the public library. I walked without any direction, just people watching, until I wandered west to lands end and the entry of Fort Zachary Taylor Historic SP. I had no idea what the park was like, but lots of cars were going in, so I figured why not. So I paid $2.50 (as a pedestrian!) and walked the 1/3 of a mile to the park. This is what I found:

To get a map of where this is click HERE.
I swam in the water that was 69 degrees. Apparently, that is cold for this area! The sun was out and it was 70 degrees (21C), so I guess my farewell to the sun in the Everglades was premature. I was right on the division between the Gulf's waters and the Atlantic. But at this beach I was technically in the Atlantic. This is my first time swimming in the Atlantic, I kinda guess that the rest of it isn't this warm.
I spoke with Charlie from Ontario while riding the waves. He is one of the many snow birds who live the 6 winter months in Florida. He told me a little of the history of Key West. There was a mayor of the city named Charles "Sonny" McCoy who water skied all the way from Key West to Cuba on Sept. 10, 1978. He was a crazy man who was escorted into Havana Harbor by a pair of Soviet-made gun boats. That means he made 105 miles behind a speed boat.
Today the town is the usual mix of tourist traps, bars, clubs, sand and mom-N'-pop restaurants.
After enjoying 2.5 hours in the water and on the beach, I showered off, toweled down, and headed back to town. Once back into town, I saw this rare and sweet BMW X6 M:

I walked to the southern end of Duval Street and recorded this:

The storm was building and you can see the waves are picking up. The only thing was, I didn't know there was going to be a storm, let alone a full blown mini-tropical storm.
By this time, I was feeling hungry. Being so close to Cuba, I felt like I ought to try the local cuisine. As the first rain drops started to fall, I walked north on Duval until I saw a tiny sign pointing to El Meson de Pepe, a family owned restaurant that has been open for 20 years. I really enjoyed the feel of the place, and I asked to be seated near the open square in the back near the Mariachi band. Right after I ordered the heavy rain started and the band quit. The spray came in and hit me in the face as the wind roared and put out the candle on my table. People rushed in to seek shelter and a man at the adjacent table told me that the storm had been forecast for days, and the wind was supposed to gust to 80 miles per hour (129 kph)! This is what it was like:

You can't get a good feel from the storm but it's the best I could do.
Anyways, as I dodged rain blasts, I ate this great meal:


I ordered the Completa de Caballo Grande, Pepe's Homemade Sangria, and some Key Lime Pie. The main course was a sampler of classic Cuban fare. First there was Lechon Asado which is roasted pork marinated in cumin-"mojo" sauce. Then I had Ropa Vieja which is shredded beef stewed with fresh tomatoes, green peppers, onions and red wine; it is translated as "old clothes" (Lili please correct me if I got that wrong). The third item was spicy Picadillo, ground beef steeped in sofrito, olives, capers, and raisins. This was the best of the three main courses. I think the sofrito was the key ingredient. Complementing the meal was a pleasant light Sangria. I admit that I was full, but I promised Eric from Pensacola that I'd have Key Lime Pie on the keys, so I put my pride/good sense aside and dug in. I got only half way through the pie and was feeling pretty good. All in all, the meal was great, the ambiance was great, and the service was great. So I tipped well (No to say that I normally don't tip well) and started walking back to my car though the rain.
The streets were flooded and occasional people ran in the shadows dodging the rain. Police in pairs were sipping coffee under the cover of awnings and chatting quietly. The night was dark and I was feeling good. Just to be clear, I had one glass of Sangria. Just one. There is less alcohol in a glass of Sangria than in a glass of Merlot. Yet my head began to swirl. I felt hot, stumbled, and my vision became clouded. As I leaned against a brick building, I felt my stomach rise. I barely made it to a trash can before I puked the entire meal. A patrol man looked at me suspiciously. After, I felt better. I walked another 20 steps and suddenly found that there was still another half of the meal to lose. So I "washed" the sidewalk in Puréed Ropa Vieja.
Eventually I made it back to the car feeling terrible. I don't know if it was the food, some stomach bug, my pre-meal dehydration, the sudden transition from eating to my ever-brisk walking pace, or just some inexplicable random event. I decided to take a nap from 8pm to 11pm in my car. Afterward, I felt marginally better.
My 9 hours on Key West were fun despite the unfortunate end.
Next time I'll tell you about another Floridian experience...

Super Saints Win

Miles: 6810.4
Gallons Burned: 231.8
Caffeinated Drinks: 37

Still here on the pier in Flamingo Bay.
Remember how the Saints beat the Colts on that most holy of American days, Superbowl Sunday? (Congrats Andrew, you were right the heart of those Saints beat the precision of Manning) I really don't. There were some amazing passes, that fateful interception...something about the Who. My point is that I don't really remember the game, because I was with some neat people.
The day after my harrowing beach adventure, my official plan was to wake up at noon, eat some steak, and watch Mad Max, Mad Max 2: the Road Warrior, and Mad Max 3: Beyond Thunderdome. I accomplished my first two goals and even managed to start watching Mad Max when Cheryl and Susan came over to my car.
When I looked up and saw two people approaching I thought, "Oh no. What did I do wrong? Did they find out about my bonfire? Am I breaking some obscure rule about sleeping in my car? Oh no there getting closer!"
Did I mention my strong bent toward antisocialism...(I like Rand but I'm not talking about that kind of socialism right now). Anyways, these two kind and gracious beyond gracious women invited me over to a fancy RV to watch the Superbowl with them. I was so taken aback that I blurted something out then as they asked what I had just said, I said, "Let me get my shoes on." They didn't understand what I had said until I actually used intelligible words. Being a 23 year old guy from Seattle I'm used to being ignored, silently judged, sworn at, receiving the finger, and the like by complete strangers. So you might imagine what it is like to receive grace, mercy, kindness, respect, even...dare I say it...FOOD from strangers. Not just strangers but strangers who are different. Bill & Antje, Jack & Cheryl, and Brad & Susan are all older individuals who are either retired or semi-retired.
Suppose you see some strange kid with Washington State plates in a Florida State Park who has slept in his car the one day you knew he existed. Would you go out of your way to engage him (taking the risk of rudeness, rejection, even possibly danger)? How about inviting him into your home (the RV is Brad and Susan's full-time home)? I'd have a hard time doing that. But that's because I am not as nice as these six wonderful individuals. I'd like to publicly thank all six of you for your generosity and overwhelming hospitality!
I feel embarrassed that I couldn't even offer you any of my food (raw steaks, a block of cheese, and some Cheez-its don't really work).
We talked all through the game and shared stories on every topic from "special" beaches to a 170 mile-an-hour car ride that Bill once took. I enjoyed myself immensely and really treasure the experience. Unfortunately, I forgot to take a picture of them, but if you want to see them just close your eyes and imagine the 6 kindest people who have ever graced you in your time under the sun.
Feel free to leave a comment telling a story about how people have been kind to you.

Drawn and French Quartered

Miles: 5774.1
Gallons Burned: 198.2
Caffeinated Drinks: ??

I'm in Pensacola Florida sitting in the parking lot of the Naval Air Museum on naval Air Station Pensacola. I can hear Gulfstream jets and the occasional Trainer jet pass over head as I think back on my time in New Orleans...

On my way to that Restaurant with the Mango Margarita, I walked the perimeter of 34 city blocks in the French quarter, the full length of Bourbon Street 4 times, and Canal Street twice. Of course that was all done on my leg featuring the injured right calf. As mentioned before, Asprin = Win.
During this jaunt, I turned north from Jefferson Square to the rear of a Catholic Church. As I approached I saw the church's fenced-off garden and this statue.

I stopped to admire a statue of Jesus in the churchyard. The statue was lighted from beneath throwing its shadow onto a bare white wall. As I stood hands clasped about the cold wrought-iron bars, I heard familiar cords. "Eli, the Barrow boy", a song from the Decemberists, was being played by a man on the corner with his guitar. He sings the song of deep crushing sadness, brutal loss, and self destruction beautifully and brings tears to my eyes with his rendition.

Eli, the barrow boy, when they found him
Dressed all in corduroy, he had drowned in
The river down the way
They laid his body down in a church yard

This song is the song of the French Quarter for me:

These are some other sight of note (okay not the first one):
Aston Martin DB-9 ($180k) actually parked on the street!

BMW M6. I didn't even know they made one! ($102k) You may sense a pattern: cars.

These posts are scattered all over the French Quarter.

Sunday night in the Quarter: lights on, no one home.

Bourbon Street at 1am on a Saturday Night.

Each block in the French Quarter has a central courtyard. I took this in the courtyard of the Chartres House Cafe.

How many guys who are doing what I am doing actually pack an outfit like this with a long coat? (Yes I'm odd we've been over this)
Next time the run for Florida.

Long days and Not-so-Plesant Nights

Miles: 4134.2
Gallons Burned: 135.1
Caffeinated Drinks: 29

I'm here in San Antonio TX with Roger and CJ and their great kids Joshua and Caleb.
A quick note, I have been nursing a nagging injury to my right leg for 4 days now. My Soleus Muscle in my right calf has been hurting so if you guys could keep me in your thoughts and prayers, I'd be hugely appreciative. Julio thanks for the bottle of aspirin! Roger gave me some IcyHot, and if that doesn't work, I'll get some medical advice.

So now my latest brush with excitement...
I awoke to about 6 inches of fresh snow my last morning in Joshua Tree NP and this hungry coyote.

My original trip plan included a stop near Wilhoit AZ with Beverly and Jim but many towns like Wenden AZ were buried under water and mud. So under the wise council of Beverly I chose to not head to Wilhoit but rather detour South. The goal was to avoid all the Snow and flooding; well at least I avoided the flooding. Unfortunately I relied on my GPS unit to calculate a detour. It was less than successful. The two day trip:

View Stuck on a Mountian Pass 1/22/10 in a larger map
The road to Phoenix was mildly ominous as the side of I-10 was lined with 30 foot trees that had been pulled up by the roots. Once in Phoenix, the only hassle was some light traffic. The GPS told me to take SR-60 East to Show Low AZ. It did not mention the mountain passes. In case you wondered, the name of that stretch of road is "the Superstitious Highway".
I made it over a low pass and entered the sunny town of Miami AZ only problem was it was actually snowing. Snowing quite heavily. The roads were bare and wet inspiring confidence in my choice to go on, as daylight faded to black and the longest night of my life began.
Um so a typical author or poster...No scratch that, let's go with "spammer" would follow this ominous sentence with a tale of terror, suspense, excitement, or inspiration. I will instead show you a seasonally appropriate captioned picture of a silly cat!

Source.
Back to the story, I continued east passing several signs warning "Drive with caution Extreme Winter Conditions". I watched my GPS's altimeter tick from 3,000 feet to 5,000 feet in the course of 15 minutes as the visibility halved and then halved again. I passed two State Troopers assisting a U-Haul in the ditch, their lights fading in the rear-view mirror like memories of daylight.
At this point, I was concerned. My speed was a cautious 20 MPH, my horizon only 40 yards, and my tank down to 5 gallons. Four-wheel drive trucks and SUVs passed doing 50 and I shook my head in envy and disgust. I pressed on as a Snow plow blazed a short-lived trail of good traction for oncoming vehicles. I thought, "The plows are out how bad could it be?"
As my altimeter reached 5,300 I noticed the road pitch tenuously downward. The Colorado River canyon switchbacks began. By the second sharp bend my visibility was at 100 yards and the snow was a mere dusting with none on the road. The time was 8:40pm.
At the bottom of the canyon, the river roared so loudly it was clearly audible over the engine and Decemberists. At 3,200 feet I felt exultant my GPS showed a straight road ahead and the snow had completely stopped. I said a silent prayer of thanks and drove past an RV stopped in a pullout. I immediately noticed that the road slopped upward. The road was soon covered with snow and visibility was down to 20 yards. I slowed my progress to a crawl. I decided to slip into a pull off and wait for a snow plow to wander by so I could drive behind him. I got stuck. The wheels spun to no avail and I was left immobilized in the dark. Right then, the snow plow roared by. Twenty minutes of effort yielded 10 feet of progress toward the road, soaked boots, soaked gloves, and soaked pants. Then an SUV drove by. It stopped (probably to see the spectacle of the stupid guy from Washington "playing" in the snow). Three guys jumped out and helped me get unstuck. In the twenty minutes that had passed the snow plow's trail was filled with 4 fresh inches of snow. So I decided that since things weren't getting better, I was going back the way I came over the mountain pass I had already crossed. On my way back everything looked different. The previously bare road was caked in 5 new inches of snow, the RV was frosted and the formerly clear switchbacks were now practically a bobsled run. Another snow plow must have come through recently because the oncoming lane looked less snow covered than my lane, so I used it. My knuckles were not figuratively white as I climbed the perilous road and turned up the music to hide the sound of my heart in my ears. I clung to the steering wheel like a drowning man would a life saver; my eyes intent on the blind corners searching for oncoming headlights. I stopped next to a jack knifed tractor-trailer and asked the driver if he was okay. He was, and asked if I had any cell coverage. I didn't, so I drove on. There was so much snow. Falling, swirling, waiting for me like quicksand.
On a fresh switchback, I felt the right side of the car lose traction, so I counter-steered left, but then the left side lost purchase too. I went into a slow 90 degree spin as the car's momentum drove uphill. I went sideways, headlights to the rocky mountain wall. instead of breaking I tapped the accelerator and the left front tire caught traction forcing the car into a sharp 180 degree counter-spin. The windshield's view went from a charming view of a rocky facade to the empty space of the canyon. As the car's momentum carried it uphill, I saw the cliff's edge approach. I tapped the brakes with religious fervor not thinking, not feeling, yet understanding. I stopped 12 inches from the edge.
I am sideways on a steep, snow-covered, two lane road, at night, but not dead.
I won't tell you how I got the car pointed down hill, but I did. After failing to escape my white prison I headed down to where I had seen the RV to wait things out.
I slept (no sleep actually occurred I am just using the euphemism) in my car for the fourth consecutive night, ate an MRE, and got very cold (using the car's heater was out because I needed to conserve gas). The trooper who showed up after midnight said that it was best for me to stay put, but warned that the snow was not stopping until 8pm the next night. Fortunately he was wrong. My mind drifted as I tried to force sleep but, none was possible. I felt on edge, being cut off in the dark. My predicament (or maybe the hydrogen gas from the MRE heater) somehow made my meal hilarious, so I took this pic of a MRE's label: "Don't eat the chemical heater?!"

The next morning I manned-up and got out of that beautiful but dangerous canyon:


I learned that I really thrive in adventure even if cliffs and sudden death is involved. I wonder how I would fare in a real catastrophe (like Haiti) not just an uncomfortable night on the road.

Quick Word from Joshua Tree

Miles: 2370
Gallons Burned: ~81
Caffeinated Drinks: 20

My second Attempt at a V-LOG:

Discourse on Gear

Miles Clocked: 1147
Gallons Burned: ~33
Caffeinated Drinks: 8

Well today has been great I got to hit up an auto show in San Jose and enjoy time with my cousin Dave. Here are a few of the highlights including my "dream" car (to be purchased used in 2020):





I also spent time retinking my "cockpit organization" and "gear ergonomics" to increase comfort/safety while driving. To let you all share in my strange pursuit here are the pieces of E-Gear whose placement have been optimized:

The Car...

Miles Clocked: 0.0
Gallons Burned: 0.0
This is it. I guess with the car in the shop and my trusty mechanic going over her stem to stern the trip is starting to hit me as a reality. I am going to do this.
Feels good to type that.

Replacing the timing belt, flushing the radiator, possibly replacing the alternator, fixing the AC blower, and then she'll be ready to roll.
I'm excited.