Better Late Than Never: The Loneliest Roadtrip, Day 1

I haven’t been the most timely gathering this post (see also: entire blog, messy house, time clock at work for further enforcement of my specialization in lateness and laziness), but I think it’s important to record regardless. In August, I took what I call the Loneliest Roadtrip: just me (for the most part… I cheated a bit) in my Beetle, driving across 9 states in 9 days. For some time, I’ve had a dream of shooting 8mm film in every state and compiling it into an old-fashioned travelogue, and this was a trial-run for what I hope to be a singular months-long van adventure. It turned out to be somewhat a bust since my camera was on the fritz about 50% of the time, but I did enjoy getting out and exploring the good ol’ U.S. of A. while spending some quality time with myself. I also got to try out my Diana camera (yip yip!) and catch a few of my fella’s shows while his band was on tour – not a shabby use of time and gas money, if you ask me. Anyway, here are some musings and photographic evidence from the road.

Day 1: Colorado, Wyoming, Montana

Left Denver at 1:00 PM (gulp, late). Pokiness facilitated by locking myself out of my apartment building while loading up the Beetle. After a middling attempt at climbing through my too-high window (at which point BeaCat escaped, urgh), Smokes-a-lot lady let me back into the building, and she did so without getting off her celly or putting down her cig, even in the lobby. My type of gal. Gave the kitties kisses and hit the dusty road. Before I could even escape the city, this greeted me:

It’s really unfortunate that I couldn’t get a picture of the side, which proclaimed “Abortion doesn’t make you unpregnant, it makes you have a DEAD BABY.” America the Beautiful.

Drove through Wyoming on the quick, and somehow managed to miss Little America. How does one miss Little America? Signs bloody everywhere. Saw signs for the Oregon Trail Ruts, and whipped off the road with nary a second thought. My parents took my best friend and I to the historical site (and many others) in 5th grade during our obsessive, long skirt-wearing, Oregon Trail game-playing period, and that remains one of my favorite vacations to this day. It’s still impressive that so many people took this trip in janky wagons that ruts were cut into the rock.

(Note bullet holes – this seems to be a common issue with historical stops across America. Did I mention how much I love our country? No seriously, I do. Charming.)

Look, I’m stuck in a rut! Yuk, yuk, yuck. I thought it would be a good idea to take cheesy self-portraits at my favorite stops, but this was the only one I managed… because cheesy self-portraits make one feel cheesier than any person should. However! this is a pretty good example of how deep those puppies are.

It had already been sprinkling off and on, but as I walked from the ruts back to my car, light rain quickly turned into raucous thunder and lightning, and there was imminent threat of a torrential downpour. Made it to register cliff as it struck, and managed to hop out and admire for a hot second. Love that it’s basically glorified graffiti.

Seconds after I pulled in, the wind picked up and was blowing my umbrella inside out, and I was forced back to the road. Made it to Montana courtesy chocolate-covered espresso beans and Amanda Blank.

Drove through the scariest heat lightning storm, and I’m not exaggerating when I say that it was one of the most frightening experiences I’ve ever encountered. The lightning would strike, then travel across the ground, then rapidly strike again somewhere nearby. Camping plans foiled. Reminded myself car is grounded. Did not help. Had to stop for gas, at which point I chatted with some bikers who had also been shaken by the storm. One tried to use the Porta Potty, but there was something alive inside. Started to get a massive dehydration headache, which was likely aided by subsiding strictly on cheddar goldfish crackers and the aforementioned caffeine beans. Vowed to make it to the next town, and called my Mom to say my last good-byes, just in case. That fine woman paid for a hotel room. I lived to see another day. Never thought I’d be so happy to be watching an infomercial for Bump It in the Super 8 of Billings, Montana.

Don’t lie, you want a Bump It too.

 

Treasured Trash #1: The I Hate to Housekeep Book

Found at a Salvation Army: The I Hate to Housekeep Book

A well-used instruction manual from the late 1950s for those lazy housewives of the world, The I Hate to Housekeep Book doles out advice in order to maintain the patriarchal order… but with some shortcuts! Its previous owner took its words to heart, and the book is endearingly covered with personal notes, addenda to instructions, and the musty stench of fifty years. And it’s chartreuse! 

I love how all at once it can be charming and hilarious and horrifying in that way where you’re like, “OMG! Stockings?! Taking a day off from housekeeping only once every six weeks?! Looking as the Lord intended?! Nothing could ever be like this. Oh wait, it was? It was like this? Fuck.”

 

Summer fun, urban gardening edition.

In an effort to become more self-sufficient (you know, just in case of the apocalypse or whatever), we decided to try our hands at growing a garden this year. We pulled out the mass of weeds in our “yard,” stirred in some compost, and cordoned the area off with rocks found in the general vicinity. The path was made from bricks left around by our neglectful landlord – materials can be cheap! Two hard days of work later, voila! Just add seeds and water. I must say, it looks quite good, especially considering that we had little gardening experience coming into this. It makes me wonder why more people don’t do it.

before:

after:

Our squash (front right) is out of hand, and we have more greens than we want to eat. And I just enjoyed the best tomato & mozzarella sandwich with fresh, homegrown basil, so… success! We’re battling gardens with our friends (turning things into meaningless contests always makes them better). I think we win.

Here’s a great site about urban gardening, and here’s one about making a bee-friendly garden, which is important because we’re killing all the bees with our cell phones and bad attitudes. Lastly, here’s a site on starting your own compost anywhere, which I highly recommend. It’s easy, it has cut our garbage in half, and it’s literally heaps of fun watching the stuff rot. You’ll be thankful you acquired these skills once the effects of peak oil hit and America becomes a land of chaos in which you would murder for a tomato… or when you beat your friends at growing stuff. Either is good.

 

He’s on the ten.

A new Drunk History came out this week! Hooray! 

If you happen to be unfamiliar with Drunk History, you probably have a life. That fact notwithstanding, you should probably forego that life for 20 minutes and become familiar with Drunk History, because it is the best and you are missing out. My favorite is still the first volume, which involves everyone’s favorite Bluth,  Michael Cera.

Volume 2 and Volume 2.5 are about Ben Franklin and Ben Franklin fucking, respectively. Enjoy!