Archives #4
July 2012
In my hunting through the kodachrome static of ancient hard drives I found this little gem. A few years ago I quit my job, bought my first brand new car and my first digital camera (odd I know after quitting my job), packed up my few eager belongings into the trunk, and headed west. Before making even the first of many car payments I set out to California. From Maine. Crazy. One 5 pound sack of GORP, a dozen hard boiled eggs, a case of Red Bull (sugar free, less of a crash crash crash), two cases of CDs pre-iPod you know, and all my meager hopes and dreams all piled in the passenger seat. Maine to California. East coast to left coast. Staunch puritanism to La la land. I gave myself ten days. I had no plans. I had no route picked out. I did no research. Never bothered to call AAA. I just went. Gassed up and gone. I had ten days. What could go wrong...
Every day I would wake up, usually in the back seat high on that new car smell, open up the map and figure out what to do that day. I knew I had to drive about 10 hours or so each day. I knew I had to go west. I knew that once I saw the sea I was good. Everything in between was up for grabs. It was pretty rad. Liberating. Freedom. On the road. Electric Koolaid. Howl. Just do it. So I did. I gave myself ten days. And each new day was one hell of a strange trip lemme tell you.
Day 7, or maybe 8 I'm not sure anymore. Too many sun-stroked miles. Too much gas station coffee. Too many nights crammed in the back seat tossing and turning. Too much sugar-free Red Bull and unfiltered Camels at this point. It was day 7. Or 8. I had a few hours to burn. Heading to the Grand Canyon. Meet-up with the Sis, few hours to burn. I pulled out the map. Looked ofr bright red tourist icons. Boom bing bang baddaladdaling ding dang dong! National Park baby! Color me good. Painted Desert and Petrified Forest National Parks to be exact. Turn right, hard hard right and cruise north a bit.
I payed the customary fees, smiled wide as the ranger gave me the free map and the nickel tour. All without leaving her booth. All without me leaving my new car smell. After a 3.2 second cursory glance over the brochure I cruised on in. Found a welcoming pull out, bright red patch of dirt. Grabbed some water, my brand new digital camera (first of my life), a power bar or two, some more water, and set a GPS waypoint-- CAR. Gone. Start walking. 100 degrees or more. Locals call it a dry heat. Screw that jazz. Hot is hot, and 100 degree hot is hot hot hot dry or not there is no escaping it. Regardless, adventure time. Rad.
July 2012
In my hunting through the kodachrome static of ancient hard drives I found this little gem. A few years ago I quit my job, bought my first brand new car and my first digital camera (odd I know after quitting my job), packed up my few eager belongings into the trunk, and headed west. Before making even the first of many car payments I set out to California. From Maine. Crazy. One 5 pound sack of GORP, a dozen hard boiled eggs, a case of Red Bull (sugar free, less of a crash crash crash), two cases of CDs pre-iPod you know, and all my meager hopes and dreams all piled in the passenger seat. Maine to California. East coast to left coast. Staunch puritanism to La la land. I gave myself ten days. I had no plans. I had no route picked out. I did no research. Never bothered to call AAA. I just went. Gassed up and gone. I had ten days. What could go wrong...
Every day I would wake up, usually in the back seat high on that new car smell, open up the map and figure out what to do that day. I knew I had to drive about 10 hours or so each day. I knew I had to go west. I knew that once I saw the sea I was good. Everything in between was up for grabs. It was pretty rad. Liberating. Freedom. On the road. Electric Koolaid. Howl. Just do it. So I did. I gave myself ten days. And each new day was one hell of a strange trip lemme tell you.
Day 7, or maybe 8 I'm not sure anymore. Too many sun-stroked miles. Too much gas station coffee. Too many nights crammed in the back seat tossing and turning. Too much sugar-free Red Bull and unfiltered Camels at this point. It was day 7. Or 8. I had a few hours to burn. Heading to the Grand Canyon. Meet-up with the Sis, few hours to burn. I pulled out the map. Looked ofr bright red tourist icons. Boom bing bang baddaladdaling ding dang dong! National Park baby! Color me good. Painted Desert and Petrified Forest National Parks to be exact. Turn right, hard hard right and cruise north a bit.
I payed the customary fees, smiled wide as the ranger gave me the free map and the nickel tour. All without leaving her booth. All without me leaving my new car smell. After a 3.2 second cursory glance over the brochure I cruised on in. Found a welcoming pull out, bright red patch of dirt. Grabbed some water, my brand new digital camera (first of my life), a power bar or two, some more water, and set a GPS waypoint-- CAR. Gone. Start walking. 100 degrees or more. Locals call it a dry heat. Screw that jazz. Hot is hot, and 100 degree hot is hot hot hot dry or not there is no escaping it. Regardless, adventure time. Rad.
Blue Mesa.
Painted.
Petroglyphs.
Petrified.
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