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My family drove through Ohio many times en route to Chicago from Pennsylvania when I was a kid. We used to stop in Ohio overnight. My uncle once lived near Dayton, in Beavercreek, and I had a nice bike ride through the countryside in that area once. My dad's van broke down near Columbus once on a drive to Dayton, so I saw a little of that town, unwillingly. I flew into Oklahoma City to attend a conference down in Norman. I spent a day driving around Oklahoma City, visiting various companies for work. I found some time to walk around the site of the memorial for the bombing victims. It was a sobering experience, with 168 empty chairs standing in a field of grass. As I stood there in the drizzling rain under my umbrella, I imagined each of those chairs as a living person, all staring at me in mute silence. This thought helped bring home to me exactly how many people 168 really is. I also visited the state capital building, and looked up at the brand new dome. I walked past the hall where busts of all the governors are stationed, a hundred or so heads staring into the center of the room. With a few others, we ventured to the canal in Bricktown one evening, but it was raining and very cold. It was not much fun at all. We went to some piano bar which I did not enjoy. My wife (girlfriend at the time) and I were driving the California coast north. We planned to stay in a hostel near Redwoods National Park, an hour or so from Oregon. Since we were so close, we drove up to Oregon. At the border I jumped out for a picture. Then we drove into Brookings and had pizza. More recently, I went to a conference in Portland. I had an interesting walk around that city, where I encountered nothing but homeless people and homosexuals. And one preacher. (See the whole story here.) After the conference, when my wife had joined me, we drove along the Columbia River, stopping at all the waterfalls and overnighting in Hood River. We also drove up Mt. Hood. Eventually we made it to Crater Lake, which was well worth the long drive. It even snowed (in June) on our second day there, and the wind was frigid. But the views were excellent. We stayed a night in Salem and another in Eugene, at the Campbell House. Then we drove back to Portland along the coast. It was a great trip, and we really loved Oregon. Duh! I live here. We moved to Bucks County in 1972 from Illinois. I've been all over the state--though curiously I've never been to Pittsburgh. But I've visited Scranton, Erie, State College, Gettysburg, and more.
My first visit to Rhode Island was unremarkable; I took an exit off of I-95 while driving to Boston and stopped in a parking lot somewhere to walk around, just to say I had visited the state. Recently, though, I had a more extended visit. My wife and I stopped in Newport on our way back from Cape Cod. We walked around a bit, looking at some of the old mansions Newport is famous for. Unfortunately, I had underestimated how long we would want to stay and had not put enough money in the meter. I ended up running about a mile and half back to the car, on a muggy day, with an injured foot, just to put another quarter in the meter and save us from getting a ticket. But we did get to walk a little bit on the Cliff Walk, which was very nice. Though I drove through South Carolina when I was a kid and my family drove to Florida, I don't remember stopping anywhere. It wasn't until 1990 when I was biking to Florida that I really got to know the state. I rode along back roads, passing through towns like Andrews and Conway, sleeping in a swamp alongside the Pee Dee river and in the Merion National Forest, and visiting Charleston, Beaufort and Hilton Head. I stayed in the latter for 5 days because my brother lived there at the time. Hilton Head had some great bike trails, but I was really annoyed by all the guards "protecting" all the private plantations on the island. My most interesting experience happened in a tiny town called Dale. I had decided in advance to stay overnight in Dale, expecting I could put my tent in the woods nearby or get permission to tent on the lawn of a church there. To my chagrin, the woods were all swampy and the preacher didn't live near his church, so I appeared to be out of luck. On a whim, I tried the door of the local school and wandered into the wonderfully cool, air conditioned gymnasium. I decided to sleep there for the night. Just as I was about to fall asleep, the door burst open and heavy footsteps crossed the floor. As I feigned sleep, the janitor tripped over me, and I scared the hell out of him when I moved. But contrary to what I imagined he would do, he let me stay right where I was and sleep that night in the school. What a great guy.
I drove from Bismarck, ND, down through South Dakota on farm roads in the fall of 1999, passing through Badlands National Park and spending two nights at a hostel in Rapid City. I loved driving those straight country roads, doing over 70 and not having to pay much attention to the road because there was no traffic at all. I stopped in at Mount Rushmore and Wind Cave National Park, where I took an excellent hike. (To get the full story, go here.) Tennessee. Tennessee. Ain't no place I'd rather be. Stayed here as a kid, driving either to or from Florida. Came to Nashville twice for conferences. I enjoyed going running from downtown Nashville, across a bridge, then back via another bridge. I was not impressed with the "Opryland" hotel complex where one of my conferences was held. I've been to Dallas three times on business and once to San Antonio, which I liked much better, despite the muggy weather. In Dallas, I spent a day walking around the city and visiting the JFK Museum (yeah, I know, Dallas residents wish it didn't exist), but on my next two trips I found I had nothing left to do. In San Antonio, I walked the Riverwalk through the city and clear out of downtown. It was quite picturesque. I made a special trip to Salt Lake City just so I could add Utah to my list of states. I used a frequent flier ticket and stayed with a retired guy named Tony whom I met at a conference. Nice guy. Visited the Mormon sites, heard the Tabernacle Choir, got the pitch from some cute Mormon girls, poked our heads in the big geneology library. I also drove to Provo to visit BYU. I went skiing at Solitude with a guy named Tom. Because it was a weekday, the slopes were virtually empty. We never had to wait in a line for the lifts. The mountain was huge, too: 10,000 feet in elevation. It snowed all day long, so there was lots of powder. It was foggy at the high elevations, so when we went to the very top we had to ski down without seeing what was in front of us, which was scary. On this one wide bowl I kept falling and falling because I couldn't see the bumps or deep snow till I hit them. But eventually I got down even that hill without falling. Before long I was doing all my turns without a problem and then blasting down the straight-aways. We rode all 6 lifts and tried many hills. By day's end I was a bit sore, but it had been a great time. Had another adventure in Utah. Went cross-country skiing in the Uinta mountains with some of Tony's friends. Brought supplies in packs and stayed overnight in a large tent that they had set up and concealed. It was something they had done a lot over the years, but to me it seemed quite an adventure: skiing into the woods, finding a clandestine shelter, cooking out, sleeping there overnight, waking perhaps to fresh snow, looking out in the morning at the white woodland scene, knowing there was no one around for many miles. And it was something like that. But there were problems, too. First off, I had rented ski boots for the cross-country skis and they were huge. They were for telemark skiing, which were the kind of skis Tony had for me. The boots did not fit well and they hurt. Then, too, the skis were the traditional type that required wax. Before Tony waxed them I couldn't move at all. I just slid around in place. Even after they were waxed, they took some getting used to. But these problems were nothing. The major problem was that I had to carry a 50-pound pack while skiing. I've backpacked quite a bit, but never skied with a pack. This procedure was made even more difficult by the fact that we had to ski uphill-for three continuous miles, without a single downhill section. On top of that, I was feeling the effects of the altitude big time. The trip up the hill to the hidden tent was a forced march. It was torture. I was drenched with sweat within minutes, huffing and puffing like a wimp. I couldn't move any faster than a very slow walking pace. What made it worse was that the other three, two of whom were over 60 years old, flew right up the hill. I was dying and could summon absolutely no more energy to go any faster. We cut off into the woods from the main trail and zig-zagged about to make our trail look unappealing to follow, since there were many others out skiing as well. About a quarter mile in from the mail trail we came upon the tent, hidden in a grove of pines. Turns out it's more than a tent. It sits on a wooden platform and is held up with a wooden frame. It's large enough to stand in. Plus, it has a potbelly stove for heating and a propane stove for cooking. It was more like a cabin than a tent. They had hauled everything into the woods before the snow fell, so now all they had to do was bring in food. The tent seemed to have everything, saws, pots, dishes, chairs. It was quite a place. By the time I arrived, they had stoked the fire with wood they had previously chopped. We warmed up in there ( I was already quite warm) and ate lunch. We collected pots full of snow and let it melt on the stove to get water. Then we mixed up Stove Top stuffing, some corn and some chicken. As we sat around eating. Soon it was dark out and it had started to snow. We played cards. The fire went down and the tent got cold enough that we could see our breath. Plus I was a bit sore from two days of skiing and uncomfortable sitting on a very low chair. I went out to take a leak and brush my teeth, and stood in the falling snow for a few minutes. The only light came from the tent behind me. We laid out the sleeping bags on the floor. I lay awake for a while, not tired enough to sleep. I woke to the sound of snowflakes falling lightly on the tent. When I stepped outside I saw that we had gotten a few inches. We slowly got up and boiled water for breakfast. Then I washed the dishes while they chopped wood from the pile outside and brought it into the tent. Eventually everything was packed and we put on our skis and set off. The forest was a blanket of white and the snow continued to fall. Our tracks from the day before were barely visible. Now that the route was all downhill, I had no further problems. In fact, I kept catching up to Jim, who was in the lead. I coasted down hills, ducking under pine branches, catching snowflakes in my mouth. When we reached the road we went uphill a short distance and made additional tracks in the woods so that, with so many side tracks to choose from, anyone interested in following our tracks would end up going in circles. Skiing back down the main trail was a breeze. The hills were not steep, so I never had to worry about going too fast. It was easy to coast along the winding trail with just a little bit of effort. We reached the bottom before I knew it. I shed the pack and went back uphill a bit so I could enjoy skiing down one last time. Then we packed up and headed out.
Vermont is one of my favorite states. I've come here countless times, mostly in the winter to enjoy the snow. My first visit was in 1989 when I was living in New York. I took a four day bike trip through Vermont, staying in hostels and camping in Southern Vermont. I had wanted to enjoy the fall folliage, but the weather was cloudy and it rained for one entire day, though I stubbornly rode anyway. I generally stay in a hostel in Ludlow, but recently my friends and I have been staying in a lodge in East Jamaica (not that great, but cheap). In 1997, we were cross-country skiing in Jamaica State Park, and when we returned to our car, someone had smashed a side window and stolen a duffel bag of old clothes. So much for a winter paradise. Last fall my fiancee and I took our second fall falliage vacation in Vermont, and this past winter I returned with two friends for some excellent cross-country skiing near Grout Pond. I've been as far north as Burlington and Montpelier. If I could I'd move to Vermont, but I can't imagine what I'd do for a living. I've been all over Virginia. I bicycled from Alexandria to Fredericksburg to Richmond to Williamsburg when I was biking to Florida. I've been caving in the mountains west of Harrisonburg. I've hiked on the Appalachian Trail in the Shenandoahs. I've been to Norfolk and Virginia Beach. My favorate part of the state is rural Isle of Wight county. I thoroughly enjoyed cycling through this area of small towns and farmland. Finally, this year, I got to visit Washington for more than a few hours. My previous trip had all been really short. My first visit was when I had to change planes in Seattle en route to Alaska. I walked out of the airport and down the street to a Jack in the Box for a burger, just so I could say I was in Washington. Subsequentally, I had two business trips to Vancouver, Canada, and both times I drove down to Seattle for appointments, and drove back the same day. So I saw very little of the city. I spent about 15 minutes walking around the Pioneer Park area. But this year, while visiting Portland, Ore., for a conference, I drove up to Mt. St. Helens and had a good look around. Man, what a sight that crater is.
West Virginia I love West Virginia. It's one of the most beautiful states. I've been caving here a number of times, in Fieldhouse, the Sinks of Gandy, Bowden and others. I go camping in Daly every year along with a few thousand other cavers at a big event called OTR (Old Timers Reunion). I learned to ski at Alpine Lake Resort. I visited the falls at Black Water Falls Park. I love the old country roads, the hilly terrain, the small country stores. Anybody who has anything bad to say about West Virginia has obviously never been there. And who wants them? Stay out. I was in Wisconsin numerous times as a kid. We cut through on our way to Minnesota where we would go fishing. I remember a few pit stops in the wee hours of the morning, but I have no interesting memories of the state from my childhood. However. in 1991 I was sent to Iron Mountain, Michigan, on a business trip to visit a paper mill. Our tour guides also took us on a ride into Wisconsin, deep into the woods, to show us a logging operation. It was bitter cold that day, and most of my silly co-travellers hadn't brought their coats, so they stood around shivering in suit jackets in zero degree weather, listening to the head lumberjack tell us how they selectively slice down the dying trees, leaving the healthy trees to continue growing. I remember one interesting exchange. One of the paper company reps pointed to one of the journalists in my group, a guy from New York with trendy round glasses, and said to the chief lumberjack, "Hey Jack, this guy's from New York City. How'd you like to live there?" Then the two men looked at each other, the sophisticated New Yorker in his expensive suit and the and the grizzled old logger. Neither said a word. They just regarded each other, worlds apart. My first view of
Wyoming came in the thickening darkness of a rainy evening,
from the front seat of a truck driven by my retired friend
Tony. I was visiting him in Salt Lake City and he offered to
take me on a road trip We ate in a small restaurant there, where the waitress caused us some distress by speculating that the pass to Jackson might be closed due to avalanches. We got a phone number from her that we could call in the morning, but another local woman eating there provided some reassurance that the pass would be open. After eating, we drove into the center of town for gas. We passed under a large arch spanning the road. On close inspection I saw that the arch was made up entirely of elk horns. We returned to the room and noticed that a truck with a large trailer had parked next to us. The trailer held a dozen or so doors with vents on them. Sled dogs. The town was apparently a Mecca for sled dog travel. When we shut off the lights to sleep, the sled dogs began howling. One would start his pitiful crying, and the others would join in, sounding like wolves. They would howl for a minute and then they'd stop. A few minutes of silence would follow, then they would start up again. I was getting pissed off at the owner, wondering why he hadn't parked his truck away from the rooms. Just as I began thinking up evil ways to wake him at 5:00 the next morning, he came outside and yelled "Shut up, guys!" The dogs went instantly silent and made no further noise. The next day we skied at a Wyoming resort called Grand Targhee Resort, near Driggs, Idaho. The day after that we drove to Jackson, Wyoming. Avalanche danger was high in Teton Pass, so we scanned the hills on both sides frequently, looking for clouds of approaching snow. The news had been full of avalanche stories over the past few days, and in my mind I kept envisioning us buried in the truck, going through our dwindling supply of oxygen, debating whether or not to open a window and dig for the surface. On all the hills was evidence of past small slides. We kept driving along the snowy road, pushing our luck. We made it through the blizzard into Jackson. It was snowing heavily as we took a walk around the square. Numerous shops and galleries surrounded it, all of them in buildings fronted by wooden sidewalks, reminiscent of the old West. We went into a restaurant for a real breakfast. It felt good to sit inside watching the snow fall and enjoying hot tea and pancakes. We visited several galleries before heading out of town. I was in Wyoming one
other time, in the fall of 1999. I drove through the
southeast corner of it and stopped at Devil's Tower for an
hour before continuing into Montana.
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up
to Jackson, Wyoming. The weather sucked. Rain poured
down on us. As we climbed into the mountains, however, the
rain turned to snow, which fell heavily, covering the road
and slowing us. Wind blew even more snow across the road and
at times we couldn't see anything. At one point the hills
and the road were completely white, as was the sky behind.
It was a complete whiteout; we couldn't tell the hills from
the sky, and the road was just barely discernible. We passed
through Smoot, Wyo., and a little while later reached Afton.
We stopped at a Best Western in Afton for the night.
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