The Ending VLOG, Seattle

I should have posted this earlier. It is my VLOG immediately upon returning to Seattle with Joe. He accompanied me from Chicago to Seattle. I recorded this at the Hamilton Viewpoint in West Seattle; my little corner of the Emerald City (the name is not related to the Wizard of Oz, it is due to the perennial green beauty of the city it never gets depressingly dead-looking like all of the South, East, Southwest, and Midwest in Winter). We actually have evergreen trees and more rain than we know what to do with.
I love Seattle, the people and the place. Heck right now I'm sitting in the Bauhaus (the very best of Grunge Coffee shops, an old motorcycle repair shop) at the very core of Seattle in the Capitol Hill neighborhood.
Joe and I had this picture taken in downtown Seattle's Pioneer Square as soon as we finished the 3,000+ mile full conquest of I-90 (Boston to Seattle).

When I recorded this clip Seattle felt inclined to greet me with rain (of course my long lost city was so overcome with my valiant return that she needed to cry). Also in the VLOG I look pompous (I think I do), if I were you I'd chalk that up to me being punch-drunk with the joy of a distant goal reached, a goal that looked so far away and so uncertain, so as to not really be believed possible until actually seen, felt, and blogged about. One other note:
BEFORE WATCHING THIS TURN UP YOUR AUDIO SO YOU CAN HEAR ME!! (Sorry when I recorded it I thought it'd be louder)

Also this is not the last post about the road trip!! I still haven't told about DC, NYC, Boston, Harvard, Maine, Chicago, or the Northern Passage. Please stay tuned.

Wolves, small children, and insanity

I guess I'll post the trip stats even though this road trip is concluded.
Miles: 14704.8
Gallons Burned: 484.1
Caffeinated Drinks: 88
Gigabytes of Pictures: 33.5

I also feel compelled to admit one thing before I continue, I have been reading "On the Road" by Jack Kerouac for the first time so I may exhibit a certain violence/exuberance in my writing; you all have my apologies.
After catching up with my aunt and uncle and eating an amazing squash dish that kept getting better as I had it for leftovers, I slept poorly waking often to odd and unpleasant dreams.
I was determined to catch a little skiing on my road trip as it had been 20 months since my last alpine adventure involving rapid descent (rather different from my long and grueling hikes up Mt. Rainier to Camp Muir at 9,550 ft).
Zoom out to see just how awesome it really is:

View Larger Map
Anyhow I set out back up I-26 toward the Appalachian "Mountains" (Honestly these hills are often given far too much credit. They are nice for a Sunday drive but surely do not bear the one critical element that makes a mountain a mountain, namely the tendency to create widows). I await Jen or Alicia's rebutal, you see they have done something like 1,500 miles of the long Appalachian trail and they can tell of the extreme exertion required to defeat such terrain. Check out their cool story, it's the last link in my "Websites!" section.
Oh right! So I drove north but due to my lack of intel, I didn't know exactly where to go, so despite "the" stereotype I stopped and asked for directions to Sugarloaf Mountain. The oldtimer at the gas station looked at me confused. He asked if I wanted directions to skiing. I answered in the affermative, he relaxed as said why not go up to the Wolf? "It's only 15 minutes away."
Excited to be so close to powder I thanked the man and left with after purchasing a sandwich for later.
Much later I realized that Sugarloaf is actually the best skiing in Maine, not North Carolina.
So I valiantly drove north up to the Wolf. I drove a slow road into the mountains that dead ended in a resort community, back tracking I found my error and returned to the correct path. I skidded into the parking lot of a ski rental shop my parking was as follows (Notice the precision of my diagram):

The whole lot was covered in about 6 inches of snow, so I just rammed the car into the lot and let her be where she stopped. I grabbed some shorter skis (its been a little while so cut me some slack).
I managed to push my Jolly Green out of the lot with only 15 minutes work.
Once at the lifts, I paid for the really cheap lift tickets and hopped up the mountain on their one working chair lift. On my second lift ride I met a middle aged man on the lift who was an executive for some southeastern grocery store; then I met a pair of giggling stoners. The next ride was taken alone as were the next three rides.
After getting my snow legs back, I felt like a break was called for. I pulled over here and unpacked the back pack that Uncle Steve let me borrow:

I ate a fine roast beef sandwich, two Hershey bars, two wheat and cheese cracker packs, a quart of water, and some raisins all while enjoying the view.
After the next run, I joined a solo skier who was in line for the lift. His name was Tristan. He came out to ski with his mom, but she didn't want to ski so this 10 year old kid was braving the slopes alone even though this was only his second time skiing. I felt a kinship with this kid; we in our own unique ways were loners experiencing the purest form of solitude: being alone in a crowd (okay second purest form of solitude, the purest being locked away in your car for 12,404 miles to wrestle with your true self, equivalent to two weeks of solitary confinement in prison). So I hung out with Tristan. He was a great kid. I would be proud of my son if he was half the young man Tristan is at the same age. He held himself well and was fearless, he took on the steepest slopes with a thirst for speed paralleled only by my own. He wanted to push the envelope on his ability on skis and he visibly improved with each run. I never had a little brother (that I grew up with), but Tristan would be awesome as a little bro. With his mother's permission here is Tristan:

After I had sharpened my ski skills, I filmed a long clip of me skiing down from the top of Wolf Mountain to the bottom. It is the last clip in this little video project I made from my time on Wolf Mountain. Feel free to leave feedback(much love to the Go! Team who provided the music):

Next time I'll share more from Asheville...

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.

Clips from "The Pass"

Miles: 4482.5
Gallons Burned: 148.26
Caffeinated Drinks: 31

I watched Edward Scissorhands for the first time last night here in Galveston TX. It was pretty good and I loved the pastel view of suburban America. All in all, it missed a compelling ideology (other than the condemnation of a mob mentality and Conservatism - rather expected) and a true exploration of Depp's character's humanity.

I was digging through my pictures/videos, and I found these clips from the fabled "Mountain Pass". Please enjoy:




Honestly the canyon/valley I stayed in was like something out of the Lord of the Rings.