The Threads of An Old Life

What a long strange trip it’s been. Over the past 36 hours things have changed drastically as I’ve been plunged headfirst back into the real world. In some ways it feels like I’ve been on the road for years and today marks the beginning of a new life. In other ways it feels like I climbed through the wardrobe into Narnia and while I’ve lived a lifetime in another world, only minutes have passed back here in reality. But to top it off, today I experienced a new phenomenon that really signals the end of the summer – stress.

I’m Not Dead Yet

The reports of my and my blog’s death have been greatly exaggerated. I know I haven’t posted in a few days even after promising that I would, but the truth is that, even though I’ve been plenty busy gallivanting around central New Jersey over the past few days, there just isn’t as much notable stuff to write interestingly about now that my trip is pretty much over.

On Thursday, my sister and parents took me to Joe’s Crab Shack for my birthday dinner. I’d only been to one Joe’s Crab Shack before – an experience which I’ll never be able to completely replicate, since that restaurant now sits at the bottom of Galveston Bay thanks to a hurricane. This time, it involved a big pot of shellfish and a certain person being forced to do a hula dance against his will all because he was fortunate enough to survive 27 years without dying. There may be pictures of that, but they won’t be appearing here. Sorry. But not very sorry.

Coming Home To My People, To the Place Where I Began

Oh, the irony! Naming a post after a song about the struggle for freedom among Soviet Jews in the context of an 11,000-mile journey across the Land of Liberty? Well, I’m doing it anyway. Maybe the juxtaposition of those two images creates a deeper meaning or something. You decide. I drove all day, so I’m too tired.

When I reached the Delaware Water Gap and my trip odometer eclipsed 11,000 miles, I realized that this was the first stretch of road on this whole adventure that I recognized from having driven it once before. Up to this point, everything had been new, even on the return journey, since I took I-70 west and I-80 and 90 back east.

Some magical things tend to happen when you cross into the New York / New Jersey / Connecticut tri-state area. As if flicking a light switch, traffic often comes to an immediate standstill just over any of the borders, for no clear reason. Drivers abruptly change from benign Pennsylvania driving habits to a strong-willed confident New Jersey mindset (and you also tend to encounter more assholes – they’re almost always from New York). People from other parts of the country complain that New Jersey drivers are the nation’s worst, but those people couldn’t be more wrong. The problem is that we all know where we’re going and how to obey the unwritten rules of the road, and you out-of-state critics just can’t keep up with us. To be able to navigate the most complicated network of interstate highways in the country, New Jersey drivers are definitely some of the best of any state.

Long May You Run

Sitting east of Cleveland, a mere 450 miles from my parents’ house in New Jersey, I feel it’s time to pay homage to the true unsung hero of this trip. Over the last 37 days, she’s acted as my closet, my bedroom, my kitchen / dining room, my power supply, my home, and my transportation, She’s been my travel companion, there every step of the way, doing everything I’ve asked of her and not complaining or putting up any resistance whatsoever. She goes by many names. At times I’ve called her the Horse with No Name, the Hyundai, or just simply – the car.

Come On, Babe, We’re Gonna Paint the Town

The route I had planned out yesterday developed a hitch almost from the very beginning. The plan was for me to gradually make my way north towards Wrigley Field in the morning / early afternoon, and then slowly come back south in the evening. To that end, I was going to do a quick drive-by at the Adler Planetarium first, because it has great views of the city skyline (I do happen to like planetariums too, but I wasn’t in the mood for a museum).

This Is The Last Stop

This is it. Although I have one more major day of stuff to do tomorrow, it really feels like I’m on final approach. Back in Central Time, I’ve only been through blue states since lunchtime, and I crossed back over the Mississippi River this afternoon.

I’ve been trying to take pictures of all the welcome signs as I enter each state.

But after Minnesota and Wisconsin today, when I reached for my camera as I approached Illinois, I realized that I’ve already been here since I’ve been gone. In fact, all the rest of the states I’ll be going through (Indiana, Ohio, and Pennsylvania) I’ve already passed through once before. But fear not! There was no sense of an impending end to the trip today – I had too much to do.

The Still, Small Voice

I always look forward to staffing Hebrew School retreats. It’s partially because I have a great time taking off my teacher hat, putting on my counselor hat, and interacting with my kids on a more social level where my only objective is for them to have fun. But it’s also because in seeing my kids interact with each other as peers, rather than classmates, I find inspiration.

Greggle Goes East

This evening, driving east on I-90, I came over a hill and saw a line of light blue a few degrees above the horizon. This has happened countless times this month and it always makes me wonder whether I’m looking at a line of clouds or a mountain range.

Today when I asked myself that question, I didn’t have to drive any further to know the answer. From now on, there will be no mountain ranges to spot on the horizon.

I’m back in the plains, back in Central Time, and back east of the Missouri River. That’s not to say that today was without intrigue or that I don’t have other exciting things planned for my remaining 4 days on the road, but ever since leaving California I’ve had to fight the dénouement of this adventure. After the climactic few days in Yosemite and Sequoia, I knew it would all be a bit downhill from there. While I’ve certainly enjoyed just about every destination since there (especially Mt. St. Helens and Grand Teton) and don’t regret any of the stops I’ve made, there has been a growing sense that things are drawing to a close. And in today’s moment of sudden realization, that drum beat grew louder.

I don’t want to linger on that sentiment too much, because it certainly wasn’t my dominant mood for the day.

In the Land of the Wild Hogs

The day I was offered my new teaching job, I immediately went home and started booking hotels for this trip. My general goal was to pay somewhere between $50 and $80, with a few exceptions (Las Vegas in particular). But when it came time to find a hotel in the Black Hills of South Dakota, I ran into problems. At first, everything close to Mt. Rushmore was coming up at over $250 a night on Priceline. Expanding my radius as far out as Rapid City and the Wyoming border didn’t help. I couldn’t figure it out. Why, of all the places I’d be visiting, why was this one so much more expensive? Eventually I stumbled upon the answer when Priceline offered to search nearby towns, and one of the options it gave me was Sturgis. A few clicks later and I realized I’d be in South Dakota at the same time as the Sturgis Motorcycle Rally.

For those of you who’ve never watched American Chopper, Sturgis is the largest biker rally in the world. During the first week of August, the state’s population frequently doubles with the influx of bikers. But from what I saw today, that’s not entirely true. It would be more accurate to say that 90% of the vehicles on the road this week have no doors.

Where the Deer and the Antelope Play

I’ve moved on from where the buffalo roam. You’ll definitely hear a discouraging word or two in this post. But hey, at least the skies were not cloudy all day.

And I would know if there had been any clouds, because I saw every moment of this day, from before sunrise to after sunset. I managed to drag myself out of tent at the ungodly hour of 5:25, with the ungodly temperature of 35 degrees so that I could watch the sunrise against the Tetons. So I saddled the Horse with No Name and drove the half mile to the edge of the bay. No way was I walking in that weather. As it was, I wore a t-shirt, fleece jacket, and windbreaker to bed, along with gloves, of course.

As I stood, shivering despite my many layers, a dynamic palette of colors unrolled in front of me. At first, I was satisfied just trying to capture the reflection of the mountains in the lake, which, more than anything, killed some time and helped me find a good spot for the camera before the real show began.