I'm sorry, Tom Brady. It's not you, it's me. (Jim)

The date is September 8th, 2013 and I am driving through Wyoming.  I glance at the clock to see 11:05, AM.  A few minutes ago we passed a sign that read "Togwottee Pass, Elevation 9658."  Indeed, we had just crossed the Continental Divide, and the day was beautiful in a dark, wild way, with low gray clouds clipping the towering granite peaks around us on all sides and casting mysterious shadows in the valleys.  At a pull off, we were blessed with this view:



The Teton valley from Togwottee Pass

And yet I found my mind was not here; in fact I was actively failing in regards to my constant goal of living in the moment and being mindful of the present while on this trip.  Where was my mind?  Orchard Park, NY.  Two hours ahead of us near the east coast, Tom Brady was behind center for the first time of the new season, his bombardier eyes coolly surveying the defense, licking the tips of his index and middle fingers as he prepared to make the call.  But I do not know if he was in the shotgun or under center.  No clue as to the set.  I was missing opening weekend of the NFL.

I missed the irony at the time, but while I was missing Buffalo play New England, I was able to observe Buffalo play

I have a confession to make.  Since 2001, I have missed five Patriots games that I can think of.  I can even remember the circumstances with alarming clarity.  In 2003, I missed a game because I was attending a Redsox playoff game against the Athletics at Fenway with my Dad.  In 2004, I missed one to see Big n Rich / Brooks and Dunn play at the Tweeter Center (or whatever the hell it is called now).  In 2008, I missed opening day due to attending the wedding of a good friend, a bittersweet day in which I was blissfully spared the image of Tom Brady getting nuked for the season.  In 2009, I missed an October game while running the Seacoast Half Marathon in New Hampshire.  In 2012, I missed a late September game to support Lindsay as she ran a 50K trail race in Vermont.*



You know who DOESN'T look ridiculous while performing in athletics?  Tom Brady.

*The previous year, I had planned my first marathon (2011 Mount Desert Island in Bar Harbor, ME) such that I could collapse back in the hotel room with a six pack of Budweiser and a package of room temperature hot dogs in time for the Pats game.  Unfortunately, there is proof:

I'm not proud, but this happened.  Those hot dogs were never even warmed.

Did I mention I like football?  And that my team is the Patriots?  Up until 2001, we did not have cable (or satellite, or antenna to be clear) TV in our house.  My parents, in one of the many good decisions made during my childhood, had pulled the plug when I was a wee lad to spare my sister and I from watching too much Hey Dude or Clarissa Explains it All growing up.  And it worked, although being unable to watch sporting events at home meant I really had no cause to care about any professional team and missed out on most of the, ahem, great Bledsoe and Hugh Millen (lol) years.  However, a certain event in September of 2001 left us feeling cut off from society, and shortly after we had cable.  And the ability to watch the magical 2001 Patriots season, all of the games watched with my father right up until the Super Bowl victory.  (I would not suggest, of course, that the event to which I am alluding was in fact a brilliant, evil, maniacal plot of deception executed by the NFL Shadow Council to improve ratings....or would I?)


Make no mistake.  This man is pure fucking evil.

Indeed, some of my best memories of the 'aughts' (are we calling the 00's that yet?  Because I'm never writing "00's" again) involved the Patriots.  I went to school in Worcester, MA and enjoyed several dominant seasons alongside my fellow student fans.  In true nerdy fashion, most of the games I watched while doing homework (often with a particularly violent and bearded friend of mine, you know who you are).  I cannot say that my obsession with this team helped my grades in kinematics, differential equations or advanced engineering design endeavors, but I sure enjoyed watching the team play with the Worcester townies.  When I was home in NH, I had just as much fun watching with my father and endlessly debating and second guessing every call, and dammit shut up old man, any other time that draw on 3rd and 5 would have been converted.  Trust the coach.

Trust me.  It is your....destiny

And for every Patriots game I made sure I saw, you can believe that I watched at least two other games on any NFL weekend, plus the occasional Monday or Thursday night game, and of course every game during the playoffs.  I really like football.  In the four years we lived at our house in central New Hampshire, I made a ritual on NFL Sundays - up early to feign productivity with a workout / errands / yard work / run such that by 1pm I could be guiltless on the couch in pajama pants, adult beverage in hand, and lie horizontal gazing at the TV until the last game of the evening was over.  I've done silly things to not miss a game.  When traveling by myself through Virginia in 2009, I rented a sketchy $29 motel room at 1pm so I would not miss two Wild Card Weekend games (and had to explain to the convenience store clerk from where I purchased a six pack, that yes, New Hampshire is a state, you ignorant southerner).  Two weeks later, I passed up an opportunity to backpack in the Nantahala Wilderness so I would not miss the Championship weekend games. 

My obsession with the NFL is frankly at odds with the rest of my character.  First of all, I despise the typical Masshole Patriots fan - among the truly most obnoxious human beings on the planet, and I am completely perplexed why anyone would actually choose to live inside the 495 corridor; indeed, my consolation when the Pats lose is that people like this suffer:

I have not the words to express my hatred for you...

....or you

I like to hike, run, and otherwise play in the woods.  I like reading books with one word titles like "Cod" and "Dirt" and "Cooked".  I am an extreme introvert and dislike bars and other loud confusing places.  I have a contempt of conspicuous consumption culture and will go to my grave before spending a dime on an Apple or Harley product.  For the most part I am not interested in television despite a fondness for Family Guy (another holdover from college) and an inexplicable interest in cooking competitions.  I still don't get what the hell Instagram is for.  Bottom line - the NFL fits a persona that really isn't exactly me.  I have always viewed it as a guilty pleasure, and been vaguely annoyed that the team has been able to imprint a fondness for them on my psyche, despite the completely unnecessary things they choose to do (fight over a ball wearing tights).

But damn do I love it.  Let me count the ways.

1. The game - it really is a big, fast chess match.  I truly get absorbed in the matchups, the schemes, and the constantly evolving game as players and coaches try to outsmart the other

   

   I know that you will blitz so I should max protect.  But I also know that you know I know you will blitz, so you won't blitz, so I should spread the field.  But I also know that you know I know *head explodes*

2. The ritual- November and December in New England can be pretty bleak, with the weak sun barely rising above the treetops in the southern sky.  It is a very comforting feeling to hit the couch, warmed on the outside by the stove and the inside by the whiskey, being entertained for 11 straight hours. 
3. The water cooler talk - Mondays used to be are terrible - just awful.  One of the rituals that got me through was recapping the game with colleagues, second guessing the critical calls and talking about that one spectacular catch.  I'm not sure if anyone has ever quantified the lost productivity on Monday mornings due to the NFL, but I bet it takes a couple hundredths off the GDP at least.
4. The skills - the athletes in the NFL are truly amazing and I admire the risk they take every game (they are, of course, more than amply compensated for this).  Watching them to their job is infinitely more interesting than me watching myself do my job. 
5. The media!  This is a HUGE part of it for me - I love reading about football, both from reputed writers and sketchy blogs.  I love reading Peter King's fifty thousand word rambling, pithy, often contradictory stories in his Monday Morning Quarterback for SI.  I love the Power Rankings and still remember Dr. Z.  I love reading the condescending douchebag Gregg Easterbrook in his Tuesday Morning Quarterback for ESPN, as he cherry picks his predictions to make himself look like a genius in a predictably haughty and transparent fashion.  I love (to hate) Bill Simmons and his tragically overused shtick.  I love Deadspin and Kissing Suzy Kolber.  Fucking PTI and Around the Horn.  Among my fondest traditions of the last four years was waking up unnecessarily early on weekend mornings and bringing my coffee into the office, sitting at the desk in front of the window overlooking the woods and catching up on the previous days NFL news and stories.  Didn't matter if it was the off season, SOMEONE (Pacman Jones) had gotten arrested for doing something hilarious and was being pilloried in the press.

   

   I LOVE to hate this abominable prick

6. The daydreaming.  I'm probably not alone in fantasizing that if circumstances were slightly different, I could have been an NFL star.  In my head, I skip the bizarre high school and college football culture, get signed to the Patriots practice squad out of my cubicle and shock the world with my grit.  I would be the short white version of Wes Welker.  Peter King would say I lead the league in scrappiness and pseudo Danny Woodheadishness.  Chris Berman would obnoxiously yell "KHAAAAAN!" when replaying my highlights.  I would win the Super Bowl on a 99 yard screen pass as time expired and Tom Brady would embrace me in a whirlwind of confetti.  And I would sub on defense, where I would sack Brett Farve so hard, that yes, maybe he does think he will retire for good, goddammit.
7. My team was good.  Lucky me.  I could have been born a Browns fan, and that shit is not funny.
8. Tom Fucking Brady

Those eyes.  That smile.  That little noise he makes when I nuzzle his neck.  He's a good quarterback.

This is some good stuff.  Plenty of reasons to like football.  Of course, this is not the whole story.  Because there is a flip side which will ultimately bring me to the point of this long blog, for the three of you that are still reading (Mom?  Dad? Keira?)

1. Time; it's not on my side.  I've been avoiding doing this calculation for years because it is not going to be pretty.  There are 17 weeks to the regular season where I might on average watch three games a week, or 51 games.  You can bet I watch every playoff game, and there are eleven of those including Super Bowl, so I watch about 62 games a year.  At about three hours per game, that is (gulp) 186 hours a year or 2418 hours for the past 13 seasons.  About one hundred DAYS!!!  That's a lot of time - an actual 2% of my life over the course of 13 years.  Sitting on my ass, staring at men wearing tights doing completely irrelevant things.
2. It's worse than that.  As non football fans are fond of pointing out, there is not actually much football that happens in a game.  Sure the game clock starts at 60 minutes and takes about three hours to get to zero, but on average there is a mere 12.5 minutes of actual action in a game.  So for all of that time spent watching, a mere 7% of it is the actual football that I love.  What is the rest....?
3. ....Fucking advertising.  As unbelievably stupid as it seems when looked at objectively, we idiot Americans pay through the nose for massive TV's and access to these games (or any other equally pointless programming) for the privilege of being constantly marketed at.  And if you think you just ignore the stuff, you don't because you have eaten at a fast food joint, bought a luxury vehicle, sucked down a poisonous sugary beverage, and probably been suckered into buying yet another Apple product.  I make no claim of being immune here - advertising works, and I am sure I have spent thousands on crap I do not need because I have been willing to plug myself into the corporate marketing machine.  And don't talk to me about DVR - watching a game after the fact is pointless, and there is progressively more advertising built right into the game which is completely unavoidable.  (I recently read Salt Sugar Fat - some terrifying stuff in here about just how effective and ruthless processed food marketing in particular is).
4. The machismo.  I have a big issue with the insecurity complex we collectively have as a society which expresses itself as gun worship and nationalistic 'our humans are better than your humans' bullshit in real life, and as tough talk and posturing in the NFL.  I really get sick of the 'my sack is bigger than your sack and that's why I made up this sack dance' crap.
5. Many players are douchebags.  Just as in the rest of the world, some of these dudes are just plain assholes.  It is unsettling to consider, but in a way any NFL fan is complicit in the crimes the players commit, from OJ Simpson to Barret Robbins to Michael Vick to Aaron Hernandez.  These people would not have their vast resources were it not for their pointless although entertaining skills that we are happy to pay to watch.

   

   This is true.  Ray Lewis participated in a murder, got off because successfully hid his suit covered in the victim's blood and spent the next decade getting fellated on TV by the media for being a 'great competitor' and using that money to pay off his victim's family.

6. I'm indirectly supporting college football.  College football is seriously fucked up, and it is described in much more eloquent detail than I could cover here.  And most of the games are unwatchable blowouts.
7. TV is TV. It really does make you dumber.  I've probably sacrificed an IQ point a year to the NFL, and I base that on no data.
8. And finally:

   

   No caption required

 So where does this all lead me?  Well, I have put myself in a position this season where I am basically unable to watch football.  I am on the once in a lifetime trip and it would be a shame to have missed this to indulge my guilty pleasure:

Me, missing the afternoon game

I was able to watch one game, the week 2 Monday night affair at a camp site lounge.  The game was a dreadfully sloppy tilt between the Steelers and the Bengals, and I probably would not have watched the whole thing if I was not joined by an amusing retiree named Big Al for the duration. 

I am making no predictions about my relationship with the NFL for the future.  This road trip will likely be wrapped up in time for the playoffs and there will be ample opportunities to watch the occasional game on this trip without missing out, say, this:

Sorry, Tom - my precious days in Glacier National Park are more important than watching you in week 3.

As I write this it is towards the end of the laziest day on this road trip so far, thanks to the steady downpour and the 40 degree temperature here in northern Montana.  We have a safe quiet camp site with good internet access, and I have greedily gorged myself on NFL stories and blogs for the past 24 hours.  But the forecast for the next few days is sunny and beautiful, and I will spare few thoughts for what is going on in pigskin land.  I will forgive myself for the opening weekend lack of mindfulness and expect it to be easier in the coming weeks.

While it is possible that I will cure myself of this strange addiction and will find myself with 2% more time to find ways to be more awesome instead of indulging in this cultural past time, I expect a middle ground is more likely - we anticipate a life without cable when we settle down again, meaning I will have to be social if I want to go watch a game.  Just making it a bit more inconvenient should drastically cut my NFL time, and at the end of my life I do not expect I will wish I had spent more of my life watching football. 

PS. Coach B - I'm still unsigned.  Your receiving corps is looking a bit thin.  Tom has my number.  Call me.
PPS.  Ah, Tom - your season passer rating is below such luminaries as Chad Henne and Andy Dalton.  Work on that mkay muffin?

Fun isn't always fun. (Lindsay)

I've been contemplating this post for quite awhile and will attempt to come off as inspirational rather than condescending but no promises as this is a blog and I don't have an editor.  When we decided to take this trip, it was obvious to the three of us (Keira was included in this particular conversation) that we would spend most of our days outside using our own two or four feet to motor us along and see the beauty of this country.  We never thought to install a TV in the camper (I hit my head enough on the lights...) or to create a list of things to drive past and say we'd seen.  Our list consisted of various state and national parks, homes of family and friends, maybe a sports game or two, an odd prison here and there (more on that in a future blog) and a dose of animal shelter visits to feed my addiction. 

We knew we'd drive a lot to get to all these places but we never considered just driving through them.  So I have to admit that I am dismayed to see that the majority of tourists just drive through parks.  How do I know this?  Because our country is set up to do just that.  Drive.  And stare.  Pull over.  And stare.  And then drive to lunch.  I wish I understood it because it would make it easier to watch hoards of people miss out on the real beauty.  We had parked at "Inspiration Point" in Yellowstone's Grand Canyon to start a ten mile out and back hike of the rim.  We walked down to the point where a tourist was waiting for her picture to be taken.  She then turned to her husband complaining because there wasn't much a view.  She was right.  The view was (relatively) terrible. 

The view from "Inspiration Point" complete with metal bars.

Especially compared to this view a mere 1/4 mile down the trail. 

Or this unobstructed view.   Your choice.

While we clearly gravitate toward hiking and running, I'm pleased to see people doing any range of things in the wild as long as it gets them out of their car.  Kayaking, canoeing, fly fishing, rock climbing, bird watching, cycling (it takes some major balls to cycle past a bison), horseback riding, etc.  When I see people doing these things, it fills me up because I know they aren't just looking at a landscape or an animal.  They are feeling it.   

It becomes very clear to me the people who are there to see a wild animal and get that photo no matter what it takes and those who want to see them behaving normally in their original habitat and to experience the awe that comes with watching a pack of wolves traverse a valley.  I am an avid photographer but my desire for a decent picture is never overwhelmed by the need to just get a little closer.  (that's what zoom lenses are for people...)  Despite my hilarious sprint from bison a few weeks ago, they were, in fact, quite a distance away when I panicked.

This picture was at a ranger's station labeled "Bad Idea"

There is nothing like getting up on a Tuesday morning for your regular trail run in your local town forest and running into a black bear.  I drove to work that day giddy with a secret, looking out my car window at others and thinking, "enjoy your coffee because I ran away from a bear today".  Or watching your dog navigate a pack of coyotes who just happened to be on the trail a few months later.  Or that incredible chill in the air in early October when you're running on a trail of leaves and the equally moving experience of cross-country skiing on those same trails after a major snowstorm leaves all the trees a perfect white.

Why wouldn't you go here?

 



 Or here.

While it's frustrating to watch others pass up all these opportunities, it's equally annoying that we can't get the information we need because our culture caters to them.  We asked a friendly guy at an RV park if there were any trails within five miles.  His reply: "Like, so you can take your ATV"?  Uhh, no, so we can run with our dog.  (He didn't know of any so we ran a few blocks to the local track and did sprints.)

Others have kindly given us a map and pointed out areas they've "heard of" but advised we drive there because the trail is over a mile away.  Uhh, actually we can handle the mile there and the hike and then walk back but thank you for your concern.

While we expected some campgrounds to start closing this time of year, we were frustrated  to learn that the ones chosen are the ones most used by hikers and not RVer's.  Written off as a "result of sequestration" it seems odd that the primitive campground with a pit toilet and no showers really saved the budget.  So we stayed in one that required a 45 minute drive to start our hikes.  (Beautiful drives I'll admit).  Hikes we only knew about because we were encouraged to buy a trail map from the handy visitor store because Yellowstone doesn't just give out maps for hikers.  (they have plenty of free guides on the tourist attractions)  This dichotomy of resources would not exist if the majority of visitors were there to leave the road and enter the woods.

Even the bears are in on it.  After ten days of seeking out remote trails in the hopes of spotting one (from a safe distance of course), it was only on our last day driving through the park on our way out that we saw a Grizzly followed twenty minutes later by a Black bear mom and her cubs.  Catering to the drivies and not the walkies. 

We wouldn't have bothered walking ten miles into the wilderness if we knew you were at a parking lot.

I get it.  It's not always fun to move your body.  In fact sometimes, it plain sucks.  Especially in the beginning.  I've never struggled with weight but I wasn't particularly active seven years ago.  I started walking my dog on a trail near my house every morning.  About a mile or two; just walking.  Then I started running (very slowly) and Hated.Every.Step.  I couldn't make it a mile without getting stomach cramps and heaving.  So I did what I always do when I hate something and I tested myself.  Cue my first 5K when I had never run more than a mile.  I walked the whole thing with a cramp that incapacitated me.  Seven years later and, on most days, I feel good on a double digit hike or a four mile run. 

I repeat, most days.  Some days are awful and my body (or my head) is just not there.  Fun isn't always fun.  A concept that I think is hard to swallow in our culture of constant entertainment and ease.  It's not always about how we feel physically, it's about waiting for the reward to come to you.  Confidence that you can walk into the woods alone and come out the other side, a new level of patience (nothing tests your patience like nature), a reverence and sheer awe at a random sunrise or deer crossing the path and a calm, a real calm that doesn't come from sitting on your couch.  The old adage is true that one never regrets going out for that ______ (run, hike, etc.)

 

While this stereotype of the lazy American makes me sad, I have a real concern for what it's doing on a big picture level.  Because the kids I see hiking in the woods with their parents are vastly different from the kids I see screaming at the visitor center for candy.  I realize that all kids have temper tantrums but it can't be a coincidence that the toddlers I see in our parks aren't screaming while the eight year olds are moping.  Instead they're asking really hilarious questions like, "mom, what kind of poop is that?".  (Author's note: I have many friends who are parents.  Great parents at that whose children may not go camping regularly but who are always seen running around outside, usually barefoot and I believe that does the trick as well.)

And where is our generation in all of this?  Where are the dinks (double income no kids)? We've seen two types of tourists in the parks - the retirees enjoying their well-deserved time off and the parents trying to expose their kids to something new (yay you!).  What we haven't seen are American singles or couples out hiking.  We see plenty of European couples as it seems travel is more accepted in their culture and, more importantly, time off from work to do so. 

As I'm an animal person, you've also signed up to hear my diatribe about pets.  It's no surprise that the majority of cats and dogs in this country are not only overweight but obese and as a shelter person, I was also reminded on a weekly basis that many of the dog breeds we created to do jobs for us just don't fit into the average American's life anymore.  People are still surprised that their lab is so energetic.  (Educational moment: Labs and Goldens are retrievers and were bred to wait for us to shoot birds and then run and swim for long distances to retrieve said bird for our dinner).  So when we adopt them and resign them to a life on the couch with us, it has effects.  Sure, they look happy (and all are happy to be out of a shelter) because they adjust to this new life the same we do by napping the day away because of their generalized fatigue.

Keira enjoying a day of unstructured play where a leash doesn't dictate where she goes.

 



I had to continually remind myself at work that my idea of a "normal" exercise routine for a dog is not the normal for most people.  It was such a balance trying to educate people on their pets' exercise needs (this goes for most cats too) while trying not to scare off everyone but the marathon runners and the dog nerds who can't wait to spend hours with their new pet. 

It's not all about exercise either.  It's about unstructured play.  (my new favorite phrase)  And we've lost it as a culture.  Although I'm a very young woman, I happen to still be part of the culture that stayed out until it got dark and played sports in the backyard with the neighborhood kids.  I walked to school almost everyday - a few miles with a good friend and walked back rain or shine from the time I was in elementary school.  Over the past few years, I saw kids being picked up by the bus on our street.  We lived 3/4 of a mile from the high school.  Really?  Because there aren't any sidewalks?  And I think I understand the safety concerns but there is now plenty of research supporting the fact that we are creating a culture of people who cannot rely on their own experiences and instead dive into their cell phones for answers. 

The same applies to our dogs.  I know there are plenty of good reasons to keep your dog on a leash and there are some who truly need to be managed and contained.  But Keira isn't one of them and it's too rewarding for me to watch Keira sprint through the woods to stop me even though I know we could meet one of those "should be contained" dogs anyday.  I make educated decisions about where it's safe for her to go and where it's not.  Save for a mud slide into a river, we've been fairly successful. 

Unstructured play for both dog and child.  Success!

I believe those experiences for an animal or a child bring a mix of confidence, healthy fear and routine checking in with their parents for guidance.  One of my most powerful moments with Keira happened on a trail.  We had just started the run when I heard her yelp.  My girl is no wuss so I took her seriously.  She limped back to me, held up her paw, I looked it over seeing nothing immediately wrong and said, "do you want to go home or do you want to keep going?".  She turned around and sprinted off - no limp in sight.  Now, I don't claim she understood my question but I do think that she has enough confidence and experience at this point to know how much she needs me and what she can handle herself.  For this, I'm very proud of the dog she is today - vastly different from the insecure dog I saw at the shelter. 

Jim is a pro at unstructured play.  "I just want to see what's over this hill" and Keira is the queen of it so I'm fortunate to be reminded of this attitude everyday.  While visiting my family last month, I looked over to see my Uncle Rob holding a giant boulder while standing in the lake.  He was examining it carefully.  I turned to Jim who was also watching and we simultaneously said, "unstructured play".  Uncle Rob knows how to rock (pun intended) a day at the beach.

The good news is at least people are flocking to our state and national parks.  Getting away from the daily grind and breathing in some fresh air when they step out of their car to see a view.  And those people will likely leave with a reverence for the open spaces that are protected in this country - the big and the tiny.  I did not spot any wolves while in Yellowstone but I didn't need to.  I just need to know that they are out there, doing wolf things without much interference from us. 

So the next time you travel, do me a small favor.  Park at the destination to see that view that's been crafted for you and a million other people and then follow the trail just 100 feet in either direction and see what happens. 

....It's just that your July TPS report is a month late (Jim)

It has been brought to my attention from various sources that I never followed up my initial June Trip Status Report (TPS Report) with one for July.  It now appears to be September.  Oops.  Well, go ahead and bring it up in my review. 

"You've been missing a lot of work lately, Jim"  "I wouldn't say I've been missing it, Bob."

 

Well, to make amends I will combine two TPS reports in one.  I'm even going to use the updated form, just so all you bitches can get a TPS report all up in your motherfuckers.  Here you go.

TPS Report

Cover Sheet

 

      Lead Facilitator:  James Kahn                                        Date: 8/1/13  9/1/13  9/6/13

 

 

Executive Summary:  All operations expected to take place in Maine and Canada were implemented with minor changes to itineraries in certain cases.  Return to the US occurred on schedule and Summer Obligation Event (SOE) three of three was successfully executed.  Additional unplanned SOE's were also executed.  The preparation of this blog is taking place in Rapid City, South Dakota.  You know the place.  Overall technical, financial, and emotional systems are nominal.

 

Locations*

 

*Geographical Note: Most of you people are terrible at geography.  Just awful.  So when the abbreviations of Canadian provinces appear, here is a helpful fun guide: NB = New Brunswick, NS = Nova Scotia, NL = Newfoundland, and PEI = Prince Edward Island.  They are all in fucking maps people.  Jesus.

 

Summary: The original TPS report was filed in Wells, ME.  Since then, a myriad of locations have been visited including but not limited to:  Bar Harbor ME, Cutler ME, St. Johns NB, Alma NB, Halifax NS, Taylor Head NS, Baddeck NS, Ingonish NS, Sydney Mines NS, Doyles NL, Trout River NL, Lomond NL, St. Anthony NL, Cow head NL, New Glasgow NS, Charlottetown PEI), Millinocket ME, Brunswick ME, Wells ME, Chichester NH, Swanzey NH, Portsmouth RI, Swanzey NH, Fairport NY, Richmond MI, Spruce MI, Grand Marais MI, Wassau WI, Adrian MN, Kadoka SD.  A spaghetti diagram shows thus:

We used the singularity of Swanzey in an orbital sweep to achieve escape velocity!

 

Well now we are getting somewhere!  While the SOE's did bring us back to Location Zero (Swanzey) in mid August, we have traveled significant distances to both the east and west.  Just for fun:

 

 

Line charts with trend lines are fun, right?

 Our average miles from Location Zero is 432 miles.  Not bad considering we had to swing back through on our way out west.  This compares favorably to the first month when our average miles from Location Zero was only 102 miles.

Not lets take a look at the total miles we have driven, for the fun of it:

Bar graphs are even more fun, yes?  Note that the farther west we go, the more we seem to drive due to the bigness of these big rectangular states.  Let me know if this gets too deep for you

 

Analysis: Holy shit! Apparently this is a road trip.  Through June we had driven 1645 miles and that seemed like a lot.  Well.  We have added an additional 5548 miles to bring our grand total to 7193.  We could have driven from Venice Italy to Ulanbaatar, Mongolia.  Do you know how long that used to take?  24 years if you are Marco Polo. 

We're faster than you, bitch

Well, we have toured all of the Canadian Atlantic provinces that we wanted to and made it approximately as far west as we had anticipated by now. 

 

Experiences

Summary: Oh where to begin!  July started with a long fantastic weekend in Acadia National Park where Lindsay was able to conquer her fear of heights on one of the sketchyassyiest (most sketchyassed?  Shut up, my blog) trails I have ever been on, the Beehive Trail.  Look how happy she is!

I'm not actually very good at interpreting happiness, but I'm pretty sure she is fine



Farther up the coast, we camped out in the middle of effing no where with our own private coastline before hopping the border into Canada (only hitting one road sign on the way!) to explore Fundy National Park in New Brunswick.  We spent an obligatory night in Halifax, not because either of us like cities but because we had no idea what else to do and it turned out to be a blast and later lead us to possibly the most gorgeous beach I have ever seen in Taylor Head where we were able to camp all by ourselves.

 

This was ours.  And nobody else's

 

Shortly after, we executed or primary objective from the last TPS report by touring the Cabot Trail around the tip of Nova Scotia, thoroughly enjoying Cape Breton Highland National Park before hopping the ferry to Newfoundland.  While we had plans to travel the entire island, there was just way too much to do so we stuck to the west coast and enjoyed the incomparable Gros Morne National Park as much as we could.

 

 

Lindsay, getting some hiking done between episodes of tweaking out and flipping me off.....

....and she earned this!

 

Gros Morne mountain may have supplanted Katahdin as my favorite hike ever.  I am oddly emotional about saying that, but truly this is a gorgeous place that everyone needs to see.

 

Upon a frantic dash to a ferry, we were shocked to learn that it was now August!  We spent the first few days of it playing in Prince Edward Island with a long lost friend of Lindsay's and were able to soak in a gorgeous island that seemed to be all farms and beaches.  The water at Prince Edward Island National Park was the warmest I have been in since Barbados!  This was our last experience in Canada - in case you missed it, I went into more detail here

 

We dashed through New Brunswick and hit up Katahdin on the way south.  Since she loves these kinds of trails so much, I once again gave Lindsay the opportunity to truly enjoy herself in her natural environment.

 

Aw, you're number 1 too!

Not so bad now, is it?  IS IT???

 

The next couple of weeks saw us return to our roots a bit and reconnect with family and friends - it was great to take a break from the road, and, you know, shower and stuff.  Lindsay has summed it up excellently here.

 

Upon leaving once again, we found ourselves in the Upper Peninsula of Michigan and were thrilled to discover miles upon miles of gorgeous beaches and great hiking - we really did not know what to expect but we were particularly blown away by Pictured Rocks National Lakeshore

 

Not how I pictured Lake Superior until visiting

 

And we wrapped up August, of course, in beautiful Kadoka, South Dakota.  Wicked nice truck stop.

 

Analysis:  We won July and August.  We were able to hike our butts off, enjoy more beach days than I have ever had in one summer, and somehow still spend quality time with the people we love.  We absolutely could not have expected more (nor would we have set expectations or our yoga teacher would yell at us).

 

Financial Status

Lindsay has been remiss in publishing the awkward post that goes into depth on this one, and frankly it would be too much work for me to do now.  Suffice to say for now that we are still under budget, although we have absolutely been getting killed by gas - it is BY FAR our biggest expense, and we knew it would be a weakness going into the trip but it is still painful for a couple of typically frugal folks.  To make up for the pain at the pump, I am typing this from the driveway of a friendly Couch Surfing host in Rapid City, SD having showered, done three loads of laundry, and tapped is electricity for a blissful night of air conditioning.  The ~$50 we saved over doing this all at a camp site will buy us half a tank of gas and get us about 150 miles.  Ouch. 

 

It's late and I'm tired, but its something like this

 

 

We should also mention that August saw us do quite a bit of mooching off of friends and family, but also saw a lot of just plain old driving to get across boring places.  I'm looking at you, Wisconsin and Minnesota - we specifically avoided Iowa to get away from shit like that.  Anyways - it will be interesting to see how the budget plays out now that we are truly on our own.  We save money where we can control it (places we stay, how we eat, etc) to splurge it where we can't - at the gas pump.

 

Camper Status

Summary: Hard to believe, but since leaving NH back in June, we have spent a grand total of two nights out of the camper - once at a tent site in RI and once in a bedroom of some family in MI.  We are comfortable and happy, we have systems and everything has a damn place or I get yelled at.  *gets up, closes the cabinet before Lindsay notices*  No major issues at all.  We did have one $100 truck maintenance issue, something about the bracket for the e-brake shattering, but that didn't seem very important at all. 

 

Analysis:  Probably didn't need a separate Summary and Analysis section here.  Oh well.

 

Relationship Status

Summary: We are still in a relationship

Analysis:  We are still in a relationship

 

Forward Outlook

So far in September we have enjoyed epic scenery in Badlands National Park and the Black Hills in South Dakota - you people back east need to be aware that these places exist because they are fucking incredible.  Whenever the hell Lindsay gets out of bed, we will be leaving for Wyoming and the epic parks that await:  Grand Tetons and Yellowstone.  The tentative plan has us leaving Yellowstone for Glacier up in Montana and then heading to Washington.....the plan gets progressively more fuzzy at that point.  But it is likely that October will find us on the shores of the Pacific Ocean - keep your fingers crossed for us that we get a dry mild fall!  Now if you will excuse me, I have to go here:

 

Dude.

 

 

 

 



Dorothy, we're not in New Hampshire anymore (Keira)

Alright, this road trip thing is kinda cool.  The camper feels like a tiny house and mom and dad let me sleep on the couch all the time now.  I get to see all kinds of new places and smell all kinds of weird things.  This past month I got to spend time with new people who fed me table scraps when mom wasn't looking and doted on how exceptionally cute I am with my new haircut.  So, all in all, I'm digging it. 

But something weird is in the air.  I grew up with trees and lakes and oceans and suddenly, we were here.

Badlands National Park!

It smells funny here and I can't stop snorting to take it all in.  And holy crap it's been hot.  Good thing I get to sit in the air conditioning while mom and dad go off hiking in this sweatfest.  After a few days in this weird place, we took a drive and YOU WON'T BELIEVE WHAT I SAW.  Tiny animals sitting up on the dirt and squeaking!  Oh, what fun I would have had if mom hadn't kept me contained.  Like a crazy game of Wack-A-Mole.  Talk about enrichment - I could have run for hours trying to eat these so called "prairie dogs" while they squealed and then dove in their holes. 

Nom Nom Nom

 

After a few hours of this frustration, we arrived at Wind Cave National Park just south of the Black Hills.  On the way, we passed by these really large and hairy dogs.  (I think I heard mom call them "bison".)  They were a bit big so I waited until we were driving away to start growling.  Hey, I know what I can take on!  Unfortunately, the 'rents are now doing this crazy tour of the National Parks and most of them won't let dogs hike on the trails - boooooo - so I'm relegated to the campground and roads.  But I have the best mom so she's now doing these things called "two-a-days" so I can go running but she can go hiking later.  We get up real early when it's still cool out so I can stretch my legs.

See.  Best mom eva.

Well, let me tell you something.  This morning we went for a run on the park road.  Mom seemed a bit on edge, constantly scanning the environment and making sure she remembered the mace.  I was happy as could be now that I was real close to those prairie dogs.  Suddenly, a car pulled over in front of us and I heard this nice lady say, "Dear, how far are ya going?  Cuz there's about 200 bison around the next curve and they'll eat your dog."

I could take one or two but not hundreds.

Well, that was the end of that - we turned right around (mom hates out-and-back runs so this was a big deal) and suddenly the pace was a bit faster.  As we turned onto the road where the campground was, I realized why she was scared.  There were two of those big, hairy dogs just staring at us.  Mom looked at the road, looked at the bison, looked at her mace and told me to "RUN".  So we went at an all out sprint until we got to the campground. 

Stupid hairy dog



Mom looked like she was going to vomit from running so hard but I thought it was a good time.  So I guess I can see now why dogs can't go hiking - mom and dad had to leave the trail twice today to avoid this:

Dog with antlers.

And this:

Bison right on the trail.  Can you imagine?

Not to mention the rattlesnakes.  So I'm content to just be the campground guard dog.

 

You have to know where you come from to know where you're going. (Lindsay)

August is "Happiness Happens Month" so it was only fitting that we fill these 31 days with visits to our friends and family members.  If May was a bit hectic in its planning, June was a deep breath in the mountains, July was adventures in new places, then August was certainly about reconnecting with those we love.

It all started in Prince Edward Island and a visit to a dear friend.  Elise and I spent three months together at the Chimpanzee Conservation Center in Guinea, West Africa in 2005-2006.  This is a sanctuary for orphaned chimpanzees; survivors of the illegal bushmeat and pet trades in Africa.  They all have stories but most make their way to this haven as young babies (1-5 years old) and spend 10-15 years learning essential skills from one another, the international volunteers and native Africans.  Volunteers are required to spend at least six months - enough time to learn how to A) survive around and B) assist these amazing animals.  While most days you feel like a nanny with very hairy children, some days may bring a chimp attack complete with boulders thrown at your head and a bite to the back of the neck because you looked at someone's new girlfriend too long.  Combine the stress of trying to integrate with a group of wild animals with the complete isolation of the sanctuary (the closest African village which has no electricity or services is hours away on a very bumpy road) and you inevitably form strong bonds with those around you. 

Elise showing the babies something essential to their survival. 
Or maybe she's just eating her lunch.

Elise showed up after I'd been there three months.  I remember being excited because she was the first volunteer coming from Canada (the rest were from France) and mistakenly thought I'd be able to speak English again.  Not only was I wrong but her Quebecois accent was the most difficult for me to understand.  We spent many an afternoon miming weird gestures to one another.  The international volunteers were incredibly patient with my minimal understanding of French.  When I said, "Dan should go in my butt!", they politely taught me how to say, "Dan should ride on my back!".

Dan on my back.  Not in my butt.

 

Elise is one of my favorite people.  She has a confidence and empathy I've never seen.  She says exactly what's on her mind but not in an overbearing or pushy way.  She literally has children named after her in Africa because of her ability to connect with people.  And yet, we'd lost touch over the years and I hadn't seen or talked to her in seven years.  We arrived at her apartment, the door flew open and I was immediately in her armpits (hugs are appropriate in this scenario).  We spent hours reminiscing and cooked a 10pm dinner with plenty of wine.  Keira was thrilled at the amount of drinking that occurred because it allowed her to snatch a baklava out of Elise's boyfriend's hand. 

The weekend brought an oyster festival on the western side of PEI, camping in an awesome spot and a day at the beach.  As she forgot her bathing suit at the campground and needed to borrow a sports bra from me, I was flooded with memories of swimming in the Niger River, shrieking at every movement which even remotely resembled a hippo or crocodile.  Good food, wonderful province and promises to do a better job staying in touch.

Then it was on to Baxter State Park and down the coast of Maine.  In our previous home, we rented out two bedrooms in our upstairs over the years and were fortunate enough to have Anna move in with us for six months.  (the roommate lottery is a scary venture)  And while she and her husband, Bobby, had since moved to Virginia, we were thrilled to hear they had returned to New England just a week prior.  One of my favorite nights in Boscawen was an all night board game marathon that had me literally peeing my pants.  (Board game: "What part of a man makes him more feminine?"  Bobby: (reading an answer from one of us) "His vagina".   And out came the wine.  Through my nose.

So we had dinner and walked around town catching up on our ever changing lives.  They were kind enough to adopt my grandma's cat when my beloved grandma passed away because our pets were not accepting of another cat joining the clan.  Abby lived in our office at home for a month or so while I tried every attempt to keep her out of the shelter where I worked.  One day, Anna came to me and said, "I like Abby.  Let me talk to Bobby."  And my reply, "Yes.  Please.  Thank you."  And so it goes.

Abby getting ready to move to her new home.



Just an hour or so down the highway and we stopped at one of our favorite "pit-stops"; Jim's Aunt & Uncle's place in Wells, Maine.  Some of the most gracious people, I swear.  We were there about ten minutes before his Aunt Molly started talking about her frustration because she was finally a match for a bone marrow patient but couldn't donate because of a pending shoulder surgery.  And then it was on to how they could help an acquaintance's son with college.  It's just who they are.  I was so inspired I told Jim I wanted to donate my kidney.  He rolled over and fell asleep so I took that as a yes.

Their beach house is cozy and there is a constant (and I mean constant) stream of people coming through.  When others (including ourselves) might buy a retreat to spend time alone, they open it up to anyone in their lives who might need a break and can't afford the otherwise exorbitant fees of vacationing in Maine in the summer.  It is a gift that we get to spend many weekends and random days in "their peace in Maine". 

Keira searching for clams on the beach.

While I was blissfully enjoying a rare, fast internet connection, I noticed that our most favoritest yoga instructor needed help stacking wood the following day.  So off went our now standard email (copy/paste) - "Do you have a driveway?  Can we sleep in it?  We will offer X if the answer is yes".  She wrote back a very colorful "HELL YES" (that's not really what she said but I can't write her response on this blog because children are watching)  So it was off to Concord and our old stomping grounds.  Being Tina, she wasn't there when we got there so we parked the camper, befriended her dog and drank wine until her teenage daughter came home and invited us in.  We stayed up until midnight with her girls making Friendship Bracelets.  (Which is crazy because I was just telling Jim about how I used to sell these bracelets in the lunchroom in 6th grade.)

Now this is what I call a team effort.

Woke up and went to yoga class and then stacked wood all afternoon with a very nice hodgepodge of Tina's friends and a sick but determined teenage daughter.  Many glasses of wine later and it only collapsed once.  Success!  We've been going to Tina's "Yoga for Athletes" class for the past four years and it's one of the things we miss most on this trip.  I've laughed hysterically through that class and cried uncontrollably.  (the class was on Wednesday nights and was my mid-week relief from the stress at work)  I've listened to dear friends snore through Savasna and shed a tear themselves.  And it was all good.  At the risk of sounding like a hippie yoga person, it truly does just take paying attention to your breath to experience your life.

Drinks at Margarita's with another ex-roommate of ours, Daryl.  (Daryl Barrel)  Living with Daryl and Jim was like getting to see back in time to when Jim was a small lad.  "Mom, can we ride bikes?"  He was our last roommate and one of the most long-term and we thankfully lucked out in the lottery with him.  He was quite understanding of our, "umm, we want to go on a road trip but we don't know when and we have to sell the house first so can you clean your room" crap.  He even helped restrain small kittens on the dining room table when I needed to draw blood and put a smile on his face every time I brought another obnoxious dog home and said, "umm, I don't know if he likes men yet".

Feeling refreshed and sore, it was back to the homebase - good ole Swanzey, NH and the Monadnock region.  We are, at this stage, planning to move back to this area when we return.  (Of course, there are always mitigating factors so no promises people!) but we both love this area.  Inevitably, Jim logs onto the real estate website when we're here and we end up driving by a few properties before I remind him that we're still on a road trip and I don't care how pretty the house is, I'm living in a tiny camper.

We spent the week in the hay field of the faux in-laws, teaching Jim's six year old nephew how to snap his fingers and say, "oh no you did - n't."  Kathy: You. Are. Welcome.  I love knitting in this house because they have the only non-toddler chair in the world that I actually fit in - I mean, sitting all the way against the back and feet fully on the floor!  It's amazing.  We washed our sheets for the first time in three months and hung them on an actual clothesline - ecstasy.  Took Ivy and Keira for a trail run in the woods behind the house which always fills me with smooshy happiness because it's proof that with time, my dear girl can hang out with another girl off-leash and actually enjoy it.   Round out our visit home with a family reunion and a night of Scrabble (alright, I loathe Scrabble but the company was good) and all was well.

Jim's family is vast and continues to multiply.  Thankfully, they are also hilarious.

We were scheduled to be in Rhode Island for my very good friend's wedding.  Ben and I met in college as bus drivers (yup, we drove buses - who lets college kids drive buses?).  We spent our last summer on campus not just sharing an apartment, but a room because there were five of us crammed into a small three bedroom apartment.  He slept in my closet which is as hilarious as it sounds.   "Goodnight Ben.  Goodnight Lindsay."  A normal exchange made funny by the closing of a closet door.  Oh, the adventures we had.  Phone rings.  "Hello?"  "Lindsay.  I woke up in a shrub."  "Of course you did."  Ah college.  But we've changed so much since then.

Then.

And now.
See.  Growth.

After a weekend of stuffing our faces, it was off to my favorite place to eat brownies.  Mom's house in upstate New York.  I spent about four months living in her basement after grad school waiting to get a job so I'm always happy to return and see how far I've come.  Crap.  I still don't have a job.  Anyway, I joke that I've desensitized my mother to my adventures at this stage and she hardly notices when I do something crazy anymore.  2001: Mom, I'm going to Australia for six months.  (she cried when I got to Los Angeles)  2005: Mom, I'm going to Africa for six months.  (she didn't freak out until week three of not hearing from me).  2013: Mom, we're going to sell our house and live in a truck.  "That's nice dear." 

As they say, the apple doesn't appear to fall too far from the tree.

Upon consuming an entire pan of brownies, a bag of chocolate chip cookies and a box of cupcakes, our blood sugar told us to move on.  Facebook has been an incredible gift on this trip.  While I usually use it just to see what people are doing and to post excessive pictures of animals, it really has allowed us to find people with whom we've lost touch.  My parents divorced when I was very young and I was about five the last time I saw my dad's sister and her husband - Aunt Ruth & Uncle Otto.  A few years ago, I found my cousin on FB.  Turns out my Aunt and Uncle live in Michigan and were literally on our way to another family gathering.  So after 27 years, I saw them again.  Crazy.  Amazing dinner over a dose of catching up and breakfast the next day with more catching up and promises to stay in touch.

Then it was up the coast of Michigan to my Aunt Kay's and Uncle Bob's new camp on Hubbard Lake.  I use the term "camp" loosely as it's a three bedroom, two bath lodge.  Our mini family reunion included my Aunt Cindy & Uncle Rob (my mother has two sisters and they all look exactly the same so it just feels like I have three moms running around), my cousin Heather and her kids and my cousin Nicole's seven year old daughter who quickly became Keira's shadow.  I normally see my family in an exhausting, four day out and back around Thanksgiving so it was blissful to spend a whole weekend drinking and swimming without a job to get back to.   I love to see my family because A) they know how to make a good drink and B) they tell me hilarious secrets about my mother. 

Can you tell which is my mom? 
Neither can I.

And so we're off again - away from the comfort of places we know and people we love and while I'm crazy excited to see what's in store for us as we head across the Upper Peninsula, through Wisconsin and on to our first big park in South Dakota, it has been a true gift to spend time back in our roots.

"A man finds room in the few square inches of the face for the traits of all his ancestors;

for the expression of all his history, and his wants."
Ralph Waldo Emerson