THE BADLANDS

Native Americans called this mako sika or "bad lands" and you can see why, sort of. I mean without science telling you, oh these color bands are just different geological stria, and this massive erosion causing canyons like this is from the aridness of the region and infrequent but massive flooding, you'd think, what the hell? Also, try traversing these lands in anything but a car and you'd be calling it the badlands too. We saw goats perched atop peaks, prarie dogs sticking their heads out of dry holes, and we saw miles and miles of rainbow-ribboned canyons.

THE BIRDS AT THE FOREVERTRON

There is an entire field of metal birds sculpted mostly out of various musical instruments. After a while I felt like I was being watched. Ragnar and I stroked the birds feathers and played a few beaks. Here are some pictures of us feeding the birds and then some pictures of what the birds look like when they are all alone out there in the magic of forevertron land.

THE GRILL AT THE FOREVERTRON

This is a working! grill at the Forevertron. They make steaks here, and there is a small metal dog on the ground welded out of a waffle iron that still works. Dinner parties there have steak and waffles. I'm pretty sure the guests get to go to heaven too.

THE FOREVERTRON

After a friend insisted that we go, Ragnar and I made the trek up to Baraboo, Wisconsin to see the Forevertron. Slightly hidden behind a hardware store and covered with trees, we walked through a lane of random metal parts and then as when we rounded the bend, there it was in all its glory. Sitting in a parked car was Dr. Evermore, the much talked about creator of this magestic sculpture park. His wife, Lady Evermore was in her office, an old sea green airstream. She came out to give us molasses cookies, and told us that her husband had recently had a stroke. When we talked to him, he could still speak but it was slow and slurred. What we did make out was that he told us we seem like the right kind of people. The Forevertron is a gigantic machine that he built to ostensibly propel him into the heavens when he's ready to go. The park is filled with all kinds of metal wonders, as well as an epicurean grill right out of a willy wonka movie. People get married here, but I just want to go to heaven.

Running on Vegetable Oil

Some of you may wonder - what is it like running on vegetable oil? Well, actually it's less exciting that you may have been lead to believe. It's basically just like running on diesel, except it feels cleaner, and it smells amazing. I hang my head out the window like a dog, fantasizing about egg rolls or french fries, especially when we're hundreds of miles away from a real town with real food. It burns at a higher temperature than diesel, so it runs best when the engine has been heated up. I swear our car feels like it's hovering about a quarter of an inch off the asphalt when we run it on vegetable oil. So in essence, egg roll gas.

Maine Lighthouse

This is the Nubble Lighthouse in York Beach, Maine. Even though we had touched down on the Atlantic before, somehow reaching Maine felt like a real accomplishment. We scaled down the craggy rocks at this lighthouse and each blessed each other with a fingertip of the cool, salty Atlantic ocean. Maine is really beautiful, and if you could take an eraser and wipe out every single rich white person in a boat or SUV, as well as George Bush's vacation home in Kennebunk, you'd have a really peaceful getaway. Our first night there, the sky swelled with purple lightning over the ocean and I slept deeply while Ragnar stayed up late smoking watching the free show.

Good Samaritan Mark - Fixing the Greasemobile

Ragnar and I realized our car wasn't the blazing tank it used to be, ever since we converted it to run on vegetable oil. Already in upstate New York, we knew we needed to find someone to fix it. It was losing power and we were headed into thunderstorm territory, and we still had to cross the Rockies. We looked online and found Mark in Trumansburg, New York, a small town on a finger lake. He was willing on his day off to pencil us in between helping his friend build a straw bale home and putting in his own fence. A true helper this guy was. We found him at his small home, a true tarp mechanic, and he took one look at our car, realized air was getting into the fuel system, cut some hoses, waved a wand, and whatever he did it worked. He explained our car's system to us in a way that clicked and I learned more about cars from him in one hour than in my whole life. He had two dogs that sat in my lap, Ziggy and Fidel, while he and Ragnar did the dirty work. After that, we sailed smooth out towards the West.

Western New York

Forget the glamour and glitz and travel to Western New York with us. Miles and miles of nothing and then a woman alone in a pie stand and then forty miles later we about slammed into two deer carcasses lying in the road with the words "FRESH ROAD KILL" spray painted in red on their stomachs. Nothing like seeing that to make you feel at home. I wish I had a picture of it, but I bet you're glad I don't.

TROUT FISHING IN AMERICA

It's good for carnivores to kill their own meat, at least once in a lifetime. How many succulent steaks have you had and barely even had to look a cow in the eyese? How many delightful chickens have you had the pleasure of stuffing with goat cheese and wrapping in bacon without ever twisting a neck? And of course, fish. I have eaten many a fillet, simply smoked, grilled on a cedar plank, dripping in a mustard sauce - what have you. But I have never caught my own fish. Until Vermont. Ragnar and I decided to go fishing and I found my calling. Of course, mostly what I loved about fishing was that it's the only sport where you get to sit on your ass for hours, talking and eating. I am a true athlete at that. Anyway, it turns out I forgot about the whole bait issue, and Ragnar had to hook all of the canadian crawlers for me. We met up with my Dad in Vermont and he was highly disappointed that I couldn't bait my own hook without squealing. Secondly, you actually catch fish that are too small to legally eat, and so you end up busting their lip real bad, to put it mildly, and have to throw them back in. I ended up catching two worthy fish - a large perch and a small trout. When we got back to the house, Ragnar boldly decapitated them and gutted them fiercely. I was an expert at scaling them and filleting. Restaurant, anyone? But I can't say it wasn't hard. At one point in the day I thought I had caught a fish, then I reeled my line in only to find the bony oval frame of a fish mouth. It isn't pretty people, but it's real. I sat there, and I did it.

Sweet Maine Lobster

Ragnar and I finally made it to Maine, where we delighted in the treat of lobster. Let it be known - I have never tried lobster because I've been waiting to come to Maine and have the real thing. To tell you the truth I was expecting it to be firmer and have some kind of brandy flavor to it - but really it was more crab-like than anything. I'm sure all of you reading this have already tried lobster, but for those of you who haven't, it's fun, you get to wear a bib if you feel like it, and there is enough butter to lube your insides for life! And it's sweet. Another thing - they really sell you on using a nutcracker to crack that thing open, but I used my hands and found it much easier. It's strange to think of it walking slowly around on the ocean floor, but it doesn't stop me from delighting in its boiled presence on my plate. Eating lobster used to be a sign of poverty and was often fed to slaves. At the rate our budget is going I wish it was still for the dead broke - now I have to elbow in with retirees on the tip of Maine to get a taste.

Who's got your barack?

Ragnar and I saw Barack Obama speak in a humid elementary school auditorium in Keene, New Hampshire. He had his sleeves rolled up, and there was a very old fashioned air about the whole thing. They also bought him an obviously bigger wedding band, and detailed him with at least ten secret service guys. I felt mildly inspired by what he was saying and yet left feeling like he has no idea what he's in for. I guess we'll see. I like that he seemed self-doubting and that I can tell he likes to hang out and drink beers with his speechwriters, but I also think he might get to the white house, wake up and think "holy shit." But hey, can we do any worse than we are now? I'd take all of the candidates, throw em in a sack with a bunch of wild cats, and then pull out any one of them and be happy.

Coney Island

While in New York, do like the locals do and hang out at Coney Island. I love Coney Island - it still has some freakiness left, and a bunch of rickety rides. This is a booth called "shoot the freak" where a guy walks back and forth and you shoot his wooden chest plate with a paint gun. I'm relieved that Coney Island still has some edge, although seeing a sign that read "shoot the freak" made me look over my shoulders a couple of times and then I remembered, oh right, I'm not in high school anymore.

Um, hello sweet double decker pizza!

We had deep dish pizza in Chicago at pizzeria uno which is basically the be all and end all of deep dish pizza. It was delicious and had a kind of alluring red wine grease that gave it a luscious quality; but the pizza we had at Matthew's in Baltimore was incredible. This was some kind of genius. It is two deep dish pizzas stacked on top of each other with layered cheese, sauce and proscuitto in between. The crusts have the softness of a pennsylvania dutch cinnamon roll, with puffy air pockets, golden crispyness around the crust, and a kind of wafting yeastiness that rose my heart as much as the dough itself. The proscuitto layered in between the stacks had a floral aroma to it, and I kept hoping my friends would be distracted with conversation so I could steal off their plates. Oh, yeah, these pizzas are served on paper plates and if you want it to go, she hands you another paper plate to serve as the "top of the box"!

Blue Light Baltimore

We went to visit our friends Alicia and Seth in Baltimore, Maryland, who were so gracious as usual and postponed important things like school and work, to take us out drinking and eating. While we were there we had the pleasure of going duck pin bowling - an East Coast form of ten-pin bowling where all the pins are small and the ball is the size of a grapefruit. It's apparently called duck pink bowling because someone thought the pins looked like a flock of flying ducks. This is a picture of Ragnar doing a highly authentic version of the Dude from The Big Lebowski. I just can't get that cool.

All college towns look the same

Whether we pass through Bloomington, Indiana or Asheville, North Carolina, the most surprising thing is the homogeneity of college towns. Whatever slight element of grunge or artistry has been replaced by any coffee shop and some kind of organic bakery. Indie girls who used to do drugs and take showers once a week now are squeaky clean econ majors. What's happened to the college town? I used to feel like I could be happy in most any college town, but now when I feel like it's pre-fab whiteyville. Where am I to go?

THE HOT BROWN

Ragnar and I delight in nothing more than indulging ourselves, especially when it comes to food. While I mostly indulge in my emotional whim, and Ragnar with his cigarettes and drink, there is nothing like indulging in local cuisine. And the Hot Brown sandwich particular to Kentucky raises the bar of any two pieces of bread. I've attached a picture of a Hot Brown, because I want you to feel what it was that I felt when the waitress put it down in front of me. What I first thought was - there's a sandwich in there? Oh yes, a sandwich. It is an open faced reality of white bread smoked turkey, bacon, and tomato covered in mornay sauce, which for those of you who don't know is bechamel to the 100th power with grated gruyere and parmesan cheese. This glorious knife-and-fork tower is baked in a cast iron dish until bubbling. Even those who have added a good thirty pounds on their road trip might have a difficult time finishing this rich beast. It was one of the most delicious things I have ever eaten and I will be replecating it sometime soon, hopefully for an uptight urban dinner group. Oh, and our appetizer before the Hot Browns arrived was a heaping platter of POTATO CHIPS smothered in BACON and CHEESE. Come on people - you're killing us - literally.

Vegetable Oil Conversion - Louisville Kentucky

Louisville, Kentucky. Finally we're here and getting the car converted to run on straight vegetable oil at the Good Oil Boys. It turns out that actually it's just one aussie guy - somehow I imagined two brothers drinking beer and eating hot browns (what is a hot brown you're wondering - next post). They had gotten our vegetable oil conversion tank in the mail, set our car up on a lift and got to work. Basically they installed a new 12 gallon tank in the trunk where the spare tire usually sits, and ran new fuel lines and injectors throughout the engine. I love how greasecar sells you the kit and tells you it's a DIY job. Yeah right! I kept remembering that as I watched two mechanics slave over the conversion all day. Then I imagined if Ragnar and I had tried to do it ourselves - I would have lasted about as far as taking the kit out of the box. Here are some pictures of our car with it's new duds. If you're planning on converting your car yourself to run on vegetable oil, DIY means Difficult If You're (a professional mechanic.) Just look at the expression of the mechanic's face as he's opening up that box full of fuel hoses - he looks daunted.

THE BEAN - CHICAGO

I never thought I'd have a revelation in the presence of a shiny bean, but I sort of did. Here are some pictures of the bean, as well as some fake art school shot of us reflected in the bean. The bean was designed by Indian artist Anish Kapoor and is a reminder that public art should just be cool and fun.

Chicago - The Deep Dish

Chicago came after a few nights sleeping off our Mississippi sickness in a Memphis hotel, where all we did was eat soup and watch Fox News (which only makes you feel more ill.) So Chicago came as a great relief. It's an impressive city - we took the three mile walk, starting at the Chicago Art Institute heading down the miracle mile. We stopped in Millenium park, where there was these awesome public art fountains (seen in pictures) and a great outdoor symphony hall created by Gehry. It turns out Chicago is a great city to be a tourist in - it has amazing public art, deep dish pizza that'll make any empty stomach sing, as well as cheese and caramel popcorn. Here's some pictures of the chi-town. We didn't get to spend enough time there, and so we want to come back to watch the lights in the Buckingham fountain.

The War in IRASH

These pictures are classified, and I have been advised not to post them on my blog but to keep them to myself. However, I want you to understand the gritty reality of staying in a shack in Mississippi, and that is developing a rash like this one. These are small weapons of rash destruction. The war in IRASH is a difficult situation, and one I hope to get out of as soon as possible.

Mississippi - The Crossroads

Our drive from Louisiana to Clarksdale, Mississippi was dotted with cropdusters and green lush corn fields. I never want to pay more than a penny for corn after seeing all that corn. It seems like every available spot of land has corn in it. In Clarksdale we stayed at the hopson's plantation, which is an old cotton plantation. We slept in a funky corrugated tin and wood sharecropper's shack. At night we drank beer on the porch and the largest, emptiest mosquitoes, who swam without a sound, filled up at the gas station on blood. The next morning we were covered with large welts from them, spider bites, and were both sick with a cold. I then developed a rash that turned out to be somehow due to a viral infection. I remember at night sitting up in the bed feeling something haunted. I suppose sleeping as a tourist where people once slept as slaves isn't exactly the right kind of tourism, but it definitely reminded me that it hasn't been that long since that time. So often you hear people talking about how blacks need to suck it up and get over the past and look to the future, but it wasn't that long ago that they were ENSLAVED, and staying in Clarksdale was a reminder of that. Also, I walked into a convenience store in a small town called friar's point and the woman asked me if i was "one of those schoolteachers that they send out here". It's a very segregated place and seems pretty poor. Although Ragnar is quick to add his wisdom - he says you're more likely to mischaracterize a place after spending one day there than never visiting at all. We went to the crossroads where robert johnson allegedly sold his soul to the devil for the gift of music. Mississippi is also where i saw my first smoke shop with the girl behind the counter holding a baby and smoking a cigarette in a closed space. I also saw my first confederate flag cell phone. We had really good pork sandwiches at abe's, and I found an old lady who had an espresso machine that she didn't know really what it was and thought it just made really condensed coffee that you add cups of water to make regular coffee. She had no idea people drink it straight. This is a picture of Ragnar sitting in front of the shack - somehow he fits into any environment that has a place to sit, drink and enjoy the company of another's presence. He rules.

Brenda's - New Iberia

If it wasn't for our road food guide that my mom bought us, Ragnar and I would have never found Brenda's in New Iberia. A small little shack off the main road, we weren't sure there would be food inside. It was ten minutes before closing, and we were the only customers there, but she treated us like royalty. Well sort of. I asked her if we could see a menu, and she said, "I'm just goin tell you what we got." For twelve dollars she gave us a sampler of everything she made that day. We ate crawfish etouffe, fried catfish, shrimp and okra gumbo, chicken gumbo, potato salad, rice, green beans stewed with ham hock making every vegetarian weak with envy, shrimp fettucine alfredo, and peach cobbler. Suffice to say it was some of the best food I've ever had. Also, the fettucine alfredo was incredible, and I'm pretty sure it was made with velveeta. Every time she walked by our table I would say, "This food is so good" to which she would retort, "Stop being so uptight!" You said it girl. We DID feel so uptight and kept wondering how the culture of food and restaurants has gotten so far away from just the concept of eating good food. There were no courses, timing, servers or even a menu. In fact the little old helper lady just brought all the food at once and stared at us until we finished. A defining cajun dining experience.

Lost Bayou Ramblers - take a listen

Perhaps one of the greatest moments was listening to the Lost Bayou Ramblers playing behind the Blue Moon Saloon in Lafayette, Louisiana. Here is a video of them playing there. You can't understand him because he's singing in Acadian French. The first Lafayette two stepping I've ever done was to this awesome fiddling. Let the whole video load first, then enjoy.

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Meet Billy Geisendorff

This is Billy Geisendorff: carpenter, folk artist extraordinaire. We met him on the porch of the Blue Moon Saloon. He looks like Chris Cooper from Adaptation, only drinking a lot of beer and perhaps looking for some kind of fight?. He started telling us about the motorcycles he carves from matchsticks, and so we went across the way to his house to see one. The picture you see here is of the one he showed us. Keep in mind these are made solely with matchsticks and sewn leather for the seat and wheels. They are exact replicas of specific bikes, made from photographic memory, to scale. Also, the brake calipers move, everything turns, and there is even a real kickstand that props it up. Billy doesn't really use a computer, and I'm pretty sure only a handful of people have ever seen these bikes. What we loved about Billy was that he's making these bikes the way some people write love letters. He stays up at night gluing matchsticks together and then shaping them into brakes or handlebars or wheel spokes. Late at night after several beers he told me that he's waiting for the little people to come.

swamp tour - louisiana

Ragnar and I took a swamp tour near lafayette and the man featured in red is Brian champagne, our tour guide, a fountain of flora and fauna information that cascaded out of his creole mouth spliced with cuss words and local anecdotes. Apparently that morning he had found a woman who had tried to commit suicide parked by the docks with a gun, knife and pills in her lap. So on our tour, intercut with descriptions of the beautiful origami inspiring snowy herons was his cell phone conversations with friends that went something like, "yeah she wadn't breathing, had a gun, a knife, not a bead of sweat anywhere. I think she's dead. Well I got to finish up this tour - I'm working right now." Suffice to say that combined with the swamp created a certain je ne sais qua. The swamp was utterly beautiful though, swimming low alongside alligators with dragonflies landing on us every few minutes. Also, brian pulled up next to an alligator nest and pulled out an egg for us to hold. There were small spiders crawling all over it.

Out of a movie comes the Blue Moon Inn, Lafayette, Louisiana

If you can believe it, this is where we are right now. After a long day of pushing our way through brooding Texas storms, dark billows reminiscent of the nothing, we pulled into Lafayette, Louisiana for the night. Upon first glance it doesn't seem like much of a place, but discovering the Blue Moon Inn was like a fairy tale. You could not write a more perfect moment. A warm cowboy themed room with peppermint patties on the pillows. Outside in the back is this deck where local musicians gather each night and play music. We drank rum and cokes and soaked up the humidity and warmth. The dancing and foot stomping was amazing - I wish first that I could upload a video, but even more so, I wish you could have been here, whoever you are.

Holy Bridge Bats, AUSTIN

This is a picture of the thousands of people who gather every night each summer to watch the bats fly out from underneath the congress bridge in Austin, Texas. We brought beer and bread and cheese and waited until it got just dark enough. When they came out they flew so fast it was like a warm rip tide of fluttering fabric in the sky. The following is a picture I found online of what it looks like under the bridge - cozy! By the way, besides bats Austin seems like a pretty cool place to live, but you can already feel the yuppie types taking over. Ragnar and I had a beer at the new tiniest bar in austin. The sign said puppet show skinny puppy two dollars. We thought we were going to get a two dollar skinny puppy puppet show. Alas, only the great joy of two dollar drinks! We also ate at this fancy italian restaurant, where the cook mistook Ragnar for a local purveyor of sorts, so we got all kinds of free food even though we kept insisting that he had the wrong guy. So far Ragnar's been mistaken for a small town celebrity everywhere we go! Even though it'd be impossible to look anything like him. Best traveling companion ever!

rest in peace with the wildflowers lady bird

Here is a picture of me posing as Lady Bird Johnson did in a patch of wildflowers. Apparently her passion was preserving native wildflowers and what a cool ambition that is, really. Out here in Texas she founded a wildflower center, and it is just rows and rows of endless wildflowers. I let the butterflies flitter past me, and i thought of everything she must have been through, civil rights, vietnam, and that at the end of all of that, what she thought was most important to her was fields and fields of untamed nature for people to lay down in, smell, and feel at peace.

surprise #1 - Amarillo, Texas kicks ass!

First of all texans aren't really hicks. Despite the fact that the first two Texans I encountered as I crossed the border were a married couple pulling up at the gas station on their horses drinking beer. They then proceeded to get 700 dollars worth of money orders. The wife had a tattoo in cursive that said "fancy lady". Oh the sincerity with which they did it! Beat that urban posers! After that we headed into home for the night - Amarillo. Amarillo is some kind of gem. Streets make no sense, and everyone Ragnar and I talked to kept asking us to repeat ourselves - they didn't understand what WE were saying! We actually had to ask for a plastic bag four times. We cozied up to a great bar called the golden light, which had dogs and older ladies singing "i'm a bitch, i'm a mother, i'm a saint, i'm a lover, i'm nothing in between you know i wouldn't have it any other way" and then proclaiming, "this is the best song ever!". I'm pretty sure that song came out in like 92. We stayed at yet another roadside motel run by Indians who thought Ragnar was some kind of criminal. Or maybe they just hate Americans. And then, we had the greatest experience of a lifetime - the amarillo motor 66 speedway car racing. Fucked up beat up cars racing around a track in the middle of nowhere sponsored by Budweiser. Parents were giving their babies strawberry crush to drink and ladies were chewing on huge turkey legs. Someone asked Ragnar if he was Randy! Points for fitting in! Not a person over 21 who wasn't married! I felt embarrassed by my H&M tote bag and sweater. Oh well, next time i'm wearing a crop top, getting a fake tan, and wearing jeans. I love you Amarillo. Also, I got a rattlesnake tail to hang on the rearview mirror - pictures of that coming up.

route 66 be run down

I had some kind of dream of lit up fluorescent diners calling to me in the middle of the night. I thought girls on rollerskates might come up to my car with a vanilla milkshake. I actually assumed I'd see tricked out roadsters driven by cottonheads (my new term for old people) down the road. Instead I found lots of DUI checkpoints, a Denny's and lots of remnants of what once was. But, my waitress at Denny's Jacqueli kicked ass, and we stayed in Elvis's room at this odd motel with an old Indian guy who kept mumbling outside our room. So, if you're interested in remnants of americana, old road signs, and driving down the road seeing defunct, defunct, defunct, then this is it.

sweet driving machine

This is our sweet driving machine. We bought it off craigslist on the side of the road in san mateo. It had no license plates or original title, but the price was unbeatable and it's in flawless condition. And it's gold. You'd be dumbfounded by how good this thing drives. We opened the sunroof and drove down the street, smiling to ourselves, dreaming of the open roads and vast stretches of time before us.