Day One: The Bituminous Trail

 We are traveling nearly 2000 miles on what I will call 'The BT' (Bituminous Trail). This is our trip blog.  

Todays Start: Evergreen, Colorado                      Today's Miles:  567   

Lauren and Juliette picked Steve and me up at Denver International airport about 11am. We are traveling to Paramus, New Jersey for Lauren's hubby, Justin's, grandpa's funeral. (Grandpa's the one who spontaneously jumped up at J&L's wedding reception to lead the Rutgers football  fight song🕺🏻)

We did a potty stop in Eastern Colorado and walked at least a MILE to the "Luxury Restroom Trailer". I didn't know those words could be used in the same sentence. And, everyone's idea of 'luxury' is relative. Like, if you were crazy enough to hike the 2000 mile Appalachian Trail (AT), this restroom trailer might be a highlight of your day. (And if it's constantly raining, you might even think 'cabin!')

Actually, Lauren' father-in-law is nearing the end of his Appalachian Trail hike, so I will be making some comparisons. His AT trail nickname is, well, I'll keep that confidential in case he's wanted for squatting or something. I'll just make up a random name and will call him 'Bilbo.'

Now, WE all need trail names, right? Juliette will hence forth be Jewels. Steve, hmmm, The Thinker?

Lauren will be MOMosa and me, I'll think about it. 

Ok, I'll be 'Nanny Goat.'  (A hated nickname my Dad gave me as a kid. He thought all my friends (and boyfriends!) would like to hear him call me that when they stopped over. Therapy has made a dent.)  So, while 'Bilbo' recently scrambled up boulder-strewn mountains in pouring rain and slippery mud on the Appalachian  Trail, on the BT, I easily and spritely spring into the driver's seat of the Toyota 4Runner. 

Now, back to why would anyone WALK 2000 miles when you can drive?  This question reminds me of a discussion with our son, Ryan's, best friend Kurt when they were 16 with shiny new drivers licenses. "Hey Kurt, do you think you will still ride bikes to each others houses once in awhile?" His reply, "...uhhhh....why?"

If you were hiking the AT, like Bilbo, you would likely have deep, meaningful conversations with fellow hikers. On OUR Bituminous Trail, we listen to murder podcasts. As Jewels is only 2 months old we are not yet forced to listen to mind- numbing stories of Clifford the big red dog. 

Just like Bilbo who sees moose, grouse, and other furry and feathery friends, we see wildlife too.

Me: Hey! Look at those COWS!

The Thinker: Those are steers.

Me:  What....ever!

The Thinker: THEY care!!

We've now trekked into Kansas. Billions of 2000 pound Buffalo used to roam this Godforsaken part of the country. It keeps me on my toes while driving. They could literally show up again at any time.  

Jewels has slept for the last 8 hours. Can we say midnight Party!!

To Have or Have Not

 Anyone hooked on the series "ALONE?" (Where they drop off a bunch of peeps in remote wilderness to see who can survive the longest. 

If it were Me: "Thanks for the boat ride, this is pretty, now let's just turn around and go home, shall we?") 

We started with Season 8 and now reversed to Season One.

Here's my problem with the show:

These survivalists can't find ANYTHING TO EAT.  So, naturally I eat for them out of pure sympathy--buttery, salty popcorn and anything chocolate being my favorites--the contenders keep talking about 'calories' afterall. 

 ...And grilled cheese sandwiches, ice cream bars, leftover fried chicken, um, yeah, I feel for them so I eat for them.  They get fatally, anorexically skinny while I add to my nice muffin top on my cozy sofa in my warm and dry house.  

And on SEASON ONE, so far,  NO ONE CAN FIND ANYTHING TO DRINK other than salted sea water.   Sooooooo, I help myself---and THEM---to a nice cold Fat Tire or two.   (More if we binge-watch. Which we always do)

I never knew I had such an empathetic personality and it feels pretty good, you know?  and when I die early of a cholesterol clogged heart and fatty liver disease, I hope someone mentions that nice trait in the obit.

Mjolnor

For many years growing up I would watch the Olympics from morning to night.  NEVER EVER do I remember the HAMMER THROW...  Apparently fairness now dictates that this 'sport' should get prime time.  It took only 4000 years.  Legend has its ignominious beginnings in Tara, Ireland.  No wonder the O'Haras left.

As some domestic abuse victims and defense attorneys will tell you,  hammers are DANGEROUS.  The THE HAMMER THROW 'sport' injures and occasionally kills more athletes than any other track event.   (Well ...maybe errant discus beheadings.)

Men's hammers are 16 pounds, Womens' only 8--so getting hit by a woman's hammer might just require hospitalization rather than burial.  

The Hammer is a metal ball attached to a steel wire and a grip.  The metal ball can be solid iron or a shell of brass with a filling of lead for instance.  It's your choice.  I would have a chocolate shell with crushed Butterfinger filling. 

Track workers dodge and measure the hammer throw distances. What fun they would have when picking mine up.  In fact, for their benefit, I may stuff mine with a nice 8 pounds of chianti which wouldn't lessen the blow from being hit by one of the other iron bombs, but the workers might not care as much. 

PS:  Trivia:  Does anyone know where the title of this piece comes from?? 

Sitting in the Rooting Section

  

Someday I'd like to see the Eerie Canal or the Suez Canal or the Panama Canal.  All I've ever seen is the Root Canal.  Probably five times.

Today I'm hanging out with my 90-year-old Dad as he visits that same Canal.  I'm just 25 years behind him, so will expect to sit in that same dentist chair a few more times myself.

Or worse yet, someday I might need one (or more) of those $$$Dental Implant$ that are advertised in full-color gory detail on highway billboard signs.  Bye-bye to the kid's inheritance and any chance to afford visiting Eerie, Suez, or Panama.

How's the Weather?

The lowest temperature recorded on Earth was -89 C (-128 F) 

at Vostok Station in Antarctica on July 21, 1983.
Anyone wishing to vacation there will be disappointed to find that Marriott and Hilton have yet to build.

Furnace Creek Ranch, Death Valley claims the hottest recorded temperature at a toasty 56.7C (134 F) Ouch.
Californians are considering sending any and all elected officials to this oven for slow cooking.

I postponed a trip to Arizona last week with my dad and sister.  It hit 118.  Dry heat, as they say.  Dehydration causes quick Mummification and you last another 4000 years. 

Not a bad deal, really.

Ragtime at the Blue Line

My 82 year-old dad came to my daughter's college hockey game.  He's always been pretty proper in his conversations, so his comment after the game cracked me up.

"Oh, I feel sorry for those girls; they had THREE periods in ONE day,  hahahahaha!!!!"

Guy humor...  ;)  Love ya Dad!

Life at la Ristorante

Alana is working at a ristorante on Lake Como in Italy this summer.  I got a kick out of her first blog entry:  http://alanapatrick.blogspot.it/

Life at la ristorante  by Alana Patrick  5/2013

So far, we've worked two days at Momi Ristorante. The first Italian word we learned was stanka. One of the waiters: "You stanka?'   Me: "I stink?!  Thanks..."   Later we figured out it actually means TIRED! Which we definitely are. We are on our feet all day - bussing dishes, making espressos and cappuccinos, running food, sweeping floors, the list goes on and on. Momi keeps us busy, that is for sure!

Kelly and I literally jump for joy whenever someone who speaks English comes to the restaurant. Our Italian is no molto bene to say the least.... and everyone we work with speaks sooo fast!  But, the Italian is rubbing off.  Even if we are completely useless at speaking the language, Kelly and I are slowly becoming Italian... Today, a rare American group came in. After we had met them and chatted for a while, one of the guys asked - in clear English - "Are you guys making pasta?" Kelly enthusiastically responded," Siiii! "  Another time today, one of the customers asked me where in the states I was from and I responded, unconsciously using my best Italian accent," Meeeneeeesota!" We bring a new meaning to the phrase 'dumb American's...At least we make people laugh? 

Speaking of accents, no one can pronounce our names. When I introduced myself, one of the other workers said, "Oh, like the President Franklin?"  Me: "No, not Delano, ALANA." Him: "Ohhhhhhhhhhh I see, Haaahlano!"  Kelly is Carly or Kahhhhlie. But, no worries, Momi came up with an obvious  solution:. He renamed us!. Kelly is "Maria" and I am "Magdalena." Should we be offended? Welllll at least people know our names now... 

The biggest challenge of the trip so far has been finding weeeefeeee (Italian for wifi, of course). There is NONE in the whole town of Blevio! We asked Momi about three times, and he was no help. But then today, we saw him on the internet at work! Us: WHATTT, HOWWW?! Kahhlly and Delano did some quick investigating, and we found out we needed to go to the cityof Como and buy a modem and an internet plan. Which is exactly what we did! Maybe we aren't such dumb Americans after all...

Tonight we are enjoying our weeefeee in the hotel before a busy day at the ristorante tomorrow! Arrivederci til later!