A year of adventuring

Autumn is, for some reason, always a time of deep reflection for me. I don't know if it's due to summer's slow decline into cooler days, the return to the school year, or something else that evokes this extreme nostalgia in me. This year is no different, and I have been thinking especially of my adventures of last fall.

I left Athens on November 6, 2010, and over the last week-plus I have amused myself by remembering where I was on this day a year ago, and reflecting upon all that happened and the change and growth that have been bestowed upon me since.

One year ago today, I awoke to heady gray skies in Boise, Idaho, and pulled myself onto the road for the last long leg of my journey westward. By day's end I would be in Eugene! That nine-hour jaunt was the conclusion of ten days of driving, weeks of planning, months of dreaming, a lifetime of exploring, and the affirmation of generations of pioneers.

I remember that feeling; after grinding gears and curving my way up the mountainsides in western Idaho, sweeping down through the Blue Mountains and seeing the valley before me, mountains azure enough, sun shining down as I broke through the clouds, every conceivable shade of green, and knowing, just knowing that I was home. Waves of elation and peace enveloped me. I drove on and on that day, and eventually before I knew it I was pulling up in front of my parents' house. In my car. Which I had driven away from there two-plus years earlier. To Ohio.

I've been thinking a lot about the concept of home lately. I have many homes; for this I am lucky. There is Athens-home and Eugene-home, and within and around these cities are countless places that represent home to me. I recently passed my third anniversary of living in Athens, and throughout that time my greatest struggle has been to somehow reconcile these homes, at least internally, and to comprehend the great geographical divide that exists between Oregon and Ohio. After three years, I don't know that I'm any closer to figuring it out, but like I said, at this time of year I find myself growing homesick.

I'm feeling many of the same thoughts I felt a year ago, the last time autumn began its inevitable slide into winter. It really was summer once in between, but now that even Indian summer has ended and the days are determined to be gray and cloudy, it seems like last fall was just a flash of time ago.

I didn't realize until I had been back in Athens for about a month (this would be this past February or so) how much I had in fact changed and grown during my three months away. Some days I am shocked and impressed that I did in fact succeed in spending three months not in Athens; some days I am still quite bemused that I am in Ohio at all. I returned from those months with family feeling grounded and revived - and I was, and continue to be, so, so thankful for that time period in Eugene last winter and all that it meant to me, my family, and my Oregon friends.

Since my return, life in Athens took a little bit of time accelerating to levels of never-before-seen busyness, though I did learn how to quite effectively incorporate Sarah-Nelson-rest-time, something I credit to my winter months spent in the warm embrace of family and home.

My adventuring, at least such as it was a year ago, has slowed down some. I have entrusted myself to this city and to the adventures that I may find within Athens and the surrounding county on a daily basis. I realized that my standard for an adventure relied so much on whether or not I left Athens to complete it - what, then, is the point of my being here? In the past year, I have done countless interesting things here and elsewhere.

I know that I will always retain an adventurous spirit, and that perhaps the part of me that dashes off on cross-country adventures is currently just hibernating, but I have also realized that I can't just be an adventurer forever. I can't have my cake and eat it, too; if I want and need to have roots down somewhere, I need to dedicate myself to doing actual real things in that place. The clock of time is ticking just a tiny bit louder these days.

I'm also looking very much forward to the winter adventures that I do have planned - a barely-four-day jaunt to the Northwest for Thanksgiving, and another trip for the week surrounding Christmas. Today in Athens the weather is classic Pacific Northwest - gray and rainy, highs (and lows) in the mid-50s. There's a strange comfort in weather like this; it unsettles me at the same time as it calms me.

Here are some interesting places I have had adventures in the past year: Eugene for two months; Seattle; Portland; the Oregon Coast; Auburn/Bay Area/Southern California; Phoenix, Sedona, Flagstaff, AZ; Albuquerque; I-40 between Albuquerque & Oklahoma City; Fayetteville/Little Rock, AR; the Mississippi delta; New Orleans; the Gulf Coast; Alabama & Georgia; the Carolinas: Charleston, SC and Asheville, NC; the Atlantic Ocean; a few trips to Athens, WV and other locales in WV; Louisville; a half-marathon in Roanoke, Virginia, and another in Eugene this April; Athens, Athens County and Meigs County; Champaign/Urbana, Illinois; Indianapolis; Boise, Idaho, and I'm sure I am forgetting a few.

I have done many new things. One of the most important is what I was preparing, this day a year ago, to spend the next few months doing, and that was living, being around, and caring for (and being cared for by) my family and my mother in ways that were healing to us all. I connected with people & places in Eugene in a way I hadn't before.

(Interjection: One year ago yesterday my strong, brave, talented, wonderful mother had surgery for breast cancer. I'm sure that she is doing reflecting of an entirely different sort today, but above all I am so thankful that she is now on the path to recovery, and that an entire year has already passed since that particular adventure.)

I drove 5,000 miles by myself across the country. I got in a car accident. I bought a new car. I substitute taught; I was Ms. Nelson in front of classes of kindergarteners, 11th graders, and everything in between. I went to every school in Athens & Meigs counties. I subbed in special ed, and started to love it. I took classes at Ohio University. I worked for Americorps and got involved with the local food security movement. I ran four half-marathons. I went to a wedding and was in another one. I turned 26. I dated some. I read a lot of books - some classic and some not-so-classic. I painted my apartment. I spent a lot of time alone, and a lot of time forging friendships stronger than any I've ever had. I started graduate school, and I started thinking that I really really might want to not live in Athens anymore, so I have been spending a lot of time dreaming of further grand adventures!

Anyway, thanks for reading my blog and for sticking through this extremely long post while I wax nostalgic about my adventures and the ways I've grown and changed in the past year, as self-centered as it sounds. I just hope that I will continue to have fun and have adventures. Today, as I look back over the last year, I am filled with a wave of happiness. I'm looking forward to creating a new year/life of adventures, to seeing my family over Thanksgiving - oh yeah, and to seeing Oregon football continue its season of glory. Go Ducks! (yes, I will wear that T-shirt approximately three times per week for the rest of the season.)

The Indy 528!

I know it doesn't have quite the same ring to it as the iconic car race, but that is how many miles I drove to Indianapolis and back this weekend, and I couldn't resist the connection! I guess if I had taken one or two fewer detours I could have made it in a flat 500. Goal for next time . . .

So, why the reason for this spontaneous trip to the Hoosier State, you may ask? Two reasons:

1. To celebrate the end of my eight-week summer job, in which I took zero weekend adventures!

2. Once upon a time, I participated in an activity called drum & bugle corps. I mean, if you're reading this blog you probably know this. In a nutshell: Drum & bugle corps is like marching band, except with only drums and brass, and it operates at a much higher level than marching band. For three years, I spent at least one weekend a month in Seattle, practicing marching and music with the Seattle Cascades, the nearest corps to me. As soon as school let out in June, we would hit the road, and spend each day rehearsing for several hours, competing in the evening, then driving overnight to our next destination, usually a high school whose gym we would sleep in before spending another day practicing on the football field. The performance, precision, challenges, and victories all made it one of the most rewarding experiences of my life. I can't even begin to list the ways in which I changed and grew through those three summers - and its long-lasting effects have been too many to count. In terms of the marching music world, I've found many ways to stay involved, but I'm certain that the discipline and courage I learned have stuck with me in many facets of my life.

Anyway. I'll save the rest for the next inspirational essay I need to write. Every summer now, the finals competition is in Indianapolis, just four(ish) short hours away from my home in Athens! I've always intended to go, and it never quite happened, but this year it fit in my schedule, and at the quiet but firm urging of my youngest sister, I decided to go.

Athens' normally perfect summer weather has gone on its own momentary August vacation, so it was about 55 degrees out when I arose early Friday morning. The sky hung with gray as I made my way north on US-33. I briefly worried about encountering morning rush-hour traffic (the ways of big cities are a mystery to me), but I easily navigated I-70 through town, and before I knew it I was heading west.

There's a point in the drive from Athens to Columbus where suddenly the hills flatten out, replaced by rolling farmland. Green becomes brown; forests give way to sheaths of corn and oats. It's easy to not notice this transition as it occurs, but it's always instantly obvious once free of the city. Heading west, I was surrounded by fields and flat farmland, stretching along the interstate in every direction.

There's something about heading west that always evokes a bit of the pioneer in me. There's just some tiny thrill about heading into the sunset, knowing that ahead of me is the vast prairie and, a thousand miles past that, the Continental Divide. Somewhere beyond lies the Pacific Ocean and, of course, my home state. That little inkling of a thrill grew the further west I went, and the higher the sun climbed in the sky, imbuing my whole journey with a sunny blessing, urging me to just keep on heading west, destination unknown.

By the time I reached Indianapolis, the sun was shining brightly and there was barely a cloud in the sky. I arrived at Lucas Oil Stadium not long before the Cascades rolled up in their charter buses to begin warming up for their last show.

The Cascades weren't the only group I was there to watch. Before I left Eugene, I was a visual instructor for a handful of different groups in Oregon. The last year before I left, three years ago, I had the opportunity to put in a lot of hard work with my high school's marching band program. I had to leave a few weeks before the season ended to move to Ohio, but I've remained very proud of what we accomplished that fall, and I've stayed in touch with a few students with whom I felt a great connection and inspiration. One of those students just completed her first summer touring with the Oregon Crusaders, a slightly smaller corps based out of Portland. Words don't express the joy and pride this fills me with, knowing that I helped inspire her and maybe teach her some of the skills that led her down this path. Another friend of our family, who I briefly taught, also spent the summer with Crusaders, so it was a sort of homecoming for me. The full weight of this dawned on me as I neared the capital city, and I was overcome by a wave of emotion, weeping as I drove. Needless to say, I was just - just happy to see these people, to see them in uniform, to see them march.

I also got to spend a great amount of quality time with friends who I had marched with who had spent the summer teaching with Cascades, many of whom are educators in their own right. I aged out five summers ago, and yet this world still exists for me. That was another amazing revelation. So, we'll see where that leads.

I spent the next two days doing a good bit of socializing (see above), exploring Indy, and watching countless awe-inducing musical productions. There was a parade in downtown Indy on Saturday which all the corps participated in, and afterward I was lucky enough to stumble upon the Cascades playing the corps song, an arrangement of "Imagine" that resonates deeply in my soul.

After weathering an enormous thunderstorm Saturday night (thankfully we were inside the stadium and not at the Indiana State Fair across town- my heart goes out to those who were!), I was up early Sunday morning for the drive back to Athens!

Since this was an adventure, I decided to take a different route across the Buckeye State that would direct me through more of the alternately flat and hilly farmland. I left Indianapolis on I-70 going east (never quite as exciting as heading west, for some reason, despite the fact that going east actually leads me home). Just before the border with Ohio, I left the interstate. Mostly, I left the interstate because I saw an enormous fireworks superstore and I wanted to go there and stock up on real fireworks, but for some reason the only exit off the interstate to this palace of pyrotechnics is westbound. This makes no sense at all, because it is in Ohio that we are limited to buying only things that release colored smoke - not very exciting. Anyway, as I started to get all twisted about in a maze of endless county roads and cornfields, I realized that I was almost to US-35, which I knew would take me across Ohio.

I've taken parts of US-35 before; the second time I moved to Ohio, Google Maps (before I broke up with them) recommended that as the quickest, easiest route to traverse Ohio. I will say this right now: It is not. It is still faster to take the interstate to Columbus, then take US-33 southeast to Athens. However, US-35 doesn't take that much longer, and although there is a stretch composed mainly of 35-mph curves where you are always stuck behind a tractor, it still fits within my adventure philosophy.

And what a beautiful drive it was! Especially after spending a few days in the Indy metropolis, my whole body relaxed in relief as I became surrounded by green fields everywhere, and upon stopping to get a drink of water at a little gas station outside Chillicothe (claim to fame: the first and third capital of Ohio), realized that I didn't have to lock my car up tight for the two minutes I'd be inside. I like country living for reasons like that.

I tried to check out a museum outside Chillicothe, but since it was a Sunday morning, it was closed. (Why more people don't go on adventure road trips at 7am on Sundays is beyond me.) I did get to check out a beautiful graveyard, though, one of countless which dot rural southern Ohio.

Just past Chillicothe, I met up with my old friend US-50 (seriously, I'm still totally planning to do an adventure where I take US-50 from coast to coast!), which led me back into Athens as the sun shone brightly on yet another perfect Appalachian summer day.

Mileage for the weekend: 528.6

Flashback: August 13, 2008

The day I first saw Athens:

day 5: 8/13/08 athens, oh
athens is beautiful. driving here was a thing of beauty, a long stretch through the woods that was exactly the sigh of relief i needed. driving from columbus to athens is like driving from vancouver to corvallis would be if there was no I-5 or portland or salem in the way. that makes it seem like it would be a long drive, but it's amazing. coasting through little valleys and hills covered in lush green trees. i think it's more green and beautiful than oregon. that could be three days of plains states speaking, but i was blown away nonetheless. the hills looked like they were covered in fresh broccoli, billowing dark green foliage as far as the eye could see. i passed more signs for state parks, national parks, and national forests than i did for towns. as i drove, it grew dark and the moon rose and sharpened in white contrast. almost a full moon, shining down on the forests and the smooth, winding road. it was the best end possible to the past few days.

i decided that, regardless of the additional fee for being under 25, it would be worth it to rent a car in columbus. there were a series of minor disasters and misunderstandings. for instance, when you type "columbus airport" into google maps, it gives you rickenbacker international airport, which if you had never ever been to columbus would sound like the right airport. it's not. it's a tiny shipping airport way south of town. port columbus international airport is the main one, which is on the northeast outskirt of town, and it does not even come up on google maps. luckily we made it there, but after too much arguing and melting down and driving way the wrong way just for no good reason. also it was right about dinner time and suddenly my blood sugar went all over so i was freaking out as well as being tired and extremely hungry all of a sudden and... anyway. no fun. then there was another series of obstacles once we got to the real columbus airport, the kind you would probably see in the series-of-misadventures buddy flick that you painfully laugh at. yeah. backing a penske truck out of a parking garage in one of the midwest's larger airports. freaking sweet. but then, finally, success! it took about five minutes total to do all the stuff to get the car, a 2008 corolla. ohhh, just so relaxing. so wonderful and refreshing. an hour and a half to myself for the first time in five days or longer, a new car with a smooth, compact ride, low to the ground and with easy acceleration, and finally, finally on the road to athens.

and we're here! finally! after all my months of planning and looking up athens online and learning ohio facts on wikipedia, and after days of driving and $200 gas fill-ups and wrangling with a 16-foot moving truck, we are here. no more long days of driving. tomorrow we only have to drive about five minutes to our new apartment.

we finally are in a cheap motel, which explains why the internet isn't working and my computer only plugs into the one grounded outlet. and we had to drive around athens searching for it, because it recently changed its name and had no appropriate signs, and we were greeted by a balding indian man and smells of microwaved curry wafting in from the back. but it only cost $43, so i'm satisfied. and we did get to drive through most of the main road of athens while semi-lost, stopping at the kroger to look in a phone book (not helpful, due to recent name change) and buy ohio-produced cheap wine and various snacks. i do wish the day had gone so we'd gotten here earlier, because now all i want to do is explore. but that's what the next three days are for!

i still need to write about day 4: marengo, il, but that's several more paragraphs in itself. featuring: our first directional mix-up (you are not our friend, quad-city, iowa/illinois), crossing the mississippi, meeting all of chris' grandmas and many haaks, experiencing a bit of chicago neighborhoods/driving, drinking cheap wine and watching the olympics, and farm-fresh corn. the end!

Nelsonville: Yes, it is a real place!

After my grand mini-adventure last weekend to West Virginia I have had a peaceful week full of even tinier mini-adventures. More than anything, I've been trying to work on the idea that Ohio is an adventure, to truly savor the things in my daily life that are wonderful and unique and exciting.

For example, this Monday I wanted to check a particular book out from the library (I told you, always adventure armed with plenty of literature!). The Athens branch library is closed on Mondays, but the library in Nelsonville is open on Mondays. Now, for those of you following along from afar, Nelsonville is the name of the closest city to Athens. (In Ohio, everything 5,000+ is classified as a city; otherwise, it is a village. It's really quite darling to hear reports of "The Village of Chauncey" - except for, in that example, the village leadership of Chauncey is always in some sort of less-than-darling squabble.)

Anyway, I get a little bit of a kick out of the fact that there is a town called Nelsonville. When I was younger, we would pretend that our house was called Nelsonville, and write letters to each other at "1 Bedroom St, Nelsonville," and so on. But, then again, we had a very unique household.

Nelsonville, Ohio, isn't a large town, and apparently it's a Preserve America City. It's certainly gorgeous, however. It's about a thirteen-minute drive from Athens through some slight hills, a bit of countryside, a dash of road construction, and national forest. The Wayne National Forest has a park ranger's office there, and although typically I zoom past it en route to Nelsonville or Columbus, this time I stopped and pretended to be a tourist, gathering maps and looking intently at all of the historical displays set up. Then I continued up the road, under the clear blue sky filled with puffy clouds, as has so often been the case this summer. The road, in this case, is US-33, which is pretty much the only conduit between Athens and Columbus - and beyond, in most cases. Returning home from a trip, the moment I get on 33 just south of Columbus a great sense of relief always washes over me. It's kind of neat to live in a town isn't accessible by interstate. Maybe that's just me . . .

I spent the morning leisurely strolling around the central square of town. Nelsonville has a higher-than-average assortment of antique shops and art galleries. I found a newspaper and read it in the grassy central square while waiting for the library to open. After checking out my book (and plenty of browsing!) I nestled myself in another park and read for the rest of the morning as the sun warmed my back and small groups of people filtered nearby. It was pretty idyllic.


The sky has been almost unreal this summer. I feel like in that picture the sky is almost too blue to be true!

After I grew tired of reading, I went for a Nelsonville run. This is pretty much the same as an Athens run; the bike path which I so frequently tread runs all the way to Nelsonville - if I ever, in some fit of madness, talk myself into doing the full Athens marathon, I would run to Nelsonville and back on the bike path. Since I am not quite that insane (yet), I had never run on the part of the path that traces along the Hocking River on Nelsonville's outskirts. And it was beautiful. I found myself wishing I had my camera. Cliff outcroppings jutted through hillsides densely packed with trees. Every now and again, I'd come across a sturdy bridge spanning some tiny offshoot which ultimately led back to the Hocking. I passed many bicycle commuters, a family out for a bike ride, and a caregiver on a walk with two developmentally disabled adults. Otherwise, in the course of my 4.5-mile run, I saw no buildings, vehicles, or other signs of civilized life. It was almost like hiking! I also somehow neglected to see the first mile marker, so while I thought I was running about 3 miles and change, I actually wound up running 4 and a lot of change! Who knew!

Anyway, this morning I went on a jog with a friend and I did remember to bring my camera. We ran on winding County Road 20, which takes the daily adventurer out to Strouds Run State Park for some swimming and hiking. We didn't quite make it that far today, and my camera
obediently died after I snapped only a few photos of our trek, but the woods were alive today. A small stream trickled through the woods, heading who knows where - into a fantasy story, perhaps.


That's all for today!

Flashback: August 10, 2008

I am going to keep re-posting my adventure notes from my first cross-country roadtrip adventure, at least for now. It's been interesting reading them, three years later, and musing upon the ways I've grown and changed, but also exulting in the journeys I've taken and the things I discovered and noticed even then. Driving across the country in a moving truck is a decidedly different adventure than driving around the country in my car just because I feel like it, and I can definitely sense that stressful energy while reading these older posts. However, in the name of posterity, and because of how significant this maiden voyage was in my life, I will continue the trip down memory lane (how many metaphors about travel can I squeeze into one sentence? Just try me!). I am so happy that this adventure brought me here so that I can continue to have more and more adventures!

Oh, yes. And I am planning a few adventures for the coming weeks, so you will soon get more current updates from your adventuress!

=========

day 2: cheyenne, wy

[10 Aug 2008|07:22pm]

i try not to judge, but cheyenne is not the most beautiful of towns. of course, this is after a full day of driving through the mostly-barren south-mid-west? i don't know the name of the region we're in, technically. but it's all mostly the same looking. the occasional truck stop or gas station or, rarer, rest area or small town, speckled throughout dry, rocky terrain, some tumbleweeds, etc. not much else. we had lunch at the first rest stop on I-80, just before we hit wyoming, and that was somewhat pretty. large reddish rock formations and clear blue skies. the part of the rockies i remember from montana. speaking of which, crossing the rockies was rather underwhelming. i guess we crossed at a less, well, rocky spot, but it was mostly an hour of slight but constant uphill and then suddenly, a sign saying "summit of the continental divide"! like they say in dumb and dumber, these mountains aren't very rocky! also, i decided that whoever named the "rocky mountains" could have come up with a more descriptive term. i mean, um, yes, mountains are rocky. that's nice. i slept soundly last night, so that was extremely lovely. we got up early and had continental breakfast. it's silly how staying at a motel that charges $20 more than listed is all worth it because they offer about three bucks' worth of breakfast. but it was still nice, though i wished i had soymilk for coffee and cereal. then i drove the whole way. we crossed into utah, where they felt like having eight miles of road construction where there was only one lane at a time, over and over again. stopped to go to the bathroom at a gas station, because both utah and wyoming are pretty short on rest areas, like i remembered from drum corps. filled up gas in ogden because we weren't sure when we could next. after ogden we switched onto I-80 and this is a highlight BECAUSE.... I-84 dead-ends into I-80, which means that we traveled the entire length of I-84 on this trip! we had a high-five in the cab about that. the other highlight of the day is that we are STILL following the oregon trail exactly. in reverse. we keep crossing rivers that i remember from the game. that's pretty sweet. we also found several rock stations in wyoming, all of which have the same call numbers as eugene radio stations. and we discovered the university of wyoming. it's in laramie! who knew! we asked the front desk lady if there was a store nearby and she pretty much looked at me like i was crazy. too bad for her, it's 2008 and i can search on google maps, and i found several grocery stores that only took a little bit of driving through town and had ample parking. take that, front desk lady! we went to safeway and i bought a little thing of soy milk, and more capri sun to drink with lunch, and razors since i left mine in oregon because i want to be able to get on the plane. but my legs are extremely hairy. we walked from safeway to find food, and it was thoroughly depressing. walked past a lot of scary looking bars and men in trucks drinking crown royal and honking at pedestrians. i had another gift-card subway sandwich and subway is doing a peel-off game similar to the old mcdonald's monopoly games, and i won another subway sandwich! so hurrah! double free! then we were going to go to sonic but decided that sonic is pretty sketch if you're not in your car. the inside reminded me of a bus station bathroom. so we went to a place called taco john's/good times which was kind of like carl's jr/the green burrito. and walked back.

we are resting now. we stopped driving a little early today because the next real place we could stay was three hours farther, including a time change, so that would make at least four hours later we'd be getting in, and that would have made it hard to get up and have a productive day in the morning. tomorrow is cheyenne to des moines! des moines is about five hours from chicago so the next day we can get up in the morning and drive to chicago. woot!

Flashback: August 9, 2008

Once upon a time, I got in a moving truck and drove across the country to move to Ohio. Exactly three years ago today was the day that (my ex and) I departed Eugene for the first of what would be many cross-country treks. Who knew I would love driving across the country so much? Who knew I would love Athens so much? Anyway, here it is, three years later, and the date August 9 always stirs some excitement in me. Due to a work commitment, after moving our belongings to Ohio, I flew back to Oregon, where I stayed for two months more before driving out in the ol' adventure-mobile, so I didn't officially start living in Athens until October, but I still kind of count August as my Athens-Anniversary.

This trip took place before I had this fabulous adventure blog, but I did have a livejournal (long since neglected), and naturally, I wrote a post every night of our journey - it was an adventure, after all! I thought I would re-post it for posterity today. It's interesting to look back and see how my observations and writing style have changed in just the last three years exactly. Enjoy!

=======

day 1: twin falls, id

[09 Aug 2008|08:28pm]

it's actually 9:28 here because my computer still thinks i'm on the west coast. I slept horribly last night. rather, when i did sleep, i slept fine, but in the 7 1/2 hours we were in our makeshift bed on the floor, i was probably asleep for three of them. half the time too excited about moving to sleep, the other half too nervous, worrying about driving, crashing, the truck, our stuff getting stolen, etc. the goal was to leave at 6 am. we pulled away from the apartment at 1840 agate for the last time at 6:15, so that's really not bad at all. chris went straight to i-5 because he didn't want to deal with city streets while i dropped off the keys at jennings and got coffee and then caught up with him. it was like a math problem; if chris leaves at 6:15 and goes 55 mph, and sarah leaves at 6:30 and goes 65 mph, when will they meet? anyway, we found brennan (her apartment was actually only 4 blocks away from erin's first portland apartment) where i parallel parked like a champ and gave many needed hugs and then we were off! by the time we got out of there it was nine-ish, but no big loss. it turns out that I-84 basically follows the oregon trail. for like, its entirety. we drove along the columbia for quite a ways, and then it kind of cuts off the top corner of oregon through baker city and other such awesome places into idaho. chris was noticing a lot of oregon trail visitor center signs, and i kept noticing place names that i recognized from the game, so we looked on the map of the u.s., and sure enough, it follows it at least into utah. we had pb&j for lunch at a windy rest stop along 84, then stopped for gas in pendleton. one fill-up used all of chris' arco gift card and then some. then we switched so i could drive. scary!! but really, not that bad once i got used to it. the whole time i'd been picturing the gigantic OMB penskes, and this is much smaller. after pendleton, though, you start getting into the high desert, so there are lots of windy hills that go up and down and round and round. i spent a long time yelling at them, but it didn't help. i learned about how every little motion is amplified in a truck, so even semi-slamming on the brakes makes you swerve. boo. there was lots of road construction once we got into idaho, and that was equally scary. we stopped for dinner at subway (again, free with a gift card!) just past boise. at one point, we'd hoped to hit ogden the first day. that's about 4-5ish hours past boise, and we'd forgotten to account for losing an hour into mountain time, so we settled for twin falls, about two hours farther. it's actually in jerome, where wade from my omb section was from, but it has a hot tub. that was the most amazing feeling i've felt in forever. really. there are two other groups from oregon here, and a kid and dad from colorado driving him out to u of o. exciting for everyone! our goal for tomorrow is cheyenne, which should be no biggie, except for we have to cross the rockies all over the place tomorrow. but i'm driving first becasue i'm perkier in the morning, which means chris will get the rockies. so i'm extremely tired. riding/driving in a truck is exhausting. even so, it didn't feel like it took that long. we did a few mad libs and had some team-crossword action. the truck has no tape player, but yesterday we bought battery-operated speakers at radio shack, so we can listen to cd's or ipod, for the more technically advanced of us. we're getting up at 5:45 tomorrow. the motel starts serving continental breakfast at six, so we'll eat it and then roll out. when we were stopped for dinner, i thought about grabbing a small carton of soymilk at albertsons but figured i could get it later. except we're actually about five miles outside of twin falls right by a truck stop, so no soymilk. oh well. i think in the morning i'll call the days inn in cheyenne and make a reservation, because we liked it here. and stuff got filled up tonight, although it was a saturday so who knows about tomorrow. whew. unwind. today was a good day. some grumpiness in the morning, and it's weird to be leaving, but not really leaving. i am getting excited for the fall (hopefully for the right reasons) and i know it will go by just as fast as it can, and then i can come out. another time that i got so caught up in minor stresses that i downplayed the whole transition and only now am i realizing, whoa. i'm moving to ohio. the midwest. ohio. it's pretty wild. i'm excited. i'm more excited now than i have been. it's really happening now. even through all the planning, even yesterday, even this morning in eugene and portland, it didn't really feel like it was happening. but now it is. yay!

A little day in West Virginia

Hello, blog-o-verse! (not just a blogosphere anymore, it's the whole universe!)

I have been very busy this summer having Ohio adventures, the Americorps sort and working-for-a-nonprofit sort and drinking-wine-in-the-yard-with-friends sort, but that is a different story altogether (and you can learn about some of it, though not so much the wine-drinking part, right over here at my other other blog).

Anyway, today I went on an adventure that is more reminiscent of adventures past. I had some grandiose plans to make it even a little larger in scale, but that was not to be this weekend, and that's okay.

I am in a dear friend's wedding in a few months, and her wedding shower was today, in Rainelle, West Virginia, which is roughly east and a little south of Charleston - an area of our beautiful, mountainous neighbor I had yet to really explore. Naturally, in accordance with adventure rules, I tried to take as much of the trip on non-interstate and non-previously-Sarah-traveled roads!

After a stop at the Athens library to load up on CDs and books (not that I would need them while driving, but the library is closed on Sundays and Mondays and I read all the books I already had, plus who knows when you'll get a chance to sit and quietly enjoy a book while adventuring!), I headed southeast out of Athens on US-33. I know I've kvetched about this before, but for some reason Ohio can't figure it out that odd-numbered highways run north-south. ALWAYS. Calling a highway "US-33 East" is like saying "My mom put himself to bed." It just does not work. (And my apologies to independently-gendered people; it's just hard to find comparable examples!)

Anyway. Whatever. I headed in a southeasterly direction on US-33 East, which led me through comfortably rolling farmland and into Meigs County (county seat: Pomeroy, OH, pop. 1,966). Pomeroy is a charming old river town that has a charming main street and a charming amphitheater right along the legendary Ohio River. But today I did not drive through Pomeroy; instead, just north of town, I veered off onto Ohio State Route 7. OH-7 runs, I don't know, south or west at this point, and again I fail to keep up with Ohio's numbering system. Regardless, I found myself heading effectively west. OH-7 South and OH-124 West were running concurrently at this point.

As it turns out, Rainelle, West Virginia, is southeast of Athens, Ohio, and yet I drove west! Consultation with my atlas (and Google Maps, in a rare moment of accuracy) gave me the idea that, rather than staying on US-33 and taking it directly to I-77, I should try a more circuitous route, which somehow would add only 15 or so miles to my journey. Let's do it!

So, SR-7 took me through a spot of rain and more green, rolling farmland that gave way increasingly to all manner of processing and manufacturing plants - primarily coal - the nearer I got to the river. At Gallipolis (yes, the name of a real town, one of the biggest in the area actually), I found US-35 to cross the Ohio River and head back semi-eastward toward my destination. US-35 soared over the river as two bridges rose before me and the Ohio rushed on. I picked up speed upon entering West Virginia (faster speed limits, and they orient their highways correctly, too, as the highway magically turned from US-35E to US-35S!) and before I knew it I was on I-64 headed straight into Charleston, the Mountain State's historic capital.

I encountered a little bit of a traffic delay here, thanks to an accident blocking two lanes several exits ahead, but, hey - this is why a good adventurer stops at the library before leaving town! I knocked it into neutral (holding the clutch in indefinitely makes your leg sore! especially if you ran five miles yesterday!) and cracked open my newly acquired short story collection.

Soon enough, sadly for my literary pursuits, traffic unsnarled itself. After making it through Charleston (where I-64 and I-77 merge for a bit), I found US-60, also known as the Midland Trail, and headed deeper and deeper into the mountains.

At this point, I was feeling pressed for time (and fighting bits of rain), so I didn't take as much time to revel in the spectacular scenery. I did, however, stop for gas in Belle, West Virginia (proudly finding a super-off-the-beaten-path 7-Eleven). My conversation with the cashier went like this:
Me: Do y'all have a restroom?
Cashier (looking up from a conversation with several locals): You're from out of town, aren't you?
She smiled obligingly as she led me down a dingy hallway to a door marked "Employees Only" and, lo and behold, a restroom which apparently anyone who's from in town knows how to find. Hey, I was proud that I fluently said "y'all," so you take what you can get.

Several hours later, after the wedding shower, I took my time heading back. I had considered camping or hiking somewhere along the way (and there were many locations, including an Appalachian string band festival only about 15 minutes away that a few friends were at) but impending rain and lingering exhaustion from my summer of saving the world (or trying my darnedest) compelled me to just turn the starship toward home.

Regardless, I stopped frequently to gawk at the beautiful scenery around me. Rainelle is about 75 miles east-ish of Charleston, and in those 75 miles one can find several parks, outlooks, rivers, etc. At Hawk's Nest State Park, you can look over an upper part of the New River Gorge, which is actually the oldest river in the eastern U.S. (yeah, I know) as well as being one of the deepest gorges, and just insanely beautiful. The New River itself combines with the Gauley River into the Kanawha, which flows right into Charleston.



Man oh man is the Kanawha beautiful there at its origin. A light mist covered blue and green mountains rising above its banks. The water shimmered perfectly flat and clear, reflecting the many-tiered mountains and the puffy clouds in the sky above.



The rain held off during my entire journey back, so I kept the windows down and breathed in the piney scent. The sun, still relatively high in the sky (thank you, summer) glinted through trees and off cliff-sides. Mountain Stage, one of my favorite NPR shows, came on the radio, and I was provided the perfect soundtrack of bluegrass and Americana for my exploration through the trees and hills.

Did I mention that I love West Virginia? Don't make it the butt of any yokel jokes until you've spent a day winding your way through the hills and gaping at its natural beauty. Just sayin'.

The sun was mercifully slow to set, and rays hued with pink reflected through the gray clouds that darkened as I traveled northward. I opted for the interstate north out of Charleston, although I'm honestly not sure whether that is faster than the westward-facing route I took through Gallipolis earlier in the day. Oh well, now it's more of a round trip.

I was pretty tired at the beginning of the day, but through most of the drive back I enjoyed the energy and enthusiasm I experienced through much of my cross-country adventure this winter. Good; I was afraid I was getting old, or something.

One of my greatest challenges this summer has been to refrain from comparing it to last summer, the Summer Of Adventures. Not every summer can be the summer of adventures; everything is an adventure, but sometimes the adventures we need are different. I needed the change and growth I experienced last summer, fall, and winter, and I don't need that same growth again this summer. It's just been a little trickier figuring out exactly what I do need this summer. Mostly, I just have to remind myself that not every summer is the Summer Of something, and that sometimes it's okay to just be, to relax and reap the rewards of all your hard work. So far this has been the summer of reading and the summer of dresses and the summer of wine and the summer of cooking and the summer of Athens adventures.

And that's another important thing to remember, an idea I mused upon often as I drove out to my summer job, twenty minutes through sparse countryside, once farmland but now merely dotted with barns and interspersed with tin shacks, into and out of tiny, pastoral, slice-of-Americana-past villages: Ohio is still an adventure for me. I've lived here nearly three years, which is neither a long nor short period of time, but I suspect that no matter how long I live in Athens, just the daily ins and outs, the little moments and the bigger ones, will continue to inspire me with a little bit of that adventure feeling. Every now and again I need to step back and remember: Ohio is still an adventure.

Mileage for the day: 332.8

Zaleski, June 9

I must admit that I have fallen behind in my blogging about adventures, large and small. Once an adventure moment has passed, it's all too easy to forget to write about it; then, as the past adventures pile up, even the most intrepid journal-writer thinks "Ah, there's no way I'll ever catch up!" But, this morning I woke up feeling reinvigorated about writing, and so I will slowly piece together some of the adventures I have experienced over the last few months. They won't necessarily be in chronological order, or in any way relative to what I may be doing at the moment, but I wanted to write these down for the exercise if nothing else.

=====

I have been spending a lot of time in the woods. Whereas in Oregon, we have mountains, in Ohio, we have hills; likewise, Oregon has forests and Ohio has woods. The difference between forests and woods is more subtle, but it's something in the way the deciduous trees warm and embrace a person (and animal life, too), even in the depths of winter.

In Athens, I am beyond fortunate that on a daily basis, I have miles of wooded trails at my fingertips (or toe-tips, as the case my be). If I drive less than ten minutes, I have multiple options: Stroud's Run, Sells Park, The Ridges, just to name a few. Their presence makes my quotidian life sparkle, as I can easily buzz over to any of these places on my way home from work, while running errands, or after having spent several hours doing nothing but sitting in my yard reading. Even the slightest dose of nature makes the day infinitely better. A person could spend the entire day hiking around Dow Lake, where the Sells and Strouds trails ultimately intersect.

However, I'm currently on a two-week stretch of summer vacation, and summer vacation is for adventures that take you out of your own backyard, even a little. So, last Thursday I took myself on a daylong hiking adventure in Zaleski State Forest.

Again, I count myself lucky; it took me less than 45 minutes to reach this wooded getaway. Living in the hills, where early builders notched roads into any curves they could find, I had my selection of about three different routes. I headed west out of Athens on West Union street, which turns into Ohio SR 56 just outside the city limits. I followed 56 as it curved through perfect green farmland, under cerulean skies filled with billowing clouds. I passed signs indicating the towns of Union, Mineral, and Carbondale; I can only imagine that at one point in the past, these settlements were marked by more than just a sign and a smattering of weatherbeaten homes.

As the trees thickened, I hung a left on Ohio SR 278, which would take me to my destination. Lake Hope is a popular state park nestled within the Zaleski forest (okay, so we do, technically, have forests in Ohio - but they are oh-so-different from forests out west). I parked across the highway from the Hope Furnace. It is one of many once in active use all around Ohio to extract iron ore from the ground, burning 24 hours a day making cast-iron and charcoal from the surrounding trees. The Hope Furnace has been defunct since 1875, but it still stands.

Anyway, I digress. I love little history tidbits like that. The Zaleski forest is home to a network of trails, including a 9.9-mile day loop. I hiked this once last summer with a friend, and was feeling energetic early on this Thursday summer morning, so I hopped right to it.

As I began hiking, the morning's humidity hung in the air as I left the blazing sunshine behind and delved into the forest. Due to this spring's endless rains, much of the way was muddy and well-populated with bugs. I spent the day merrily climbing up hills and skipping down them as the path wound in and out of the forest.

Parts of this trail traverse the original road that ran from Marietta to Chillicothe (now US-50, effectively). Others take the traveler right down what was once Main Street of a mining town. Now no more than a few bricks to the side of the path, the area still hums with energy, and I close my eyes, imagining what life was like. People lived here. Right on this trail, six miles from the nearest road, in the middle of a state forest in rural Ohio, once upon a time, people woke up here every morning, washed clothes, ate, grew food, went to work, played with their children. And now it is nothing but an overgrown forest wonderland.

The trail also brushes up against a pond, flanked far on the other side by the also-long-defunct Moonville Tunnel. Reputedly haunted, it is more of a tourist attraction than anything else these days; decades have passed since the railroad last went through here.

By the last mile or two of the hike, I was feeling triumphantly energetic, and picked up the pace. I had, justifiably, skipped my daily jog this morning, but suddenly my legs cried out for more. Carefully navigating roots, rocks, and the ever-present puddles, I ran through the woods as they slowly led me back to my car and the bright lights of relative civilization.

I gulped down water enthusiastically, then rested in the shade a bit. Thunderstorms had been forecast for the day, but the sky was as clear blue as it was when I had left. This meant it was time for swimming! I was tempted to skip around the bend to the beach area at Lake Hope, where I've swam before, but a friend's description of a swimmin' hole popped into my head, and I realized that it was semi-on my way back. So, I doused myself with water once again (this would have to do for now), and hopped back on the road.

I followed 278 out of the park, returning to OH-56 for just a short way before hanging a right on OH-356, another beautiful, winding drive through the trees and hills. Just past New Marshfield, I turned on Robinette Ridge Road. Pretty much all of the country roads around here are named after families that still live throughout the county. I love this.

I won't go into too much detail as to the specifics of the location of this swimmin' hole, preferring to keep its bucolic location that way, but suffice to say the gravel roads took me past old railroad trestles, red barns, and trailers flying the Confederate flag. This is my Ohio.

The water in Raccoon Creek was crisp and refreshing, and soon I was back on the road toward home. Rather than retrace my steps (which would have gotten me home a bit sooner - but, no, we mustn't settle for the mundane!) I continued on 356, curving in the countryside directly away from Athens. After about 10 miles, I was starting to doubt my choice, but lo! There was US-50! I turned left, and began to work my way back eastward. I had only been on this stretch of 50 once, when I very first moved to Athens. Eventually US-50 joins up with US-32, just south of Albany, and into Athens we go!

The best part about this adventure was that it only took part of my day; I was home by 2:30. I succeeded in spending most of the rest of the day outside, as well. A perfect summer day!

===

More to come - large and small, recent and not-so-recent!

virginia + spring

Spring is starting to come to the hills.

This year, we have been beset by a relentless sequence of storms, which have unleashed furious rain, thunder, lightning, and wind. This time last year, I was basking daily in the warm April sun (or at least that's how I imagine it), so it's been difficult at times with storm clouds never lurking far away.

However, April showers bring May flowers, as they say. If nothing else, life has suddenly, spontaneously emerged here in the hills. Seemingly overnight, trees, bushes, plants of all sorts have returned to being the most vibrant of green. This rush of color is at once comforting and overwhelming. After a barren winter, devoid of much color at all, colors bursting every which way makes it seem like I'm in an entirely different place.

Last weekend, I went to Roanoke, Virginia, to visit my cousin Emily and to run a half-marathon. Graciously, the sun shone down throughout the duration of my drive, and I got to see the hills in all the glory of early spring. As if sponged with a brush and oil paints, the hills were a perfect patchwork. Some trees still wore the spindly brown of winter, while an equal number shouted in the bright hue known as "spring green." Interspersed with these leafy trees were those who were already in bloom, and purple and fuschia completed the palette as I zoomed along the highway.

The most direct way to get to Roanoke involves taking US-33, heading southeast from Athens until it intersects with I-77 going south. This becomes the West Virginia Turnpike and in one of those things that always snows me, for a while runs concurrently with I-64 (even numbered highways go east-west! east-west!). There are a number of routes the clever West Virginian can take to avoid the tolls, and I've done it before, but again I opted to pony up the $6 to take in the mountain views at 70 mph. I-77 is still one of the most scenic freeways I've driven. Just north of the border with Virginia, I exited the freeway, finding US-460 (and the WV visitors' center - DOT road map, acquired!) in Princeton, W. Virginia.

Although I had previously adventured to Roanoke, I'd never taken this particular route, and I loved every mile of it. The hills continued to be mottled with spring beauty, and the rain mercifully held off for a few more hours. There were entire stretches of this highway where I saw no other cars, and I was able to ruminate peacefully about history: both of Virginia and my own personal adventures.

I kicked off the Summer of Adventures last Memorial Day weekend. A few days before, I bought a tent and took myself on a driving tour of West Virginia's embracing hills. After a day, I realized how close I was to Roanoke, and that I hadn't seen my cousin Emily since 2004, so I showed up on her doorstep! This visit was a little bit less spontaneous, and I am grateful that I got to spend two-plus days with her. Nonetheless, this trip held special significance as I retraced the routes that instilled in me a game-changing need for adventure, and appreciation of flying solo.

I made good time on US-460, and was able to pull of the highway in Blacksburg, Virginia, for a spell. Blacksburg is a college town similar to Athens, relatively small, nestled in the hills, with a big university presence but also more hippies than you might expect. And on this Friday afternoon, the weather cooperating still, it was absolutely gorgeous. I tooled around there, met the folks at the health food store, and hopped back on the highway, which soon led me to I-81 and Roanoke.

I was thrilled to see Emily, and she played host fabulously. We enjoyed a quiet evening that first night, a healthy and carb-heavy dinner preceded by a quick jaunt around town, Emily pointing out sights left and right and narrating where I'd be running the next day. Even as darkness descended, the air was warm and the breeze gentle.

I awoke early the next morning to the sounds of a downpour. I stretched, dressed, and ate a ricecake with peanut butter while poring over the Roanoke Times and hoping beyond all hope that the rain would cease. No such luck. Emily dropped me off, and I huddled near the starting line with the other 800-odd runners. By the time the race began, we were all nearly soaked. The rain never let up beyond a light drizzle.

The course of the Blue Ridge Marathon is purposely hilly, and I don't blame it one bit; why would you run in such beautiful terrain without rewarding yourself with these stunning mountains? Accordingly, the first four-ish miles lead the runners straight uphill, leading to the top of Mill Mountain, Roanoke's iconic landmark. At this point, the marathoners continued in one direction, while us 13.1-milers veered away, starting to make our way down the mountain on a muddy, gravel-covered foot path. The dense trees provided intermittent respite from the ever-present rain.

The rest of the course took us all around Roanoke, over and under every bridge, through parks, around the downtown, up and down as hills swelled in neighborhoods. All along the course, Roanoke residents, race volunteers, family and friends decked out in rain gear packed the sidewalk to offer their support. Emily, for her part, dashed around Roanoke and was able to cheer me on at four different locations!

For the first few miles, I was able to sidestep the major puddles, ensuring that my feet stayed somewhat dry. Around mile 8, I inadvertently stepped fully into an ankle-deep puddle, and from then, it was game over. I started to get hyped up over the rain, cheering loudly whenever it began to pour more, and in general "soaking" up Mother Nature's soaking of us. Any runner will tell you, too, it could have been a lot worse; 56 and rainy is preferable to 90 and sunny.

About a mile before the finish, the wind picked up and the rain began to spray in all directions. I let out a whoop and sped toward the finish, nestled in Roanoke's scenic downtown. Emily was there to high-five me at the end, and the announcer read my name and bib number with enough time to call out my name as I crossed the blue mat marking the race's end. I jumped with joy; what a race! And I finished in much less time than I'd anticipated, especially considering the arduous circumstances!

Emily and I spent the next 24 hours enjoying Roanoke and one another's company. We had a lavish lunch at a local Mediterranean restaurant while waiting for the rain to subside. All of those delightful flowering plants conspired to bestow upon me some rather unpleasant seasonal allergies, so we paid a visit to the Roanoke food co-op to replenish my stash of herbal allergy remedies.



Eventually, the rain ceased for a few hours and we enjoyed a game of Scrabble on the porch, squinting into the sunshine and not feeling the slightest bit sad about it. I hit the road the next morning, heading into skies that were yet again sunny - what a great morning to run thirteen miles, I laughed to myself.

which is the loudest state?

IlliNOIS(e) is the loudest state! Obviously.

Hello, adventure friends! Last weekend I went on a two-part adventure to Illinois to pay a visit to my youngest sister, Laura. She goes to school at University of Illinois, and pretty much double-majors in kicking ass and taking names.

U of I is located in Champaign-Urbana, which is (what those of us from the wide-open west like to call) an easy six-hour drive from Athens. When you drive there, it's actually more like five hours, because you get to go back in time by entering Central Time. What? It doesn't work that way? Whatever.

I had planned to visit Laura for a weekend, but then I figured, well, as long as I'll be there Friday, I may as well leave Thursday. And since I don't want to leave Sunday morning, I may as well stay through Sunday afternoon, at which point I may as well prolong my departure until Monday morning. So it was that my "weekend" in Urbana turned out to span five days.

Thursday the sun shone brightly in Athens, temporarily quelling my fears of a stormy weekend. The forecasts predicted one spring squall after another. I bumbled around town for a few hours, and left in the late afternoon (though the sun was still high in the sky - thank you, daylight savings time!) to Columbus for the first leg of my journey. I met up with a group of friends in downtown Columbus, and stayed with a delightful duo of ladies. In the morning, I found Columbus' bike path which I had previously not known even existed and enjoyed a crisp morning run along the Olentangy River. The rain mercifully held off, though gray clouds loomed. This concludes my first-ever experience in Columbus where I a) did not get lost and b) actually enjoyed being there the entire time. Onward!

Friday morning, I effortlessly found I-70 heading west (I tell you, this is an accomplishment. The freeways in Columbus are endlessly confusing). I knew that it would be a relatively easy route to Urbana from then on, but visions of adventures past danced in my head, and I hurriedly consulted my atlas to find an alternate byway. Just east of Springfield, I ducked off the interstate, finding US-40 (which traces I-70 across the country). This was a detour that took about twice as long as I'd expected, because I didn't realize that US-40 becomes a surface street through Springfield. I did enjoy the parts of the drive that took me through the flat, endless farmland of western Ohio.


Near Dayton, I mercifully returned to the interstate, zooming onward into Indiana. Indiana is one of those states that I never take the time to slow down in; its proximity so close to the end of whatever journey I'm on doesn't help its case any. Or, in this situation, Indiana was the only thing between me and lunch with my sister.

Several interstates meet around Indianapolis, where, naturally, summer road-construction season is already in full swing. I-465 makes a circuit around the city; I-65 winds through the middle in a somewhat north-south direction. I-70 enters from the east, and somehow both I-70 and I-74 emerge heading west. This means that there are at least three different options for how to get through Indy. I tried one way heading west (I-70W to I-65N to I-465S to I-74W - not recommended) and another on the way back (I-74E to I-465S to I-70E - much better). That complicated matters a bit, but eventually I was freed of the metropolis and safely en route, once again, to the cornfields of eastern Illinois.

The University of Illinois boasts some 40,000 students, making it about the size of University of Oregon and Ohio University (the two universities that I've lived in a town with) combined. It's massive. Every street around the campus is packed with towering student apartment complexes; that is, aside from the many streets lined with eateries, bars, shops, and other student-themed businesses. The campus itself covers several acres, including the Morrow Plots, a highly protected experimental cornfield.

Walking around the University of Illinois felt, to me, like being in a movie about the Typical College Experience, as it was swarming with undergrads decked out in the school's blue and orange, relaxing on the quad, and doing other such typical-student-y things.

Over the course of the weekend, Laura and I enjoyed better-than-average (for the Midwest) Mexican food, as well as the much-coveted Thai food. She performed Friday and Saturday night in her theater group's production of "Arsenic and Old Lace." It so happened that it was Moms' Weekend at UI, so I got to perform in my role as stand-in mother.

Saturday morning, storm clouds threatened to unleash a thunderstorm in all its Midwest fury. Laura had a reception for the Mathews scholarship, one of the many that assists her in her double-major (with a minor in general awesomeness). We ate beautifully cut-up fresh fruit with small fancy forks and sipped orange juice out of goblets while the chancellor and scholarship donors hobnobbed among the distinguished students, of which Laura is one and I was the beaming mother.



We explored downtown Urbana for a few hours afterward, and as we emerged from the health-food store (our bags burgeoning with tasty snacks) suddenly - it was summer. There wasn't a cloud in the sky, and the sun beat down, warming the air to an easy 75 degrees. I responded by promptly going on one of the longest jogs of my life, pretty much around the entire perimeter of Urbana. For a few miles, I jogged along with red barns and neverending cornfields to my right, and enormous big-box shopping marts on my left-hand side. Midwestern suburbia at its finest!

I also succeeded in getting my first (and what I am determined will by my only) sunburn of the year. I decided then and there that it was summer and that was that.

The sun cooperated, waking me up early Sunday with beaming rays whose warmth I could feel from my spot on Laura's couch beneath a window. Her biology class was planning a nature walk that afternoon, which was really a perfect activity for a sunny spring Sunday. Again, as it was moms' weekend, I was easily accommodated as a guest on this field trip. I enjoyed learning about the plant life of Illinois, and eagerly embraced the opportunity to explore a newly budding wooded park.

The weather continued to appease me for the rest of the weekend - until Sunday night. I woke up several times as an enormous thunderstorm raged outside. Claps of thunder rolled on for what seemed like minutes, and bolts of thunder lit up the night sky, one after the other. The storm's fury had died down by the time I was to hit the road Monday morning, but still, I was reluctant to go.

winter, part II, in Louisville

I would like to write about the last few hours of our Louisville adventure.

Saturday night, I arrived back in Louisville following my Bourbon Trail adventure in the countryside. The air had grown progressively colder as the day wore on. Bourbon warehouses, stacked full of wooden barrels bursting with flammable liquid, employ no heat or electricity. Indeed, very little has changed over the last two hundred years in the way bourbon is made. As we shuffled through the distillery, our tour group buried our hands deep in our pockets and shrunk further into our hoods and coats. My toes were icy-cold by the time we finished the final tour! While I was gallivanting about rural Kentucky, Heather had been watching plays at the Humana Fest, so later in the evening I dashed back through downtown to pick her up. The streets were wet with what could have been rain, but as I navigated the one-way streets and multiple freeway cloverleafs, huge snowflakes began to fall, and literally within minutes snow was piled an inch high atop vehicles and yards. I got a little turned around in downtown Louisville, as snow pounded around me making it all the more difficult to discern the correct route. I remarked to Heather, only a bit tensely, "This is the sort of thing I will laugh about tomorrow."

When we awoke in the morning, that inch of snow still lingered around the neighborhood. The trim, brick house where we had been staying was picturesque. In the yard, a magnificent flowering tree bloomed the vibrant colors of spring, magenta, purple, fuschia. It was all the more stunning contrasted against the white carpet beneath and the crimson of the house.

We made a quick pancake breakfast for our hosts, bid hasty goodbyes, and hopped into my little car to make it back downtown for one final play that began at ten a.m. Sunday.

Called "The End," this play featured all of the apprentices in the company (many of whom Heather knew) in a series of quick vignettes detailing the end of the world. Set in Los Angeles, these generally lighthearted sketches poked fun at the disaster genre and actors themselves, and gave each apprentice an opportunity to shine. The sun, too, was shining by the time we emerged from the theater 90 minutes later. Heather and her friends exchanged many enthusiastic hugs, we retrieved the car from one of Louisville's many towering parking structures, and we were on the road.

Interstate 71 begins in downtown Louisville at the somewhat confusing Kennedy Interchange where I-64, I-65, and I-71 all wrap around each other. I really wanted to be able to take a route that would lead us through the bottom part of Indiana, just so we could say we went there on our trip too, but unfortunately the roads didn't go that way. So we were contented to simply follow I-71. It was a beautiful drive. The sun beamed down as we made our way toward Ohio in the hills of northern Kentucky.

Just across the Ohio border, we stopped for gas in Anderson Township, which is in the greater Cincinnati area. We hopped back on OH-32, which would take us east to Athens. I briefly considered finding alternate routes to take along our journey, based on standard adventure rules, but I realized that I had never taken I-71 heading north from Louisville-Cincinnati, or OH-32 east from Cincinnati-Athens, so my adventure spirit was held at bay.

As we drove through rural southern Ohio toward Athens, the hills welcomed us, increasing in number. We neared Athens and were able to pick up the Sunday afternoon bluegrass show on NPR, which is one of my favorite things ever and provided the perfect soundtrack for our return home.

This trip was wonderful for many reasons. It was interesting to spend three days in the same city, since in most of my adventures thus far I often find myself in a new place for only twelve hours or so at a time. I felt like I got to understand Louisville a bit, and it helped that I was able to meet some actual Louisvillians. Perhaps because of the timing of it in late March, I reminisced more than once about trips we would take in college band to NCAA tournament games. Traveling with a friend was a different experience; I don't remember the last time I went on a prolonged non-solo adventure. It was really nice to have somebody to share the adventure with (and to take more pictures!), and it forced me to loosen up a little bit. When in adventure-mode, I tend to very stubbornly pursue my specific ends.

Mostly, though, this sojourn to Louisville reminded me of how much I enjoy adventuring. This major Midwest city is a short four and a half hours from Athens, and I couldn't help but return to my mental list of other interesting locations that are only a hop, skip, and jump away from my home in southeast Ohio. I keep trying to stay in one place, but there is so much to see! The summer of adventures lives on...

Louisville, continued: In which I try to be more concise

When I left off in my last entry, your protagonists were just about to get to Louisville. I have a lot of catching up to do.

We reached Louisville a little before rush hour, and had just enough time to drop our things off at our friends' and change our clothes to get ready for the theater. I felt very strongly that we ought to dress up to go see this play. I mostly felt this way because I got a new dress last week and I love it a lot and want to wear it as frequently as possible, even if it isn't quite spring yet.

We zipped in to downtown Louisville and easily found parking in one of the many towering parking garages. Louisville's downtown is an easy-to-navigate grid that hugs the Ohio River to the north. Several grand bridges span the rushing waters, leading to Indiana.

The play we saw that first night was called "A Devil at Noon." It was sparsely attended, so we were able to move forward several rows, and enjoyed second-row seats. The Humana Fest is composed of new plays being performed for the first time. This play was set in 1981 Berkeley and focused on a science fiction writer who, through some weird sci-fi glitch, experiences his characters coming to life around him in very spotty ways. It was enjoyable, especially the concept that he didn't quite have control over his characters, something I think about a lot as an aspiring writer myself. Before the play, we caught dinner (following a friend's recommendation!) at a little indie cafe tucked in a fading gray-brick building called Hillbilly Tea. On our way from dinner to the theater we also began the bourbon-tasting element of this adventure. When in Louisville, eh?

Yesterday morning, as per adventure rules, Heather and I went on a jog around the beautiful neighborhood we're staying in. Middletown is actually to the west of Louisville, its own independent town but still part of the general sprawl of the city. This neighborhood is composed of red brick houses built in the colonial style. Flowering trees decorate the yards, in full bloom despite the tricks nature seems determined to play on us this spring.

The Louisville Slugger museum is in downtown Louisville, so we partook of that tour, learning all about the history of wooden bat-making. A lot of old and famous bats are on display at the museum, and after a factory tour everybody gets a fun-sized baseball bat to take home (but not on the airplane; apparently baseball bats of any size are not allowed! And now you know!). I have a lifelong love of baseball, and I always appreciate any chance to rekindle that interest. The museum was comprehensive, featuring a timeline and displays about the Negro Leagues and the womens' league that existed during World War II.

Around the corner from the Louisville Slugger factory is the 21C museum, a modern art museum housed on the bottom two floors of an historic hotel. We browsed some really beautiful and moving pieces. There were many exhibits from Cuban artists, and photographs from a Louisvillan who had traveled to Haiti in the aftermath of their devastating earthquake last year.

We spent the afternoon exploring Bardstown Road, an avenue lined with eclectic shops and eateries. We enjoyed a delicious late lunch (well, Heather had lunch, and I had a bit of snack, having brought a lunch with me, but still. It was a great restaurant, which I appreciated) at Ramsi's On The World Cafe, which looked extremely fancy but was affordable and had a full and diverse menu - seitan jambalaya sandwich, anyone? The room was lined with tall bookcases filled with old books and bright yellow National Geographics, which was a nice touch.

That evening, we had a chance to meet up with a group of friends and some fellow travelers for Thai food. Let me rephrase that. We had a chance to GO OUT TO THAI FOOD and the rest is just details. The company, to be fair, was delightful and I met some wonderful residents of Louisville, but Heather and I are both extreme fans of Thai food wasting away in a small town which has pretty much everything a person would ever need to be happy except for a Thai restaurant, so we squealed with joy at the prospect of getting Thai food.

We slept in a little this morning before catching a jog along the majestic Ohio River. Louisville has a beautiful, expansive waterfront park with endless networks of sidewalks and paths, lined with benches, swings, and play structures. The effects of recent weeks' flooding were evident everywhere. Debris littered the shore, and some paths were still submerged. Others remained caked with mud. Here and there, volunteers worked to clean it up as we jogged past.

In the afternoon, Heather went to meet with a long-lost theater friend and see what sort of theater-related adventures she could get into. I split off and reconvened with some of our friends from last night, convinced at the last minute to participate in the Bourbon Trail, a lightly sketched route of several bourbon distilleries in the general Louisville area.

Now, whiskey is not anywhere near the top of my list of favorite things, but I have just recently begun to acquire an appreciation for it (probably have killed off enough taste buds by now), and again, I'm in Louisville and it's something they're famous for so hey, why not?

The distilleries are all set up for vast amounts of tourist groups, and we were led on tours of the distilling facilities by perky blond tour guides. We learned mostly about the history of each distillery and how deep in Kentucky's past their roots lie entwined. We got to see warehouses stacked eight stories high with white oak barrels filled with bourbon in various states of aging. (Freshly charred white oak barrels is one of the requirements of authentic bourbon) At the end of the tour, everyone shares a little sip, wincing (well, some of us), and we go along our merry way.

We stopped on our way back to Louisville at a restaurant and inn in Bardstown, Kentucky. Talbot's has, they tell us, been continually operating since 1779. The menu boasts a list of famous people who have stayed there over the years. We drive back into town through gently rolling hills, green farmland, rugged woods. Tomorrow we will drive back through those same hills to get back to our hills in Athens!

Louisville!

Hello again! I am on an adventure, and I apologize upfront; it has been some time since I had the opportunity to write a blog entry, and I have read a LOT of literature since then. This extremely long entry which you see before you barely scratches the surface of your author's visit to Louisville. Think of it as a serial. What will come next? I'm sure you're on the edge of your seat.

Hello, long-lost adventure blog!

Well, I don't know that a blog as such can be long-lost, and my last post was only about six weeks ago. But I've been back in Athens for nearly two months now, and I've hardly stayed in one place that long since October. Musings to that effect I'll save for another day, for today I do happen to be on an adventure....

...in Louisville, Kentucky! There are many things about this adventure that is different from my typical Sarah-style adventure, all of which I welcome openly! The biggest difference is that this is (gasp) not a solo adventure! It's a nice change to have a co-conspirator; for one, I tend to be rather indecisive while adventuring, and having someone along forces bold decision-making!

The Humana Festival of New American Plays happens every spring in Louisville. Heather, a dear friend of mine, is a grad student in theater at Ohio University back in Athens, and likewise had a great interest in exploring a bit of this festival.

So what do we have now? An adventure - with a travel buddy - with an actual purpose? I couldn't say no! We'll be here for three days, even, which is ample opportunity to explore Louisville to our utmost satisfaction; this cohesion, I often lamented, was sadly lacking in my pell-mell adventures across the country this winter.

Winter? Speaking of, the season of which we are technically past made a threatening comeback to Athens this week. Wednesday, all was well. The sun shone merrily, the air was balmy and warm, birds chirped and everyone began to emerge from their months-long winter shells. That evening, though, we were beset with a tempest in all its Midwestern fury - hail, gale-force winds, rain, lightning, thunder that seemed to last for hours. By Thursday morning, the temperature had dropped markedly, and the mercury had barely risen above freezing by the time Heather and I hit the road a little after noon.

The car was filled with our excitement as we accelerated onto the highway, heading south out of Athens. Another nice thing about travel partners is they keep you motivated! Heather had brought along a variety of mix CD's, crafted especially for this occasion.

It is not at all difficult to pay a visit to our neighbor to the southwest, a fact which never ceases to delight those of us who have emigrated to Ohio from the opposite side of the country. I doubt most Oregonians even remember that Kentucky exists on any given day, and its easy proximity to Athens tickles me pink whenever I think about it. Heather, though we met in Athens, also hails from the Beaver State, so we cut quite a figure when we go anywhere together: two blond women, both of Scandinavian descent, imbued with that sort of independence that comes from growing up out West and subsequently driving 2,500 miles across the country to move to rural Ohio.

The first 150 miles or so of the drive to Louisville is one of my favorite on a long stretch of highway in Ohio. Once you extricate yourself from the jumble of highways that all run together around Athens (US-33 East and US-50 West somehow are the same road for several miles), you'll find yourself motoring west on Ohio Rte. 32. The James A. Rhodes Appalachian Highway rises up and down through the gently rolling hills of southern Ohio. If you consult Google Maps for directions to Cincinnati, that favored website will probably suggest you take a different route entirely, but I assure you that this is the best drive, and takes no longer than any detours you might take so that you can drive on the interstate a while. (Imagine! going out of your way TO take the interstate!)

This was a long winter, and indeed the terrain agrees. The trees are yet bare, and the hills around are still covered in late winter's browns and yellows. But still, as we drive toward Cincinnati, the Ohio River, and ultimately Kentucky, the hills beckon, and my heart fills with joy as I see them rolling toward the horizon, guiding us along on our journey. Traffic is thankfully sparse, and though the highway passes through no towns of major size or consequence, the journey passes quickly. OH-32 passes by a famed serpent mound, which I am constantly reminding myself to visit one of these days.

As we near the outskirts of Cincinnati, traffic picks up a little, and warehouses and businesses begin to fill in the landscape, previously occupied by farms and hills. Avoiding the deeper urban area, I deftly maneuver onto I-275, which leads us south toward the river.

The Ohio River is swollen today, yet another reminder of the interminable winter's heavy rains and snows. Nonetheless, it is beautiful; I can't get enough of this river. The rushing gray waters reflect the day's low cloud cover. We speed across the bridge, darting under a bright blue sign welcoming us to Kentucky. I race my engine as the first sign appears indicating Kentucky's higher speed limit of 70mph, and somehow navigate the six lanes of traffic until our exit appears and we mercifully begin our descent southward and away from the millions of residents which make up this metropolis.

Interstate 71, technically a north-south highway, proceeds northeast-southwest for almost its entire duration. We rise and fall, loop around this way and that, as we make our way ever closer to Louisville. I-71 and I-75 run together for a stretch just outside of Cincinnati; where I-75 splits off, several lanes of travelers rush toward Lexington, and I pause for a moment to fondly remember the first day of my November adventure (although I-75 was not the route I chose in the slightest!).

Within twenty miles or so of entering Kentucky, the scenery begins to change noticeably. Although Louisville is only 1 degree of latitude south of Athens, spring has already begun to grace the region. Heather and I gasp at the greenery we see; trees, grass, bushes, all bear that mark of spring. The hills, while still framing the road in every direction, have begun to change as well. We see sandstone cliffs cut into the side of the road, over which hang fronds of greenery. Traffic speeds along, cars and trucks edging one another out as they race from Cincinnati toward Louisville. The road curves comfortably through the hills, but I am aware that we are never far from the Ohio River, and Indiana lies just beyond this rise or that.

===


To be continued.... (Will we actually ever make it to Louisville, or will my car be weighed down by my excessive verbosity before we can even get there?)