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.

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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!

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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.

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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?)

adios, adventure-mobile

Yes, it is sad but true. The days of exclaiming, "Vamos allí! Vamos acquí!" while adventuring in my trusty Subaru are all but done.

This is the epilogue to my adventure story, an epilogue which I have been avoiding writing.

Two Fridays ago, January 28, I was in Asheville, North Carolina. The sun was shining brightly, the crisp mountain air invigorating as it enveloped me in a familiar breeze. Bluegrass played on the public radio station as I cruised into town, and my eyes filled with tears at the sound which reminded me of home.

Before leaving Kim's, I had looked up directions to a particular coffee shop. I wrote before about how the highways surrounding Asheville form an especially confusing cloverleaf; here lies the source of my confusion. I got off at the wrong exit and found myself in an entirely unfamiliar part of Asheville. I craned my neck to read street signs as I hastily tried to reconstruct a mental map of the downtown. Anyway, long story short, amidst this confusion I turned and got myself and the adventure-mobile into a traffic collision.

I was heartbroken. Here I was, less than 400 miles from home, closer than I had been in nearly three months. I had driven across the country and back - in winter! I had wound up and down mountain passes, taken back roads where few others would, squinted through fog. In the previous fifteen days alone, I had driven 5,000 miles, and without incident at all! I drove the speed limit all the way across the country and back! I am not kidding. I was so safe. And here, so close to home, so close to my triumphant return, an auto incident (the drivers' manual taught me there are no traffic "accidents").

Luckily, the adventure-mobile was driveable, which is why most of you have heard nothing of it until now. I still made it to my next adventure-stop in West Virginia, and did indeed have the triumphant return to Athens I'd envisioned. The front passenger door is pretty smashed in, though. Oh, I'd even say it's altogether destroyed. Toss in a shattered window, a little bit of damage to the front fender and a tad of injury to the rear door, mix in a 15-year-old car who somebody just racked up thousands of miles on, and the insurance company took one look at it and said "We ain't fixin' this jalopy."

Well, effectively, that's what they said. I pleaded and begged, I got an independent assessment of the damages, I thought about salvaging the vehicle (a rather complicated process in Ohio), I cried and ignored it for a few days, but then I started browsing used-vehicle listings. The insurance company is actually offering me a decent price for it - more than I could potentially sell it for. I personally believe in the adventure-mobile's strength, and have no doubt as to the engine's longevity. Not to mention, we've been through so much together! I've had the car for just over six years, and we've especially bonded over the past year.

But, like all relationships, it's okay if it runs its course. I decided that, should the adventure-mobile give out on me even in the near future, it's unlikely I'd be getting quite the offer from the insurance I'm looking at now. I have a bit of dough, so I'm able to dream about getting a slightly newer version of the intrepid 'mobile, for I still have the utmost faith in used Subarus. And it is a little bit exciting, just in the way new friends, new partners, new cities are exciting, to enter anew into an automotive relationship.

So, thank you, adventure-mobile. Over the past six years, we have canvassed much of the country. You accompanied me on countless trips to Seattle and countless more to Portland for marching band. We trekked all over Oregon, to the coast, camping, to casinos. You got me to Ohio, not once, but twice! You patiently let me drive you on extensive detours from coast to coast. You've ferried all of my belongings between several apartments, sometimes housing them for months when at times I moved at a more languid pace. You've also been my companion dashing around town, to the grocery store, to bars and parties, graduations and job interviews. You've carted around friends, family, boyfriends and dates gone bad.

I have sobbed in your domelike embrace, and laughed with utter glee. I have filled you with music, both from the radio and out of my own mouth; humid summer air and crisp mountain breezes have filled in from your open windows. You have tolerated my pasting colorful stickers on your rear, and you even survived when an untoward citizen smashed a window. You calmly have allowed me to grind gears, pop the clutch a few times (years ago! I swear!), and other tiny mistakes as I got used to your odds and ends. We've gone up mountains, down dirt roads, along the shore, parked on muddy fields, and everything in between. You've kept on trucking as I posted some 74,000 miles on you. You were my first car, adventure-mobile, and you done good.