Crater Lake

After spending five days in the Portland area packing Mel's things, we headed south from Vancouver, Washington. Interstate 5 weaves through the Cascade Mountains that run from northern California to British Columbia. Formed by the subduction of the Pacific plate under North America, this little corner of the Pacific Rim is responsible for the majesty of Crater Lake.

Crater Lake, lake many western places, is so spectacular that it resembles a movie backdrop. It is one of the deepest lakes in the world (1,943 feet), formed after Mt. Mazama and several surrounding volcanoes blew themselves apart.

Water filled the resulting caldera and, with no inlets or outlets, the water remains remarkably clean and clear. Its source: the annual 500-plus inches of snow that falls here.

Looking from the northwest side of the rim, the Devil's Backbone, a ridge of harder, volcanic rock that erodes more slowly than the surrounding rock. In the distance is Llao Rock, a massive lava flow that filled in a glacial valley.

Wizard Island is the picturesque mountain in Crater Lake. It's a miniature volcano—the source of the next Mt. Mazama—and one of three cinder cones that formed shortly after Mt. Mazama blew itself apart 7,700 years ago. Because Crater Lake is so deep, the other two cones are well below the lake's surface.

Map

Map

Map

As we drive around the lake, there is evidence of Mt. Mazama's once-enormous stature. The terrain gently slopes up toward the rim, then abruptly drops 1,000 feet to the lake. It's easy to imagine those gentle slopes continuing their rise into a towering volcano.

When I visited 12 years ago, I approached the lake from the south and arrived at the Rim Village, where I was awestruck by the deep blue water. Having just seen the lake from the north, I realize that the blue color is most profound from the south, where the reflected sunlight does not dilute its color. This picture shows the view straight down from the Rim Village 1,000 feet below. Lost in the contrast is the white snow that flanks the shore. The deepest blue sky pales in comparison to the deep blue color of the lake.

The lake is so blue because it is incredibly clean. And, it is clean because there are no inlets or outlets, and there is little animal and plant life in the lake—it is an isolated ecosystem. Researchers who monitor the lake routinely see objects as far as 120 feet down from the surface. But, that's just a drop in the bucket, so to speak. The lake is the seventh-deepest in the world with its deepest point 1,943 feet below the surface.

After touring the rim, we decided to hike up Mount Scott, the highest point in the park. Due to the heavy snowfall last winter, many patches of snow remain scattered on the volcanic plains and hiking through these patches is not easy. Not only are they slippery, but the glare from reflected sunlight gave me a mean case of snow blindness.

The trail starts off in snow, then wraps around the south side of the mountain, after which it emerges on the top of the ridge. Then it's just a hike along the ridge to the summit.

Map

Map

Map

After hiking for about two hours, we reached the 8,929-foot summit. From up here, Crater Lake better resembles the giant hole that it is.

After our hike, we trolled around the park for a little longer, but we needed to get some food. We drove to a little town surrounded by dense forest to grab an early bite and a beer after our long hike. After, the sun was low in the sky as we headed for camp. We drove along the road north of the park that looks toward Mount Thielsen, a glacially sculpted, sharp-peaked mountain north of Crater Lake. The volcanic remnant is about 300,000 years old. Had Crater Lake not formed, it's safe to bet this area's postcard racks would be filled with pictures of this mountain instead.

Map

Map

Watching over us as we slept inside our tent was the 8,300-foot Mount Bailey, our neighbor across Diamond Lake. The mosquitoes are intolerable at this campground.

The Redwood Forest

After the always splendid Crater Lake, we headed south into California to see Redwoods National Park. The enormous trees are located in northern part of the state along the Pacific coast, a beautiful location in its own right. The area is made up of a patchwork of federal and state parks, Indian reservations, and the tiny towns between them.

Redwood trees are the tallest living things on Earth. The tallest is called Hyperion. Discovered in 2006, it rises to 379 feet, about 80 feet higher than the Statue of Liberty (including its pedestal). They thrive on the coastal fog and can live up to 2,200 years.

Once we arrived in the area, we got some food and cooking supplies at a local store and set up camp. By now it was getting late, so I collected some wood and we built a fire to cook our dinner. Tomorrow we will explore the forest.

The following day, we visited the coast at False Klamath Cove, just north of Lagoon Creek. The tide was out so we climbed onto the rocks. Mel walked a ways out to an outcropping that would normally just peak above the water.

Map

Map

After our brief visit here, we took to the forest on the Irvine Trail. We hiked from Prairie Creek five miles to Fern Canyon and the Pacific Ocean, where instead of a rocky shoreline, there was a sandy beach.

Fern Canyon is a moss- and fern-covered gorge along the coast. As it winds its way deeper into the virgin forest, it becomes a narrow, deep ravine.

Map

Map

Map

The hike, while relatively flat, was about 5 miles through virgin forest. So little virgin forest remains in America and it's wonderful to walk through. Once we got to the beach, we were ready to sit and relax for awhile. But, we did have to get back to the car before sundown, so we have another 5 miles to go today.

By the time we got back to camp, we were tired, but excited to sit by the fire awhile and cook dinner. Pork adobo, salad, and a bottle of Riesling tonight.

The next morning we cooked some eggs and packed up the camp. Gotta keep moving!

Our first challenge this morning will be to find some gas. We're running very low and there aren't too many options in these parts. We won't make Eureka to the south, and there are no big towns to the north. We headed south with the hope that one of the small towns we drive through will have something. Otherwise we're really screwed.

We made it to Orick, California, the only town for 25 miles in any direction. We needed a gas station in this town. After driving through half the town and seeing nothing, our anxiety was increasing. Rounding a bend, we saw the familiar sign from some well-known gas chain. But, when we cleared the building beside it, our hopes were dashed: it was fenced off and closed for good.

Map

Map

We were indeed being taken care of this day, because at the edge of town there was a shack with a sign that read Got Gas? It was a Ma and Pa place: she was inside minding the store while he was outside carving a bear out of a tree with a chainsaw. And, I was merrily filling up the gas tank.

Donner Pass

After two nights in the redwood forest, we drove across the extremely curvy California route 36 to Red Bluff, then headed south on I-5 to route 20. After Yuba City, this climbs into the Sierra Nevada mountains, eventually merging with I-80, one of the few passable routes through the mountains. We arrived at Donner State Park in the evening and camped for the night.

I was never too interested in the stories of the Donner Party until I saw the Ric Burns documentary on the subject. It is the compelling story of the last immigrant group to cross the frontier in the summer of 1846. Due to a series of mishaps, they arrived at the eastern side of the Sierras just hours before the first blizzard of the winter. Many of them tried to get out, but most went crazy from starvation and died in the mountains. Those who remained set up a camp beside what is now called Donner Lake.

One hundred and fifty years later, the Donner Party remains a part of popular culture, mainly because of the cannibalism. Yes, some of them did eat the flesh of those who died from malnutrition. Those who survived the winter, mostly women, were rescued four months later. Some were found delirious, sitting beside those who had perished and later had strips of flesh ripped off their arms and legs. It is the most harrowing story of survival I've ever heard.

Today, visitors remember the Donner tragedy by hauling their motorboats and jet-skis to the lake that bore witness to this calamity.

The Loneliest Road

We awoke early this morning. Mel was desperate for coffee so we drove into Truckee and found a lovely restaurant for breakfast. It was the kind of place that's been around forever—rustic, western style with wagon-wheel chandeliers.

After breakfast, we toured the Donner museum and then continued east. We were heading to Great Basin National Park, which required us to drive straight across Nevada on US Route 50, dubbed The Loneliest Road.

After passing through Reno and Sparks, we began a journey through one of the most desolate parts of the U.S. Between Fallon and Ely, Nevada, a distance of 260 miles, there are two towns that contain a total of about 1,000 people.

The view is similar for much of the drive. Wide, flat valleys with gently-sloping mountains. It is mostly desert or arid land with low-lying brush.

In the mountain passes, the air is cooler and plants have a better chance for survival. Animals do as well; at many of the higher-elevation passes the road was littered with thousands of large, black grasshoppers hopping across the road. It was hopeless to avoid them.

As we continued east, we drifted in and out of rain showers. One pass after another opened up to a wide, shallow valley. For hundreds of miles, the landscape looked like this photo.

Between mountain passes, the road often stretches for 20 miles before disappearing from sight on the horizon. The novelty of this expanse wears off after the first hundred miles, believe me.

Great Basin

Great Basin National Park is the exact opposite of what its name suggests. I imagined a park in a low-lying basin. Instead, it celebrates the environs of the high country. The park is on the Nevada-Utah border, surrounded by a sea of sagebrush in the valleys below.

The Continental Divide, which spans the Rocky Mountains, is the dividing line between water that ends up in the Atlantic Ocean and water that makes its way to the Pacific. But, the water that flows into areas surrounded by mountains are trapped and cannot escape to an ocean. These are called basins and the Great Basin is the largest, covering most of Nevada, much of Utah, bits of Oregon and California, and slivers of Wyoming and Idaho.

Great Basin National Park is a cool mountain island surrounded by desert. Most of the park lies above 7,000 feet and includes the 13,063-foot Wheeler Peak. Just 15,000 years ago, Lake Bonneville's shoreline was only 10 miles from the park. After the climate warmed 5,000 years later, the glaciers melted and the lake dried up (the only remnant left of Bonneville is the Great Salt Lake). Desert plants invaded the valleys and most of the animals were forced to head for the cooler hills. These mountaintop ecosystems are now cut off from one another by the harsh desert below and the plants and animals that live here evolve within these island oases.

I was pleasantly surprised by Great Basin park. It's got caves, glaciers (southern-most in North America), creeks, craggy mountains, and jackrabbits. We chose to camp at Baker Creek because it is more secluded than the other campgrounds. At 7,500 feet above the sea and accessible only by gravel road, the campground is remote enough to keep the throngs of RVs and family campers away. Our site was near the creek, which kept us company at night with its steady burble.

After spending the day traveling the loneliest road, we set up our camp and drove back into "town" (I use quotes because only 52 people live here). The town, Baker, Nevada, is situated in the desert valley below. We cruised the town for food, which took about one and one-half minutes, and decided to eat at the Electrolux Cafe, by far the nicest looking place. This guy, who turned out to be the owner, started talking to us outside and invited us in for some food. I asked him how many people live in Baker. "Fifty-two, including myself," he replied.

For such a tiny town, Baker has the highest public art per capita of any town I know. Small items made out of unwanted parts are used to create eclectic sculpture that litters the town and its outskirts. An effective and aesthetically-pleasing trash recycling plan.

The next morning, we were up at seven and Mel was making his coffee. We were both excited to hike up to the glacier today. First, we must drive up the 12-mile Wheeler Peak Scenic Drive, twisting and turning our way up to an elevation of 10,000 feet.

The trail to the glacier is not long, only 4.6 miles round trip. Even the elevation gain is not too bad at 1,100 feet, taking us up to the glacier at 10,800 feet. We began with the Bristlecone Pine Trail, which emerges above the tree line and onto the Glacier Trail, then proceeds up to the glacier beneath Wheeler Peak at 10,800 feet.

The bristlecone pine is the oldest living organism on Earth. The oldest tree in this park is 4,950 years old. Its wood looks dead, but in fact that's one of its survival mechanisms and makes the tree resistant to bugs, fungi, and weather over its short growing season.

Map

Map

At the edge of the treeline, bristlecones mix with limber pines and the trees become very small. Soon we're above the tree line, where the weather or soil are too harsh for trees to grow.

Climbing above the tree line, we get our first taste of glacier. In the bottom of the frame, a large patch of snow covers the trail. While you might think hiking shoes would perform well on snow, they don't. I suppose this is not just snow, but a densely-packed mix of ice with snow on top.

After passing warnings about falling rocks and unstable ground, we finally reach the top of the trail. We've been walking up steep glacial moraines; huge piles of rocks that crunch together under our steps. Few plants and animals can survive up here.

Map

Map

Map

At the trail's end, we find ourselves in a glacier-carved cirque, a natural amphitheater surrounded by steep walls.

After our hike, we drove back to town and picked up some food to cook for dinner. Stopped in the general store, where the banter of those working inside matched the store's charm.

We picked up a couple steaks, vegetables, and a bottle of wine, and went back to the camp to cook an early dinner. It was only 4 o'clock but we were tired and hungry. Storm clouds were beginning to form and we heard thunder in the distance. With the mountain to our west, we would not have much warning before the storm.

When the rain did come, we had eaten and gotten almost everything back in the car or tent. Finished the wine in the tent and enjoyed an evening in the rain. We enjoyed the rain from inside the tent, while we talked and finished up the wine.

The following day we drove to Bryce Canyon, Utah. The road between Great Basin and Interstate 15 is desolate but for a few towns and some antelope. The road crossed one shallow valley after another. After days in this remote country, I welcomed seeing more people again. Bryce will no doubt deliver.

Map

Map

Bryce Canyon

After leaving the relative tranquility of Great Basin, we were now in the thick of vacationers the world over at Bryce Canyon National Park. People flock here for good reason; the countryside offers spectacular views of red rock formations that emerge from mostly grassy and sometimes pine-covered hills.

We arrived in the afternoon, almost twelve years to the day since my last visit. In that time, the area has undergone what I can only describe as a controlled explosion. I recall Ruby's Inn as a pleasant, perhaps even quaint, place just outside the park's boundary. It has grown into a tacky, but necessary, roadside attraction. Necessary for the grocery store, gas, and restaurant. Tacky because of the miniature golf, tepees, old-west-style strip mall, go-cart track, helicopter tours, swimming pool, and rodeo shows (although the latter is forgivable). Matters are made worse by an excess of tourists who clog the streets and stores, Americans mixing with French mixing with Germans mixing with Mormons.

Thankfully, once inside the park, the tranquility returns. We set up camp and headed out to Bryce Point. It was about 5 in the afternoon and rain was to the north and south of us. There is a paved path that straddles the narrow ridge that leads to the overlook. Many people were too scared to go down to the point, for the Earth drops off on either side of the narrow path. I proceeded down the path, in my sandals no less.

Map

Map

To the east of Bryce Point is a formation called the alligator. One day, this cap will erode, exposing the hoodoos beneath. Hoodoos are the finger-like rock towers that decorate the park.

Map

Map

The following morning, we set out to hike into the canyon. We parked at Bryce Point, hiked the Rim Trail for a few miles to Sunrise Point, then looped back via trails beneath the rim.

Looking into Bryce Canyon is like staring at the sun, it is a sensory overload, and only when you zoom in and see things on a smaller scale do you begin to comprehend it all. You see the individual rock formations, the trees and, if you look really hard, you can see the trails zig-zagging around the hoodoos.

Map

Map

Silent city is a densely packed section of tall hoodoos. Here's a view with Mel and one without. There's a trail in there called Wall Street, which climbs up the canyon between two tall walls of rock.

Map

Map

When I visited 12 years ago, I snapped a picture of a tree that was clinging to the rim of the canyon. At the time, I was not sure how much longer it would be around given its perilous position. I'm happy to report it has fared well and has changed remarkably little.

Having descended into the canyon, we were treated with spectacular views of the rim and rock formations. To see them from above is one thing, to walk among them is quite another. We hiked down the Queens Garden Trail, then onto the Navajo Loop, the Peekaboo Loop, then up to Bryce Point.

Map

Map

Of course, once you descend into the canyon you must climb out at some point. We had taken on a lot, and the climb back up to Bryce Point was the most challenging hike of the trip. Perhaps because of the length of the hike (about 8-10 miles), or the fact that I didn't eat enough that morning. Finally, we made it back to the car and spent the remainder of the day getting a much needed shower and relaxing at camp.

The Grand Staircase

Today we are heading from the people-packed Bryce Canyon to the relatively deserted Capitol Reef in central Utah. Much of this trip is along Utah route 12, which dips in and out of the northwest corner of the large Grand Staircase-Escalante National Monument. Just to prove to you how deserted this area is, the eastern end of the road receives an average of 435 vehicles per day. The George Washington Bridge, closer to my neck of the woods, receives 297,000 vehicles per day.

The Grand Staircase-Escalante National Monument is a newly designated monument and comprises some of the last truly desolate places in the lower 48 states. With names like Dark Canyon Primitive Area and Death Hollow Wilderness Area, I will admit I feel a sense of mystique here.

Mel really wanted to go to a place called Grand Gulch Primitive Area. After dialing it up on the web and in Google Earth, I found that it was miles from anything. There is a 50-mile dirt road that traverses the barren land from the town of Escalante to Hole-in-the-Rock on the Colorado River and Lake Powell. Once at the turn off for the gulch, days of hiking await you. Unfortunately, we didn't have the equipment or the car for this, but someday I hope to see this remote wilderness.

What we did see was a lot of desert lowland interrupted by small towns every 25 miles. With no sign of grocery stores or gas stations in most of these towns, I was left wondering, as I do in many parts of the west, what people do when they want food or, god forbid, some entertainment.

East of Escalante the town, we drove into nothingness. desert flatlands of various shades of sandstone. It's this landscape that makes it easy to see that this used to be the at the floor of a prehistoric seaway. The road is often the only trace of modernity in these parts.

The road turned north and straddled a narrow ridge with steep drop-offs on either side. On the west side of this ridge is a deeply cut canyon by Calf Creek. We stopped to take a look.

Soon we climbed into the Dixie National Forest along the steep Boulder Mountain and Aquarius Plateau, the highest plateau in the U.S., with over 50,000 acres over 11,000 feet. We ascended the steep side of the plateau and, once on top, comfortably drove through the lush, forested oasis for some time. To my surprise, it began to rain, making the harsh, sandy, oven-like conditions from which we came all but forgotten. Up here deer frolic and squirrels dart about happily ignorant of what lies below.

But, I knew our stay in this wonderful, green mountaintop was temporary, for Capitol Reef lies among the hot sandstone below. Soon, we quickly, and by quickly I mean a speedy roller coaster ride down a 14% grade, descended the high plateau and landed in Torrey, Utah, about 4,000 feet below. Capitol Reef was just a few miles to the west. Near the park, I snapped this photo showing one of the "steps" in the huge Colorado Plateau.

We arrived at the park only to discover that we had no cash. Adding insult to injury, when we inquired about availability in their campground, we were practically laughed at. We are off the beaten path now, a fact that would only become astonishingly obvious to us later in the day.

Having humbly received word that the campground was not likely to fill up, we headed back to Torrey in search of cash. Torrey is not large. It has 171 inhabitants and covers an area of 0.4 square mile, about 30% the size of Central Park. We were given the locations of the three cash machines in Torrey. First on the list was the newly built chain motel outside of town.

I don't know who keeps sending people down here for cash. was the frustrated response.

We drove downtown and stopped in the Chuckwagon, a modern day general store that had the highest possibility of possessing an ATM. Sure enough, a small ATM was hidden in the corner. When I requested $80, it balked and spit out a receipt that just read system error 0100. This repeated again for $60 and for $40 and, had I not been so desperate, I would have moved on, but who knew how far the next ATM would be? I tried one last time with $20, and this worked. My cynicism led me to initially believe that the ATM only disbursed money in $20 intervals so they could collect more fees. However, this theory was proven wrong when the following person behind me was hoping for cash and got none—the machine was out of cash. And, because that appears to be the only cash machine in town, that meant that the entire town was out of cash. We had snagged the last $20 in town!

With cash in wallet, we set up our tent. We were hungry so we decided to return to Torrey to see if we could find a decent bite to eat. We ended up choosing a lovely Southwest restaurant on the west side of town called Cafe Diablo. We arrived about 15 minutes before they opened, so we waited with a glass of wine on the outdoor patio.

This high-end cuisine seems out of place in such a rural, informal setting, but here it is serving up southwest fusion dishes. Some menu highlights include rattlesnake cakes, duck mariachi, and firecrackers, which remain a mystery to me. When we asked about the rattlesnake, our waitress flashed open her photo album containing some recent pictures of snakes she had taken while hiking in the area.

We had a lovely view of the late afternoon Sun as we looked upon a yellow-grass field that gently rose to meet a rocky ridge of mountains. I had Beef Flank Steak Carbon and Mel had the Pumpkin Seed Trout. The food was expensive, but very good. If you find yourself in Torrey, I recommend stopping in.

We stopped off at Sunset Point about two hours before sunset. Clouds spoiled our view of the deep ravine whose steep walls would otherwise reveal a splendid array of colors. There was not another soul for miles; we had this trail all to ourselves. But, suddenly, a strong wind invaded our peace and we decided to head back to the car.

The wind remained, driving us inside the tent. Eventually, as night fell, the wind quieted and I spent the remaining minutes of daylight writing on a picnic table.

Capitol Reef

We woke up last night about 4 AM to see the stars, but it was pretty cloudy. Mel fell back to sleep, but I had trouble falling back to sleep, mainly because of the herd of deer playing outside the tent. Most of them were eating the grass in the campground, but one was running around and around. I listened closely to see if I could detect where it was, but only heard galloping hoofs around us.

Grass, you ask? Yes, there is grass in this dry, desolate area. The Fremont River cuts through the park along highway 24. The Fremont peoples grew corn, beans, and squash in this area until the mid 13th century, when they and other Southwest cultures disappeared. The only remaining connection to these people are the pictographs and petroglyphs adorning the rocks. Europeans arrived in 1871 and by 1917 the town of Fruita was booming with, believe it or not, orchards. Some historic buildings remain from that time.

Once the Sun peeked over a neighboring butte, the tent transformed into an oven. We packed the car and were off to see more of Capitol Reef for half the day. We decided to spend our time hiking the Grand Wash. This is moderately deep, narrow canyon cut by periodic flash floods. It was hot and the Sun beat down upon us. The only relief was bestowed upon us in the shade of the canyon walls.

Here are some shots from that hike:

Map

Map

Map

Map

Map

After walking the Grand Wash, we bid adieu to Capital Reef and headed east toward Colorado through some of the most barren, godforsaken land I've seen. Following route 24, we traversed a few steps of the Grand Staircase. Some of the hues of these rock layers remind me of the Moon.

We had originally planned to go to Arches National Park later today, but Mel was nervous about getting to New York and looking for a job, so we curtailed our travels by a day or two and headed east. We finally reached the end of Utah route 24 and picked up Interstate highway 70.

I-70 is also deserted in Utah: there are precious few roads or towns along the way where one can fill up the tank. Conversely, in Colorado, 70 threads the Rocky Mountains and it is one of the most beautiful rides you can take on an interstate highway. And there are towns and people. Civilization, for better or worse.

We found a campground outside Silverthorne, Colorado in the Arapaho National Forest. As we arrived rain was threatening. We set up the tent while lightening flashed and thunder rumbled ominously. We got the tent up and went back into town for some food. As we got back, it was raining pretty hard, so we raced into the dry tent and talked for awhile, then went to sleep.

Tomorrow we continue east; I wonder how far we'll get.

Going Home

For the remainder of our trip we are focused on reaching New York. I needed to return to work, after all.

After last night's storm, it's clear and crisp this morning. We packed up around 8 a.m.—everything is still wet and there is a chill in the air. We ate some fruit and jumped back on the highway east, toward Denver. I am reluctant to hurry toward the city—I know that once we are in Denver, the mountains will be behind us until we've reached the east... not even a hill until we reach Ohio.

Colorado is known for its mountains, but in reality the entire eastern half of the state is flat as an ocean. Once we spilled out of the mountains, that ocean of corn, soybeans, and wheat await us.

To be fair, the Great Plains are not necessarily boring. To an Easterner, like myself, a flat, treeless landscape is somewhat exotic. No, the problem with the plains is that there's nothing to do there. Of course, I'm exaggerating, but there is some truth that lingers among all those cornfields and cattle ranches.

We had about 100 miles to the Kansas border, then another mind-numbing 400 miles to Missouri. At midnight we arrived in St. Louis, desperate for gas and sitting in bridge construction. By dawn we were in Ohio.

A strong storm tracked us through Ohio, reducing visibility to practically zero and raising tensions. After Columbus, Mel took over the driving so I could sleep for awhile. I'd been driving since Missouri. It was in that narrow sliver of West Virginia where he hit a snag. Coming down one of the mountains, he was pulled over by a cop. He was driving 68 in a 55 and was issued a ticket, but without points.

We pressed on, hoping to reach my parent's place outside Philadelphia at a reasonable hour today. We drove through western Pennsylvania, ate some lunch, and kept going. Soon, Mel realized that the cop had left a message on his cell phone. This freaked him out a little. Around Breezewood, he called the officer back, but it went to voicemail.

Outside Harrisburg we hit another nasty storm. We had no choice but to drive through it. If we stopped, we'd drive back into it later. So we drove, at about 15 miles per hour, through a heavy downpour with wind, lightening, and thunder, and small hail. It was not the best way to wrap up this long drive.

Soon, the cop called back and, because Mel was driving, I answered the phone. It turns out Mel's stress was for naught: the cop told him to tear up the ticket and consider it a warning. Well, I thought, this is a miracle if I've ever seen one. Why would a cop go to all the trouble of calling phones, returning messages... It remains a mystery to me.

One more severe storm around Reading with rain so hard we couldn't see a thing in front of us. After thirty-plus hours of driving, I just wanted to get to my parent's house and anything that delayed our arrival was agony.

We did finally make it, after 35 hours of driving we arrived about 7 p.m. Wine was thrust into our hands once we got cleaned up. Our last shower was at Bryce Canyon, Utah four days ago.

After a couple days at my parent's, we headed up to New York. Now reality was beginning to set in. How would living together work? I was a little nervous, and I think Mel was too. The presence of a parking space in front of my building upon our arrival gave me confidence that, in the end, it will all work out.