It's F#$%^&* Beautiful Here!!!!

Move July 6-10 123
Originally uploaded by Polish Carpetlayer.

Monday, July 09, 2007

Mmm, just finished a beer in nowhere, Ontario. We haven’t sat down to a beer since Montreal. I guess the Terminator we had at the campground two days ago would count, but it was past it’s prime, and there’s just something inauthentic about beer in a plastic cup. Could I be addicted to beer? Or is it the caffeine withdrawal I’m going through? You just can’t get a good cup of coffee in Canada so I decided to do without it all together. No sense in torturing myself with crappy coffee just to avoid a headache. I’d rather have the headache. Besides, beer helps. And, for that matter, it’s been tough to get a good beer in New York, believe it or not, so of course every microbrewery from here to Portland is calling our name.

Blog? Oh, Ok. The Subie’s driving like a champ (knock on wood). Our bikes are covered in bugs and it seems our tent is never going to have a chance to dry out. It’s been one week, 1,842 miles since Brooklyn and a whole lot of fun already. Today, we’ve been experiencing THE MOST BEAUTIFUL PLACE IN THE WORLD.

I’m not kidding. It’s fucking beautiful here driving the Canadian border of the great lakes. Lake Heron, Lake Superior. Words really can not describe, but I’ll try.

A dense, lush diverse forest pervades the landscape all the way up to the shore of the lake. You would swear from several points that you were at the ocean. You can’t see the other side; waves break at the shore, ever changing with tide. But it’s fresh water! It boggles the mind. We stopped at a beach – it was along the road; we used the compost “toilette” and turned the corner to take a picture. A near vacant sandy beach was soon under our feet with the most amazing view – reminiscent of the San Juans, only there was sand beneath my feet! I couldn’t resist plopping myself down and imagining I was in Hawaii. If it weren’t for the sub-alpine winters, I’m sure that this would be a major tourist destination.

As we continued our drive toward Thunder Bay, our last stop in the eastern time zone, hundreds of gorgeous, gorgeous lakes jumped out of the landscape. It was often hard to keep our eyes on the road.

And many a nod and wave was exchanged between us, with our Treks on top of the Subie and the numerous cyclists braving the extensive elevation climb for the glorious journey, views and camping along Canada’s transcontinental highway 17. The Crater Lake Century is just a warm up, Evan, Suzy, and Becky, for this, your next challenge - we’ll drive the support van.

Bonjour Montreal!

Move July 6-10 003
Originally uploaded by Polish Carpetlayer.

“Bonjour!” Does anyone speak English? So let me get this straight, your queen presides from Brittan and you speak French even though the rest of your country speaks English? This is the silliest city I have ever been to. But don’t tell anyone from Montreal I said that, because if I EVER have the opportunity to live in Montreal, I would not hesitate to take it.

When we arrived our first impression was of the HI hostel - great if you’re young and single and used to living in a dorm. Once you pay for two, however, you’re getting close to the cost of a motel, where you have your own room, shower, and don’t have to sleep in a bunk bed. It was fine for the night. After getting settled in and deciding on a parking garage for the evening, we took the “concierge’s” recommendation and found this hip, energetic French restaurant where we could bring in our own bottle of ‘04 Languedoc. We paired it with seared tuna with a basil sauce and (don’t tell my family) duck “a la frambois” (raspberry sauce). It was wonderful and relaxing.

The next day we spent the morning finding a place to stay for the night. I was directed by a B & B who had no vacancy to www.bonjourquebec.com. I highly recommend this to anyone planning to travel in Quebec and I wish I knew about it before. Here we found a room at (speaking of dorms) the University UQAM for less than we were paying at the hostel. We had our own room in a quad where we shared a kitchen and two bathrooms with four other private rooms. But we did not use the kitchen, and neither did our one other quad mate. And to top it off, it was across the street from the Jazz festival!

The Jazz festival was so fabulous! But I’ll get to that later, or let Cas blog about it. (Cas is currently on a writing hiatus) First, after finding our lodging, we took the bikes for a tour of Montreal. Portland’s bike hospitality has nothing on Montreal. Not only did we have our own road, divided from the main road by a strip of concrete, but we had our own stop light!!! With cute little bike shaped lights! Ok, so that was for five routes they have mapped throughout the city, but there are bikes EVERYWHERE. Riding our bikes through downtown felt safe, even without bike lanes.

On our ride, we rode the set bike route through the bustling downtown water front through the more grungy and industrial neighborhoods of Montreal, which was cool to see. We then followed another road that took us deep into the city, up the hill, around a great little park, by several bike shops and a bike shop/bike travel agency!/café where we had lunch. And just in time, ducked under it’s awning to wait out a flash downpour.

Despite the car theft of the two American women staying in our hostel that occurred while ours was parked under the Days Inn for $20 a day (thank God for our decision), Montreal is a wonderful, beautiful city that we felt safe and at home in.

Please take the time to click on the picture to see our album from Montreal.  And please comment! (It’s our only form of communication at this time!)

"Actually, we're out of lobster."

We finally made it to Portland - Maine!!!

The next stop on our road trip was Portland, Maine. Of course we had to do it, and it turns out that we're not alone; the front desk of the cute little Inn we stayed at mentioned that they frequently have visitors from Portland, Oregon.

It was the four the of July, honestly, the holiday I dislike the most. (I sound like the Grinch, but it's the noise and the trash and the polluted air that I dislike the least.) But quaint little Portland was alive with excitement of a holiday, waving their sparklers in anticipation for the fireworks show.

Hearing that Portland had an abundance of microbrews, we stopped in at one for brew and a snack. We gnoshed on muscles and bread and sipped on their red while we contemplated whether or not to take part in the patriotic festivities and how we would fit in a lobster dinner.

We headed toward the bay to check out the excitement - over looking Casco Bay, on a large patch of grass sat hundreds of Portlanders. The view reminded us of the San Juans in Washington. Above, a gray sky threatened of rain.

After hanging out for a bit and still an hour till blast off, we decided to find lobster, then return to the show if after we felt so inclined. After ordering another local pint we asked of the Market price today for lobster (they had about four different lobster items on their menu, as is typical of tourist, Maine.)

It began to rain.

Outside the window, soaked firework watchers dashed for cover. We finished the evening , our pints, salad and clam chowder and headed back to the Inn.

Check out the rest of the pictures here.

"Officially Homeless..."

Caspian hates it when I say that. Of course, it's not "really" true, our hearts have found "home" in Portland, Brooklyn, and in all of our friends and family -left and right coast. But my car key is alone on the loop and I have no return address on my letters - other than: General Delivery, Oakland, CA. I can't even remember the zip code, so some good that's doing us.

Anyhow, our friends outside of Boston we're nice enough to pull out their hide-away for us for a couple of nights while we recover from the moving experience we had packing up and handing over our things to some guy named "Wolfe" (We hope to see them on the other side) and mapping out the next three to four weeks. We plan.... well, I'm not going to tell you what's next, you'll just have to keep reading.

By the way, today we picked up a new point and shoot digital camera (after it was confirmed lost yesterday, not finding it in the move.) So we'll be posting photos more regularly throughout the trip.

Love to you all.

Michelle

Time to Go

Here's the email I sent my closest co-workers:

The End.

It’s barreling down on me like a New York cabby and there’s nothing I can do. Jump left, dart right, or just stand still. I’m in its way. And it’s in my way so in a moment we’re going to meet. I don’t know if I’m fully ready for what comes next, but I’ll find out. As I wait to see, feel, absorb the inevitable collision I take one more moment to listen to my coworkers go about their day. Bengt, legs kicked back on his desk, phone in hand is making plans with a friend. Sal is, well, being Sal. I think I just heard him say “Alan” as though he can only talk through his nose. The mouth never opens. Alido just kissed someone. Peter laughed, stopped laughing, and then laughed again. Marcus turned on a skate video, then uttered something about Chuck Norris kicking someone’s ass, and then went back to his skate video. Alido just kissed another person. Malcolm said something in a New Zealand accent. I know he speaks English but I have no idea what he’s saying. I nod. Stephen Land just called. Alan turned on some funk/rave/drumandbase/folk/new wave/hip hop/classic soft rock of the 80’s album that’s piercing my eardrums in and mind numbingly pleasant way. A phone just went off. Alan needs to get some new speakers. Lia is busy hating in the greatest, most enduring, lovely hate you can imagine. Justin, I’ve got those allocations for you. Zero hours on zero projects. “Do you know where Peter is?” Sorry Deb, I thought he was in his cube. Lisa offers her apartment to Alan. No she doesn’t live there anymore. Yep, he can use it rent-free for a couple of days. Pinero’s got her snack drawer of treasures in full effect. Bengt just hit it up again. Someone shouts out, “I’m looking for a good restaurant.” Kate answers and then goes back to crafting the perfect sentence. Who ate my gummi bears? Alido. Martha is pounding her keyboard into submission. Jamie just floated through the room like an angel. Aaron twisted that powerful grey curl a little to tight and winced. And Alido just kissed another person. I take it all in and then wait for the inevitable. In a few minutes it will slam into me and the end will turn into something else. The Beginning.

Stuff

We've got stuff. Stuff that seems to breed. Stuff that I've never seen. Stuff, stuff, stuff. So we made a plan. A moving away stoop sale. We executed it and walked away with a little extra cash. But, we still got stuff. So today's sale didn't fix our problem. We're moving 3,000 miles and we don't really want to bring that VCR we last used on Lovejoy street in Portland or that cute little teddy bear or that thing. You know the thing. Because you've got stuff to. It's unruly. Worse than rats and it cost A LOT to ship across the country. So we're getting rid of it. All of it... except for that thing over there and this thing. I like this thing. It does a lot for me... sometimes... I think. But I'm definitely keeping it. Damn this stuff. We got it. Want it? We'll give you a really good deal. We've got stuff.

Looking Back

June 14, 2007

Dear Caspian,

As I sit here on this plane to Portland with DJ Scratch at my feet, I am reminded of our move to New York two years ago. We were full of excitement, fear, hope and agony. Today, I would say, I am the happiest I think I have ever been. New York has been like a strict but loving parent - relentless for our own good. I won't regret a single minute of it. This experience has shaped our lives from here forward.

When we moved you had just started the second step of your successful advertising career. (The first was getting your foot in the door.) Your foot may have turned black and blue in all the time it was stuck in there, the door swinging back and forth; I remember you saying, "If only someone would give me a chance, I know I can do good work!"

Look at you now - A star in your company, high accolades from your peers, opportunities in the que.

I too have been working hard to reach my goals. Now look at me! On my way to graduate school. I knew I could do it, backed by your support and belief in me.

Yeah! Here we are, catching up with those dreams we have been pursuing all this time. The road may have been rocky, full of potholes, blind corners and seemingly endless; but together we're like our trusty Subaru, pulling and pushing each other through those curves.

In the upcoming adventures on hand, I just want you to know how much I love you and how proud I am of you and myself and all that we have accomplished together. I am filled with excitement every morning I wake up to a new day with you. You are my best friend.

Yours truly, forever and ever,
Michelle

We Saw

Blown-up on Top by the Wind
Originally uploaded by Polish Carpetlayer.

The wind on top of the mountain was howling. Gusts of over 60 mph. I’m guessing. But it felt like more at times. We crawled along the summit so we wouldn’t be knocked over. And we looked out over the Adirondacks. This is what all the fuss was about. Everyone kept telling us that we needed to see this area. We needed to experience this part of New York before we left. It’s impressive and rugged.

No one in this state has ever heard of a switchback. All the trails go straight up what must have been creek beds in another time. Each step takes you higher. As you climb, all around you the trees are green and stunted compared to the northwest. It’s obvious that they’ve lived hard lives; the winters pummeling them with ten Oregon winters in one month. These are hardy living beings.

It is beautiful, awe inspiring, and small all at the same time. Mountains top out at a little over 4,000 feet. But you still get wonderfully lost in the grandeur. You are in God’s country. The ground is a mix of decomposing plant matter and stones. Large stones. And as we continued to rise up to the top of Mt. Wright I couldn’t help but think about my parent’s house and the riverbed that it was built on. All the excavating of rocks that I had to do to help my parents build a garden in the back yard. Now I was walking on those rocks. Step by step we made our way to the top of the world. In New York. On this Memorial Day weekend. 2007.

See all the pictures here.

Hike Fuel

Hike Fuel
Originally uploaded by Polish Carpetlayer.

A hike provides you with many wonderful things. Fresh air, open space, beautiful views, time together, and cheese. Lots of wonderful, lovely, tasty, yummy cheese. If you put in 7-miles in the Shagunks, you’ve got to have a delightful handful of different types of cheeses and a baguette that you can rip apart. Place the cheese in the bread and enjoy. That’s what Michelle, Caitlin, and I did a few weeks ago. Oh yeah, and then we stopped at the brewery in New Paltz for a pint. And a growler full of beer for Caitlin. There are some things about New York that I’m going to miss.

See the rest of the hike here.

Not a Minute Faster

The Pathway Between Worlds
Originally uploaded by Foto Blitz Color.

500 miles-per-hour and not a minute faster. I’m launched through the atmosphere headed straight for home. Piercing clouds and floating over America and in a couple hours I’ll land in the place where I belong, Portland. But before I get there I’ll share a row with elderly gentlemen who takes his meds with wine, watch the in flight entertainment as it chronicles a large elephant flattening a very unfortunate red ball, consider if the band Silversun Pickups belongs in my playlist or on a compilation CD with Fred Durst, and try to figure out why that cabbie kicked me out of his car on the way to the airport.

“Where are you going?”

“Newark.”

I throw my bags into the trunk and get into the cab.

“Do you know how much it will cost?”

“$40, $45.”

“At least $60. You have to pay me $15 for tolls, $15 for going there and the meter.”

“Damn! Uhhh, just take me to Penn Station.”

The cab instantly stops.

“I’m not going across town. Get another cab.”

And then I found myself on the side of the street. Hailing another cab. Fighting the traffic to Penn Station. Fifty cars deep. A thousand card deep. A Ferrari. A bus. A woman walking across the street. And it all swirls around you when you first move to the city. But I’ve been here for over two years now and sometimes I just sit back and take it in. Like a movie. I’m not really here, I’m just watching.

“Stop right here. I can walk.”

Six dollars later and I’m out of the cab and on the sidewalk with people. Millions of people. It’s like the running of the salmon, before the dams, before fishing, before fish and chips. And they keep coming. At this point I’ve got a suitcase on my back, a computer bag slung over my shoulder, and another suitcase rolling behind me. This takes concentration. Now I know what Larry Bird must have felt like in the last seconds of game 7, down by 2 with the ball and two free throws staring him in the face. Navigating through this human stampede is both dangerous and exhilarating. Now all I need is my phone to ring. And a part of me would like to say that it did ring, and I picked it up, and I carried on an amazing conversation full of perfectly timed comedic one-liners and insightful observations as I weaved my way into the train station all the while carrying a small house full of luggage. But it didn’t ring. Which probably saved my life.

When navigating in New York City, you must remember one thing; they don’t give a shit. Yes they, meaning anyone who is moving in any way through the streets of New York City, definitely don’t give a shit. A car? You’re run over. A young couple in love? Splat. A mother and her stroller containing twins? Never saw you. So with this knowledge I slid and danced and probably ran over a few people on my way to Penn Station. But I got there. In one piece.

By the way, that dude on King of Queens could stand to drop a few pounds; like 80. He just popped up on the in flight entertainment.

So I got on the train, got to the airport, just caught my plane and then waited to take off for over an hour. Lovely. So here I am. Somewhere over the Rockies caught in a small pocket of turbulence just and hour away from Portland. As god gently rocks me back and forth I wonder what will happen next. The Rocky Mountains are beautiful. 500 miles-per-hour and not a minute faster. I’m launched through the atmosphere headed straight for home.