Tales From the Road Pt III - February 26-March 2, 2007

We're here, we're queer, we're... more or less vertical. Actually, a lot of the time since we arrived in our new home has been spent supine, or walking around running into things-- each other, the cats, the walls... This trip took it out of us, and we've agreed that it truly earned the title Worst Move Ever. The cats agree. In any case, just to finish the story, here's what happened since the last update I sent out: We got stuck again, in Salt Lake City. We tried to get out, we really did. But the Fates were clearly against us, and much as we fought them, those bitches are just too strong for human beings, and in the end they won. We got up early, thinking that we could beat the worst of the snowstorm that was predicted and get into Nevada, where the weather was suppsed to be clearer. But the snow came early, and by 6 am it was already falling steadily. We dithered around for an hour, then decided to head out anyway, because we were getting conflicting reports about what was happening to the West, and we thought we might get stuck for good if we stayed. I figured the actual conditions would probably be less dire than the drama queen SLC news anchors were saying, and that even if we had to pause in Wendover to wait for a couple passes to get cleared or reopened, we'd still get through to Reno without too much trouble. Just exactly what we'd do with the cats if we had to wait around was an open question, but still, I figured it was better to bash on through than to wait around to get buried in Mormon slush. But as it turned out, we had other problems to face before the slush even had its chance at us. When we got outside, we found that two idiots had parked directly behind our truck and trailer, completely boxing us in. What were they thinking? Or were they thinking at all? We'd gone to some trouble to park out of the way, just as we had everywhere on this trip. But these two wahoos had pulled up right behind us, either assuming they'd be leaving first (why? they'd certainly arrived much later!) or else just not bothering to think at all. The front desk clerk managed to track down one of these stupid people, who did come out to move his enormous Lincoln. But we still had to take ten minutes to maneuver around the other car and get out of the lot. Argh! Next problem: the moment we pulled onto the highway, the real snow started coming down. Fat, wet flakes just on the point of freezing covered our windshields and built up on the road. Within minutes, my windshield wipers had turned into great big popsicles with all the clinging snow. The bumper to bumper traffic slowed, and visibility reduced to the point where all we could see was the cars directly in front of us. Phil needed to get gas, and we'd planned to do that as soon as we hit Highway 80 again and were headed out of town, but the exit he chose had no gas stations, just lots of hotels, and then it turned out to have no re-entry to the highway, either. At this point the traffic had gotten better, but the visibility had decreased to just a few yards, and the snow was falling faster than ever. I pulled up behind Phil in an empty parking lot where he'd gone to turn around and try to figure out where to go next, and just said, "Okay, we're staying, I'm going to call around for another hotel." And that's what we did-- we found a much nicer LaQuinta north of SLC (if anybody's traveling through there, go up to Layton rather than any of the in-town places-- much nicer area, much nicer people), checked in, got upgraded to a suite by the lovely lady at the front desk, whom I'd talked to on the phone, hauled the cats inside one more time, and headed off to find breakfast at the Cracker Barrel across the street. All of which was lovely, reassuring, welcoming... and then it stopped snowing and the sun came out, so we both felt guilty about not driving on after all. In the end, it turned out we'd made the right choice after all, because the storm was raging off and on all across Nevada-- Reno got six inches of snow, and Donner Pass, where Highway 80 goes West of Reno, was closed or required chains all day. So we couldn't have gotten anywhere anyway, and meanwhile we had a great place to stay and a day off to rest again, which was a godsend. I slept, Phil worked remotely for TheatreWorks, and in the afternoon we went down into SLC to see the Mormon Temple and downtown and a few other areas. Very strange place- lots of impressive buildings (the convention center attached to the temple is pretty spectacular), and lots of oh-so-perky young ladies in long skirts very eager to tell us all about every building and also, by the way, ask if we were familiar with the Church of Latter Day Saints. To which I could honestly say, "Oh yes, I know all about you," and make a quick exit. The downtown area outside of Temple Square seems to be dying-- I remember it as being pretty vital and lively when I drove through with my friend, Keren, a few years ago. But maybe that was just left over from the '02 Olympics, or something, and now it's all falling apart. In any case, once we got away from Mormon Central there were lots of empty storefronts, and what shops and restaurants were still around looked pretty unimpressive and seedy. We headed back up to Layton and had dinner at the Olive Garden (I know, I know-- the Depths of Suburbia, not to mention the ultimate in Corporate Food, but it was fine, and the service was very good, and besides, Phil, as a good Italian boy, has always felt some sort of weird responsibility to experience Olive Garden once, and this seemed to be the perfect time and place.) The next day there was a little snow over a couple passes, but nothing that slowed us down too much, and we breezed through Nevada and I felt very at home again, what with the vast desert distances, the bare and craggy mountains (beautifully picked out in snow, which certainly shows them to their best advantage), and the slot machines at every truck stop. Ah, Nevada, spiritual home of all things slightly sleazy, with no apologies or embarrassment. And the rest of our trip went more or less as planned. We had dinner with my family that night, and admired the results of my parents' latest redecorating projects (rebuilding their house has become an ongoing, never-ending thing for some reason. They used to only do it in honor of special occasions, like when my sister got married, but now it's constant. I'm wondering if this is what my future holds-- of course, I'll have to actually own a house, first. Or else just spend my days constantly repainting a rental. Yippee skip.) We also did a mini-tour around downtown Reno on the way back to our hotel, and stopped by the Grand Sierra (which is still the MGM Grand to me, site of my first dance job and a huge part of my history) which made me feel sort of sad and old, and where there's far too little left of what the place used to look like. I didn't get to see any of the friends I'd hoped to meet up with, because we were just too tired and useless by that point. And I don't think either Phil or I was able to appreciate all the stuff I'd looked forward to for this part of the trip, like the beauty of the mountains west of Reno, or the snow, or any of my own good history there. When we left in the morning (after an hour or so of last minute panic, because there were chain requirements over the pass AGAIN!) we realized we were into our 8th day of moving-- EIGHT DAYS, people, which is about four too long, in my book, and two more than we'd planned for when we set off!-- all we could do was keep going without thought or any wasted time. Enjoying the drive and appreciating its beauties was far beyond us. That last day of travel is probably worth a travelogue all on its own, because it starts with one of the most spectacular drives you can do on any major highway, and ended, for us, with a cruise through a fabulous, and fabulously weird, area of California that I hadn't seen before-- sheer, vertical green hills with towering windmills lining their backs and ridges, their vanes rolling steadily and ponderously atop their hundreds-of-feet-high stalks. But honestly, it was all too long, tooooooo looooonnnnnnnnggg to be dealt with, and when we turned up at Phil's office in Menlo Park, I know we looked like roadkill. We left the truck at the office, installed the cats at our corporate apartment (where they are finally calmed down and no longer hanging from the ceilings in hysteria), and collapsed. And then the next day we got up, unloaded with the fabulous help of a last minute crew thrown together by one of Phil's staff people, returned the truck and trailer, and collapsed again. And yesterday, we began to feel like human beings again-- finally! Today, Phil's at his first full length work day and I'm starting the process of looking for work and settling in. Oh yippee. Keep your fingers crossed, and wish me luck in this, please. Attached is a final picture of Bob the Truck, returned to the others of his kind in the Penske lot. You will probably be hearing more from me in the fairly near future, because some of you have suggested some projects that I want to try, and I'll be looking for an audience. Stay tuned. But meanwhile, we're here, we're settled, and we even seem to be liking it. We're looking for rentals, and hoping for the best-- keep sending those good thoughts, y'all!

Tales From the Road Pt II - February 24-25, 2007

If you don't hear from me again, it's because the Mormons have killed us. On a brighter note, we had a lovely day in Denver yesterday, and survived the drive to Salt Lake today. Denver is stunning and nice and has at least one great restaurant, where Phil's old school chum Lisa took us. She also led us to a great gelato place afterward, and then nearly killed us by chatting and strolling down the street to where we'd parked when the temperature had fallen to something in the negative numbers. I hadn't forgotten how quickly temps plummet in mountain regions, but I haven't experienced it in awhile and so it still shocked me. It was COLD last night in Denver-- although, having survived Chicago's incredibly Arctic January, with negative double-digit wind chills as a regular feature for weeks on end, I must say that nothing we've hit on this trip even seems extreme. Sure, we were completely cut off and snowblind in North Platte, but the hike across the frozen highway to the truck stop in the 50 mph winds barely seemed chilly by comparison to last month. It's amazing how the country changes. Nebraska looked a lot like Iowa (well, when it was up and running-- when it was snowed in, it just looked frozen, sort of like an old freezer when you haven't defrosted it for six months). But as soon as we crossed the Colorado border, we were in a different place. No more Midwestern farmlands-- we were suddenly, indisputably in the West, in spite of the fact that we were still closer (slightly) to Chicago than to San Francisco. The land got bigger and emptier, there were no more neat, circumscribed fields, the lumpy hills to either side of us sprouted scrubby grass and even the occasional tumbleweed, and the scattered buildings looked purposeful and unconcerned with appearances-- all right, they looked pretty seedy, a lot of them. But workmanlike, and as if it hadn't occurred to anyone that they should be made cute, or charming, or, god help us, picturesque. That's something all those farmlands seemed very concerned about. A little while after crossing into Colorado and the frontier, we crested a little rise and I could see the Rockies in the distance. There are few things to make me as happy as the sight of mountains in the distance. Well, mountains close up will do it, but in the distance will do, and after these last months in one of the flattest places on earth, and nearly a decade before that in a place where there is absolutely no feature to be found that isn't human sized, and probably actually man-made, the sight of a blue, hazy, jagged horizon standing out from the clouds was like tonic. I would have swooned, but I was still driving. Now we've moved on yet farther, crossed the Continental Divide, survived the 6% grades into and out of Park City (completely insane, particularly in the dark, with lots of traffic, and, oh yeah, driving a 3 million lb truck full of everything we own, except the chairs), and rolled into this weird city, which I find politically disturbing but physically quite stunning. We, unfortunately, are staying in an area that's not stunning at all. It's downright ugly, and the room with the king size bed they'd reserved for us has sprung some kind of leak, so that we've got two doubles instead. Oh, goody. Last night we had this same arrangement and nearly hurled each other onto the floor with every shift and snore. But oh well-- the pizza place that advertises on the hotel keys delivered, and the delivery boy even helped me catch an escaping cat, for which I tipped him an extra dollar. And he didn't even try to convert me! (I should have tipped him more for that, probably.) Tomorrow, the Weather Channel says, SLC is in for sleet from 7 to 10, and then snow till a week from Thursday. Well, not quite, but it might as well be. We're debating whether or not we really want to get up before dawn to get out of here before the storm has time to get settled in. The getting out early doesn't sound bad, but a 500+ mile drive on very little sleep sounds hideous, particularly considering the Terror Cats, who have taken to staging catfights and breaking into their kitty treats underneath my seat while I'm driving. Now that they're no longer terrified by the truck, they've become complete terrorists. Furry, conniving, lazy little terrorists who are bent on tormenting me. I can't imagine parenthood would be a lot more work than this. Below, you'll find some pictures, both of the furry lovelies and some other notable subjects. There's one of the cats looking remarkably peaceful and quiet, strewn across the seat in Bob the Truck; there's one of our beloved home in North Platte, the LaQuinta Inn where we spent so many happy hours (actually, they were, and it was the nicest place we've stayed this trip); the Pump 'n Pantry facing the LaQuinta Inn in North Platte, where we bonded meaningfully with Bubba, or Duggie, or whatever the hell that frat boy's name might have been; and there's one from our Denver hotel room, where Phil thought he'd keep the cats off the top half of the bed (so he wouldn't be asphyxiated by their fur in his sleep) by piling a bunch of stuff all over the pillows. You can see how well that worked. And that's enough for the moment. Some of you will be seeing me very shortly, I hope. Otherwise.... stay tuned. The light of California is beginning to glimmer at the end of our long, ridiculously twisty tunnel. Tallyho!

Tales from the Road - February 21-23, 2007

Howdy, all-- The Trip West has hit a snag, after starting out horribly on Thursday and then cruising through all the excitement of Iowa yesterday. What's happened is, we're snowed in, in North Platte, NE. Whoopee. But before you start feeling too sorry for us, let me tell you that we're exhausted, beat up, and ready for a snow day, and this is a fine place to have one. Actually, the LaQuinta Inn here is particularly nice, including even a refrigerator and microwave, and across the street there's a convenience store run by the world's ultimate example of redneck frat boys (he was very excited when I walked in and went straight to the beer case, but less impressed when I chose Fosters), which promises frozen chicken nuggets for later, unless they've all been bought by the Nebraskans quickly filling up this hotel, in which case we'll be left with cheap burritos and hot dogs that will probably be reduced to charcoal on their little rolling grill by then. But we have access to a hot tub, gym, and business center, not to mention high speed Internet access in our room, and lots of cable channels. Even the cats seem satisfied. So far, this trip has ranged from dire to passable, so today may actually be the first improvement. We have the World's Largest Truck, which I've named Bob, and which towers over the pavement (there are actually two steps to get up to the cab, and a sort of ladder arrangement for the back), and also a trailer hanging off the back of Phil's car, because, shocking as it may seem we actually have too much stuff to fit into Bob's 26 feet of free space. Yes, kids, the Romanoffs & Louis XIV together (or whatever wildly self-indulgent and materialist historical figure you'd like to come up with) would be proud of us, or possibly frightened, and in the middle of loading, we suddenly had to get a hitch installed on Phil's Honda, rent a trailer, and load it up with one leftover bookcase, an antique sideboard, and all our chairs. We may be stranded, but we'll always have a place to sit. In fact, we could serve dinner for twelve out in the corn fields, if only we could remember where we packed the tablecloth. You will probably all, at some point, here the great sad saga of our last couple hours in Chicago, after both Bob and the car were packed, after Phil had dashed out to the cable company to return the boxes, after we'd swept and collected cats, and after I spent ten minutes completely breaking down and crying on our staircase. Oy, that was a fun moment. And things only got more exciting, as I scraped a parked car getting out of our driveway, infuriated half a dozen cabs by blocking Roscoe for twenty minutes (hard to care about that one), and then began learning the great new exciting skill of maneuvering something the size of a small ocean liner through city streets and at left turn lanes. Things got better yesterday, aided more than a little bit by the fact that LaQuinta, as a chain, seems to have very comfortable beds, and also serves excruciatingly carb-laden breakfasts every morning. Biscuits and gravy and make-your-own waffles are just the beginning. Oh-- and hideous coffee. Apparently the whole midwest is still in the grip of Folgers. I brought my own, but of course it's packed somewhere, god knows where, in the trunk or truck or trailer, bouncing about among the dozen chairs. But in any case, that first night on the road was good enough to get us going in better moods yesterday, which was good as the trip lasted nearly twelve hours and included way too much fast food and very unhappy cats. Assuming that the rumors are true and the winds and snow are letting up tomorrow, we'll have a short day into Denver (260 miles or so) where we'll see a friend of Phil's and then maybe even watch the Oscars, and then two long days, one into Salt Lake City and the next all the way across Nevada into Reno. Those are both more than 500 miles, which means at least ten hours in these vehicles, but with a chance to rest and recuperate, we don't expect a problem. And the scenery should be beautiful, which is a lot more than you can say for Iowa. I've had just about enough farmland, thank you. Meanwhile, I'm spending the day rewriting my resume and applying to jobs out West, and Phil's found us a storage space. Bob can breathe easier, there's a resting place for all those boxes. P.S. If we can figure out where the camera is, I'll send along some pictures of our lounging cats, our aircraft carrier-sized vehicles, and the complete white out that is our parking lot. Mmmmmmmm-- aren't you excited?!