9pm Sunset

Enjoy my first video blog:

http://www.facebook.com/ext/share.php?sid=116812393377&h=EUaRG&u=I0aOj&ref=mf

Where everybody is somebody

On my way out of Santa Cruz I swung by the local elementary school and saw this slogan etched into the school’s colorful wooden sign: “WHERE EVERYBODY IS SOMEBODY.” That would be the polite way to describe SC. I rather like describing Santa Cruz as a secret refuge for the exceptionally weird. I heard someone else compare Santa Cruzians to marshins. Don’t get me wrong, I have nothing but respect for the city and its dwellers, yet I can’t help but bat an analytical eye at a population that so effortlessly lives perpendicular to the grains of society.

I arrived in Santa Cruz after spending a week, essentially alone in the woods. Having adapted to the simple lifestyle, vital to camping, I instantly came to appreciate some slight luxuries of civilization, such as being able to store my food and fragrant toiletries in my car without fear of a bear tearing through it. I stayed with my friend Kristen who was renting a room in Arthur Hull’s home. I name drop here because, according to Wiki “Arthur Hull is an internationally renowned percussionist. He is seen by many as the person who conceived and developed the idea of the facilitated community drum circle.”

Now, again, I have nothing but respect for Arthur and his art, yet it is impossible to ignore his eccentricities. His home is full of indigenous African paintings, the ones with the all the dots in shades of reddish brown, black and ivory. He has unique and artfully crafted drums adorning the walls of his hallway entrance. Bamboo stalks are seen through almost every window in the home, and a jaunt around the exterior reveals total tranquility with a bountiful garden, many plants of which are edible and a waterfall that breaths fresh water into a pond full of lily pads and koi. Arthur himself is quite the sight in his traditional African garbs, complete with cloth hat. He exudes a young and free spirit with aspiring roots in Africa.



I thought I had Arthur pinned, until I saw his Lego room. Walking into the Lego room carried with it the same sense of awe and discomfort as that scene from “A Beautiful Mind” when Jennifer Connelly walks into Russell Crow’s secret hideaway and finds a frenzied mass of conspiracy notes. I walked into the Lego room to discover hundreds of tiny Lego drawers, multiple Star Wars replicas and other replicas I could not place and the apparent tinkering of several unfinished projects. This tipped the scale on eccentricity.



My first evening in Santa Cruz Kristen took me for a spin around town. We drove all along the coast making our way into the ‘downtown’ area and passed a rather large amusement park that was nestled in next to the water. After some excellent sushi we rolled by the local pharmacy to pick up some 40’s in anticipation of watching surfers and the sunset. The pharmacy was run by the dazed and confused and we experienced the employees fighting over the loud speaker about who ate who’s pizza. We got out of there with brown paper bags for our 40’s and found our place along the water. We must have watched the surfers for nearly two hours and for the first time since my arrival in California it felt appropriate to categorize our experience there as gnarly.



Kristen brought me out for a surfing lesson the following day. I forgot how unforgiving wet suits were. We paddled into Cowell Beach which claims to be one of the best beginner beaches in the world. The waves were barely breaking, but I did manage to stand up and catch one wave before letting out a high pitched yelp and bailing. We attempted another surf spot at Pleasure Point where Kristen was more in her element and me, well, I was mostly there to take it all in. I attempted a handful of waves, but was unsuccessful and as I paddled back into the ocean I was assaulted by a succession of waves, one of which caught me prone on my board and ran me smack-dab into another surfer, who had the good sense to dive below the water. I couldn’t help but laugh at my misfortune; in a way it was refreshing. I think I could get into the whole surfing thing. It was enormously peaceful sitting on my board, bobbing in the water alongside other wet-suit clad surfers, looking out at the water. Sitting there, looking for waves is after all a good 75% of what surfers do.



The beach life exposed a culture of surfing and sand covered activities. The coffee shops and bars of Santa Cruz exposed a whole other culture. I have never seen so many colorful mohawks, tattoo sleeves, facial piercings, thick framed glasses and mismatched clothes. Before embarking on this road trip I lived in Jamaica Plain, arguably the funkiest and most alternative neighborhood in Boston and yet there is simply no comparison. In my continual quest for the curious and unique I, myself felt rather boring and ordinary here. I was however quite amused with the mainstream culture of SC; the blatant and blissful disregard for social norms creates of a peaceful environment where everybody can be somebody (well, almost everybody.)

Next stop: San Francisco.

I could have easily spent a week or more in SF. I love this city and am seriously considering moving here when my 15months are up. I got to experience the beauty of the coast, the iconic views of the Golden Gate Bridge, the exotic botanical gardens, the Castro, the Mission, the Haight and last but not least the Pinball Museum. My first night in San Francisco I met up with an old friend, Jamie, who took me to a very happening bar in the Mission called Zeitgeist. We sipped our Big Daddy beers and munched on Tamales. After making a brief stop at her house and encountering the cat that purred like a pigeon (see video below) we got some of the most delicious ice cream I’ve ever had.

San Francisco really has it going on with food. In my first and only full day in SF, my friend Katelyn and I went out for dumplings in Outer Richmond at the Shanghai Dumpling King - I had never experienced such pasty, doughy, fried goodness before.

Katelyn drove me through some amazing parts of the city including the Castro and the Haight. Everywhere I looked my eye was pleasantly distracted by colors, characters and dynamic views of the hilly landscape. Our day ended with a trip to Lucky Ju Ju, a pinball museum in Almeda that Jamie had told me about. The museum is just as fabulous as you would expect: all the pinball machines, dating back into the 1960’s are on free-play so no quarters needed. Katelyn immediately took to the Adams Family machine and then we both wandered around playing on as many machines as we could for as long as the excitement lasted, which was exactly an hour.



I have a good feeling that I’ll be back to that pinball museum and to SF in general.

Here goes nothing

Half Dome in Yosemite National Park is a distinct sheer rock face 4800 feet in elevation above the valley floor in which the final 400 feet to summit is lined with braided steel cables for hikers to pull themselves up on. Just days before I had the chance to attempt this 17-mile hike a man had slipped off the cables and fallen his death. With an air of gloom and several voices of caution I was hesitant to follow through my intentions to hike to summit in a day.

After spending a good portion of the day at a Starbucks in Fresno composing my previous blog and posting pictures, I drove to Yosemite and straight into the ranger village. The drive was nostalgic, as I had been to Yosemite once before. Spring break of my middler year Katy, Liz and I met up with our friend Lindsey who was a ranger in Yosemite. We stayed with Lindsey in her ranger cabin and cruised around the Park with her, getting a local feel for what seems like a little city in the infinite wilderness. Lindsey put in me in touch with her friend Andrea who is still in the Park and I had the pleasure of staying with her and her family for a few nights.

I drove to Yosemite with full intentions of hiking Half Dome, yet at some point during the drive that motivation disappeared. The cautionary voices and regard for the recent death circled in my thoughts. Andrea sensed my wavering commitment when we spoke of plans for the following day. She set me straight though, speaking more truth than she may have realized when she told me not to think about it too much. So with that I set my alarm clock for 4:00am and attempted a good night’s sleep in preparation for the hike. When the worst-case-scenario reel in my head came to a stop I finally fell asleep.

As soon as I hit the snooze option on my phone I knew it wouldn’t do me any good. I lay there, four in the morning, wide awake, heart already pumping. My headlamp came in handy as I brought things from my car and tent into the house. I spent my first waking minutes packing my bag, making sure I had everything I needed for the day-long hike. I brought a gallon of water, plus two nalgenes full of water (later I discovered that I only needed one additional water bottle, not an entire gallon and in bringing a more appropriate amount of water I could have shaved nearly five pounds off of my pack – oh well.) I packed a fleece, a winter hat, extra socks, gardening gloves, a big lunch, toilet paper, the first aid kit and emergency blanket Sarah had given me as part of a bon voyage gift, my rain jacket and of course my trusty tomato-cutting pocket knife. Once I felt my pack was complete I sat down to eat a large bowl of granola and soy milk, which seemed almost ceremonious – as if I was preparing myself for a marathon or a big presentation.



I stepped foot on the trail at 5:30am. I knew I had eight miles to go before I reached the base of Half Dome; eight miles before the cables. I was pleased to see so many other hikers up early and on the same trail. I chatted with about a dozen people on the way up, yet graciously continued past them; I didn’t want to spare any time before summit. Andrea, Lindsey and several hikers on the trail uttered the same phrase “summit before noon” and so I never stopped to rest for too long and never slowed my pace. The further along the trail I got the more confident I felt about the cables, yet I was still a tad nervous. I assured myself that if the sky looked ominous I would just admire the last 400 feet from the base – seeing as though the guy who slipped off the cables and died did so during adverse weather.

When I reached the base the sight of the mountain was intense. Many people were clustered at the base; I couldn’t figure out if they were trying to muster up the courage to scale up the mountain or if they were just admiring the view. I thought about resting, but didn’t. I pulled the gallon jug out of my bag and left it there. I took the gardening gloves out and slid my fingers in between the leather finger holes, curling my fingers into a tight fist to feel the ruggedness. I was ready. I approached the base and got in position to start the climb. I turned to whoever happened to be behind me and said “here goes nothing.” I gripped the steel cables, getting a sense for how secure my grasp felt and started moving.

The woman behind me was named Jennifer and after her there was Troy and then Mary. Jennifer and I exchanged light hearted conversation and words of motivation as we scaled up the seemingly impossible slope. There was only one passage way along the rock face, only one passage way for two-way traffic. We hit the cables at the right time, as very few folks were coming down and very few hikers were ahead of us. Steel poles sticking out of the rock held the steel cable at the top and secured a narrow piece of wood at the bottom. The wooden slabs, every fifteen to twenty feet allowed for pause, re-composure and rest; standing on the summit-facing corner of the wood gave me enough leverage to momentarily rest my arms. Pause. Deep breath. Focus. Pull, pull, pull, pull. Pause. Deep breath. Focus. Pull, pull, pull, pull.

I reached the top of the world by 10:30am. The views were indescribable and incapable of being captured in two-dimension. I hung out on the ledge for a while taking in the exhilaration and phoned a few special people to share the moment with. When I spoke with my father he said “just don’t get too close to the edge” – I couldn’t help but laugh because I had been sitting on the ledge for our entire discussion.

I hadn’t considered how I would get back down the cables until I heard others on the summit talking about it. I knew the sense of safety wouldn’t return to me until I got off the cables all together, and so my time at summit was brief, made even briefer by the dark clouds rolling in from a distance. Apparently Jennifer, Troy and Mary had the same idea and after I picked up the first cable to descend I noticed that all three of them were right behind me. The queue ascending the mountain was stagnant and I questioned their motivations to summit with such gloomy clouds closing in. Nonetheless I passed by them, moving backwards in a repelling fashion. Troy and I chatted on the way down. He was 75 years old and clearly in impeccable health. I shared my road trip adventure with him and he shared with me with the many adventures he has had all over this country; he immediately became an inspiration to me. The four of us gathered at the bottom of the cables and shared in whooping, congratulatory hugs.



That was that. I made it back down to the valley floor, taking my sweet time and meeting another handful of other hikers on the way. By 3:30 I was back to my car and all I wanted was a hot, effortless dinner so I swung by the lodge to get cheeseburger, fries and a diet coke. The rest of the evening I spent with Andrea and her family and even managed to fit in a few phone conversations, taking advantage of the unusual cell phone reception in the ranger village. After a rewarding night’s sleep and a pleasant morning visiting with Andrea I took off for Santa Cruz to visit my friend Kristen.

No room for comfort

When I left Boston I left a life so settled and comfortable. I left behind wonderful friends, memories and for the first time in eight years and eight apartments an apartment that I actually liked. I’ve been on the road for 45 consecutive days now and up until Redondo Beach I hadn’t found myself reflecting upon what I left behind. It was wonderful visiting Marcus in Redondo and although he was extraordinarily busy with work he made time every evening to hang out, catch up, and of course sing karaoke. Although most of my daytime hours in Redondo were spent planning out the remainder of my road trip and thinking forward, memories of the comforts I had left behind started making its way into my psyche. But alas, there is no room for comfort on this road trip.

I moved on and into the depths of the Sierra Nevada, camping out in Sequoia and Kings Canyon National Park for the last four nights. I camped alone for four consecutive nights and hiked alone for the three days in between. Although I could have easily befriended campsite neighbors and fellow hikers, I didn’t. In the moments of silence, in the far reaching corners of the Park I was awarded with a new sense of clarity. Reaching such paths of isolation though does not come without caution…

On my first day in Sequoia I set out to hike a trail in its highest altitude, near Mineral King. I drove nearly two hours from my campsite to reach the ranger station in Mineral King. Although I had a map of the Park and a Fodor’s tour book detailing hikes in the area, there was little information on the trails near Mineral King. The ranger was on her lunch break, so I surveyed the hiking trails that were shown on a laminated map on the ranger station’s porch and found a trail that looked good. I drove to the trailhead and parked my car among just a handful of other cars. Some cars had metal fencing wrapped around their tires, secured in place with medium sized rocks – I knew not why. I put my cooler, two food bags and toiletries bag in the bear safe and figured that was enough safeguarding for my car.



I started in a beautiful meadow that was crowned with lush mountains and above it a sky of rolling mist. A mile into the trail, slightly winded I followed the sign right to Eagle Lake. Two miles into the trail, significantly more winded I reached the last sign– left to Eagle Lake. I had 1.5 miles left to reach the lake and be compensated with a view worthy of the strenuous hike. I underestimated the 3000 feet ascend. After passing this last trail marker the terrain changed to reveal chunks of snow and wintery winds. After passing through another meadow and back into the forest I found myself in the rolling mist I had admired from nearly 2000 feet below. Immediately my visibility was limited to 15 feet in every direction. I continued hiking through the mist hoping that a break in the sky might reveal some incredible vast scenery, like how a flash of lightening illuminates all that was once dark. I got no such relief.



I reached a new rocky terrain and felt as though I was scaling the side of a mountain, but my visibility was still limited so I could only imagine the depths that lie below me. The certainty of the trail was fleeting. At numerous junctions I made three or four attempts to find the continuation of the trail – all were successful thus far. I heard the lake and sensed I was no more than two tenths of a mile away. The ground was almost completely covered with snow and no human footprints gave indication of where to go next. As I attempted to find the last stretch to the lake I started to forget the direction I had come from. I was dizzy, confused and out of breath. I snapped to for a moment and reckoned that I was becoming victim to the elevation. I spared no time and turned around on the trail, leaving the sight of the lake to my imagination. I continued to walk in the direction I had come from and experienced brief moments of excitement when I passed by a human-made stack of rocks or a foot mark I had intentionally made in the snow. When I crossed back across the meadow, with about two miles left in the trail I saw people for the first time since I had seen since I left the ranger station at Mineral King. When I made it back to my car I was elated – shaken up a little – but elated.

That night I returned to the same campsite I had occupied the previous evening. Luckily my tent and hammock were already set up and all I had to do was relax. I boiled water on my new propane stove and added the water to a lasagna MRE for a delicious and filling meal. I was fast asleep before the sound of children ceased and the light of day dipped behind the mountains. I rose with the sun, quickly packed up my car and headed out of the Park in search of a Starbucks. No, I had not given up, but I did need to charge my camera battery before I continued on in the Park. I went from fake eggs and bacon and instant coffee to sausage egg and cheese on a biscuit and a grande, non-fat, latte.

Back in the Park I drove straight to Moro Rock, an adored lookout point in Sequoia. The clouds were low and surround the peak and all I got out of the ½ mile climb was the exercise. Next I drove into the Giant Forest and hiked into see the General Sherman Tree. The tree was big and exciting and all but I was more interested in taking in the whole forest, not just one novelty tree, so I continued hiking in the Giant Forest. After I had my fill of giant sequoia trees I drove up in King’s Canyon to camp for the night.


(at the top of Moro Rock)


(in the Giant Forest)

I picked a site in the Azalea Campground, close to a few other families and just down the road from the General Grant’s Ranger Station, in the thumb of the Park. I did my usual campsite set up and then set off on foot to explore the rest of the campground. I walked deep into the campground, making brief eye-contact and giving salutations to fellow campers. I was approaching a loop of about fifteen campsites, few of which were occupied, and at the far end of the loop I came across a camp site occupied by five younger guys.

I immediately got a bad vibe from these guys. I continued to walk past their campsite and noticed that there were no campsites ahead of me, just a road that weaved through the woods, back around to the start of the loop. Right at the moment I had passed, four of the five guys quickly loaded into their giant 4-door truck and started the diesel engine. I thought better than to walk down the road alone, with a pack of potentially dangerous guys on my tail, so I casually glanced at my watch to somehow indicate that I needed to get going, and turned around to continue in the direction I had come from. As the guys slowly pulled out of their parking spot I avoided eye contact, hoping that they would just speed by me.

They took off down the non-campsite side of the loop and stopped at the other side of the loop where my path would have met up with them. I listened for their diesel engine to continue on, but they just sat there. I hate to say that a wave of paranoia swept over me, but it did – there was something that did not feel right about this whole situation. Any onlooker could have guessed what I was doing by reading my body language. I was partially hidden behind a tree trying to plan out my next move. There were no other roads and no people in the near distance. I glanced back at the campsite and saw the one guy there tending the fire. I discretely glanced down to the beginning of the loop and saw all four guys, carelessly standing around their truck, still with the engine on. I waited longer for the sound of the diesel engine to slowly disappear, but it didn’t. My best option was to run into the woods, so I did.

Eventually I found my way back to my campsite. My ears remained sensitive to the sound of diesel engines and my eyes sensitive to every passerby. I had another MRE for dinner and a cup of hot cocoa. It was getting cold and I was quickly growing tired of being on high alert, however I continued to sit at the picnic table, reading by the light of the slowly falling sun until out of the corner of my eye I saw the pack of guys strolling in my direction. My move towards the tent was quick and deliberate and by the time I was fully zipped into the tent I felt fairly certain that the guys hadn’t seen me. I sat in my tent reading until the sun disappeared, trying to keep my mind silent. There was no room for comfort, yet somehow I slept soundly through the night.

I woke at 5:30 in the morning to the perfectly orchestrated alarm clock of nature: sun rising, birds chirping and squirrels rummaging. Fortunate to have had a sound sleep I allowed myself few more hours of slumber before beginning my day and rolled over onto my other shoulder that felt less sore at the moment. Just as I was glad to be out of Albuquerque, I was glad to be out of Kings Canyon – or so I thought. I packed up my things when I awoke for good and headed over to the Panoramic Point trailhead near the General Grant station. At the lookout point I was greeted by a fellow Bostonian. This girl, Rachel, was a PT student at Northeastern and was out in California on a clinical rotation. We had a pleasant visit, an encounter that renewed my faith in Kings Canyon. I embarked on a fairly easy five-mile loop after I left Rachel and when I returned to my car I decided to continue on into the bottom of Kings Canyon. Here I hiked around some more and made peace with a roaring waterfall and an elegant meadow. I claimed a campground in Sheep Creek and enjoyed the silence and isolation that the night offered.


(Panoramic Point)


(Zumwalt Meadow)

"These songs are true, these days are ours, these tears are free..." ~ Paul Simon

The drive through the Southwest was magical. I drove from the northern rim of the Chihuahuan Desert (Albuquerque) through the rolling hills of Northern Arizona to the heart of the Sonoran desert (Phoenix). This drive brought me through some of the most extreme and contrasting landscapes I’ve ever seen in less than an eight hour drive. I broke up the drive with a visit to the Petrified Forest National Park (in Northwestern Arizona) where I battled gusty winds and bus-loads of senior citizens. The petrified wood was very cool to see up close and I loved the Painted Desert with all its purple mountains!

Continuing onto Phoenix I picked up the Pony Express route and drove down roads that whipped through the mountains with hairpin turns and steep descends. Paul Simon’s “Rhythm of the Saints” album set the perfect mood for this drive. [Although the audio quality isn’t 100%, here’s a video of one of my favorite songs on the album: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2DHYo69JVm4]. Paul Simon followed me right into Phoenix where the temperature spiked to over 100 degrees.


(Me on a hike with my Aunt and Uncle at Picacho Peak State Park)

So I arrived at a place I will soon call home. The stakes were high for me on this road trip stop. I knew I would compare Phoenix to every other road trip stop, and already it doesn’t even compare. I had the chance to visit with family who live just south of Phoenix and was able to drop off a trunk load of stuff I had been transporting all the way from Boston. I am very fortunate to have family so far away from any place I’ve ever called home. While I was here for a few days I went up to visit the Thunderbird campus and said hello to admissions and all the other staff I had been in touch with during my application process. The campus is small, but nice and I don’t think I’ll have any trouble focusing on my studies for the 15 months I’m there. Perhaps the lack of enticing local activities will be exactly what I need to do well in my MBA. [This is my school: http://www.thunderbird.edu/ ]

The drive from Phoenix to San Diego was probably my least favorite so far. The temperature never dipped below 105 the entire way; it made me wonder if I could just stop off for an hour and get my windows tinted. It was hot and I was gross and sweaty. Every pit stop I made along the way was disgusting. I incessantly washed my hands and popped vitamins and electrolytes along this drive. One of my stops was in El Centro, CA; I can’t even begin to describe the area, but I imagine it might look and feel similar to some impoverished city in Mexico. I was relieved when I got closer to the coast. The temperature began to drop, the landscape started to look more tolerable and the ocean smell drifted through my car windows.

(this sign was above the toilet in one of the fine establishments I made a pit stop at)

In a roundabout way I couchsurfed for my first night in San Diego. My old roommate Rinaldo, a native San Diegoan or San Dieger or San Diegist, or whatever you call them, was kind enough to put me in contact with one of his old high school buddies. When I got into San Diego I met up with his buddy Rich at a nearby diner. I showed up grimy and underdressed, he showed up in his police uniform. I’m sure we were an interesting sight when we sat down at a booth together. After dinner he sent me to his condo and he left to finish off the rest of his shift. I was in no mood to explore so I went directly to his place, showered and streamed some of the shows that had been piling up in my Hulu queue. He joined me later in the night for a few glasses of red and then it was lights out.

The following day I had been looking forward to for far too long. This was the day I got to meet Elaina and Katelyn in San Diego. I scooped up Elaina from the centrally located John Wayne airport and we spent the afternoon down by Mission Beach where we soaked up some rays, played catch up and drooled over the thought of living somewhere so beautiful. We finally got to our hotel room, which was right in the Gaslamp district and by no coincidence in stumbling distance of several cool bars and restaurants. The night began with an hour of free wine tasting at the hotel, picked up when Katelyn arrived, got a little out of control when I busted out all my rap favorites on the karaoke microphone and ended with 3am pool races (of which I took no part in.)


(Katelyn, Elaina and me out at some Irish bar in the Gaslamp district of San Diego)

The following morning wasn’t so pretty, as you can imagine, however we managed to get up and out for a greasy Irish breakfast, and later in the afternoon we found ourselves at the San Diego Zoo. I’ve never really been that impressed by a zoo before, but this zoo was phenomenal. We had only three hours to experience the zoo and made it a point to see the monkeys - who doesn’t love watching monkeys? Anyway we had quite the show when we were watching the Bonobo Chimpanzees. When we first arrived at the exhibit we saw a chimp eat his own vomit. A few moments later two seeing-eye-dogs (in training) were led in front of the glass that separated the chimps from the outside world. With absolutely no hesitation one of the chimps ran full force into the glass, smacking violently against it and coming within inches of the dogs. The dogs whimpered and the chimp stayed pressed against the glass as if it were still trying to find a way through. Other chimps quickly joined the first one in moving towards the glass. The dogs, impossible to calm down, were led away from the exhibit by their trainers. When I could tear my eyes away from the chimps I noticed that monkeys from nearby exhibits had all moved front and center to see the action. There was something very eerie about this entire thing, something so raw and so far from any human attempt at domestication.


(one of the tamer chimps)


(the bonobo vs. newfoundland showdown)

Later in the evening we all made our way to Newport Beach where we stayed with friends of Katelyn and Elaina. Our first night there was relatively mellow and we got to meet the roommates and their friends. One of my favorites was this guy named Roy. Roy was an older guy, probably in his sixties, who showed up to their house in his high school football jersey. I had been warned about Roy (in a good way) and he was every bit as entertaining as I had imagined. When he arrived at the house the guys took down a birthday banner that was hanging above the door and had Roy run through it to make an official entrance. Roy’s signature line of the night had to have been “I never stand down” a phrase which he tacked onto the end of most all of his statements. I was already having a great time in Newport Beach…


(Roy and Jay)

The following morning I walked a few blocks to the beach and did yoga in the sand. I stared out to the ocean to find a place to rest my eyes as I settled into my first sun salutation. My gaze rose above the waves speckled with surfers and found its place on the meeting of ocean and sky. It was simply beautiful.

In the remainder of the day we rode Cadillac bikes along the water, rented a cheesy little “duffy” boat and took it for a spin in the harbor, and spent the evening hanging around town. It was a great evening that warranted no sleep…


(Elaina cruising the strip)


(Jim and Paul 'the captain' navigating through the harbor, jamming out to "I'm on a Boat")

So I slept on the beach the following day as I slowly made my way up to Marcus’ place in Redondo Beach.

I’m now at a place to regroup and rethink. I’m cashing in on the high-speed internet while I attempt to plan out the next two months of travel…

The Shame of Albuquerque

I did NOT have a pleasant couchsurfing experience in Albuquerque. Let me tell you about my CS host, Amanda. I found her on couchsurfing.com and from her profile she seemed to be relatively normal. Our few phone calls didn’t set off any red flags either. Staying with Amanda was such a bizarre experience that I feel compelled to write this blog about her…

So I showed up at her house at about 8pm Thursday night. She lives off of a main street right in the city; her house number was missing so I had to do a few drive-bys before I was pretty certain I was at the right place. I called her after I pulled into the driveway to make sure I was in the right spot before I knocked on the door. She answered the phone as she stepped out of her front door to look at me and said “did you just call to make sure this was the right place?” – I laughed a little and said “yeah” – she laughed sarcastically, hung up the phone and shut the front door. This is my first impression of Amanda.

I’m certainly not a high maintenance couchsurfer, but I do expect a little bit of friendly hosting. Couchsurfing is a community after all, a network of individuals who enjoy meeting new people and engaging in conversation…

I got to the front door moments after my arrival and knocked on the door. From behind the door I heard her giving stern commands to her two pitbulls and it took her a whole minute to come to the door. Once I entered her apartment I was speechless - I had nothing to say that wasn’t offensive – her interior décor and personality alike were incredibly off-putting. She meandered between her kitchen and dining room half talking to herself. She didn’t offer me a drink or a seat. She didn’t bother to ask me about my roadtrip either, instead I just listened to her senseless rambling. I followed her into her kitchen where she opened the fridge and started to tell me what she had for dinner. She said “I have lettuce, onion, turnips, radishes, beets…” Then she looked at me like that any of that sounded appealing. I jumped in, suggested that we get take-out or go out to eat and added in “my treat” when I sensed her hesitation.

We got into her stinky car (not quite week-old-burrito-left-in-car stinky, but close to it) and cruised around the city in search of a traditional New Mexican restaurant. She was kind enough to drive me through the main strip of Nob Hill (the hip area) and pointed out places of interest. Personally I thought this entire “hip area” was a pawn shop short of a ghetto. We cruised through another neighborhood and she pointed out that we were driving through Vietnamese gang territory. Then she said something to the effect of “I have no concept of when I should be afraid of something” and said she wasn’t sure whether this neighborhood was okay to drive through.

We arrived at a Mexican restaurant and sat down in a booth in the bar area. This restaurant was a real gem. For example, the booth and the walls were both covered with dark red crushed-velvet material. She said “hi” to a few characters that we passed and gave a big hug to an 80-year old man (who apparently had drunk-dialed her the night before.) After we sat down a friend of hers came by our table to say “hi” and a pair of boxer shorts fell out of his jean pant leg. Another guy in the restaurant pointed this out and her friend, embarrassed, denied it – it was very awkward. The wait staff noticed this too, but just left the underwear there. Gross.

Somehow I still had an appetite and ordered enchiladas – a shredded beef one and an adovada one (not to be confused with avocado.) We got chips and salsa to share and immediately Amanda put honey in the salsa - and not just a drop or two of honey, she put in about three tablespoons of honey in the salsa. I don’t think she noticed that I stopped eating the salsa; I don’t think she cared. When the food came she asked to have a bite of my enchiladas, which is fine I guess…so then I ask for a bite of her food and she said “well that’s the point” with a snobby, matter-of-fact tone. When the bill came I paid for it and she said absolutely nothing – no thank you, no ‘oh that’s not necessary’, nothing – apparently my mentioning of “my treat” was an open and shut case.

The rest of the night was fairly uneventful, yet remained odd. She decided to watch a Netflix movie (Son of Rambow) and invited one of her friends over. She made these decisions with no buy-in from me; I felt as though I wasn’t even there. She was considerate enough to offer me a bed sheet for the couch; she would have offered that I stay in the guest room, except there was a litter of kittens in there. So I slept on the couch, with one eye open, and woke early in the morning.

I was anxious to get out of the house and out of Albuquerque. I decided to grab a little wifi at her house before I left so that I could research what to do on my drive to Phoenix. As soon as I turned on my computer I heard Amanda open her bedroom door. She walked from her room to the bathroom NAKED. That was the last draw for me; I packed up my computer and got the hell out of there, leaving behind a note that said “Thanks for the couch”.

I felt like Christy Brinkley in National Lampoon’s Vacation

Ok, so maybe I don’t drive a hot red corvette and I don’t seduce married men on their family vacations. I was however driving the wide open road of Texas for hours: windows down, hair blowing, not a care in the world and every spontaneous muscle in me twitching.

In foresight of the road trip I had anticipated driving straight from Austin to Albuquerque. By the time I left Austin though I was en route to Carlsbad Caverns National Park – a stop which came as a strong recommendation from my new CS friend, Bethany. At a pit stop about two hours from my destination I saw signs for Big Bend National Park. Without much thought I followed the signs and started traveling 2.5hours in the wrong direction in search of Big Bend and the adventure that waited. That’s when the National Lampoon’s Vacation feeling really set in.

The park was breathtaking, massive and isolated. I wasn’t quite sure what I was doing there, so I stopped at the ranger station and got advice about hiking trails. I found myself at the foot of the Lost Mine Trail around 5pm and found myself at the top at 6pm. Each step of the way was more beautiful than the one before and once I got to the top it became clear to me why I had driven so far out of my way.



I was hungry and exhausted after my hike and set out to find the base lodge restaurant. On my drive I stumbled across a campground. This sparked my interest just as the first sign for Big Bend had. With that I cruised into the campgrounds looking for a place to set up my tent. I found a vacant site near a couple of guys I had passed earlier on the hike. I claimed this site and traveled over to meet these guys. The Road Warriors, as they like to be referred to, were great guys! They took me right in and offered me beer. We hung out for a while until I was too cold and sleepy to be social.

I wish I could say I fell asleep right away, but it took some time to get accustomed to the whipping gusts of wind and all the odd noises of the Park; not to mention I was in the middle of bear country. After a surprisingly sound night of sleep I awoke to freshly made coffee – that is made by The Road Warriors (below). I joined the guys for breakfast (by invitation of course) and had my first MRE (Meals Ready to Eat) – scrambled eggs and bacon. I’m really glad I ran into The Road Warriors - they taught me a thing or two about campsite eating and minimalist packing and they made my first solo camping experience feel a whole lot safer.



After having a hot breakfast in the middle of the beautiful Chihuahuan Desert I was more than ready to start the day. I cruised through the Park and onward through Texas with my favorite road tunes blaring – Ray Lamontange, Van Morrison, Joe Cocker, Ben Lee, Rufus Wainright…

My next stop was Carlsbad Cavern National Park in New Mexico. I spent about an hour in the cave, speeding past many groups of tourists, quickly taking in the sites. It was definitely the best cave I’ve ever seen – being one of only two caves I’ve had the pleasure of being in.



Now I’m in Albuquerque staying with a couchsurfer. She is bizarre - I will explain later. First thing in the morning I'm out of here...