Run For It

So wholey cow…it’s done.  We went, and we hit the Atlantic Ocean, and then we journeyed home by car.  Alright.  Well, there are, at this point, a number of stories still to tell….for two reasons, whether or not you care….One,  a lot has simply occurred since the last post, and I feel like some good stories that I left out due to being in a rush deserve telling because they were good American fun.  Anyway, there aught to be a best way to do this so I guess I’ll see what happens instead of spending more time trying to discern how to best go about story telling.  So.

A long time ago in a city far far away….

On the last day we woke up here (previously mentioned, but awesome! thanks again!).

We had been given $10 dollar vouchers for food in the morning at the lobby foodery….a spot with an array of granola, breakfast sandwiches, and the like.  I ate a ton of food, and that proved fortunate because we ended up being about 6 miles farther from the ocean than we thought we were to start the day…figure 100 calories a mile and yeah, extra food turns out for the better.

Arriving at the New Jersey spot we had left off the night before and therefor the starting point of the last run of all the runs that have connected my footprints into a single line across the country, we took the last morning photo for a series of photos I had been taking every morning all cross the continent.  Previously unreleased and unreported, I’ve been keeping a photo record of the physical changes occurring to my body as it has taken me over 3,000 miles.  I’m still excited by this experiment, so here is the short version of its results, in the form of a before and after photo:

LEFT: April 3rd, 2011; at Rio Del Mar Beach, Aptos, CA

RIGHT: Sept. 11th, 2011; New Jersey Black Horse Pike, 20 miles from the Atlantic

As you can see, I’ve grown a beard.  Be sure to notice Selena in there.  I still this photo is hilarious.  Anyway.  First and last run of the day, last run of the trip, set out for 14 miles, ended up doing 20.

The first 14 miles went about as usual: running down the roadside, a real straight shot highway with a huge bike lane, while getting the occasional honk.  I did what I could to slow down time and really take it in…the last of the roadside, the cars, the forests on both sides with viney plants and tall, thin trees, the blue skies with patchy clouds, how it was cool and breezy but just warm enough…but in all honesty, it passed by a quick as any other day.  I did find $31 dollars on the road side in the grass though.  Woohoo.  Another road fact: I collected $55 bucks along roadsides across America.

Just for fun, I’m going to include this story, because it is true, and because it was all fueled by traveling on foot over 3000 miles.  A ways into the final run a Camaro loaded with dudes shot by me while the guy on the passenger side hung out the window and did his best to startle me with a blood curdling scream.  Nothing out of the ordinary here, this is a scene enacted by Americans with Camaros and large trucks all across our nation…so lets just say while it is funny, at about “screaming-guy-hanging-out-window” number 10, it also becomes a bit tiresome.  But!  These guys, as they sped away, were withheld their assumed road-ahead freedom by an opportunity granting yellow light.  They stopped.  Ha!  The thing about runners is, we can catch you.  And as I caught these guys I put forth my own brand of brutal vengeance against all car screamers to date in the form of (what else?) the longest and probably most revered “moon” in New Jersey history, all set to the music of cheers and honks from the occupants of most other vehicles stopped at this 4-way intersection.  I had spent some time as I ran thinking up fun ways to deal with these kinds of people, and I was glad to have the chance to resolve all my issues with car screamers with one brief and applauded showing of my butt during the last 20 miles of my run.  I got mooned in return as they drove by me down the street, but I think once you’ve lost the escalating creativity battle, you’ve really lost the war.  Anyways….

Right around 6 miles to go Nick and the “Spaceship” (run for it support car!) came cruising up from Atlantic city stuffed with Selena, JustinSuj, and John.  With a quick pull over we had the usual but also well deserved hugout before everyone decided right then and there that 6 more miles wasn’t that far.  So the last six miles I was honored with their most excellent company.  Worth noting is that Suj, being unable to find his running shoes that morning, ran all six in hiking boots.  That guy’s a hero.  John too, I think he had never run that far before, and just decided that it was time he did.  And Selena, running farther than anyone else with me on the trip, ran and kept me running for about 25 miles in just 3 days.  Also Nick, for all that driving, still parked the car and then back tracked several miles to find us with the camera.  Thank you guys.  You all took something special to me and just MADE IT.  Awesome.

As a pack we descended upon Atlantic City, the little buildings on the horizon growing into Casinos and towers every step of the way.  Also John yelled “Man running across the country here!!” in classic baseball game peanut salesman fashion every step of the way.  We took turns at shooting photos or smiling (that came with ease, at least for me), experiencing the familiar but so distant memory of salt in the air…and then there came a moment.  A moment where all that was left was a small hump of sand.  I find it funny that in Atlantic City, you can get right up to the beach but can’t see the ocean because the view is blocked by a long sand dune (or hump) that runs along the boardwalk.  And there we were.  On this final day, one six foot hump of sand was all that remained in a coast to coast run.  That last moment kept a secret until well, that last moment.  I really love that.

A pack of friends and a couple of steps forward and the proof was there:  there really was an end.  All that land behind us stopped abruptly and covered up in Atlantic Ocean, as far as the eye can see.  No road vanishing to the horizon, no mountains, trees, cities…just all the blue in the world.

My friends, for all the effort they had just spent, stood as strong as ever and broke into applause.  My biggest surprise then, I think, is that I did not burst into tears, though it is making me tear up now to recall it.  For the first time in a long time I was done running.  It was time for a swim.

I peeled off the shoes and socks, the Camelbak, shirt, really the only things I hadn’t left laying out there along the roadsides of America, and took the last steps off the land.  My feet were so tender the sand under them bare was painful.  But, I was already at the water’s edge anyway.  My buddies did it right, hitting the water full speed, letting loose the excitement of the moment in bursts of ocean left in their wake.  I took a moment to look skyward and say all the things I knew I should say to Mom.  Then I grabbed Selena’s hand and took my first steps into the Atlantic.

The Atlantic seemed saltier and warmer than the Pacific.  Perfect.  After spending so much time moving my own not so weightless body about, to be floating weightless on one’s back amongst the waves, gently being moved about by a body of liquid seemed so surreal.  I think this is where having that group of friends with you matters.  They can assure you that this experience is real, because they are there feeling it too.

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After the last post we found our way, through corn and roads that Google thinks still exist that are now just overgrown remnants of roads or more corn, up to State Road and eventually onto the Old Lincoln Highway (HWY 30).  This road would take us through the cities of Mansfield, Wooster, Massillon, and Canton Ohio before we crossed into Pennsylvania just north of East Liverpool.  As we’ve started to follow Google Map’s “shortest route there”, some of the shortcuts around bends in the highway lead you to some fascinating places that remind me of the old Dr. Suess novel, “Oh, the Places You’ll Go”.

By the time we got to Mansfield my shoes were starting to feel pretty worn.  So much for my preposterous hopes of them making it all 950 miles to the coast (from the time I put them on.).  Anyway, we put off the shoe issue til reaching Wooster, a town with a really fun name.  Wooster is less than 500 miles from the Atlantic, so I am officially running on the last pair of shoes for the trip, pair number six.

After lacing them up mid-day, we ended up near the city of Massillon for the night and decided to camp.  We found the campgrounds after dark and set up just in time to watch the beginning of the first of two nights of heavy storms.  At this point, the best lightening of the trip was going on with a thunder recoil that seemed to roll endlessly around the valley we were in.  With a steady dribble of water entering the tent through our long ago busted door, our tent’s insides were quickly turned into a small wading pool.  Little sleep was had.  But, we awoke the next morning to find this beautiful lake at the campgrounds:

A quick swim had spirits revived.

The next night began in roughly the same fashion.  However, the storm this time came with heavy winds, so heavy that our broken door flap might as well have just been a shower faucet.  Nick and I did our best to hold it closed in the hopes that the rain might pass or maybe even back off a little, but, a heck of a gust hit us and, laughing as we went, tumbled the tent and all its contents (us included) around and around like a wheel.  All of a sudden Nick and I were lost in a sea of water, sleeping bags, and clothes wrapped up in a big wet mass of fabric and poles.  The rain continued.  The door was somewhere.  It was time once more to sleep in a camp ground’s laundry room.

Abandoning ship is tough in the dark when wrapped in your personal tent trap filling with water.  We got the sleeping bags okay, but of course the door was still a mystery and when Nick grabbed the electric pump for the airbed, the batteries came flying out and sank into the tent pool.  It’s funny in the rain, even when you’re already soaked you still try frantically to get out of the rain like somehow you’ll be drier in the end.  Anyway, that was the mindset as us two guys flailed about trying to salvage batteries, airbed, clothes, and ourselves.  We ended up sleeping on a wet airbed in wet sleeping bags in a laundry room filled with every bug ever attracted to the only fluorescent lights visible for probably miles.  A lady woke us early by coming in to do her laundry.

We returned to our camp the next morning to find our tent gone without a trace.  The camp staff insisted that it must have blown away and was probably in the lake.  I had to keep explaining that this thing has been with us for months through just about everything, and never once has it just up and left us.  After a while they discovered that their staff had picked it up because it had blown into the road and caused a disturbance with the campground.  On this point they were huge jerks, to say the least.  I found it odd that there were tire marks around the spot where our tent had been, while the skin from an onion we peeled the previous night sat where we left it…despite the fact that our tent blew away.  I don’t run a campsite though, so I really haven’t seen much of the world and how it is.  Anyway, we responded by jumping in the “closed” lake and getting scolded by a staff of teenage girl lifeguards.  Oh, when the ranger came and showed us to the barn where they apparently keep errant tents, we found both poles had splintered.  At least my sandals were still inside.

And so, the road through Ohio continues until, suddenly, there is only one last cornfield standing before a forest of trees.  With it goes 600 miles of corn, and when you come out of the tree tunnel you find yourself in Pennsylvania.  It’s a beautiful place: the Ohio River greets you at the western edge along with green hills in all directions.  The forests here are great, very “jungley” in appearance due to the presence of many vine-like plants growing from the forest floor up into the treetops…it may be poison ivy.  Anyway, it’s nice to see so much green.

We found our way into Pittsburgh one of the first nights there by car on our way to a place to stay.  I have to say, if you’ve never been to Pittsburgh, you’ve gotta drive all the way around it from whatever direction you come from to enter through the tunnel.  It’s unbelievable!  Coming down the highway a sign reads “700 foot tunnel”.  Okay neat, you go in, honk your horn, and there’s still 300 feet of tunnel left.  But then BAM!  You leave the tunnel and hit the scene before you like a rock thrown must break the surface of the water.  You emerge from a tiny hole and then everything slows as you come out of the hillside looking out over the city before you.  From the road in the sky the buildings stand taller than you, three rivers weave between them and bridges in every direction and angle, and to the left is a giant giant football stadium (home to the Steelers) that happened to be packed with people and players the night we showed up.  Neat stuff.

In Pittsburgh I was told that Pennsylvania consists of Pittsburgh on the one side, Philadelphia on the other, and in between, well that’s Pennsyltucky.  This is largely true.  The middle of the state is a good deal of country.  Not the corn type, but just the out in the woods type.  One town was supposedly all cousins.

After many more days than usual (lately) for us to be in a state, we did make it to Philadelphia.  A couple days of rain set us back a bit but it was nice to rest before the final state.  Philly is a neat town.  Selena flew out and she joined the fun.  We got to eat official Philly cheese steaks at Jim’s Steaks.  Yep.  I got mine with Cheez Wiz, because many believe that this was the original, and while it has no cheese, only Cheez, it makes for a good sandwich.  Plus, my time as a human garbage disposal is running short, so it’s worth sampling foods of questionable content.

And just like that, Nick, Selena, and I crossed the Franklin Bridge from Pennsylvania over to New Jersey.

That was two day ago.  We sit now at the craziest, nicest hotel I have ever seen the inside of courtesy Uncle Bob and Aunt Marion (THANKS THANKS!) with about 18 miles to go in the morning to put ourselves in the Atlantic Ocean.  It’s a pretty profound thing to be thinking right now: that tomorrow all of this will be over.  I don’t know that “over” is the right word, but certainly it will spell the end of the most physical task I have ever set out to complete.  I don’t know that I fully remember life before running everyday.

Anyway.  I’ll leave it at that for now.  I’ll keep up the posting here about what happens tomorrow and after that as I continue to reflect on my time out here and get a better understanding of it all.  For now though, goodnight.

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Hello and greetings!  We are at the moment having a good ol’ time in Lima Ohio, but, as has been the usual of late, lets go back a state or two.  The place: Illinois.  The time: around the 8th of August (this month) 2011.  The weather was fair, mostly sunny, but kept at a pleasant low 80 degrees by the endless puffs of clouds dotting the skies.  It’s a bit like being in a level from Super Mario Brothers.  Corn and soybean fields make up the primary landscape, although Illinois featured the return of trees, a welcome sight for Nick and I.

Anyway, as I mentioned towards the end of last post, much of the Illinois roadside, at least the section we followed, moves between two walls of head high corn.  I did at one point overshoot a turn-off to the correct road, but this gave me the opportunity to try to find my way through the maze of maize, which became a journey down some delightful country roads.  It was peaceful out there, I even had a happy lab set for adventure start to follow me. (I shooed him home after a while.)

A few days in, as Nick was up ahead asking directions to a campsite, a man named Denny who worked at a gas station offered us camping in his backyard instead.  Though he will probably never read these words, Denny was a great guy.  He was also quite an artist, with a uniquely eye-catching style blending pen and paint that was somewhat reminiscent of work by the Aztecs.

Denny himself

Using his pigeon coop waste for fertilizer, he had managed also to grow the best tomatoes ever applied to my taste buds.  From eight plants and a household of pigeons, Denny had managed to produce buckets of tomatoes that were each several times the size of my fist.  Nick and Denny shared some art, we all shared some tomatoes, and I even got to learn about corn genetics from the guy.  Turns out, years of breeding pigeons has given Denny a better sense of genes than Mendel himself.  Worth noting, the current choice in corn is a variety that produces one ear per plant, maybe 2, but with a thinner stalk so they can be planted extremely close together…about 50,000 per acre (source Denny).

We departed again to run the next day with our own bucket of tomatoes, plus a cooler full of assorted meats, courtesy local hunters!  We passed through Peoria, which is a town I would not recommend…it feels a lot like those crime television dramas where things like crack lead to a great deal of problems.  Anyway, we crossed the Illinois River and set up camp before having ourselves a fish fry (catfish) and some deer.

Tomatoes!—>

As our stock of tomatoes and cooler of meats dwindled, so too did our time in Illinois.  Next up: Indiana!  A state that is 150 miles wide, allowing us to cross it in just 5 days.

Lets see…Indiana, in all 150 miles west to east, just about 5 miles of road offered any shoulder/bike lane.  The rest…well.  Here:

So those are my 2 feet.  They fit between the bushes and the road.  For a while I was able to run off the side of the road with the corn or soybeans.  Yes, this was often on a slant, but it beats traffic.  And there was indeed a lot of traffic.  However, about 50 miles into the state we entered the territory of poison ivy, and it is described by a website I viewed as being good at “competing with grasses for any space that is often mowed.”  As the sides of highways are often mowed, well, there’s pretty much poison ivy everywhere.  What to do?  Well, there is rail road in Indiana, and it runs alongside the highway.  But in Indiana, if you run on the railroads, people will come running out of their back doors yelling at you about trespassing and alerting the local sheriffs.  This is also a state where people own guns.  Great.

Weighing the options, I decided being itchy sounded better than run over or shot/arrested and had a go at the bushes while trying my darndest to avoid the ivy and occasionally running in the road on off hours for traffic.  So, while we crossed Indiana in 5 days, they were probably 5 of the longest days of the trip.

Oh, also we tried to camp, but it was 37 dollars to set up a tent.  About this the women at the hotel down the street (80 dollars to start) stated, “Well, you get what you pay for.”  We have a tent with a busted door and an airbed.  Unless that campground includes a living room we can camp in…well, I just plain don’t believe them.  That same night, figuring we’d at least go have a beer since maybe it would be easier to get ripped off afterwards, it turned out to be Sunday.  “You can drive 80 miles that way to the next state if you want beer.” the guy at the store said.  The one good that did come of all this is that while complaining to the front desk woman at the small town hotel ($75 a night) about our time in Indiana, she knocked $25 off the price.

Okay, so the best part about our Indiana experience is that at the Ohio border there is Amish people!  The townsfolk stare at them, and at us, while the Amish stare at us, because we’re the other outsiders, and we stare back at everybody, but smile and wave at the Amish.  So far, the men will say hello and the women don’t say anything or give any facial expression to indicate anything they may be thinking.  I am on a personal quest to learn everything about them as we travel Ohio.  Speaking of which:

Ohio’s roadways are organized like they were created in the 1800′s, largely because they were.  By this I mean the roadways all branch out from the major cities with circular roads connecting these into somewhat of a spiderweb when viewed on a map.  Neat for seeing, but also not so neat for adding a lot of miles.  That said, we spent our first day crossing country roads known by Google Maps, though not all of them still exist, in order to reach “State Road”, a pretty much straight line across the state.  We were relieved to find that it still exists.  Anyway, our first day into Ohio was also our twelfth consecutive day on the road (360 miles), so we had ourselves a break.

And that brings us to today.  I picked up a book back in Carson City Nevada titled “A Patriot’s History of the United States”.  It has been a good read on the road and I had noted several weeks ago that one of the authors lives out here in Ohio, not far from where we find ourselves.  I sent some emails and he was polite enough to send some back, and sure enough, this afternoon Nick and I had coffee with Dr. Schweikart.  We got to ask any sort of question, really, about America and came away with a lot of insightful responses.  It was a real honor to get to hang out with a guy who has substantial credibility and a deep understanding of American history.

I got a new book!  And it’s signed!  Also! It says I’m a patriot, so this is written proof…America has made me an American!!

Anyway, during our chat Dr. Schweikart mentioned that the National Museum of the United States Air Force was nearby, and that it was quite spectacular.  So, using the general direction that he had pointed and our now tattered-but-still-trusty road atlas, we found it.  Boy was he right.  It’s three hangers, big hangers, loaded with the historical timeline of all airplanes developed by the USAF, starting with the Wright Brothers and moving into space.  The best things, says I, would have to be the stealth bomber, thee SR-71 Blackbird, and the atomic bomb (disarmed).

Stealth Bomber                                                                                                            SR-71 (it was TOO BIG to get a whole photo of!)

Look at this thing!!

The A-Bomb

The best part?  It was free!  We got there 30 minutes before close, so Nick and I literally ran through the place not reading a bit and just seeing the planes and feeling the size of them.  Like two kids, we hurried passed everyone else yelling out “Aww neato!!” and “Look at that one!!” and “WOA!!”.  We saw it all.  I guess sometimes all that running pays off haha.

After the museum closed, Outback Steakhouse opened, and because back in Nebraska Nick had sold a painting for $50 and a gift certificate to the place, we went.  We can eat a whole Bloomin’ Onion.  Tomorrow we continue on the road towards Pennsylvania, but there’s still a lot of excitement to see the rest of Ohio.  After all, this is the land of the Cleveland Browns, the best football ever…not currently, no, but “ever” is most likely sometime from now.  But come on, orange helmets?  No logo at all, except the orange helmet?  That’s just too cool.  Also, I am excited that football season is coming back, but I’ll save that for somewhere else.

And now we’re all caught up.  Goodnight all.  Thanks for reading.

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A few days run east from Ottumwa will bring you to Burlington Iowa, and hey guess what?  The Mississippi River!

This town has an aging feel along the waterfront.  Many tall brick buildings stand along the shore, often abandoned.  The town has several railroad crossings all within one square mile or so, and all the trains to go them.  Anyhow, its got such a pretty bridge over such a pretty river, we thought it called for a special crossing.  Enter Spiderman:

I would find out a day later that crossing this particular bridge on foot is illegal, something I think makes it that much better.  However, anyone crossing it in this manner has slight immunity, as the bridge itself was illegally constructed without pedestrian access after the time when this was supposed to be mandatory.  Add to that the fact that law enforcement would have to deal with the issue of the grey area between two states.  Anyway, that’s how we got on over to Illinois!

The day we got to Illinois we finished up running and drove right back to Burlington Iowa.  We had gotten in touch with a guy from couchsurfer named Bob Saar.  We learned from his self description that he was a writer with a three story older brick style home that overlooked the Mississippi.  It just felt like a good idea to go check all that out, plus the insight of a writer could be valuable to our trip.

As we got back into Burlington, we gave Bob a call and got directions to a local Irish pub where he’d come meet us.  Walking up to the door, we knew coming back had been a great idea.  Two locals sat out front.  “Hey! Where you from!?” one askingly announced.  As I started to give the usual shpeel about being from California, another larger man bursts out of the door of the pub, hand extended, and begins shaking my hand while explaining that I have to order the catfish.  It is apparently fantastic, he keeps explaining while staggering off into the street to catch a ride.

Behind him two more men come pouring out, one of them exclaiming “What are you doin?  Tryin to decide if you wanna go in?!”  “Well I’d like to” I replied, “but everyone out here is so friendly!”  I tell the original two guys sitting out front that we’re there to meet Bob Saar.  “Bob!  Oh yeah!  We love Bob!  And there he is!  Jumping out of a moving vehicle!”

Sure enough this guy who’s photo we had seen once on the internet was currently leaping from the passenger side of a car coming to a stop.  Off he went full speed down the road after one of the other men who had exited the pub.  “He’ll be back.  Come on!  Lets go inside.”  So we followed the man on in.

What is immediately apparent about the place is that everyone knows each other.  It made for a a lively atmosphere, one that welcomed us right in even though everyone knew we didn’t know anyone.  Bob Saar walks in right behind us looking like the writer we had hoped to find: longer black-and-greying hair and a set of glasses, dressed in his own perfected style of shorts and Hawaiian shirt.  “Yeah, I look like a f@!#’in idiot.” he would tell us.

We were introduced to a heavier fellow, also in Hawaiian shirt (bright blue), sitting at the bar known as Pat Hazel.  Pat plays a mean harp and the least of his talents on the thing is recreating to exacting detail any sound you can come up with…and often any sound that happens to be in the background of where he is.  It turns out Pat is a character in Bob’s book in addition to a character in life, as Bob had had a heck of a time trying to come up with a better one for use in his story.

After about an hour in the pub everyone seemed to know our story.  It’s extremely flattering to be in a place where everyone is excited to meet you and hear about what you’re doing.  The bar tender listened to a bit of my tale, and without hesitation handed me a twenty and excused himself because he was “going to tear up”.  Not that he was embarrassed by this he explained, it’s just how he is.  Again on this trip I find myself so very touched.

We spent the rest of our first night in Burlington touring snake alley, a road with more turns per foot of road than any in the US…maybe world.  Indeed, if you had walked your horse down it when it was first built, that horse would have quit.  After the short drive down the alley, we stopped in at an equally lively place called Mr Moto’s.  Bob walked home and left me and Nick to drive his Jeep.

The next day Nick and I had breakfast at Jerry’s Main Lunch.  It’s on Main Street.  This was a classic diner with stools at the bar seating only, and it was packed.  Everyone had to move down a couple seats and squish together so that we could sit.  Another spot where everyone knows each other, the waitress behind the counter didn’t believe I had run there until another guy looked up our site on an internet phone.  “Oh!  I thought you were just being weird!” she laughed…after that, we found ourselves in another placed answering questions about our trip from all directions.  Really amazing.  And!  They have “the Mess”, a breakfast platter with eggs, hashbrowns, sausage, ham, peppers, onions, and 3 slices of American cheese all mixed together and served with toast.  Oh boy!  Oh, it was cash only and as I drove Bob’s Jeep to an ATM, a local guy paid for our meal.  Thank you again.  Truly.

Halfway done!

Once we got back to Bob’s house everyone was up and running smoothly.  He had a film crew, husband and wife, staying with him to work on promotional clips for his book, as well as follow the musical book signing tour around the Southwestern States.  The book, “In Memory of David’s Buick”, is about a guy who writes a song that gets stolen by a country music producer and his adventure across the US to get it back while driving his brother’s blue Buick Convertible.  Bob is also a musician, so he and Pat had written actual songs from the book, or for the book, and will be playing them several nights on the road.  Oh, and a friend of theirs has donated thee blue Buick Convertible from the story to be driven for the tour, complete with white leather interior and a license plate that reads “D BUICK”.  Bob, Pat, the film crew, and a blond woman have spent hours driving this car around shooting footage for promo clips.

And that’s how this happened.

Oh yes.  Bob had an idea about including us in a clip for the book.  So, we headed out in the afternoon to film the scene.  Laid out roughly at the start and largely improvised in just three takes, a team of six of us managed a hilarious outing.  It was a real honor for Nick and I to be included in this, and I am still a bit jealous that he got to drive!  Anyway, the finished product can be viewed here: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YYe6LAexVfQ

Seriously, if you haven’t seen it yet through my facebook posting, have a look.  It is classic.  That’s Nick as the driver, Pat Hazel in the back seat playing the harp, myself, as myself, and Bob Saar is the fellow running about in the back with the book.  The best part, perhaps, if you look hard, there is a white car in the background.  This is the guy who loaned the car to Bob, and unknowingly happened to drive by to see Bob chasing the Buick down the street with people the owner had never seen driving it away.  He pulled up alongside and yelled only, “Nice car!” before taking off down the road, not even bothering to see what that was all about.

Oh yeah!——–>

After shooting, we all found ourselves back at Bob’s.  “So you guys are stayin’ here again tonight, right?” Bob asked.  We had killed much of the day shooting, and well, rest sure is nice.  An afternoon siesta ensued, during which Nick and I got to hang out and experience life in a Burlington way, or maybe just a Bob Saar way.

Bob is a guy who seems to be having the time of his life, or, if this isn’t the time of his life, I’d be at a loss to think up what else could have been.  Whether he’s throwing rocks at groundhogs that eat all his tomatoes while yelling, “You damned groundhogs!! I’ll kill you!!” then explaining rather calmly that he couldn’t stand to do that and actually has to trap them and relocate somewhere else, giving out pickles to the neighborhood kids (this is somewhat of a legend that he started when he first moved in, and generations of kids have never forgotten, sure enough, they’re there everyday), or having brilliant visions of the next promotion clip for the book, he can still manage to get a lot of reading done, take a nap, and prepare the best darned Iowa chop dinner you’ve ever seen (I seriously don’t know how the meal manifested itself, all day long he was interrupting his own flow of ideas with the statement “I’m supposed to be cooking!!” and sure enough, it worked out.)  All this is wrapped up in a seemingly endless supply of different and entertaining Hawaiian shirts.  Oh, and he’s a musician too.  I got to touch this sweet guitar, it’s a ’68:

The next morning the film crew did us a huge huge favor and filmed a short interview with me and Nick at a beautiful overlook of Burlington and the Mississippi.  It’s still in the works, but I’ll be sure to tell everyone all about it when we have it.  While the footage was shot, a photographer from the local paper took our photos.  Standing in front of a camera and being photographed really makes you look around and think “just what in the heck is going on here??”.  Thank you guys for all that you have helped us with, and more than anything, for believing in us.  The paper did an article, you can see it here, it is currently #8 on the popular story list!:

http://www.thehawkeye.com/story/Running-man-080811

Well, the problem with crossing the US in a timely manner is that even the best of good times has to pass to the road behind us on our way to the road ahead.  With some heart-felt goodbyes Nick and I loaded up the Spaceship (Nick’s Honda Civic) as Bob left us with some parting advice:  “Here’s something you guys can look forward to later in life,” he began, “Now, I know I look like a f$%@’n idiot, but there’s going to come a day when you just don’t care anymore.  I used to be a hot dude, I remember what that was like.”  (I rather like Bob’s choice of style, and those of you who know of my “vacation” Hawaiian shirt will know why).  “And here’s why,” he continued, “There comes a point where you become invisible to women.  And after that, it doesn’t matter anymore.”

I’ve heard the lack of care part before, but never a reason as to why.  I have to think he’s right.  Anyway, for a chance meeting from a website, this was one of the best times of my life, and one of the toughest goodbyes.  But I think Nick and I will do our best to see Bob again.  And just a big hearty thank you to Bob, Pat, and the film crew for all the fun and support, truly a huge recharge into the last 900 or so miles of our trip.  Best of luck on the book tour.

Nick and I have at this moment crossed Illinois as well.  The good thing about it from a writing standpoint is that you spend most of the time between two walls of corn so even if something was going on, you’d have no idea.  There’s stuff in there too though, like dogs that follow you and cyclists, wandering around with an intended destination like us.  There’s no telling how long they’ve been in there.

The main thing Illinois had going for it was a man named Denny, who had the best tomatoes ever and let us camp in his yard.  But, I’ll get to that next time because I have a photo of him I want to use and the camera is a 30 ft walk from here, distance enough to prevent me from fetching it.

As for Indiana, well, we just got here, and are about 24 miles in.  It should only take 5 days to get across the state, unless we see more storms like the one going on currently.  It came in like a giant creature, covering the entire western horizon in darkness before finally unleashing a torrent of rain and wind that locals hardly bat and eye at while Nick and I are in awe and obviously from California.  I think the tent is about dry now, so we’re off to set it up again one more time…hopefully this time it stays there….

Nah, we’ll be fine.  Oh!! And new decals!! Thanks Cousin Chloe!! And Aunt Kate for leading the charge!

Sweet sweet!!  750 miles to go.

Popularity: 40% [?]

This just in from the news desk of Run For It!!!  Just kidding, all logos or whatnot in the above image are probably owned by someone or something that hopefully will never see this and decide to sue.  Jokes on them though, all we’ve got are precious t-shirts!!

Anyway, how did we get here!?  Stayed tuned and find out!  Followed by weather of course, which apparently is the top of the number 3 and a swooshy looking shape that is probably indicating wind.  Also, Nick takes a thoughtful look at mohawks.

Iowa.  Wow.  I suppose to begin this is a place I didn’t expect anything from.  In a way, I guess it’s surprising to find so many people here and so much, as this was not a place I had previously suspected people and things lived.  In all honesty, prior to this trip, bringing up the word Iowa brought no associations to mind.  Iowa, a place, somewhere between the west and the east coast.  Well, I guess a lot can change in 10 days.

Our first night here we stayed in Glenwood, a small town just over the Nebraska-Iowa border.  Nick got a haircut (see above) and I walked over to the gas station mart for breakfast type foods at around 10 pm…this was one of the rare occasions where I was planning ahead…A guy was working there so of course I had to talk with him.  “I’m from California!  Never been to Iowa before” I said.  “Best keep on going” he replied.  This guy really seemed beaten down by the place, as though its lack of professional sports team and large scale water parks had somehow hollowed out his insides, leaving only the woody exterior of a gas station employee.

I wasn’t convinced though.  Iowa, at least along HWY 34, consists of slow rolling hills (the product of millions of years of plains wind depositing a fine silt along the banks of the Missouri River) covered with really neat trees (the kind with viney things hanging around them) that I guess had taken their chance to populate the hillsides after the introduction of 19th century farming methods.  The road is lined with wild flowers in the shape of white circles that are composed of hundreds of tiny little flowers on closer inspection.  Adding to the scene is a dense population of crickets.  When they take flight, their wings create a spherical white ball effect as they flutter randomly out of your path(think Avatar with those crazy flying plants). It’s a magical ordeal, except that bugs run into you.  I found myself wondering if the gas station guy had ever clocked out and left the building.

Anyway, Nick and I were on our usual high speed run-a-thon of late, so we were hurriedly moving through one small town after another in search of the Mississippi.  For the most part, our smiles and waves were met with some of the most intensive frowning of all time.  There are now grooves worn into the sidewalks after people’s cheeks hit the ground and stayed there for weeks at the site of us passing.  We’ve come to figure that this is the way things work on a small town scale: outsiders are outsiders, until folks decide otherwise.

We met a total of 3 friendly people between the border and Des Moines.  It is interesting to note that all of them were farmers.  The first one was a guy cruising around his cornfield in an electric wheelchair.  He wondered what I was up to, and we had a long chat on the side of the highway.  I learned here that Iowa corn is taller than Nebraskan corn and it also doesn’t have to be watered because the soil here retains so much moisture from the winter rains.  It also creates a neat fog effect at sundown.  The second guy had us over for lunch (I’m not sure we had a choice in this) and was from Houston Texas, back to help with the harvest.  He had hoped we could camp on his lawn, but his mother was suspicious of us so no luck (Thanks Nick’s mohawk!!).  Another guy picked some corn for us right off his field.  It is good, Nebraska good.

I’d also like to mention we’ve been eating a lot of Subway lately…they’re everywhere out here and locals love them.  Anyway, we met a kid working at one who informed us that all sorts of crazy folks happen in on small town Subways.  This includes late night angry bikers, strippers, and the occasional tour bus loaded with East Coast metal bands and road crew.  This particular Subway had also hired the town of Red Oak’s only African American to ever live there.  I guess people had a tough time with that one, as did he, so he left.

We had the pleasure of meeting our good old friend Emily out in Des Moines due to the coincidental end of her internship up in Sioux City.  It was time for a weekend, or at least one day off, and we spent it having probably the most of fun offered in the city.  We had Vietnamese food, familiar fare for Emily but not for us.  There was an excellent pork stuffed squid, bringing together all the joy of land and sea creatures.  Also we checked out a real life bio-dome (I guess Pauli Shore is extinct), saw a sculpture park worth millions and millions, and checked out the Des Moines River.  We topped it off with Thai food and frozen custard, which is pretty much ice cream.

Squid and pork!                                                                                                        The alphabet forms more than words!

They wouldn’t let me wear it anywhere else…

And so, with a heaping bbq breakfast at one of the most famous bbq’eries (I guess), we parted ways to continue on with our separate adventures.  Nick and I headed for Ottumwa.  And everything just gets spectacular from here.  I am just beginning to digest it in my head, and I do not think that in months time I could get down here something to do it all justice.

But here goes anyway.  Nick met a guy on the road side who invited us to stay on his land, after he went home and checked with his wife.  Well, he did, and since she hadn’t gotten a glimpse at Nick’s Mohawk, we were allowed to stay.  Turned out, he had an RV in the yard, and by the time we got there he’d gotten it all cooled off on the inside and ready to go.  I believe this guy’s name was Paul.

After a good night sleep for a change (haha), we awoke to find Paul hard at work with a roofing crew.  They all took a break, and, after hearing our story, everyone began calling into town to people they knew in the media.  I ended up on the phone with several people, and before I knew it I was off running the 7 miles to Ottumwa to find the radio station, since I had to get in there before heading over to the paper.

A friendly old guy sat me down and recorded an interview to be played back in the morning, after he bumped his previous guest, and before that dastardly paper could beat him to it.  Nick and I got free t-shirts and some water!  Off we went to grab some coffee before heading across the street to the newspaper.  While there, a guy overheard our conversation with the coffee shop employees and invited us to stop by the tv news station, also across the street, after we were done with the paper.

We got interviewed over at the Ottumwa Courier (article here: http://ottumwacourier.com/local/x906048255/Hoofing-it-across-country) before crossing the same street again to hit the news station.  We were both interviewed out front by a small reported.  All in all a good time, and then they let us sit behind the desk for some photos.  (The news station’s article is here: http://www.heartlandconnection.com/news/story.aspx?id=647199#.TkKq6YJ-5W0)

So, after a morning of being on radio, news, and tv, we felt kinda goofy.  I suppose we were both wondering what in the heck had just happened.  We got some Subway and got back on the road in the heat.  Later, while I ran, Nick called me up to say he had heard the interview advertised on the radio.  So it was funny even later, as 2 highway patrolmen stopped to see what I was up to exclaimed, “Hey! We heard about you on the radio!”

So, believe it or not, things get crazier and funnier from here!  Stayed tuned, we are being tossed from the hotel room as I write, but check back as we explore all things Bob Saar!  Until then…Peace!

Popularity: 45% [?]

Note: This post comes after the one below it, I have separated them because Nebraska deserves its own title, so if you haven’t seen the story before this one, start there!

We got to Nebraska following HWY 6 out of Sterling Colorado through Holyoke.  We had no idea what to expect (what good is expectation anyway?) except for corn.  We’d heard there was a lot of corn.  Well, it’s true, and you know you’ve reached the border because in Colorado there’s other types of plants.  In all fairness though, wheat is fairly popular here too, and soybeans have been making an appearance in recent years.

It seemed to me at first that Nebraska must have every inch stuffed with corn fields, cared for by the 10 or so people that can fit in there and handle living amongst it all.  But, Nebraska is in fact a lot more fun than this, and I only kinda like corn.

There’s a Nick in that corn!!—>

Our first night there we had gone all of 12 miles into the state.  All 12 of those miles were through corn fields.  Something about a place where agriculture is a way of life had me excited.  I suppose looking back it was a notion I had that somehow life for people there would be so entirely different from anything I know that I was going to be in for things I couldn’t imagine.  That, and I had a 7th grade science teacher named Mr. James who introduced himself to us as such: “My name’s Mr. James and I’m from Nebraska, I’m 86.”  He was a nice enough guy.  And 14 or so years later he had me psyched on the state.  Also this was the farthest east I had ever been, so everything from there onward was new adventure.

Anyway, Nick had met a real life Nebraskan before me and he had given him a couple beers which we took sips of when not swatting bugs while watching an awesome thunderstorm roll in at dusk.  We looked for camping around the town of Imperial but were told by a ranger that we couldn’t camp because that storm we had watched was going to be pretty heavy, with hail at least the size of marbles, plus lightning and rain and all that other good stuff.

We drove back to town through the most ridiculous rain I have ever witnessed.  My job was easy, just tell Nick I can see the road so he keeps driving.  His job was hard, he had to drive and you most certainly could not see the road.  But anyway, it’s Nebraska and if you just keep driving you end up at the hotel (there’s probably a corn field out there with a car sized line through it).  We got out of the car in time to see a lightning bolt strike very near the building, and sounding like someone fired a shotgun near your head, which cause the immediate black out of all the hotel lights.  We ran into the hotel soaking wet and spent the night looking out the window at the storm from our dark room.

We got breakfast the next morning at Subway, which I mention only because it seems to me that Nebraskans love Subway.  We’ve eaten at numerous Subway’s out here, but in Nebraska they’re always packed, and all the people there know each other!  This particular one was loaded with older folks having lunch at 11 am…this is lunchtime in Nebraska, I think because everyone is up at 4 am.  Nick started telling them about how crazy the storm was the previous night, earning him only looks of confusion.  “We’re Californians” I said.  “Oh!  That explains it.” they replied.

We set out for McCook, the first big city we’d travel through in the state!  Every small town along the way, spaced about 6 to 8 miles apart, has its own school, church, and hospital of some sort, and massive corn silos visible from far, far away.  Just seemed worth noting.  Along this path one also encounters hills.  This was not something I expected to find out there so also seems worth noting.  Also on the way to McCook, I got to run into the future again as we entered another time zone!  Nick went so fast into the future he got a speeding ticket in the town of Waunita (probably the halfway point in our journey).

McCook vegetable stand, look at that dog!—>

McCook Melon, we ate it for lunch—>

McCook was nice, though all the hotels there were full for reasons that no one could give an explanation for.  Whatever it was, it was time to be in McCook.  However, we were turned on to a really cool feature of most Nebraska towns: the free camping zone.  Mostly designed for RVs, they often have nice grassy areas for tents and a bathroom with showers and toilets!  Also, they have a spigot, something that so far is unique to Nebraska and is at this point probably the only reason I am still alive.  That, and the fact that each town has an ice cream shop.  Mmmm, so many milk shake lunches!  Actually, I left one town with a cup of ice cream and a large ice tea after jumping in a spigot.  I must have looked liked the happiest guy walking down the road with my arms full of cold things.

Right around the time we reached McCook the thunderstorms stopped.  Well, it got hot.  Really hot.  Apparently a high pressure system in the upper atmosphere was pressing down upon the air around ground level, resulting in heat levels that had everyone out there sweating (think pressure cooker) and questioning my sanity.  This heat wave was nationally documented, and warnings were issued throughout the state for “extreme heat”.  Out of the 14 or so days we spent in Nebraska, 11 of them were over 100 degrees.  So, the spigot’s ability to dump a large volume of ground water on top of you is a glimpse, for that moment, at everything you ever wanted in the world.

Cornfields later, there was Holdrege!  After eating at a Subway and heading back to sleep, some guys in a car next to us spoke out, “Californians?  Why would you be cruising through Holdrege Nebraska?”  We told them our tale across lanes, and ended up following them to their car shop for a hangout.  They showed us their super awesome all shiny black 1980-something Firebird that they planned to drive at Cruise Night in a town called Kearney, not too far from where we’d be running the next day.  When we left Nick and I weren’t quite sure what Cruise Night was, but we knew we had to go.

The next day as I was running and pouring out sweat like I haven’t poured out sweat since full padded football camp in Nevada, a car drove by and some guy yelled some obscenity, which happens every so often on my roadside spot.  I used my latest weapon against such verbal attacks, my behind.  Well, this car turned around!  This had yet to happen on the trip, usually yellers of obscenities disappear over the horizon, never to be seen again.  As the car approached I was ready to chase off whatever number of Nebraskans it contained with some sort of crazed charge, but it turned out to be a group of friendly kids.  “You need a ride?” the driver asked.

I explained my story and they were all pretty enthusiastic.  They too were headed for this Cruise Night and reaffirmed that Nick and I had to go.  So I finished up the day’s mad dashes between spigots and met Nick on the side of a corn field.  Off we went to Kearney, to see what it was about.

Oh man.  So, the cruising is done by anyone and everyone with a vehicle of shiny and loud-motored nature.  There is one main street in Kearney, and up and down they go.  There’s some really cool cars to see.  Everyone else gets a lawn chair and a beer and whatever space they can make for themselves along the road.  Nick and I walked the strip a bit and ended up hanging out with some local break dancing kids.  It was lively, and entertaining, and a very different kind of thing all at once.  I enjoyed myself, though there was a lack of spigots.

The next big town was Hastings.  Hastings was another great spot loaded with really friendly and down to Earth people.  On the outskirts of town I stopped in at a John Deere dealership (tractors, big ones! called combines) to refill my water and ended up talking for about 45 minutes with a farmer and the guy who was running the place.  I asked them a lot about farming.  I guess right now the price of corn and grains is way up, so much so that farmers haven’t felt the economic hit as badly as the rest of the country, though this is due in part to a run of 8 good years of rains and harvest.  It only takes one or two guys to drive a combine through these massive fields and get all the harvesting done!  Because of this, there is a few well established farms that keep putting the little guys out of business or make it tough for anyone new to jump into the game.  Also, and they gave me a cool hat that increased the number of passing Nebraskans who would honk and wave by about 400%.

We stayed in Hastings a couple of nights while passing through on the run.  We spent our mornings at a local coffee shop (you know Nebraska’s good because they have local coffee shops) owned by a really friendly woman who was great for conversation.  She had once been a runner herself.  It was here that we first started to get an idea of how flooded the Missouri River was (something we’d heard bits of hearsay on previously), and were tipped off to the idea that we might have to cover some serious mileage to go around.  We opted to see when we got there.

We headed for Nebraska City and its river crossing that was supposedly underwater by way of Crete (south of Lincoln) to save mileage.  On the way we had run far enough to earn a rest day, and we headed up to Lincoln to see the capitol city.  It’s a bit of an island in a sea of corn, as this is the only place we had seen there with buildings over 2 stories high.  The folks there are a bit more city too: kind of in a rush, dressed up for whatever place they’re headed.  Speaking of which, I want to note that I wore the same pair of sweatpants everywhere we went in Nebraska.  It started as some kind of joke, but once we had almost made it to the other side I figured it was worth keeping up.

We toured the city for our day off.  It’s nice because in Lincoln, everything is on “O” street, so you don’t have to do much walking to see a lot.  We checked out and art museum, which seemed to keep Nick entertained…I was entertained by the sprinklers outside.  The capital building is rather funny, its a really tall tower with a statue of a planter on top, holding out his planting sac of seeds.  Though, if you’ve never seen this image before, he’s so high up that from the ground all I could imagine was that it must be some guy flashing all of us.

A stop in at a running store (a real one!) became an hour long visit with the shops staff and several customers that happened to overhear, all of whom were very enthusiastic about what we were doing.  It turns out these other two guys who had run across America together (I used their site for information) had stopped in and spent considerable time having fun in Lincoln.  They had come by that very shop.  Anyway, was great to meet some runners, and they sold me a new pair of shoes half off!  Thank you very very much.  New colors too!!

Back on the road, Nick and I drove ahead to Nebraska City to see what condition the roads were in.  We were skeptical to think it was actually closed and actually so underwater that I couldn’t just walk across, as previous Nebraskan advice on things had been a little off.  Well, the one thing they were all right about is the river.  I hopped over all the road closed barricades and walked about a mile into the night across a bridge, over a large grove of trees, and down into a grassy area covered with water on both sides.  This place was creepy, there were more noises from things that I have yet to identify than going blindfolded at the zoo.  I scared 3 deer who all ran by me pretty close, as there is no where else to go except up the road or into the water.  Consequently, they scared me too.

After a mile or so walk, I came to a point where the road turned and disappeared into the Missouri.  The lights I could see on the other side were a long way off still.  I guess swimming was out.

Plattsmouth, a town about 25 miles north of Nebraska City, had a toll bridge that would for sure be above water.  Off we went.  The drivers along the eastern Nebraska border are pretty awful, they’re too busy using all their hands to honk and flip you off to keep their cars on the road.  But, I guess I’d be all pissed off too if the longest river in the US had just come through my doorstep.  Anyway, east Nebraskans, it is not my fault that the river flooded.

I met some kind folks along the HWY headed north who let me fill up my water and then gave me more Gatorade than I could carry, but not more than I could drink!  I walked along drinking until I had crushed down enough bottles to fit in my pack.  I just wanted to point these people out because they had just returned from a tractor pull.  This is an event where people modify the classic looking tractor into a dragster.  They had one sitting in their giant hanger-esque garage.  Pretty cool, it looks like a tractor with giant dragster tires and an engine sticking out of the hood that looks like it belongs on a race car, complete with those little circle things that flip around.

Our arrival in Plattsmouth revealed that indeed, the toll bridge was functional.  However, the lady running the thing revealed to us in a slightly heated manner that NO, YOU CAN’T GO OVER THE TOLL BRIDGE ON FOOT.  There was no bike lanes.  It was less than a quarter mile long, and the speed limit was 15 mph…I can sprint faster than that and it would have taken me less than a minute and a half to cross.  Anyway, what caught my eye was a train tressel crossing slightly north of the toll bridge.  We quietly said thanks to the toll lady and went on our way.

I can only hope she was watching as some guy exploded out of the trees going full sprint across that train bridge and over the Missouri river.  It was 20 miles to the Omaha crossing and that bridge would leave us on a highway that runs about like the edges of puzzle pieces all through Iowa versus the straight line that is the 34.  It was too far to go for too little, so we took our chances.

It was from this bridge that I got my first real view of how bad the flooding is.  The river itself now is at least 3 miles wide, not all of that flowing.  There are houses, road signs, various lengths of roads, and corn sticking out from it.  The railroad itself is a land bridge that crosses this river sea with water to both sides and little toads hopping about everywhere.  I guess there was a lot of miscommunication between dams this year, some blame Canada, some blame Montana, and some blame a lady trying to save two ducks and a fish…yeah I don’t know.  Anyway, it looks pretty bad, I have never seen a river so big.  To look across it from one side to the next is the equivalent of viewing Aptos from Capitola Beach.

After about a half hour, I had made it to Iowa.  However, there was still the business of running up Interstate 29 (because HWY 34 was underwater and detoured).  Runner’s are not allowed on interstates, so this would be interesting.  I only had to make it 3 miles or so, I thought, so I’d hoped to just run flat out til I got there and hope that no policemen noticed.  I climbed up to the interstate from the railroad and jumped over the retaining wall.

“Okay, what lane am I in?” I wondered.  But, to my surprise, there were no cars.  I quickly realized that this was a new interstate under construction.  The real interstate was off to the side and separated entirely!  Not wanting to get cited for trespassing, I took off for my exit up the road, only to see pretty quickly a sign reading “HWY 34 exit, 1 mile”.  Woo!  What a string of luck, my own road and only a third of the distance I had anticipated.  I ran my guts out and staggered off the exit ramp onto highway 34, only to see a cop.

“You need some help?” he asked.  “Well, I’m running across America” I said.  “Wow!  No way!  Really!?” was his response.  He didn’t even ask about how I’d come over the river, just expressed some genuine excitement and wished me luck.  And that’s how I got to Iowa.

I headed off down the 34 and up into the hilly grass-dunes that define the landscape of western Iowa just about sunset.  I took one last look back across the river at Nebraska, thanked it for all it had to offer us, and rounded the bend.  It was a good day, and it was time to think about some dinner.  “I feel like corn.” I thought.

Popularity: 57% [?]

Ok, lets bring this up to speed here.  I want to talk briefly about the bigger events in Colorado and then cover our time in Nebraska, now that we’re in Iowa.

Selena (my lady) flew out to Colorado for a few days which was awesome, because there’s only one girlfriend but a lot of miles to cover and that takes time and gosh that’s hard.  We tried to make the most of Colorado despite having little idea about what there was to do there, but sometimes that turns out to be more fun.

The first thing you have to do when your lady comes to see you is dress up like a big jerk to embarrass her.  Since I had grown a mangy beard while on the road for 2 months, I decided to go with the local vibe and sport a mustache.  After combing a few thrift stores, well…here’s the result:

yeah my stache is blond.—->

We went to a festival in Ft. Collins that included a Third Eye Blind concert (remember them?).  It was good to sing along to that one part of that one song (you know, do doo do, doo do do do).  They looked surprisingly young for a band I vaguely remember from my youth.

Later we went to a baseball game, saw Estes Park in the Rockies, and did some beer tasting.  Very much a trip highlight, so much so that when she missed the plane on the way home, I tried to think of every reason I could to drive her there.  But, of course this is a project to be finished.

Soon after she left and we had started to make some progress on the run (returning each night to my Aunt’s house), my little brother would arrive.  We had so much fun with him, Nick’s shoulder popped out and he had to go to the hospital.  They gave him a great new outfit.  Anyway, those were great times too, and soon enough it was 4th of July.  This turned out to be the best 4th I’ve ever had, thanks in large to my Uncle Chris’s venture into Wyoming where they sell all the “good” fireworks.  Holy cow.

Those make booms——>

So pretty much mayhem ensued, and it was great to share that with family.  That was more fireworks than I had ever seen ever, and I’ll be darned if blowin’ stuff up isn’t just the coolest.  Anyway, really enjoyed being there and seeing how the 4th is done.

Of course our visit wouldn’t be complete without a family hike in the Rockies, with EVERYONE in Runforit.us t-shirts!  We headed out to a lake in the woods lined with some amazing rock structures.

Nick and I hung around a few days more to get in some extra family time which was really really nice.  After saying our goodbyes (several days in a row due to thunderstorms) and after an awesome bbq breakfast with the Colorado Carpenter’s Union, it was time to head on down HWY 14 towards Sterling and the Nebraska border.

Oh, and we got to play some music, which both of us have been missing incredibly.

yey for “House of the Rising Sun” —>

The eastern edge of Colorado started to show us the first of what is now fairly normal: the thunderstorm.  They come rolling in around sundown, looking every bit the part (dark, angry clouds), and then kinda just pass on by in an hour or so.  Seemed at the time there was always lightning going on somewhere, though it rarely gets close, which is a good thing because there were so many rattlesnakes on this particular portion of road that one hardly had time to worry about things overhead.

The first rattlesnake I encountered was a small one (the worst kind, in terms of poison) that I almost didn’t see at all due to a large truck passing closer than I’d like.  Luckily, the human peripheral vision is always on the lookout and particularly good, it would seem, at identifying moving lines in the road.  Just before stepping on it I lept into the air, landing about 18 feet from where I had left the ground.  If rattlesnakes were on the NBA court, we’d be seeing dunks from the half line.

Naturally I had to stop and check it out because I have seen many snakes on this quest, but up until that moment they had always gone full snake speed into the brush out of my path.  This one not only stood its ground, but started to come at me.  I got close enough to look for a rattle, but couldn’t see one.  Because of all that science in my head, this is was not enough for me to conclude that this was in fact a rattlesnake.  However, as I crossed the road to get on the non-rattlesnake side…I guess…I was quickly turned right back around by the sight of a much much larger and very clearly rattle-equipped rattlesnake.  For the rest of Colorado, I ran in the road despite ample bike lanes.

I finally got one to rattle at me while trying to take its picture.  Rattlesnakes would be good for celebrities in Hollywood too, it would seem.  Also I may or may not have thrown little rocks at it to piss it off, or whatever emotion they feel when they shake their tales at you.  It rattles!  Sounds just like one, which was really neat to hear, because I never have.

The snake lined road to Sterling would start us off on a two week, 380 mile trek to south of Lincoln, Nebraska.

Popularity: 48% [?]

Hello out there,

By now we have traveled quite some distance from Colorado to the Eastern edge of Nebraska.  There have not been a lot of posts between these two points and I’d like to talk about that for a minute.  In Nebraska this makes sense, as we’ve been in full charge to cover a lot of ground quickly and camping most nights, leaving little time (or energy) to get to the site.  In Colorado though, we took about 3 full weeks off and then started to slowly make progress from Ft. Collins to the edge of the state.  So, why the lack of updates?

Some of you out there expressed an opinion that we had “lost our way” as we sat doing little to make progress in our adventure, and indeed, as we departed from the homes of my family where we had been staying we considered for the first time actually heading home.  Though I should add that this was only entertained briefly and while knowing in the back of the mind that this was not really possible.  I would say that for two guys who set out to cross the country, this slump has the appearance of a dream deferred, so to some extent you all are right.

So as the running is concerned, we did let it slide.  So my apologies for forgetting that above all else we are living the dream unrelenting until it is complete.  I definitely had a beer too many, my apologies for forgetting the position this trip places me in as a role model.

However, this trip has not been just a run.  The running itself has been and is a work of intense motivation and effort, but as human beings physical stimulation is often tied to spiritual and mental processes.  So while the act of crossing the US on foot is my physical tribute to my Mom, another very important goal of this run is the search and finding of myself, particularly through exposure to a multitude of life styles and personalities at a rapid pace and very personal way…trying to see one’s own reflection clearly in the mirror of our world.

We are in the habit of trusting people we meet and if they want to show us something in their world we usually take time to go see, it helps all of us learn.  We recently did some learning about when to say no, which has not happened yet on this trip.  As I continue to learn about who I am I can say that won’t happen again.

Anyway, our time in Colorado saw my girlfriend fly out, my little brother fly out, and the Fourth of July, in addition to several family members that I rarely see.  So, even without the allure of real beds versus the road, we had much to hang out for.  It was also nice to spend time with all that family and begin to realize more clearly my place within it.  All of this, I feel, was important for learning about the self.

At any rate, thanks to the Craig family and all those that expressed kind words to help us continue, you are all right, it has been more than worth it.  Thanks to Aunt Gail for letting us stay so long.  And thank you to Aunt Kathy, Uncle Chris, and Cousins Kristen and Kelly for the most memorable hike of my life (everyone in Runforit shirts!) and your unbelievably awesome contributions to our efforts.  One thing we have learned for sure out here is that everyone who has ever believed in this has made it happen.  Indeed, I would not be out here by an inch without this massive backing.

So yes, we’re back, and we’ve moved 380 miles in 2 weeks.  What have we been up to?  Well, lets go back to the Rocky Mountains and bring it all up to speed….

First off, a massive thanks to Louis, Michael, and all the rest of the gang out in Steamboat Springs for showing us an awesome weekend of bbq, volleyball, and hikes in that amazing city.  We had a blast guys, and if I never see you all again I’ll be sad.

Steamboat Springs—->

After leaving Steamboat, you get to start your ascent into the Rocky Mountains for real!  Steamboat sits at 6,700 ft and it’s a lot of fun to see the highway leave town and disappear into the clouds (not quite but almost!).  We took Rabbit Ear’s Pass (9426 ft) back up into the snow, though it stayed politely on the road sides and restrained itself from nature’s previous favorite pastime of blasting me thoroughly.  The Rockies, like much of Colorado, are something to see and an amazing display of the outdoors.  After reaching a huge sign informing us of our reaching the Atlantic watershed we left HWY 40 for the 14, which we would follow for its entire length!

It was a bit of a surprise to find that after crossing the pass we found ourselves in something of a high altitude grassland between two separate ranges of Rockies.  A bit like a huge nest set into the ridges, the mountains themselves do not appear so large and daunting from within as they rise only several hundred feet from the valley floor.  At any rate, it was beautiful up there too in a grassland lined with rivers.  The rivers are home to many frogs who are busy adding their own special symphony to the scene.  The towns of Walden and Gould are up there too, and in them signs claiming moose are frequent visitors!  I caught a glimpse of two running across a field, but didn’t realize it then.

Rockies from within the Rockies—>

The altitude, at this point, had largely lost its effect.  I ran over Rabbit Ear’s wondering if I was actually going up, as the breathing wasn’t too bad, to discover around a bend the sign marking the peak elevation.  Because 9400 ft seemed alright, we headed out through the town of Gould and over Cameron Pass (10,249 ft), which didn’t appear too bad standing over 9000 ft already.  Again, epic views: snow, rivers, and the chance to get up close to the exposed peaks of the Rockies where the snow had melted.  It’s a lot of gravel-type stuff, who knew?

Up and over Cameron Pass and that’s it.  The rest of the US is all downhill, or flat, so we started down into Poudre Canyon (poo-der haha), yet another marvelous spot with a river and mountains and some of the coolest rock formations ever assembled by two plates of Earth crust colliding, including “profile rock” which looks just like a face turned sideways….big nose too, could be a McHenry!

Poudre Canyon has terrible bike lanes.  It’s something like 60 miles of running in the street, moving from side to side to avoid cars, and often standing or jumping into the bushes.  That’s okay, drivers were friendly.  Towards the bottom river rafting companies are popular, so you can race the boats as they travel down the river…they are faster than me, but only after several 30 mile days in a row.  Poudre Canyon was exciting because we were so close to where my family lives and a vacation.  Near the bottom, within 40 miles of Ft. Collins, we drove out to my aunt’s house to begin our stay on June 8th, the same day my Cousin Kelly returned home from college in California and 36 hours before my girlfriend would land.

annnnnd……there goes that rabbit I’m always chasing, I have to go try and catch it, I’ll pick this up again after a run!  Stay tuned….

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Hey all!

We are back, and we are still alive, still running, and still writing.  Thank you all for being patient and expressing concerns over the recent loss of the site.  Unfortunately, we both over slept this morning on account of being really tired so I don’t have time now to even begin to cover everything from Steamboat Springs Colorado to where we are today, somewhere outside Hastings Nebraska.  So, I’m just going to throw out some details of our journey over the last two weeks.

We left Colorado, finally…and set out on the longest streak of running days and mileage covered for the trip.  The rest paid off it would seem.  Today is the 11th day in a row, and as of yesterday (10th day on) we had covered 313.5 miles, so by tonight we should be sitting at 343.5 since we picked up again out of Colorado.  This will put us well over half way at about 1700 miles total traveled out of around 3100 all together.  We’ll also be about 50 miles from Lincoln Nebraska.

Let me do the unthinkable here and bring up, for real, an ending date!  A September 9th jump into the Atlantic appears to be doable from here, provided we cover at least 30 miles six days a week from now until then and pick up an extra 60 miles (already made up 13.5) over the course of the next 7 and a half weeks.  Also, we went 40 miles in one day on Sunday July 10th, the longest single day of the trip!

Because we’ve gone 11 days in a row and allow ourselves 1 day of full rest a week, we will be using some strategy to turn one rest day into two half days…sort of…of 20 miles only.  This will effectively give 3 days of rest….sort of….two 2o miles and one of full rest that will leave me good to go and also pick up 10 more miles.  Make sense?  Ha.

So that’s where we stand…sort of…at the moment.  Some quick words on Nebraska: this state is awesome!  Yes, there is a lot of corn, but the folks here are just great, and as Californians we stand out like a nuclear explosion at a game of jacks, so we’re making lots of friends.  Just a really really cool group of folks, and learning about farming is awesome too, even got a free hat from a John Deere dealership!

There is a heat wave going on currently, and it’s hot, over or around 100 everyday til Wednesday then who knows.  I sweat a lot, as does Nick, but we’re drinking tons and getting electrolytes (what plants need! Ha).

And there we have it, off to run so we can take some rest in Lincoln.  I’ll get all the details in here soon.  Promise.  Well, soon as I get internet that is speedy or not knocked out by a lightening storm. (This actually happened, pretty neato!)

Until next time, peace and love!

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Craig was a nice place.  Actually, it was the first city to be of Starbucks and multiple eatery status that we had run through since Fallon NV, a distance of over 700 miles.  I know!  700 miles between Starbucks?  This is unheard of, often you can refill your beverage at the next one before finishing it.  For Nick, our signature Starbucks addict here at Runforit.us, the lacking of desert Buck’s beans must have been a true horror.  Just to add, Mormons are opposed (in that mildly friendly way they like to use) to any substances, caffeine included, meaning few coffee shops out in the state of Utah.  Actually, I watched Nick almost strangle a grocery store worker who referred us to any of the gas stations in town, as “Everyone sells coffee here.”  But ask Nick and you’ll learn that no, this is brown water. But, after all that time, it’s a neat occurrence that the town bearing his name should also bear his favorite life-giving drink: Thee Venti coffee, room for cream, of course.

Noteworthy in Craig was the large Russian guy we rented a room from.  Large and thick of accent, he made all transactions hilarious and did his best to look after us, often telling us about spots that deliver for free to keep us off our feet.  Best of all, seeing the difference in size/build between me and Nick, he was convinced that Nick must be the one running because I was too thin to do any such thing.

Fast forward though more countless beautiful places and a back packer I met who had walked from New York to Boston then trained to Denver and walking to the coast, and we ended up in the some of the funnest cities yet.  We stayed a couple of nights with a couple living in a two room place in the small town of Milner, 11 miles from Steamboat Springs.  Those guys were great.  With a great deal of knowledge on farming, peaches, and odd jobs, they had developed a life style that felt very “connected”, so to speak…you know, very sustainably simple, yet happy and fulfilling.  AND!  There was a Peruvian cat, smuggled from the streets of Peru.  We were gifted with elk meat when we left.  Ah elk, how long will it take me to eat you all?

These folks took us to the local hot springs.  The good one, not the touristy one.  Wow.  Amaze.  The last one was warm, yes, but this was a whole swimming pool of hot spring!  You could stand in it up to your chest, and everything is rock lined and beautiful.  Also, the river runs around the spring pool, giving one access to the phenomenal contrast that is super hot and freezing cold.

One of the things I’ve really enjoyed on this trip is the ability to slip in and out of different people’s lives, experiencing but not really living.  It’s a great sampling of life, like trying on different outfits to see what feels best.  I think this is another profoundly important learning tool available on this trip as it gives a young person such as myself a large body of lifestyles to draw from as I begin to consider my own future and my approach to such things.

And then we reached Steamboat Springs.  If the Rockies were a mirror, Steamboat would be the guy looking back at Santa Cruz.  The downtown area with its friendly people, tree lined streets, and local health food stores had the feel of being back home, with a suspiciously large mountain range at its back and a sea of green fields in place of an ocean.  The city climbs a little way up the Rockies and looks back on itself while the highway takes a turn for the atmosphere and disappears into the mountains and Rabbit Ear’s Pass, 9426 ft.

To arrive at Steamboat we did some course correction.  I had mentioned to some out there earlier that we had planned to head for Wyoming out of Craig in order to reach the Great Divide and keep our elevation lower.  However, when we got to Colorado I stopped in at the tourism info center and the woman there convinced me that crossing the mountains would be fine despite the existence of Rabbit Ear’s and then Cameron (10249ft) Passes because the forecast called for 10 days of sunny weather.  This path would save us something like 60 miles, making it more than worth as we were about to be a little behind schedule…due to the fact that it is very difficult to leave Steamboat Springs.

Guess what?  I’m going running.  So that’s all for now, more on Steamboating later!

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