Special Interlude Post 1: Fran's Pictures-Days 1-6

So every five posts give or take I'm gonna add supplemental pictures from Fran's cache of legendary shots +any additional and essential snippets of information. Basically, these supplemental posts serve as footnotes filled with juicy tidbits of roadtrip knowledge. First off, Fran reminded me to add some facts in order to substantiate my assertion that Indiana is basically a large-scale set for "The Hills Have Eyes." As I said, "unfortunately" we were not able to make any tourist stops in the state (but seriously I'm not sad at all about our lack of stops, the place is a freaking medieval, lawless, hellish, playground of sin) except for one gas stop and one bathroom stop. The reason I bring up this seemingly useless information is that neither of these stops represented the typical highway gas station/food/convenience plaza which provides maps of the state and pamphlets highlighting various ways to blow money on "unique" state attractions. Instead, BOTH of these plazas were inundated with posters of convicted sex-offense felons on-the-run as if this collage of psychopathic men was a tasteful art exhibit portraying the fine work of Indiana's finest local artisans. Artisans my ass, this mural of wanted posters found in both stops made me a bit apprehensive of using the bathroom and was certainly not the best manner of promoting inter-state commerce. So with that knowledge out of the way, here are some epic shots from the first segment of the trip including some forgotten state signs, my baby (the Jeep) all packed and ready to do a year's worth of driving in 5 weeks, some artsy Chicago pics and the bluesman who preached the insightful words-"It's cheaper to keep her:"

Day 4: Crushing the Chicago Tourism Scene

After a few hours of hanging with the hipsters at Starbies I had heard enough faux-revolutionary liberal musings (makes sense in my head) for a couple of months and headed back, reenergized, to wake Fran and start the day. My first plan of action was out of desperation and represented what I believed to be a pragmatic measure to prevent another sleepless night in Chicago. In simpler terms, I attacked my favorite website, TripAdvisor, with a vengeance looking for a hotel for our second night in the city. My indecisive nature is glaringly obvious when I peruse TripAdvisor and its internet brethren such as Groupon and LivingSocial, as my mind tends to wander from the task at hand when searching for hotels and potential vacation spots. I tend to confuse the appropriate choice with the most opulent choice--who doesn't dream big...right? After about two hours Fran finally gave me the ultimatum: choose a hotel right now or suffer the consequences of another insufferable night of 90 degree heat. With lightning speed I made my decision: the James Hotel. As it would turn out, my imprudence or perhaps lack of frugality in managing our budget would be temporarily overshadowed by the pure awesomeness of this hotel. Anyways, with that thoroughly difficult decision out of the way, I turned my focus to another one of my self-described strengths--impulsive adventure planning. As with everything in life, there was not nearly enough time to do everything we hoped, so instead we focused on hitting some of Chicago's most iconic sites. Upon leaving Kat's apartment, I stepped out onto the street and did a double-take--my dream car sat in front of me, gleaming in the morning sun and beckoning me towards it:

Unfortunately, this mid-70s Corvette Stingray was not on sale, nor did I have even a 10th of its likely offering price to my name. Regardless, this thing was HOT and I smiled, knowing that one day, this 8MPG bull of a whip would be part of my lineup. After checking into the hotel and falling into a sweet, sweet slumber for about an hour, we headed out to meet Kat for lunch and tackle the day. After lunch we cruised the streets for a few hours, doing nothing in particular but soaking it all up. I was amazed at how beautiful Chicago's skyline was, marked by pleasantly nouveau architecture, incredibly clean streets, and skyscraper's whose million-dollar view overlooked the pristine Lake Michigan. With that out of the way, let's get to the most important point; the women (and less importantly the men in Fran's view) walking around the city's main drag, the Loop, were consistently and legitimately beautiful. I was amazed. I love Boston with a burning passion but without a doubt, the dames mingling in the Loop that day were of a different level. Not only was everyone attractive, but more importantly, everyone seemed to be in excellent physical shape--a lovely characteristic that reminded me of Denver's "fitness buff" demographic. The combination of tasteful architecture, overall cleanliness and attractive, physically fit citizens impressed me greatly and spoke volumes to a city I really knew nothing about, as well as augmenting my opinion of a region of America I had previously thought of as conservative, religious and for the most part, a hotbed of widespread ennui. Despite its awkward pronunciation and rare usage, I love the term ennui and imagine the midwest as a prevalent, large-scale catalyst of the term's general feeling of soporific listlessness, or in its most extreme form, the "Beatnik" nihilism of the early-Cold War era. My love of Jack Kerouac and Henry David Thoreau often leads me to subconscious outbursts of superfluous description out of homage to my favorite writers. It just happens and I can't do away with it so just bear with me--hopefully the verbose language teases your imagination. Don't worry, I got the florid language out of my system--at least for the rest of the post. Next on our list for the day was something I had always wanted to do before I die, which is hopefully in the distant future. Before 2004, I had felt a link to the common suffering between Red Sox and Cubs fans for their lack of success in the previous century. Our time in Chicago afforded us ample opportunity to go see a Cubby's (spelling?) game so we took the train northbound to the Lincoln Park/Lake View area to see a game. To my surprise, we found really good tickets in the lower section down the right field line for 25 bucks a pop (I guess it makes sense because the Cubs are a perennial loser in the NL Central). The stadium was sweet, reminding me of my beloved Fenway Park and the fans were perhaps the most optimistic I had ever seen considering the Cubs hadn't been above .500 for maybe the past 50 years. Going to Wrigley is definitely an activity that any outsider should make time for when in Chicago, as the energy and scenic layout of vine-covered walls made for a memorable afternoon:

In classic Cubs fashion, they were stuck with the likely possibility of being left without a hit until the bottom of the 8th when someone got a measly single. Instead of the tepid response that normally comes with a hit when a team is down by an insurmountable number of runs, the Wrigley faithful erupted in cheers which probably lasted for an entire inning--that simple gesture made me happy and continued to strengthen my overall impression of Chicago. After a tasty dinner at PF Changs, the best Americanized-Chinese joint out there, we went to indulge in another one of my favorite activities--live music. It goes without saying that Chicago, historically up to present times is perhaps the most prolific center of Blues in the country. After studying the great migration of blacks and their music from the South to the North and specifically Chicago starting around 1920, I had always been fascinated with the incredible music pouring out of Chicago's Blues and Motown scenes. This night finally gave me the opportunity to enjoy the music firsthand, and I was not disappointed. We decided to hit up Buddy Guy's Legends Bar right in the Loop and home to one of the blues genre's greatest guitar players. If you love live music as much as I do, this joint is a must see while in Chicago. Even though it was an off-night, a Monday or a Tuesday I think, the house band was incredible and made up of mostly 60+ dudes that I imagined had been ripping up the Chicago scene for their entire lives. The beauty of Buddy Guys was that despite the Applebees-esque decor of vintage paraphernalia harkening back to Chicago's golden age of blues stardom, the band was strictly business and played their hearts out for the meager crowd of 20 or so folks. The best part of the night was simply watching the enormously wide guitar player/vocalist make nimble moves despite his hulking frame and bellow outrageous lines in his raspy baritone voice, like- "It's cheaper to keep her. You didn't pay but two dollars to bring the little girl home, I know you think the grass is greener way over on the other side. When that judge gives you that dirty look you may as well put your money in mama's pocketbook," all the while sending out sexy winks to every lady in the crowd. We found out from the bouncer as we stepped into a cab that Buddy Guy would be making an appearance an hour later and although the opportunity to meet one of the greatest bluesman of all time had just presented itself, I knew in my heart that I would most definitely be back to see Mr. Guy tear it up in the near future. What a day, what a day; I leave you with the Bluesy Mt. Rushmore:

Day 3: Niagara Falls to Chicago

After a day/night of mixed feelings regarding our time spent at Niagara Falls, I left the destination with a tepid memory of a beautiful site tainted by the pure volume of tourists and the nasty attractions meant to please such a diverse group of, well...thrifty folks. The last time I had left Canada to return to the US after a wild night of partying in Montreal, I was held up by a particular domineering asshole of a border patrol man who tore my car apart and went on a tirade of psychological manipulation, attempting to convince me that I was carrying drugs over the border. "So, your eyes are pretty bloodshot and you seem jittery--you were partying pretty hard last night huh? Are you sure you aren't carrying any cocaine? Because if you are, I will find it." I digested this assumption and retorted in a relaxed, yet firm tone-"Uh yea, I'm positive I don't have any cocaine, nor was I doing any drugs." Although the response was completely truthful and in hindsight should've pleased this officer, my admission of truth pissed him off, adding to the intensity of his prosecution: "So, I also noticed that there's a lighter in your car and there seems to be some conspicuous residue on it. You realize that carrying marijuana across the border is a federal offense-anything to tell me?" Again, in an equally placid response with the addition of feigned sweetness, I answered: "You must be mistaken, I'm not a smoker nor do I use marijuana. My buddy (whom I was traveling with) smokes cigarettes. I'm 100% sure my car is drug free." The conversation ended abruptly, as the officer begrudgingly realized he would not be able to convict me of an offense I was in no way guilty of, despite his sick will to convince me I was a criminal. The experience was time consuming, unnecessary and reminded me why I rarely traveled to Canada via car. This time around, I was spared the cross-examination but had to endure an equally brutal 2 hour wait to simply show my passport for five seconds at the border. The recurring issue made me ponder the confounding process of crossing the border and to this day I cannot answer this simple question (perhaps you can help): why is it that crossing into Canada is such a pleasant, efficient experience marked by smiles and a sincere exclamation by the officer to enjoy your time, whereas crossing back into the US is a perpetual nightmare? Are Canadians cooler people? Do they have more faith in humanity? Are they okay with smuggling drugs, guns and hookers into their territory. I couldn't tell you, but I must say that I'd rather make conversation and share a pitcher of beer with a Canadian border officer over an American any day of the week--if for some bizarre reason that situation ever came to fruition. Anyways, back to the trip (be prepared for similar stream-of-consciousness tangents throughout the blog because I love them and more importantly, I want to be Kerouac.)

After finally getting back into the US of A, we got back on I-90 and headed West. There were a number of things I was looking forward to during our trip to Chicago, ranging from the mundane-my overzealous love of driving- to the extraordinary-my lifelong dream of visiting the Rock n Roll Hall of Fame near the midpoint of the drive in Cleveland. Despite my passion for discovering new places, I had low expectations for opportunities to stimulate my mind in the Midwest. I hate to rip into states as I try to take the egalitarian viewpoint that each state has it's hidden gems in terms of cities/towns, nightlife, outdoor attractions, etc. However, I have nothing good to say about Pennsylvania and its affinity for strip malls, obesity, cigarettes, backwards Quaker laws, Northern Bible-Belt piety and worst of all, 2-lane highways. Maybe all of these characteristics are synonymous with the Midwest? If so, I am deeply sorry for those of you who live there. It goes without saying that the drive through PA was less than enjoyable despite it's short duration on 90-West as there is nothing that pisses me off/engages my potent road rage more than being stuck behind an over-agressive trucker trying to pass in the fast-lane while going up a hill. Sit in the right lane, there's no reason to pass when you have a million miles to go before you reach your destination and then turn around to do it all again.  

I had never been to Ohio other than in it's airports, so I had high expectations for great times ahead especially after my "bar" of standards had been lowered to near zero during our time in PA. I had downloaded this sweet app called Best Road Trip Ever! which is a must have for anyone taking a roadtrip and looking to hit up a few off-the-beaten-path attractions. Luckily for Fran and me there were a few local gems right off of 90 before we hit Cleveland. Such life-changing sites in Eastern Ohio included the World's Largest Rocking Chair, the World's Largest Statue of Mary and the "Flintstone House" which I presumed to be an old-bedrock quarry redesigned to resemble the prehistoric set of the legendary TV show by an avid fan. As I said, these were truly some must-see sites....After viewing a few of these historic sites, we made it to Cleveland by about noon. I was interested to find out why the city is commonly referred to as "The mistake on the lake," but feared being verbally abused if I asked a local. After searching online, I found two differing, yet equally valid answers:

1.Used to smell bad because of the steel mills, but that has been gone for 10+ years. It really started after the Cuyahoga River caught on fire, and Lake Erie was almost declared dead.

2.The correct name for the city in Ohio often referred to as "Cleveland." Located by Lake Erie, nothing good has ever come from Cleveland and the city ranks just behind Paris Hilton, Jean Shorts, and trusting Judas as one of God's worst mistakes. Although only spending a few hours there, I found the small city to be somewhat scenic because, hey, at least it sat on a lake. Here are a few beauties to wet your palette: And yes, the second picture is a poorly aligned shot of the Browns football stadium; in my usual forgetful state, I forgot to bring a short lense for my good camera so the entirety of the pictures taken on the trip captured about half of the desired view unless I was a mile away. Truthfully, the only reason we stopped in Cleveland was to visit the Rock n Roll Hall of Fame, a museum which I had always dreamed of visiting in order to indulge my nerdy obsession for everything Rock.                                           The Museum was truly epic. While providing a thorough chronological history of Rock from its roots in the early-50s to present, the best part of the museum were the exhibits which covered specific musicians/bands like my hero Jimi Hendrix, the Beatles, the Stones, the Grateful Dead, and many more. The museum was enough to make Cleveland worth visiting, and probably supplied most of its revenue, especially after that flaming douchebag Lebron James left. One of the coolest parts of the place was a viewing room where they played a highlight tape from the annual Hall of Fame induction ceremony which, although somewhat lacking in recent years as all the greats have mostly been inducted already, was a great a great piece of musical history condensed into about an hour. Although you were strictly prohibited from taking pictures, I obviously snapped a few off including Fran and my favorite stoners from the Dead, maybe the best audiophile soundsystem which I will have when I'm a billionaire and the hilarious, metrosexual Beatles performance outfits: Fran had to drag me out of the museum because I would've stayed there forever (I learned to dissect a museum with meticulous precision from ol pops Maynard) and we had a five hour drive yet to get to Chicago. My last wish before we left was to meet the legendary Dusty Street, the DJ for Sirius Channel Classic Vinyl with the voice of a 100-year old congested grandmother. Although I was unable to physically meet her, I stood outside the reinforced cube-shaped DJ box and waved my hands wildly to initiate the cosmic connection I knew we shared. It was magical. Other than a gorgeous sunset:  the trip across the next third of the flat, lifeless midwest was uneventful. Despite wanting to tell people that I'd seen the ruins of Detroit, the crumbling metropolis was completely out of the way. To improvise, we took a detour from 90-West and hopped on I-75 North up through Toledo and, for literally 2 minutes, crossed over into Michigan just long enough to snap these artistic pictures of the Welcome sign and some super-exciting city mile-markers:   Within those two minutes we reversed course and promptly headed westward again towards the blinding rays of a puuuurty sunset. Thank god it was dark and we had no time to stop in Indiana, because that state was straight creepy. I imagined that the molesters and various other perverse creatures who were roaming around in the darkness were just waiting for us to get a flat in order to overtake the car and force us into some "Hills Have Eyes" type scenario of torture and sex slavery. Is it true? Tell me I'm making this up because I've yet to hear any objections to this stark reality and the industrial wasteland of the Hoosier state which makes Pennsylvania look like an oasis of tranquility, prosperity and smiling, hopeful faces. Anywhoooo, despite my desire to at least stop for a moment to say that I had some tangible memory of Indiana, my willpower was trumped by fear and an aversion to being abducted. At last, around 10PM we crossed the border from Gary, IN to the impending big city lights of the Windy City, our first major stop on the trip and the shining capital in the state which I considered the gateway to the glorious west. I had heard wonderful things about Chicago, including its sites, music, food and the comforting, down-home attitude of its quasi-midwestern, quasi-metropolitan people. We had planned ahead and were lucky enough to stay with one of Fran's old friends from high school, Kat. As an aside, my advice to anyone looking to do a long-distance roadtrip, obvious as it may be, is to plan ahead of time to stay with friends along the way. Not only do you save dollah bills, but the local experience is enhanced, and best, you get to meet/reconnect with some very cool people. Kat was one of these cool people. A lifelong midwesterner (except for her time at Dana Hall), Kat was happy to take us in and provided the instant comfort that arises from either rekindling old friendships (Fran literally hadn't spoken to her for five years) or simply embracing the opportunity to start new ones--even if they are fleeting. The one issue that arose during that end of the night was completely my own doing; I simply cannot sleep, regardless of fatigue, if the temperature is above 68 degrees. I realize that I'm a huge prince in that respect, but have come to accept it and let it be known to the host in order to alleviate the issue, if possible. On this night, alleviation was not possible, and far from it as a 100 degree Chicago day had transitioned into a 90 degree night. Sleeping, or rather languishing on a cot on the top floor would be my reality that night. After hours of last minute measures, such as putting an industrial fan directly in my face and trying to meditate only left me with burning dry eyes and a lack of faith in the ancient art of sublime relaxation. Needless to say, sleep was out of the question that night and I walked over to Starbucks at 5am to get my coffee buzz on and mentally prepare for a complete day of Chicago tourism. Oh, and here are the other signs that represent the day's  voyage:

Day 2: Hartford to Niagara Falls, Ontario

It's no secret that I'm somewhat obsessed with "getting away" and take any opportunity I can to travel to a place that is expansive in size and scenic in outdoor surroundings. More often than not, this equates with somewhere out West where I take solace in the fact that I can take a short trip from a town or highway and almost instantaneously be alone--physically and mentally. There's truly nothing like indulging in the existential bliss of inhaling the crisp, western air and being enveloped by the vastness of a 360 degree view of mountains, all while feeling the nervous excitement which comes from realizing that you're merely a speck of matter in a wild, unforgiving land. Luckily, for us in the Northeast, we can enjoy many of the same feelings on a smaller scale. The beauty of New England and a notion which cannot be understated is the fact that the region is composed of nearly every possible type of natural setting which one could hope for: ocean, farms, mountains, the barren wilderness of 'tato country in Northern Maine, you name it. New England is a microcosm of America's myriad natural settings and I believe you'd be hard-pressed to find a more vastly diverse chunk of dirt than our beloved Puritan homeland. Take a moment of your day to soak it all up, baby. That being said, I had never really traveled via car outside of Western New York or south of the industrial wasteland that is New Jersey, and I was truly looking forward to expanding my roadtripping horizons. The beauty of our trip was that despite the occasional raucous night out on the town, such as in Hartford, we for the most part stayed relatively sober and got up like normal human beings at sunrise to take advantage of the daylight. On this lovely morning, we said our goodbyes to Hartford and hit the road to the Canadian side of Niagara Falls.

The drive up to 90-west and out to Western New York had always been one of my favorites and it did not cease to impress on that sunny day. Luckily, we were able to enjoy the western section of I-90 in MA by cruising up form Hartford to Springfield and then from Springfield into NY. This section of I-90 is unique in many ways, as it moves from the boring, flat, and somewhat industrial city of Springfield into the only "mountainous" region of MA which, remarkably, contains the highest-by-elevation section of I-90 (in Lee, MA at around 1,500 ft) for nearly 1,500 miles until you reach Western South Dakota. There's a nifty little fact, huh. The 350 or so miles from Albany to Buffalo are incredibly scenic, marked by tiny villages and farmlands which symbolize a time-warp back to the days of the agrarian lifestyle. As a skeptic of big-city living it's truly remarkable to conceive of the fact that New York City and upstate New York are part of the same state, as the two represent a glaring polarity in terms of spatiality and daily existence more generally. Anyways, the drive was pleasant and it was a quick trip across the border into Niagara Falls, Ontario--I didn't realize that Ontario, like Quebec, was predominantly French-Speaking?

 I had heard great things about Niagara Falls, and I realized it was a natural wonder that was necessary to see if you lived out East. Let's just say that the attraction invoked a dichotomy of emotions. After being fortunate enough to have a childhood filled with bountiful travels, I had learned that I not only disliked locations that attracted throngs of crowds, but had come to the conclusion that the experiential value of even the most profound site such as the Notre Dame in Paris or Table Mountain in Capetown, South Africa was tainted or blunted by the massive, obnoxious crowds it attracted. Niagara Falls was no different, and perhaps even strengthened my argument, as my brain was taken captive by a flurry of emotions, ranging from awe to anger to disgust, and distracting me from the natural wonder of the falls. Let me be clear--the falls were absolutely gorgeous and absolutely breathtaking even from a distance as the endless flow of water spiraling downward created a constant double rainbow and filled the air with a dense mist that covered the entirety of the gorge. Here are a few visual snippets of the positive half of the experience:

 









Whenever I tried to take in the majestic elegance and perpetual purrrrr of the water hitting the rocks below, I would be pushed by a family clothed in their generic Niagara Falls Tees accessorized with family fanny packs or rattled by the abrasive voice of a tour guide feigning excitement to the delight of the accompanying horde of tourists. Everywhere you looked, tourists filled one's view and the cacophany of voices was incredibly overbearing. It would be hypocritical to say that Fran and I were not tourists, as we precisely fit the mold, snapping off pictures and chattering about the incredible view. I am not embellishing that the enormous set of walkways surrounding the falls literally embodied the busiest place I had ever been, and that was a fact I was not pleased about. Adding to the mess, the group as a whole was unbelievably unattractive, but at least it made for great people watching. Moreover, surrounding the main drag of the tourist zone was an artificial city of hotel skyscrapers and casinos built strictly for and upon the money of the masses to suck everyone dry with inflated prices and a plethora of subtle fees that ranged from the premium paid to stand close to the falls to looking through a telescope to the exorbitant expense of sitting on a boat below the falls. NASTY. Here are some pictures from the less-than-enthralling segment of the trip to the falls including the mandatory peace sign tourist shot:
   

Anyways, after an hour of exciting tourist viewing and pictures, we made our way to a hotel on the strip to settle in and plan the rest of the day. At this point (the first of many times) I need to rep Groupon/LivingSocial. Without their deals, our trip would've never materialized as it did. To this day I troll the two sites on a daily basis planning out hypothetical trips for when I have money. I am impressed with the breadth of both sites' travel sections and during the trip, utilized the massive number of off-the-beaten path locations in which they sponsor hotel deals. Our deal through Groupon that night included a dinner coupon and a free wine-tasting at a local vineyard. After a few minutes in the hotel, which was what you'd expect from a tourist town, we headed to the vineyard to scrutinize some local vinos. Per usual, upon reaching the vineyard, one of us (me) realized we had forgotten a credit card which was necessary to book the visit. After almost an hour of calling random places that I had visited earlier in the day, I finally located my card to the chagrin of the bitchy Starbucks manager who wanted nothing to do with my plight. At that point the vineyard was closed; we missed out on our opportunity for free booze and the car ride back to the hotel was tense to say the least. To our surprise, the night was salvaged with an excellent meal at the hotel (not an all-you-can-eat buffet--shocker) and as we sat overlooking the falls from the tenth story of the hotel, a fireworks display lit up the water below, creating an ethereal landscape of colorful mist. All in all, despite the setbacks and the nightmarish crowds, the day's adventure was certainly worth the time. Next, we travel through the exceptionally dull midwest--a stretch of I-90 comprised of the decay of the rust-belt, what I imagine to be a hotbed of incest and rapists, and extensive strip malls which span as far as the eye can see. Quite the teaser....