NEW TRIP COMING SOON

Stay tuned people. I am traveling to Europe on May 20 - 28. Pictures and stories to follow.

Eugene, OR to Las Vegas, NV

So, after getting about four hours of sleep in a hotel in Eugene, OR, I prepared to plot out the trip to Las Vegas. I already had a room reserved for Monday night, so it was imperative that I get there by the end of the day. Due to the recent controversy with the car's GPS, I asked google maps how long it would take. Google maps said about twenty something hours. Google maps also told me I should just drive all the way down to L.A. and then hop over. Clearly this was unacceptable. I can't stand Los Angeles. I'm not getting anywhere near that fucking place if I can help it. This was not acceptable.

I then posed the same query to the in-car GPS. HALLELUJAH! Only 18 hours! I assured the GPS that all its past sins were forgiven. It was time to move on with our new life together.

During the drive, I also come to a startling conclusion: I don't give a fuck about speed limits. I'm out in the middle of nowhere, I'd see a cop miles away before they pulled me over, and I had places to go. Later, the GPS would confirm that my average speed during the trip was 90 mph.

I did have one detour to make: Crater Lake. I found it by accident, another gift from the GPS. As you can see, it's beautiful.







For those of you who don't know, Crater Lake is essentially a lake in the middle of a mountain that used to be a volcano that literally blew itself up. Elevaton: Too many.

En route to Crater Lake, I re-encountered the same phenomenon from Yellowstone: winding roads that end in a drop off of thousands of feet and no guardrail. At one point, I was driving up there and chanced a look to my right and saw a cloud underneath me.

THAT IS NOT OKAY.

Note to the Federal Parks Service: I will pay extra if you would just put up some kind of fucking guardrail between me and certain death. Seriously people, get on it.

After Crater Lake, I drove through the rest of Oregon, cut through northern California, and then south through the middle of Nevada. That was a great drive. Good desert vistas, a flat highway, and I was able to top out the throttle of the car.

At about 11:30, I arrived in Las Vegas, and prepared for some serious fun. Right after I collapsed in the hotel room.

Werewolves

Upon consulting with my GPS for my route back to Vegas, I discovered that I could possibly, with a slight detour, reach the northwestern most part of the United States. I decided it would not affect my trip by that much, and I’d already been to the southwestern and southeastern most points, so why not?

Let me tell you why not. Because, as I was soon to discover, the GPS failed to mention that part of this route would be by boat. Specifically, by ferry. Which typically would be no problem: I like boats, am not afraid of water, etc. Except for one simple fact: I had to wait for the ferry for two hours.

I know what some of you are thinking: why didn’t you just turn around and go back, idiot? Well, at that point, if I’d attempted to simply drive my way out, it would’ve taken three hours to get back on course. So, at two hours of wait, the ferry was actually the best game in town.

Of course, the GPS didn’t tell me I’d need to get on the ferry. It just, once again, tried to kill me:



After the two hour wait and the hour long ferry ride, my plan was in serious jeopardy. So, I sped along the 101, stopping in Forks, WA (the home the Stephanie Meyer vampire books). Which, let me just say, no vampires would ever choose to live in this place.





I then sped down the 101 to Astoria, OR, where they filmed the Goonies. I wanted to get some shots of the town, but it was dark by the time I got there. However, let me just tell you something about Astoria: if you are entering from the North, prepare for a bridge of amusement park ride proportions. It starts off innocent enough, just regular bridge stuff. But then it abruptly inclines so far upward that, literally, I thought the car was going to tip over backwards.

After the Astoria mission was declared a failure, I decided I had to abandon the plan to drive down the rest of the 101. Plus, I wanted to get to Crater Lake before getting to Vegas. It was not about 10:30 pm. I was supposed to be in Reno, NV by now. Undeterred and fueled by an inappropriate amount of caffeine, I asked the GPS the quickest way to the interstate.

I don’t know if it was the quickest route, but it was certainly the most terrifying. The GPS sent me on a 20 mile route that was, constantly, telling me to slow down to take hairpin turns. Signs commanded me to travel only 20 or 25 mph. Bear in mind it is pitch black outside. The windows are open, so as to keep me awake. And then I begin to have the fear.

Anyone else ever have that irrational fear when you’re driving through unfamiliar woods in the middle of nowhere? I know some of you know what I mean: you start to become convinced that there are crazy serial killers around the next corner. That after you turn the next corner, you will be confronted with a vision of sinister, robed figures, their arms outstretched, blocking your path. Or that, as you slow down to take a turn at the recommended 20 mph, an arm will reach in your window and jerk you from the car.

These are the things running through my mind as I try to speed through these woods. While I’m sure there were diabolical forces at work in the forest that night, they chose not to attack. It was probably the Coldplay album I was blasting.

After 30 minutes of jaw-clenching fear, I made it back to the interstate and then collapsed in a motel at about 1:30 a.m. I was about 500 miles away from where I was supposed to be.

Canada

When last we left our fair hero, he was traveling into British Columbia and didn't know if he'd have internet. Well it turns out that there was no internet in the cabin in which I was staying. See for yourself:





There's no television, no internet, barely a shower. The only saving grace of the cabin was that it was located next to the confluence of two rivers, and was really pretty.

While I'm on the subject, British Columbia might be the most beautiful place on earth (in the summer). Mountains, the Pacific, the trees. And everything smells like cedar. If you get the chance, I strongly recommend you take the Sea-to-Sky Highway as far north as you can during the summer.

Not that it's that easy to get into Canada. Here's an excerpt of the conversation I had with the border crossing guy

Him: What are you doing here?
Me: Going to a wedding.
Him: Where?
Me: Canada.
Him: *blank stare*
Me: Squamish, specifically.
Him: What do you do for a living?
Me: I'm an attorney.
Him: What type of law do you do?
Me: Criminal Defense.
Him: Win any big cases lately?
Me: None that you would have heard of up here.
Him: Can you prove to me you're an attorney?
Me: I could argue with you and then bill you for my time?
Him: I meant like a bar card.
Me: Oh, sure.

He then proceeded to ask how much money I had on me, and then let me go. I'm sure this sounds real fun, but remember, this guy was packing a semi-automatic rifle.

Sadly, I was not able to get a picture of him.

Once I arrived in Squamish, it was time to meet the wedding party out for karaoke. A bit of explanation: I was in Canada for Rob & Dave's wedding. They are two teachers I met while I was living in China. They are two of the most awesome people in the world, and I was glad to have been invited to their wedding. Also, Loes & Noel were there, who were also people I met in China. Loes is a Dutch woman, Noel is a Filipino, and they now live in Moscow. (Apparently I could make a killing there, or so they assured me). Rachel, another teacher from China, was also back. So, it was kind of like a big reunion party for us: we swapped gossip, updated each other on our lives and the lives of the other teachers who were there, etc. And of course, there was drinking. The entirety of the evening probably is best summed by the following picture of Loes:


The next day, we gathered at a friend of Rob and Dave's house for the wedding. It was on this really gorgeous piece of property with views of three giant waterfalls coming down from the mountains. Unfortunately, it was also raining, which forced us to have the ceremony on the deck of the house instead of out in the yard.


Here's Dave, preparing himself for go time with a drink.

Here's Rob, doing something besides getting married.


And here they are actually getting married. I wish I had a better picture, but have you ever tried to take a picture during a wedding ceremony? It's like trying to get inside the perimeter past the Boston Celtics. Women with heavy feet and sharp elbows will all but throw you to the ground rather than let you infringe an inch on their own photo positions.

Nevertheless, the ceremony was very nice and I had an awesome time at the reception. The next day, I prepared myself for my arrival back to the U.S.

Coming up next: Branden Gets Attacked By Werewolves, Hilarity DOES NOT ENSUE. Also, Crater Lake.

Here

I am in Vegas. I have driven 1,000 miles today. I checked into the hotel, won $100, and am now crashing. Will post awesome pictures of the wedding, British Columbia, and Crater Lake tomorrow.

An Open Letter to My In-Car GPS

To: My In-Car GPS
From: Me
Re: Your Recent Efforts to Murder Me

July 3, 2008

Dear GPS,

I write to draw your attention to a subject which I am convinced has recently been on your mind. That subject being my impending doom. While you might not realize it, I have pieced together the pieces of your insidious little plot and now lay them at your feet for explanation.

First, you directed me through the Tetons and then through the southern entrance to Yellowstone. This route was a clear contradiction to the route earlier provided by google maps, which included no such avenue through the Tetons or through Yellowstone, but instead directed me to skirt the park and right into my hotel. At first, I figured that the flaw lay in your software. Perhaps your route was based on the fewest number of miles traveled, instead of calculating the speed limits involved to come up with the shortest temporal, rather than geographical, route. However, the more I think about it, I detect the faintest stirrings of a more diabolical plot.

Given my course, there was only one rational way to get me to enter Yellowstone from the southern entrance: by forcing me to go through the Tetons. No other plausible route would have gotten me anyway in a fifty mile radius of that entrance. However, if I had to go through the Tetons, it would have been only natural to enter through the southern entrance. And, as you well know, the southern entrance is a terror-fraught ascent into hell; a bare three feet of gravel-strewn sand separating me from a fiery end.

And then there were your directions upon exiting Yellowstone. Your earlier actions had put me on my guard, and luckily so. For if I had followed your directions, my end would have been met not by fire but by the cold, aquatic grip of the surrounding lake. And lest you should doubt me, witness Exhibit A:


I am now convinced, by a preponderance of the evidence, that you are attempting to murder me. However, I have grown accustomed to your colorful maps, estimation of distances and arrival times. Therefore, until I am convinced beyond a reasonable doubt of your intentions, I shall keep you in place. However, consider yourself on probation. Consider google maps, your bitter nemesis, as your probation officer. Shall you deviate again, say cheerfully direct me into the face of a cliff, I am afraid that it is you, not I, who shall perish in a fiery crash.

GOVERN YOURSELF ACCORDINGLY.

Cheers,

Branden A. Bell

BAB/cah

Yellowstone, Montana, Idaho, Spokane

Woke up at 6 am to do some Yellowstone exploring. Promptly went back to bed and then re-awoke at 6:30 a.m.

The drive back into Yellowstone was not as terrifying as I remember being on the way out. Maybe I've just gotten acclimated to the crippling fear.

Drove down to Old Faithful. Here's a shot of it erupting.


I then went on a three mile hike of the surrounding basins, because I wanted to check out the chromatic geysers. Here they are. This is about 1/3 of them.





These are all essentially boiling pools of water which spring from the earth. Their color is derived from the thermophile algae which live in them. You'll notice a boardwalk on the corner of one of the pictures; this exists because you have to walk on it, lest you break through the brittle earth and be boiled alive by one of these pools. Seriously. They have illustrations of it happening to kids and onlookers screaming in anguish. Bet your ass I stayed on the boardwalk.

I drove out the western exit of Yellowstone, and stopped for lunch. I discovered that the Eastern Europeans have cornered the market on retail in West Yellowstone. It's either the mafia or a former Soviet spy relocation program. I opt for the former.

I then drove through what I can only say is the most beautiful stretch of road I've ever seen. Through Montana, the highway hugged a lake that was surrounded by mountains. Now, some of you may have heard there are no speed limits in Montana. This is partially true. Some roads have no speed limits (although there are no signs to note this, the only clue being the complete absence of speed limit signs) but others (such as the interstate) do. Still, it was a gorgeous drive. From Butte, I drove west across Montana, through two different mountain ranges (I think) through Idaho and then into Spokane, Washington.

Finished In Cold Blood, which was awesome. Obama's book is next. I will get to Squamish, B.C. tomorrow, and I am unsure of the internet situation. The next post might therefore have to wait until I get into Reno, after I drive down the 101.

Here's the route so far:



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