Sleepless In Seattle

I KNOW—this post is ridiculously overdue. We kept meaning to post during our week in Seattle, but we were so darn tired every night thanks to the Galvanins keeping us busy. Seriously, we could barely keep our eyes open at the end of every day to set our alarm for the next one, let alone try to compose something that is witty and comprehensible.They say a body in motion stays in motion, but I’ve learned that a body in motion gets exhausted and falls behind on its blogging. Oops...

I apologize and assure you that our lack of updates were not at all due to boredom, but quite the contrary. Let’s just say better late than never, shall we?

((AND, this post has a lot of VIDEOS! YAY!))

Patricia and Don. Aren't they adorable? 

Seattle has always been my favorite city, mainly because it is home of some of my favorite people. The Galvanins are an incredibly accomplished, well-traveled, hilarious, and fun bunch. There is never a dull moment with them. From the moment we arrived, Pete and I were spoiled beyond anything we deserved. But, that’s my Aunt Patricia for ya. She went above and beyond, as is her usual, making sure Pete and I had everything we needed and everything we never even knew we wanted. We were finally relaxed and possibly in shock. No more driving, no more car camping, no more showering in Planet Fitness or jumping from house to house. Our road trip was over and we were torn between relief and disappointment. After all, nobody really wants a vacation to end.

Before we could enjoy the gorgeous Galvanin villa, we had to get up their driveway. The concrete sits at what is essentially a 70 degree angle, on a curve, along a cliff. For Carla, it was like we were asking her to do backflips on a trapeze. It's as if she knew this was the last push we needed from her, because she somehow made it.. Here, see for yourselves. 

Excited to be back at the Galvanins'! (Grommet arms)

But, we did still have 4 days in Seattle! Burien, to be specific. My godparents have a rather fabulous home in Three Tree Point, overlooking Puget Sound. Pete and I were lucky enough to stay with them in their beautiful home. We weren’t sure if Carla was going to make it, but she wanted to reach her final destination just as much as we did.  I got a running start with her and we made it up that hill, right into the open and loving arms of Aunt Patricia. It was the perfect ending to our road travels, but it didn’t feel real. We feel like we’ve been gone forever, and yet it feels like we left only yesterday.  Weary and hungry as we were, we were grateful that Patricia is a fantastic cook. We ate better than we should have, that’s for sure.  Dungeness crab, ribs, schnitzel, lasagna, casserole, you name it—she cooked it. We were fat and happy by our first night in Washington.

On Tuesday, we decided to lay low and get our bearings a little. Of course, laying low by Galvanin standards is still getting plenty done. Patricia and I went for a fast walk around their neighborhood and then did a little yard work while Pete went out in search of Carla’s final resting place. He found it, and all three of us went to bid her farewell. That place was such a dump, I couldn’t even bare to wait with Pete in the lot while we worked out the deal. I felt filthier by the minute just standing there. The guy who owned the junkyard belonged on one of those shows about obsessive hoarders. His office was my worst nightmare and his crew was the cast of a horror movie I saw last summer. It was the only place that was willing to take our little pariah, though, and I do give Pete and lot of credit for making the tedious arrangements. Saying goodbye to her was harder than it should have been. We have so many great memories from that little car. She took us across the country, kept us safe, and proved a bunch of people wrong. To this, we say thanks and HA! She is off to serve the local fire fighters, a noble end to a noble car. We miss her already…

Wednesday was the coolest day EVER. It was so cool, we had to sign a liability release. Awesome!

Signing my life away... 

 First, my godparents took Pete and I to the little town of Leavenworth. The entire town was decorate in German style, and it looked like we took a wrong turn and ended up in Schnitzel Land. It was all very touristy and overdone, but in such an enchanting way. The town lay in a valley near the river and was very inviting. Little shops with German souvenirs, fancy china, and obnoxious decorations kept us busy for a few hours as we picked out the restaurant where we later went to dinner. We went to Motzart's, the home of my first ever pork schnitzel. Yumm...  But, the real treat of the day was smack in the middle. And it was FANTASTIC. 
We went white water rafting on the Wanatchee River. Along with my godparents, Aunt Patricia’s sister, and a few of her lovely friends from work, we zipped ourselves into unflattering wetsuits, clambered into a raft and started off down the river. Brad, our guide, was an extremely amusing fellow who spoke as though he stumbled right out of the 60’s. He was all about the “cool, dudes!” and the “right on’s!” And he told a particularly graphic story about encountering a series of peep shows along the river’s edge. He was totally rad and very chill, but absolutely perfect for the career he’d chosen. We felt safe under his guidance, he clearly knew what he was doing on that river. He knew every little curve and dip of the rapids and he definitely painted with all the colors of the wind.  Of course, Pete and I would have felt a lot safer had we not been put in the front of the raft. The Galvanins insisted that the front was the best spot, especially on our first trip. Little did we know that they were setting us up to be the first targets for the river. Apparently, “best spot” was a code for “soaked seating.” To be honest, the water wasn’t nearly as cold as that in Oneanta Gorge, but it was certainly no hot tub dip.  It gets better. Brad told Pete and I to kneel down in the boat and push our thighs against the sides when we paddled.  We were essentially leaning over the sides of the raft and facing the waves head-on. This was just a wee bit intimidating. Brad called it “Animalizing.” This was his command for us to kneel down, countered by his permission to “Humanize.” Never a dull moment with Brad, apparently.

Now, keep in mind that I had never been white water rafting before and Pete had only been once as a kid. We were a bit nervous to see rapids up ahead as we floated along. We were assured that we were wearing adequate safety gear and surrounded by people trained to save us, but somehow that stopped being comforting as we felt how cold the water was and how quickly the river flowed. But, this trip was all in the name of doing new things, so we dug in with our paddles and braced for impact. And that impact came. The water went soaring over my head, drenching me and blasting Pete and I back against our seats. Talk about a wake up call! I turned around to see my godparents laughing at my dripping hair and shocked expression. It’s certainly true that when you hang with the Galvanins, you have adventures. That’s exactly what white water rafting was. We conquered that river, managing to make it into a small cave at a 90 degree angle, rescue an overboard kid from another raft, and paddle through tricky rapids with questionable names. “Satan’s Eye,” “Satan’s Asshole,” and “Granny Panties” were our favorites. We think hippie guide Brad took some creative liberties with those names, but we give him an A for effort. He certainly knew what he was doing! We went from a goofy group to an organized, orchestrated crew. I felt really powerful with that paddle in my hand, and even fearless as we dove into those waves. I was riding high and loving every minute. I was hooked on the white water.

As we came up on some particularly ugly looking rapids, Brad informed us that we were welcome to try to swim if we liked. Most of our group shook their heads, but then turned towards me and Pete. Uh oh. Rookie pressure took over and we decided to take the chance. My godfather was coming with us, and everybody approved of our daring. We handed over our paddles and prepared ourselves to go overboard. Adrenaline took over and replaced nerves with excitement. Ordinarily, jumping into rapids would not be smart or desirable, but it was part of the experience and we didn’t want to leave any stone unturned on this adventure. We were living life as fully as we could.  Besides, we drove over 6,000 miles in a car that is older than me. Clearly, we could do anything. Brad counted to three and we tipped ourselves backwards off the raft.

JEEZ that water was cold and FAST. Brad instructed us to stay in something called “River position.” This means that you’re on your back and pointing your toes up towards the sky. He was very clear that we should not allow our feet to drag beneath the surface as we could get caught on something and be pulled under. Nobody wants that, but who knew it would be so hard to maintain this position? As soon as I went over, I got a face full of wave. I was smacked hard but immediately took a deep breath and held it. We were washed down the rapids, bumped and shoved by the rushing white water. I was completely disoriented, but riding the thrill. In short, I was terrified. After what seemed like an eternity and mere seconds all at once, Brad was pulling me back into the raft and our group was applauding. Apparently, my face after that first wave was rather entertaining. We are so proud of ourselves for jumping in like that, and it stands up to our motto for this whole trip. Every new experience embraced, every challenge accepted. We totally conquered that river, and not too bad for our first try! It was a Class 3 or 4 our of 5, and we encountered 4-foot waves. This isn’t something I ever thought I would try, let alone love. I’m addicted now and I’ve got to find a way to do this more often. It made me fall in love with Washington even more.

Yup. This happened. 

We're stylish. 

Thursday was tough, but worth it. Pete and I reluctantly dragged ourselves out of bed to go site-seeing around Seattle. Not that we didn’t want to go, but we were extremely sore and exhausted from rafting the day before. To get us out the door in the right way, my godmother treated us to eggs Benedict from scratch.  Fab.U.Lous.

Bellies full and backs aching, we stumbled out the door to spend the rest of the day in downtown Seattle. It was everything I remembered and more. Seattle’s hip vibes and friendly folk pleasantly surprised Pete, and never having been there allowed him to really take it all in. I, however, was eager to hop from spot to spot, most importantly to the Space Needle and Pike Place Market. The view from the top of the Space Needle is a must-see. 580 degrees of gorgeous views. 

On the top of the Space Needle!

The city, the mountains, the ocean, you name it, it’s all there. This is what I love about Seattle, there’s a little bit of everything mixed together in the perfect combination. Pike Place Market is definitely the place I remembered most. The harmless hustle and bustle always brings a smile to my face. The smell of fish, the sound of sellers and buyers, the flow of shoppers down the low-lit halls; I find it kind of magical. Nothing there is cheap or unoriginal. Even if the goods are not to your taste, you have to admit that somebody put their hard work into making whatever it was. Sculptures, baskets, jewelry, clothing, ornaments, anything. All of it was hand-crafted and entirely unique. I think that’s one of the things I love most about Pike Place, it’s full of one-of-a-kind things and people. The Chinese man behind the jewelry stand, for example, was not only hell bent on selling me a necklace, but on getting Pete to buy me a ring. It was sweet at first, but after ten minutes of pressure and playful jabs, we began to feel like Oriental Yenta was overstepping. I did buy the necklace though, a silver whale’s tale. The guy may not be able to sell me on impulsive life choices, but on that necklace he had me sold.

We watched the fish being tossed from man to man at The Pike Place Fish Market, we took pictures atop the pig, and we did a little gift shopping for others and ourselves. Looking around at the blocks of fresh fruit, seafood, vegetables, and meats, I could imagine how lovely it must be to live locally. Doing grocery shopping there would be far more enjoyable than a trip to Shop & Shop.  

After the market, we walked past the wall of gum. Thousands of little wads of multi-colored gum were stuck to this wall, seemingly for years. I was compelled to add my own piece, which Pete found rather disgusting.

Gum, anyone? 

Before heading home, we hit up the pier where we found the Great Wheel and the arcade. I destroyed Pete in a few games of air hockey and he won far too many tickets in a coin game. It was silly fun, and we rewarded ourselves with candy and goodies from the gift shop in exchange. If Pete had won 5,000 tickets, he could have gotten me a teddy bear the size of a small shed. Maybe it’s a good thing we left when we did, I don’t think we would have had room for that in our luggage.

The Great Wheel is quite well named. It was certainly a wheel, a Ferris wheel, and it was great. It gave us another fantastic view of Seattle, this time on a rotating basis. I was rather camera happy and Pete marveled at the mechanics of the smooth-riding machine. It was silent, clean, and definitely worth the try. I guess this wheel was built to rival the London Eye in England, but I must say I am partial to the view of Pudget Sound. The only downside to this ferris experience was the randomly wet seat I was unfortunate enough to sit on. Yuck.

Seattle is stunning and we hated to leave it.  We wrapped up the day with a delightful dinner at my “godbrother’s” new condo. We all sat around, gorging ourselves on Aunt Patricia’s spectacular cooking, and Pete and I felt so comfortable that we almost forgot we were leaving the next day. Perhaps this is why we neglected to pack anything prior to our day of departure…

            When Friday finally rolled around, I was bumming hard. I didn’t want to leave Seattle, I didn’t want to go home, I didn’t want my crazy once-in-a-lifetime vacation to end. As a way to keep my mind off leaving, my godmother decided to take us on a morning hike. It was another gorgeous experience, hiking up miles of mountain forests, full of trees that were draped with moss and dripping with raindrops. The land was so moist and so green, it was frequently overwhelming, but the waterfalls and staggering overlooks are what really made the trip memorable. We only climbed about 3 miles up, but it was as if we entered another world, and it was a world I could really get used to.

            We spend the rest of that day packing our stuff. This was easier said than done and I was nervous the entire time. We had accumulated so much STUFF. T-shirts, mugs, magnets, signature cups, our luggage seemed as though it had doubled since we left the east coast. I had been very careful in planning this though, and as long as we were meticulous, I believed that we would be all set. I arragned our luggage so that each of us had a bag to check, a carry-on, and a “personal item,” In Pete’s case, this meant a cooler stuffed with souvenir mugs. However, we also would be bringing back Pete’s tool kit, which weighs as much as a baby elephant, and two bottles of wine. At the last minute, I had him redistribute these items among the two duffle bags in a desperate attempt to keep each checked bag under 50lbs. We had already gotten two speeding tickets, we didn’t want to have to pay an extra $50 for luggage. Oh, did I forget to mention that? TWO tickets. It’s a cruel world out there, kids. But, I’ll explain that and more in the wrap-up. Let's just say that our big bag of doom weighed in at 1.3 pounds under the dreaded 50. VICTORY! We are awesome. 

She's the absolute coolest. 

Saying goodbye to the Galvanins has always been my least favorite part of any trip.  They are the most fun-loving, down to earth, exciting people I know. They grab life by the horns and they refuse to let go. I have always admired their gusto as a collective and their deep affection as a family. I feel so lucky to have been inducted into it in some little way and to be able to spend time with them. They won Pete over in a single evening, just as I knew they would. If I can learn to live my life as fully as they have lived theirs, I will have done something very right. Washington has my heart just as much as they do and Pete and I agree that this part of the country is incredibly beautiful. 

That being said, I cried my eyes out at the airport.

Time for goodbye. Time to go home. Where did the weeks go? Oh, that’s right. We had a kick-ass adventure.

Wrap up post to follow, so stay tuned. Too much to say and not enough adjectives. 
For now, we just miss Carla. 

~Liz and Pete... 

Washington <3

Ashes to Ashes, Rust to Rust.

 A Few Words from Pete:

Tuesday, I spent most of the day looking for a place to dispose of Carla. I hated to do it. She was an essential part of the trip and a fantastic comrade, but it was necessary because we couldn’t fly back home with her. She’s fairly overweight and we’d have to buy two plane tickets for her along with one of those seat belt extensions.

In the state of Rhode Island, despite being hard-asses about registration and vehicle inspections, makes the process of “junking” a car fairly simple. You drive (or tow) said vehicle to a scrap yard, sign over a piece of paper that says “I relinquish my car to XYZ Auto Salvage”, take off your license plates, and leave. Apparently, in the state of Washington, it’s different and more complicated. Naturally.

Before we arrived, Liz’s godmother, Patricia, was nice enough to do a little research and found a “Cash for your car!” pamphlet from a local auto-recycling center. I called them and found out just how complicated things really were.

In Washington state, every car has a title. In Rhode Island, cars 10 years or older are not issued a title. You need a title to scrap the car. The guy on the phone told me, in nicer words, that I was SOL and then hung up. Lovely.

So, I spent the rest of the day driving around in search of a place that would take such a vehicle (and hopefully give me a few bucks for it). Nobody spoke English at the first place I stopped. It looked sketchy and we could not communicate at all, so I continued. But, I wanted coffee and Seattle is the place for coffee. So I slacked a bit. Before I knew it, it was noon and I was still out of luck, just like the Cash for Clunkers guy said I would be. This is when I thought about scratching off the VIN numbers off Carla and driving her off a cliff. But, that would be too much fun.

I had also promised some friends I’d try to get Carla to give us one last performance, a burnout. Using vice grips as a line-lock, she gave the right front tire all she had.

I continued the search. 

I approached the “industrial” district of Seattle, which was certainly not a place to raise your kids, and started feeling rather hopeless about the whole thing. I was literally just driving around and saw a “Cash for your car!” sign, so I pulled in. The owner, a particularly vulgar fellow, had long grey hair and was smoking Marlboro 100’s back to back. His name was Steve and he was gross. I explained my story, hoping to wow him with my gusto and impressive travels, but he was rather unimpressed. Apparently, he took in a car from a couple just last week who had been traveling across the country, but they’d been living in it for TWO FREAKING YEARS. So, Liz and I seemed like amateurs. He was impressed, however, with the amount of rust on Carla and the Styrofoam that was holding her together. I explained how I hated to part with her, as she ran and drove just fine and had a bunch of new parts, working A/C, blahdy blah blah. But in the end, I really didn’t care as it was nearing the end of the day and I just needed to get rid of her. He offered me $250 for the car. Naturally, I took it because that’s what we paid for it in the first place. He acted as if he was doing me a big favor and I acted as if I wasn’t kinda ripping him off. Once again, Carla is lucky.

Then, he realized RI didn’t issue a title. Cue legal shitstorm! I won’t bore you with details, but evidently if a car doesn’t have a title, a form must be signed between seller and buyer and must be stamped by a notary. Again: Blah blah blah. It wasn’t notarized, but “he knew somebody”,  (which, we assume is the west coast version of “I know a guy…”) and so I left with the cash and my license plates and didn’t ask any more questions. Steve was not a guy of whom you ask too many questions. He said it was to be donated to the local fire department to be cut up with the Jaws of Life for practice. Well, at least she’s being put towards another good cause.

Total driven mileage: 6134. 

Carla's final mileage:  245,464.
 

Sounds like a triumphant death to me. I’m sure that St. Peter will open the pearly gates for her should there be a car heaven. May she rust in pieces. 

Seattle post soon, followed by the grand finale. We've been having too much fun to post all week! I suppose that's a good thing, but sorry to leave you all hanging.

Off to SEA TAC airport we go!

~Pete, Liz, and Carla in Spirit 

Oregon is GORGEous!

(See previous post for our Wine Country experience! Was late in blogging about it. Oops)

Oregon is GORGEous. Thanks to this state, I am officially running out of adjectives.

On our way here, Pete and I had ranked the places we’d visited and put them in order based on the spots we liked most.  But, after our day in Oregon, I’ve had to totally rearrange my list. It pushed it’s way to the top for me, and for Pete it’s pretty far up there. Everything about this area is beautiful. The trees are so tall and there’s a plush deep green moss that grows over everything. The air is clean, the breeze is refreshing, and there’s a serenity here that I haven’t found anywhere else. The forests of the west coast put those in New England to shame. They’re denser, greener, and definitely more inviting. For a stop where we didn’t have much planned, we certainly experienced a lot. We did something today that will stand the test of time as a once in a lifetime experience. Even if we come back to do it again, our adventures today were so special because they were unexpected and unknown to us. This day could not have been more awe inspiring and thrilling. I think it’s been my favorite day on the trip so far…

It’s funny, we weren’t even going to stray outside of the city today. But, last night I called my godmother in Seattle to touch base and she insisted that we see something called the Columbia River Gorge. We’d done plenty of cites, she said, and this was not to be missed. She did warn me, though; it would be a serious challenge. Not for the faint of heart and definitely not for the unadventurous. I left it up to her expertise and took her suggestion, not knowing quite what to expect. My godparents are two of my very favorite people in the world, but they do like extreme outings. I wasn’t sure what I was dragging Pete into, but I knew it would be exciting and possible just a tad insane. I just didn’t realize that in one day, Oregon would completely would steal my heart and take my breath away. Literally.

Unreal! 

The next morning, we woke in front of a Wal Mart Market, picked up some cheap water shoes at Walgreens, and headed for the gorge. Hidden behind the town of Trout Dale, the Historic Oregon Trail route drives alongside the Columbia River and leads to a series of stunning waterfalls. Pete and I didn’t know that places like this existed. We’ve seen them in movies, but beholding them in person is a whole different story. Each waterfall was a mile or two apart, each more magnificent than the one before.  It was truly like something out of a movie. The water cascaded down from the forest canopy, thundering onto the rocks below and sending mist in every direction. We felt a steady wind coming from the falls and were glad to be wearing sweatshirts and water shoes. (For now.) We went to Latourell Falls, Bridal Veil Falls, Wah-keena Falls, and Multnomah Falls, but the one my godmother insisted upon most was Oneonta. She’s warned us that we would get wet, but that it was TOTALLY worth the trip, so we went along with her directions. We figured we’d give it a shot and see how we felt. Her instructions were pretty bizarre, asking us to climb, wade, and swim. Ha, we thought, no way we’re doing that. But, once we started shuffling our way through streams and greenery, we were hooked.

Me, while I as still warmish and happy 

Oneonta Gorge was the most spectacular and challenging place we have seen on this entire trip. The walls of the gorge went up higher than we could see, and at the bottom was a strong stream, lined with mossy rocks that seemed to be raining down the canyon. The water was beyond freezing, we could barely step in without squealing. But, we really wanted to see what was ahead. The scenery was too good to pass up! Why else would my godparents have sent us there? Sure, the weather was cool, and the gorge was breezy and damp, but it was all so beautiful! We had to go on. So, we went up to our ankles… then shins… then knees…

Pete, rockin' the short shorts 

The walls were very tall and green and drippy, the stream was cheery and bubbling, the trees swayed gently in the wind. This wasn’t so bad. The farther we walked though, the worse it became. The rocks beneath the stream became increasingly slick and the water became deeper and deeper. A huge pile of logs stood in our way, some of which were only floating and not sturdy at all! We found this out the hard way… 

Oof... 

This is way harder than it looks. 

We had to clamber over these obstacles, cutting and bruising ourselves in hopes of seeing the waterfall. As we proceeded, other tourists hastily passed us, heading in the opposite direction. “Go back, “ they said, “there’s no way to get to the falls unless you want to swim.” Swim? You’ve GOT to be kidding me. Penguins would have been at home in these waters, they were positively icy. It took a serious amount of tongue biting and cursing to get each of us up to our knees, and now we were supposed to swim? We were thankful for our water shoes and long sleeves, but we weren’t walruses, we didn’t exactly have much as far as insulation. We could hear the falls though, and the gorge was so incredibly breathtaking, we trudged onward. We’d come all this way, we weren’t going to let a little cold water scare us off. We figured we’d go as far as we could and then see how we felt. Maybe those other people were just weaklings? Maybe it wasn’t actually as bad as they claimed.

"Wait, I have to do WHAT?" 

Nope, it was worse. Not only were there ample amounts of slippery, moss covered fallen trees and rocks to climb over, but there was a dip in the pathway so deep, that we would certainly have to swim to cross it. Veteran gorge forgers Hank and Randy, advised that if we were going to cross, we should leave our shirts and sweatshirts behind so that we’d have something warm to put on for the way back. We reluctantly removed our only source of warmth and we left wishing we had blubber. Randy, who was just ahead of us and completely drenched, warned us that the water was chest-deep. Keep in mind that water that reaches up to the chest of an average adult is well over my head and this deep water was COLD. We’re not talking “Hey! Who used up all the hot water in the shower” cold, we mean freezing, polar bears, icicles, numbness, purple appendages, never feeling anything ever again- COLD. We have never been colder in our lives, even at the top of a ski mountain in winter, with frostbite. This water was so cold; it made me miss Rhode Island beaches in January. It made us long for prison in Siberia. There is no way this water was warmer than 35 degrees. The only things that lead us to believe it wasn’t less, was the lack of snowmen and frost. Randy and Hank were very encouraging. “You’ve come this far,” they said, “You’ll regret it if you chicken out.” They had a good point. We were already up to our knees, and we had a feeling that this was something we would regret not doing. We’d come all this way in a beat up wagon that Pete rebuilt with his own two hands. We had literally crossed the entire country in a death trap; we were daring and we could do this. So, I plunged in.

You know that cliché about cold water that goes, “it felt like a thousand little knives were stabbing into me”? Yeah, well these weren’t little knives, they were samurai swords and they were slicing me clean through.  I could not breathe, and yet I heard a thwarted gasping shriek that I could only assume was my own voice. In reality, my swim only lasted seconds, but it felt like a torturous eternity. I have never felt more alive or more dead. My limbs were moving, but I couldn’t feel them. It felt like an out of body experience as I watched myself fight the current to reach higher ground. I couldn’t feel anything, I couldn’t breathe, I thought my heart was going to stop. I could, however, hear Pete’s voice in the background cheering me on. What a guy! He hadn’t dove in yet, so he was still in good spirits.  When I reached the other side, I turned back to see Pete struggling the same downstream I’d just fought. He was carrying the GoPro camera between his teeth and I could barely hear his squeaks of pain as he swam forward. When he joined me in shallow waters, Randy and Hank gave us fist bumps and pats on the back—I think, of course, because I could not feel this, but the best reward we got was a view of the falls at last. It was spectacular.  The rumble was almost as strong as the winds coming from the water as it tumbled down. I could barely stand upright in front of it. We were still numb, of course, so the wind didn’t bother us much. We felt as though we’d joined some elite club of badasses; only the bravest and strongest get to see these falls up close. And now, we were two of them. We basked in that glory for awhile, forgetting that our lips were blue and we were possibly losing valuable body parts. Then, we remembered that we still had to go back. Oh boy

Hank, Randy and the GORGEous gorge

Nothing could have properly prepared us for this day, but our ten-dollar water shoes turned out to be our best investment of the entire trip. Randy’s advice about disrobing was quite valuable too, and we were happy to have something dry to put on for the trek back. The teeth chattering and severe body shakes made us quite the spectacle as we stumbled back to our car. Carla warmed us as quickly as she could with all the high heat she could muster and we basked in the brilliance of our accomplishment.  We have never been so grateful to get our trembling blue hands on a cup of steaming coffee. When we reached a shower, I cranked the water up to SCALDING.

Maybe it was no award-winning feat, maybe other have done it, we really don’t care. We conquered some intense fears today, not to mention some strong natural instincts. Humans were not designed for that kind of torture, but the adrenaline and adventure made it all worthwhile. I mean, how awesome are we? How many people can say that they’ve done what we have, and at our age? THIS is living. This kind of stuff is why we took this trip in the first place. Nobody really mentions how the unexpected wonders of your life will be the most memorable, the most important. This day is one we’re going to tell about forever, how we forged the gorge…  I am way past being ashamed of tooting our own horn, because WE ARE SO COOL.

Tomorrow, it’s off to Seattle to thank my awesome godparents for their suggestion.  I have been awaiting our visit with them ever since we bough our plane tickets home and I can’t WAIT. There will be no better way to finish off this vacation…

~ Triumphant Liz and Pete, and a concerned Carla 

We did it! 

<3 Oregon

We Took A Nap(a) in Sonoma

TYPED JUNE 1:

This place? We hated it.

There is something to be said for being awoken in your bed in the dead of night by a phone call, a thunderclap, or a bad dream. However, being woken in your car in an unfamiliar parking lot at 2 a.m. by an angry stranger is far more alarming. This is what happened to us moments before years were sheered off my life.  We parked in a plaza lot in Vallejo, CA because it housed the closest Planet Fitness to Napa. We curled up in the lot, figuring that the watchful security officer would let us know if there was a problem sooner, rather than later. Either he was asleep on the job or he just didn’t want us to be, because it took the guy until 2 in the morning to decided that we weren’t welcome there. He banged on the window and flashed a light into the car, waking me from a dead sleep and scaring me half to death. The man was both profane loud and made it crystal clear that we had to vacate the lot immediately. I had some choice phrases of my own, but instead woke Pete and we booked it to the closest Wal Mart. What bothers us most is not the fact that we were bombarded at 2 a.m., but that the security guard left the other car campers in the area alone. Other than their fancy RV’s, what makes them better than us? Carla was especially insulted and feels that the incident was one of discrimination and ageism.  Pete aged about 50 years and I hit my head on the ceiling, but otherwise the event left us unharmed.  

When the sun rose, we realized that Vallejo was a rougher area than we had realized in the darkness of the night prior. It was kind of filthy in general and much of it had fallen into disrepair or else been replaced by fast food chains. The streets were crawling with local teenage hoodlums, many of whom had infant hoodlums of their own.  Apparently, it is the general consensus there that parking lot gravel is an appropriate play place for a baby.  I was mortified. Ironically enough, the Planet Fitness there was one of the nicest we’ve encountered.  Aside from a woman in the bathroom passing me an invitation to her “Plenty of Pleasure” party, the PF in Vallejo was rather clean, comfortable, and inoffensive. (That invitation, however, was not.) This seems to be a trend, that worse the area, the nicer the PF. This suited us just fine because we were in desperate need of a shower. Maybe Vallejo wasn’t so bad after all?

Unfortunately, I walked headlong into a pole the next morning at Planet Fitness and bruised the left half of my face. I had been watching the news on the tv’s hanging from the ceiling while walking towards the front door. What genius decided to put an I-beam in the middle of a patron pathway? Rather than blame it on our gym, my sleep deprivation, or general clumsiness, we’ve decided simply that Vallejo sucks and we are never going back there. In a PG version of Pete’s words, the place “is a toilet.”

Rutherford Hill Winery picnic area

Wine Country totally made up for our Vallejo fiasco. It was absolutely stunning and everything we’d been hoping for. We were lucky enough to snag an opening for a tour at a local winery, and we headed over there mid-morning. Napa was gorgeous and so peaceful. The miles of vineyards and farmland made us wish that those properties were affordable rather than millions of dollars. Oh, what I would do for a house in Napa… Everything about Napa was a luscious, from the endless green crops to the blooming flowers and luxurious homes. Everything was new money fancy, but not snooty. We knew that most of these locals owned purses worth more than our college educations, but we put that aside for the sake of the beautiful scenery. We did see an awful lot of Lamborghinis drive by, but we were too enthralled to be bothered.  Napa was stunning and we couldn’t wait to take our first winery tour.

Rutherford Hill Winery sat overlooking the countryside and was the perfect spot for our tour. An enthusiastic little gentleman named Jimmy was our guide and taught us all about the wine making process, from the grape to the bottle. This particular winery had caves where the wine was stored in barrels. Touring those was like walking through a scene out of Phantom of the Opera. The caves had the high arching ceilings, romantic lighting, and old-fashioned chandeliers that would make any classic villain feel right at home. What made us feel welcome, of course, was the fabulous wine we were sampling.  This winery was known for its Merlot, which we happily slurped down along with a Sauvignon Blanc, Cabernet, and a stiff reserved label Port. We sampled six wines overall as we toured the caves, the fermentation chamber, the grounds, and the picnic area.  We were by far the youngest couple on the tour and nobody seemed surprised when Pete choked on a sip that went down the wrong pipe. Unfortunately, this happened while we were in the caves and so his sputtering gags echoed and bounced off the cavernous corridors, much to our embarrassment.  I thudded him on the back and pretended not to light-headed after only two samples.  I would say we’ve never felt so immature, but I would be lying. We spent much of the drive in wine country pretending to be rich locals with fancy British accents. Let’s just say we’re in no hurry to grow up entirely, so showing our youth is nothing new. We accepted the judging stares and sniggered privately at an overly pruned guy who pretended to be a wine expert. Jimmy seemed to appreciate our energy though, and was nothing short of thrilled to answer our questions, no matter how naïve. The tour excellent, the wine superb, the result a lasting buzz. We were happy.  We ended the morning with a tipsy stroll through downtown Napa. We worked off the wine and worked up an appetite, one we quenched with an overloaded pizza at a local parlor.

Admit it, you watched this show too. 

We decided we’d gotten our fill in Napa and went in search of our next Planet Fitness. In doing this, we had to head through Sonoma. We should have set aside more time for this little town, it was too charming. We stumbled upon it and we are thrilled that we did. Sonoma had beautiful vineyards too, all wrapped around a picturesque town square, chock-full of little one-of-a-kind shops. Everything was wine themed, of course, but not to a fault. There was the perfect balance between kitsch and class, though everything was far too expensive for purchase. We did, however, feel the need to drop by Envolve Winery, the pride and joy of a former Bachelor. (Yes, as in the show The Bachelor on ABC.) I’ve been addicted to that garbage for years and have forced Pete to watch more than a few episodes. He humored me and we did a wine tasting in the very office built by the handsome fella we’d seen on TV. I was giddy aa Pete inquired about he current marital status of Bachelor Ben.  Unlike the pair of us, the counter girl was not amused. As if the reason she had that job isn’t to bag Bachelor Ben. PULEEZE.

A little plaza in Sonoma

After another successful tasting, we decided to take a walk around downtown Sonoma. It was a peaceful little slice of paradise, with a park, groups of giggling children, and laughing friends enjoying their wine in sunny cafés. We took advantage of the rich greenery of the park and plopped down on the grass to rest our eyes. This turned into an hour-long nap, one we didn’t realize we needed. Nobody around seemed to mind. In fact, several other people were doing the same. It was ultimate relaxation, watching the town go about it’s happy business as the sun set. It wasn’t until a motorcyclist was backed over by an SUV that we were snapped back into reality. He was totally fine, but the crack of his helmet hitting the pavement gave us a good fright. The town sheriffs descended like vultures and we headed back to our car.  Wine and a show? Sonoma ain’t bad.

Carla is still alive. Just now, something large and metal fell out from underneath the hood while we were driving. Pete says it’s nothing to worry about. * Insert YOLO here * So far, we’ve driven 5,608. This is much farther than our original anticipation, since we didn’t calculate for miles driven around our destinations, just through them.  Aside from a few wee issues, Carla is doing OK. The passenger visor fell off, so any time I need a mirror, I have to commandeer the rearview. Pete doesn’t like this, but a girl needs a mirror. Carla understands. She keeps overheating, but only at completely unexpected moments where there is no good place to pull over and check her. There is a nice whistling sound from the crack in the windshield or the seal in the doors, we aren’t sure which. She’s vibrating again, but we like to think that she’s just saying hello. Pete hasn’t felt the need to change the oil because we’ve had to add so much to it. Honestly, she’s chugging right along and we couldn’t ask for more. She’s taken a beating today since we cleared the northern chunk of California and driven the length of Oregon. It’s magnificent by the way, we couldn’t believe how quickly the scenery changed from farmland to evergreens and back again. We saw a llama in one of the pastures! Mt. Shasta was amazing, we drove right underneath on our way to Portland.  It was a relaxing drive, but a long one. Our last long haul of the trip! We spent it admiring the scenery and listening to NPR.

Tonight, we just want some food and some sleep. We can worry about showering and posting this tomorrow. Honestly, blogging is the biggest issue we're having right now. Sleeping in the car, showing at a gym, living like gypsies in a vehicle that has so far outlived me? No problem. But, trying to find decent WiFi in unfamiliar places? Nearly impossible. I type the posts en route,but then I have to find a way to post them. We've been just about everywhere and tried everything, from parking outside closed businesses in the dead of night, to taking up a restaurant table for hours just to sit by an outlet. People must think we're insane. Oh, and uploading photos? A nightmare. Each place has a whole set of business policies, some of which won't allow me to upload certain photos. For example, this place we're in now, it won't let me upload any photos with our faces in it. Why? No idea. Apparently they find us offensive in appearance. (Give us a break, we're living out of a Toyota.) I wasn't expecting this to be the difficult part! Pete is being a great sport about driving around strange towns in search of internet. I feel like a nomad journalist... Must sleep. 

Almost there!

~Liz, Pete, and Carla the Wonder Wagon

And Then We Went to Prison

Our second day in San Fran was just as eventful as the first. We caught the morning bus from Piedmont into the city, only to discover the full extent of the locals' friendliness. Everybody we encountered was pleasant and helpful. Nobody was gruff or hurried or too irritated to help us find our way. The bus people were the most impressive. All we had was a $20 for bus fare and the cost was only $4.20. Rather than see us have to pay an outrageous price for the ride, a fellow passenger offered to pay for us in the moment in exchange for the return payment on PayPal. When we struggled to load PayPal on the bus, the other passengers happily searched their pocketbooks to find ways to break our single bill. We paid the man who had helped us and thanked the rest. To them, this seemed to be a normal course of events, but for us New Englanders, it was like pigs were flying over a frozen Hell. We were so struck by the kindness of San Franciscan strangers, we almost forgot that we were in an unfamiliar city. It gets better. Not only did these people have radiating kindness, they all knew each other. Yes, we know that they ride the same bus everyday and so are bound to recognize each other, but these people took their proximity to a whole new level. Not only did they know fellow faces, they knew each other's names, jobs, recent plans, children's names, etc. An adorable Chinese family boarded the bus with bouncy two youngsters and the entire front crowd of the bus greeted them by name. The children in turn greeted them and dove into stories about their recent vacation in New Orleans. It turns out that this family had been in the French Quarter at the same time as us! What are the odds! (To us, it seemed those odds were probably as high as finding a bus full of delightful people in New York.) By the end of the bus ride, these happy riders knew our names too, as well as our travel plans. They even went as far as to give us recommendations in our upcoming cities. We left the bus feeling rather dazed. We were promised gentle people in the city, but we didn't actually expect any. This was just marvelous. 

I could have left him there. He wouldn't have noticed for days. 

In the morning, we hit up the Exploratorium on the pier. There should be a warning on the front of that building: "Will Turn Boyfriends Into Wide-Eyed Children." Pete was in heaven. The museum was full of gizmos and gadgets, inventions and discoveries. We had lots to do and more to learn. Some of the exhibits focused on the human brain, allowing us to test our capacities of hearing, sight, memory, and emotion. Others were about physics, mechanics, and other sciencey stuff that was cool by my standards, and off the chart on Pete's. You'd think he was a greedy toddler on Christmas morning the way he was excitedly going between exhibits and explaining the mechanics of the different whatchamacallits. I suppose the Exploratorium to him was like the Georgia Aquarium to me. It was a great choice for us to go there, definitely worth the ticket, even for two (almost) adults. 

We spent about 2.5 hours there until we realized we were starving. Pete came back down to Earth and we decided to walk down the pier to see where we'd like to go for lunch. Along the way (and several more times that day) we stopped at Pier 39 to see the sea lions. They were too funny, it was like watching a blubbery episode of Everybody Loves Raymond. These creatures reminded me more of an angry Italian family than my own! (Love you guys...) They were climbing all over each other, barking, shoving, bickering and pushing each other overboard. They were also snuggling like there was no tomorrow and seemed to prefer to be close to one another. The sea lions had completely taken over the docks and decided to turn them into their own personal living room. They were sprawled out in clumps, enjoying the sun and the constant attention from onlookers. We felt more like we were watching a sitcom than a live, unrehearsed reality. Again, I wanted to take one home and love it. I'm such a sucker for animals, it's amazing I don't have a house full of them already. Give it time, folks, give it time... 

Keeping with the theme of the day, we ate lunch at the Rainforest Cafe. Colorful in both decor and atmosphere, the restaurant made us feel like we could be in the rainforest...with cocktails. The food was good, the environment was great, and it completed my animal fix for the day. Who doesn't love a roaring tiger and rumbling thunderstorm overhead while they eat? If I could design my whole house to look like that place, I would be one happy girl. 

<3

After the Rainforest, we realized that we'd both gained about 20 pounds and were both completely exhausted from our busy morning. We didn't realize we'd been walking for miles up and down the pier. Not that we can complain, the weather was gorgeous and there was lots to do and see. In fact, on our way back to the bus, we stopped at a little carnival at Pier 39 to ride the carousel. I know it's geared at kids, but Pete and I are pretty much big kids anyway, and I've always had a soft spot for the merry-go-round. It was whimsical and magical and I loved it. Pete looked very manly riding the big plastic dragon, but I preferred my zebra. We were by far the oldest (and coolest) people there without children of our own, so we earned some quizzical glances. But, funny looks are nothing new for us since we started driving around in a moving billboard. YOLO. 

"Nooooo!" - Carla

We saw the curviest road! It was literally a zig-zag down one of San Francisco's steep inclines. Lombard Street is the most crooked road in the world, so naturally Pete's first inclination was to want to inflict it on Carla. Honestly, we would have if there had been any hope of her making it up any of the hills leading there. They were so steep, we knew she would probably explode to put herself out of her misery. It would be cruel and unusual and we can't have her give up on us now. We're so close! Pete will have to live with having seen it and walked along it instead. I'm sure someday he will take some poor, unsuspecting car there to zig and zag, but it won't be Carla. 

Gorgeous campus! University of CA, Berkely

After returning to Piedmont, we showered, changed, and headed out with Aunt Ellen for a tour of Berkeley. Now I will forever be kicking myself for not going to college there. The campus was lovely, full of inviting greens, beautiful buildings, and exciting history. We could tell she took a lot of pride in the university and were happy to have had a chance to see it. It was exactly what I would had expected from a west coast college. There was a lot of history about student protests, there had been a naked man attending classes, and there were people doing tai chi and yoga on the grass. It was very cool, dude. But, we could tell that the education was of high value there and that it's students were dedicated and prestigious. Pete may have his fancy piece of college-issued paper, but I don't earn mine until December so I felt a pang of envy as we watched a few students skip through in their caps and gowns. A few last minute graduation ceremonies, perhaps? Either way, I would love to be in their shoes. Though, perhaps not... After all, I did just drive across the country in a car that is older than I am. That piece of paper can wait :-) 

We had a great time with my aunt at dinner, catching up on the family news, chatting about her experiences and future plans as well as ours. She has a very warm and intelligent way about her that I've always liked. She and her husband were all too kind to host us this week and we felt so comfortable in their home. If it hadn't been for Ellen's advice and directions, we would still be wandering aimlessly around San Fran without a hope and a clue of what to do. So, thank you Ellen and Gene! You both are just wonderful and we can't wait to visit again. 

Right where he belongs ;-) 

In our final morning in San Francisco, Pete booked us a tour of Alcatraz. I always knew we'd end up in prison, I just didn't think it would be so soon. We had so much life left ahead of us... Shouldn't have robbed that bank, evaded our taxes, or kidnapped that government official. Ah well, hindsight is 20-20. 

That tour was so fascinating. Creepy, for sure, as the place is essentially in the same condition as it was when it was filled with criminals, but extremely interesting and informative. We both followed the audio tour through the cell blocks, the dining hall, the rec area, and the library. It was haunting to think about convicts like Al Capone shuffling down the same hallways and peering through the same  bars. We can't lie, he is a person we would have like to meet. After he was imprisoned of course, definitely not before. The audio tour even took us through the solitary confinement block and we got to step inside. It was certainly unsettling, but we had to admire the gorgeous view outside of the prison. We know it would be a horrible place to be and dangerous circumstances too, but if you had to be imprisoned somewhere, wouldn't you want it to be somewhere with a view? I mean, wouldn't jail in Siberia be so much worse? Of course, prison is prison, but it wasn't as barren and Azkaban as we expected it to be. There weren't even any dementors. We even learned that the families of guards used to live on the island in quaint communities! How sweet. The birds were chirping and the sun was shining and we almost forgot we were in jail. In fact, the breeze and scent of the ocean coming through the windows was quite lovely. If you ignore the fact that those windows are all decorated with iron bars and cobwebs, the place is actually quite nice. I bet the rent is cheap too... 

Overall, our San Francisco adventure was very successful. Aside from asking for directions about a billion times and walking for a mile or two in the wrong direction, we got where we needed to go. We also somehow managed to get back to Ellen's today, despite the fact that the bus we were familiar with wasn't running and we had to take two transfers just to get to a street we recognized. The bus drivers thought we were idiots, but we were feeling pretty pleased with ourselves after that. We never even had to hail a cab. Not like there were any, because apparently they've all fled to New York where honking is allowed. Did we mention that this lovely city is not only full of nice people, but also nice cars? There was rarely a honk or any shouting. Nobody was flipping anybody off and the streets didn't smell like the back end of a mule. It was a surprisingly delightful change from east coast cities and it melted our cold, bitter New England hearts. We'll be back for another thawing... 

We've returned to the road and to our beloved Carla. She's been resting in a posh neighborhood for a few days, getting some funny looks and probably a fair amount of suspicion. We like to think she missed being driven and that means that she'll tough it out for the last 800 miles of our trip. That's right, folks, we are down to the last 800 miles out of over 5,000. We just really hope Carla makes it... She's overheating and Pete doesn't really know why. Whenever we pull over and he has to tinker with her, he tells me it's all ok, but then when I am typing he let's me know the contrary. This is why you can never trust your mechanic, ladies. This is why. Even just now he said "Nah, we'll be fine," but he's never been great at lying to me. He and Carla are better off just keeping secrets from me in general until it's too late for me to do anything about it. But, you know what? That's just fine, I'm on vacation. We're on our way to Napa as one of our final three stops on this trip. Just get me some wine and show me some scenery and I'll be good. 

To wine country! 

~Liz, Pete, and the little Carla that could