Day 11: Escape from Newport to Cannon Beach, OR

Never going back to Newport. Don’t go there. As we awoke on our final morning in Newport, we tore out of our sleeping bags and almost ripped the screening from our tent in our scramble to check on our beloved Jetta. Expecting to find tires slashed and the remaining three windows smashed in, we were overly ecstatic to find only cold dew dribbling innocently down our new plastic window. In disbelief of our good luck, we tore down the tent, stuffed it into the trunk and floored it out of “Crap-port,” our tent stakes trailing behind us like good-luck cans behind a “Just Married” jalopy.

We decided on taking the scenic Route 101 to our next destination: Fort Stevens State Park, which is at the very tippy-top of Oregon, close to Astoria. The road was a lot curvier than Rand McNally showed on the map and the curves were soon getting the best of both of us. We were happy to stop at a local fruit stand and stimulate the local economy by buying overpriced Bing cherries from a young woman. We were in awe of her crazy amount of facial piercings. She slightly resembled a dog that’d lost a fight with a porcupine. We also stopped in a picturesque little town called Nehalem, where we visited some thrift stores to buy more cold weather attire, since we’re still heading north for another week or so. One store really threw us for a loop though: a discount food store in the back of a knick-knack shop. With empty stomachs and thinner wallets, we were almost tempted into buying some insanely well-priced granola, until we checked the expiration on the back. That bag of granola, along with every other food item in the store was greatly expired by more than a year or so (we also found soy milk, bread and rock hard gum).

Almost to our destination and out of gas, we stopped at a Chevron and quickly discovered that Oregon law prohibits anyone from pumping their own gas, with the exception of certain sulfur-grade diesels. We were shocked as a man in a reflective jumpsuit approached and asked to help us, offering different gases at a variety of grades and prices. We double-checked to see if someone had pulled a prank and hung a “Handicapped” sign on our rearview mirror indicating needing gas pumping-help. When he added that a full tank of gas comes with a complimentary cup of coffee, we were sure we had mistaken the Chevron for a Ritz-Carlton.

Fort Stevens was yet another state park with campsites right on top of each other. Our new neighbors had a huge electric grill, three coolers, a gigantic Gatorade thermos and a mini fridge set up outside and we wondered how this all fit into their van. Apparently, to fit in with our neighboring RV’s, we need to buy decorative glowing ball lights to hang from our car and tent, along with a windsock and/or wind chime accompanied by a wooden sign with “The Gehrigs” burned into it. This is very important while camping, so all of your neighbors will be envious of your hip camp set-up.

In need of a few groceries and string lights for our tent, we left the campsite. We drove out of town, and headed for Cannon Beach, one of the most famous beaches along the western coast. The boardwalk led us down through a beautiful cluster of Cape Cod style homes, wrapped in wines and stalks of a vast array of colorful flowers. Directly in front of us lay the famous Haystack rock, flanked by the Pinnacles on its left. It all looks just as it sounds (as you’ll be able to see in photos). We stared in amazement when I realized the entire Haystack was covered with nesting cormorants, puffins and gulls. It looked like a bustling Indian spice market; hundreds of birds were constantly coming and going, tending to chicks, fishing and battling mid-air with other feathered rivals. The tidal drop during the time we were there was extraordinary. When we first got there, Haystack Rock appeared about 150 feet off the beach and after two hours, an intricate network of tide pools formed directly in front of it, exposed by the falling tide. As a matter of fact, you could have walked right onto the rock if it wasn’t for the conservation signs keeping people off the nesting area. It was about 7 o’clock and most of the beach’s visitors had already left, so the few of us left on the beach were treated to a wonderful spectacle. This tidal area attracted a flock of feeding ducks and was absolutely overrun with hermit crabs, mussels, sea anemones and vividly colored seaweeds.

Like the case has been on most of the beaches we’ve visited, I couldn’t possibly take enough photographs as I ran up and down the beach, bending and stooping to take photos from different angles. Martina huddled on a beach blanket, covered in multiple layers, her blue fingers clutching her book in a death-grip.

Our last stop before going home was the local Laundromat for a well-needed laundry stop. We made this our home for a couple hours, used our wireless Internet device to plan the next stops on our trip and enjoyed the company of the townies in the busy establishment. Tonight’s dinner was another classy production on paper plates. Feeling like a million bucks with clean clothes, we arrived home to enjoy our neighbors’ eye-dazzling decorative lights before being lulled to sleep by the sound of bamboo wind chimes.

Day 9 and 10: Moving camp to Beverly Beach State Park, Newport OR and an Unfortunate Turn of Events

We left Crater Lake National Park happy to say good-bye to the mosquitoes. Five hours later, we were at our next destination: Beverly State Park, just north of Newport, Oregon. Apparently, we have been spoiled by the last few campsites with magnificent views from very private sites and quiet neighbors. This state park was huge, with our site parked right between two bushes and less than 15 feet from two other camping parties. We can literally hear every word of their conversations and feel like we’re sitting at their dinner tables at night. The plus side is that the area is known for its rocky coast line, and therefore the tide pools that appear during the two low tides every day. After we set up our tent (close enough to fall into our neighbors tent during a midnight bathroom trip), the fog was already settled in, so we set up camp and headed down to the ocean in hopes of catching a glimpse of a sunset. It was so cold, we could hardly believe it. The tide pools in this area where not very exciting like we had hoped, but the Newport Emergency Response Squad performing a practice water rescue entertained us all the same. We watched as 5 men in bright orange hauled in two “drowning” swimmers, in 40-degree water, on a surfboard, with a ¼ of a mile long rope. Indeed, we caught 5 minutes of fleeting sun and a pinkish-purple beginning of sunset before the clouds set in again







Wanting to catch the 9:02am low tide the Tuesday morning at a better tide pool location, our heads hit our pillows much earlier than previous nights. It was still chilly, but we slept soundly and woke up in time for a hearty breakfast and VIP parking at the tide pools of another local state park. We’re very happy with the “Golden Eagle Pass” we purchased for $80 at Arches National Park. It grants you access to all federal parks and recreation areas along with some state-run parks for 11 months. If you’re traveling a lot with family, and staying outdoors, we highly recommend the pass! It’s a lot like being on the VIP list at the local club, but cooler. We were overjoyed that the sun was out and there were not many encroaching clouds on the horizon. The tide pools here were teaming with life, filled with sea urchins, sea stars, crabs, sea anemones, sponges, clams and chitons. There were tall rocks covered with nesting sea birds and the outcropping barrier rocks held sunning harbor seals. There was also a giant dead seal that had met his untimely death on the cobblestone beach. The park ranger told us he had been there for about five weeks, and this was very obvious.













We wanted to check out the small strip of local fish markets, sea shops and art galleries, so we bid farewell to our unfortunately bloated friend, and headed off to this part of town. There were lots of interesting pieces of artwork and knick-knack galleries, and we took our time strolling down the strip. We enjoyed a fresh seafood lunch on the water serenaded from below by a rotting dock full of fat sea lions. They were unbelievably obnoxious and their barks sounded like a combination of hyena cackling and a cat coughing up a hairball. We found it entertaining at first, but soon wished a killer whale would come take care of this nuisance.



At this point, the amount of postcards we had acquired was staggering and we went in search of a quiet place to lie in the sun and write them.

This is where our luck ran out and our day turned into a nightmare for us.

We chose a beach called Agate Beach in Newport; it had been recommended many times because of its unusual sand beach and big waves. The parking lot was filled with about 12 other cars and we made sure to lock our doors and stash away our purses under towels and clothes in the backseat (this has become a regular routine). Sometime while we were sitting on the beach writing our postcards, the front passenger window of the Jetta was smashed in. Martina’s iPOD, camera, radar detector and cash from her wallet was stolen and I had a significant amount of cash stolen, meant to pay for the majority of our trip. A part of it was birthday money (Martina’s birthday is coming up on July 8th and mine was the 25th). Luckily, the thieves didn’t see Martina’s laptop we had stashed down in the depths of the backseat. We immediately called 911 and a policeman was dispatched to take down our information and assign us a case number. It was disheartening for us, because we knew there was absolutely nothing that could be done. The policeman hurried through the motions getting our names and list of valuables stolen but was in a huge hurry to get to his next call. He ripped out of the parking lot in such a hurry we thought for sure he was escaping a lava flow. We were left sitting in piles of the broken safety glass wondering what in the world the next step was; Wal-Mart was down the street so we bought plastic and tape to cover the window and drove a very noisy seven miles back to our camp. The insurance company was called and we now have an appointment with a glass company up in Astoria, Oregon to replace the window. Unfortunately though, it won’t be until Friday that they can do it, so we have to find lodging somewhere for an additional night. We’re weary about parking the car anywhere public because anyone could rip through the plastic.



We both felt like throwing in the towels and just returning home, but with 2 weeks left in our trip and almost 4,000 total trip miles, we knew it would be silly to let our spirits be dampened. We’ve been planning this trip for a long time and are trying to look on the bright side; we’re both healthy and nobody was hurt. Money is replaceable in the long run, regardless the amount. (I’m repeating this to myself over and over again, hoping that I’ll believe it). It’s one of those things where you just don’t understand why it happens to you, but you just have to trust the process.

We’re not looking forward for the two hours or more to drive up to Astoria, with a plastic window flapping in the wind, but we had to keep moving! We’re hoping for a better day tomorrow as we head up to Fort Stevens State Park at the very top point of Oregon.

Day 8: Crater Lake National Park, Oregon

We said our goodbyes to the Redwood forests and headed inland and over the border to blaze our own Oregon trail. This was another beautifully scenic drive with rolling hills and a rushing river next to the highway. Route 199 took us through Grants Pass, a very western looking town; we were expecting to see some cowboys saddling up their horses outside of the general store or perhaps a few western women in velvet and lace, preparing to do a kick-line in the local saloon. In the distance we saw a snow-covered mountain, and at the time we had no clue that that was indeed the location of our campsite.

As we followed the road signs to Mazama Village (our campsite in Crater Lake), we were shocked to see patches of snow amongst the trees. As the roads grew steeper and the air colder, snow still covered most of the ground. Other than the colder temperatures, the park had another surprise in store for us: millions of mosquitoes. Never did we imagine having to sweep snow away before pounding in our tent stakes while also battling swarms of vicious mosquitoes. Again, we gave Dad our thanks for our horribly fashionable headnets as we set about setting up camp for the night. It’s hard to get across in words just how many flying bloodsuckers were hording our faces, hands, ankles and anywhere else they could smell unbitten skin. While collecting firewood for a campfire, it became overwhelming. When batting our hands in front of our netted faces, we could feel 20 or 30 little flying bodies hit our hands. It was unreal. These things made Goblin State Park’s gnats seem like an enjoyable distraction.

The drive up to Crater Lake from our campsite was about 7 miles, and as we approached the top, we could see that the high cliff walls would hold a spectacular view. It was as if we were two small ants standing on the edge of a huge bowl. The almost perfectly circular, 6-mile wide lake was formed by numerous volcanic eruptions on Mount Mazama. In the middle of the lake Wizard Island was the quiet and lonely evidence of the cataclysmic eruption that had occurred here 7,700 years ago. The water was an incredibly vivid hue of blue and as smooth as glass. The shallower water around the island was a Caribbean turquoise color. There wasn’t a single ripple to be seen; the high cliff walls of the caldera protected the lake from wind disturbance. The lake was ensconced with a 33-mile drive which offered a completely different view every 2 miles or so. We could see why the American Indians of the area long ago had considered this natural wonder a sacred place; they never disclosed their secret to explorers. It wasn’t until 1853 when prospectors in search of gold stumbled across the phenomenon. There were rocky openings in the trees covered with snow, and we wished we had thought to pack a sled. Surely sledding down the side of Crater Lake while swatting mosquitoes in the middle of June would have been an addition to our “never-thought-I’d-be-doing-this” list! In all seriousness, we could see tracks where people had hiked up to cross-country ski or snowboard down the higher tips of the rim.

As the evening was closing in, we headed back to our campsite with long-made plans to cook beans and wienies for dinner. Almost home, we realized we forgot to pack a can opener, so we raced to the village convenience store to get one, minutes before they closed at 9pm. (do you see a reoccurring theme here)? The portable camping stove took the both of us to get lit, as we were both wary about blowing our fingers off. Now that it was officially well past dinnertime, we hoped that the bears would not smell our fancy dinner through the forest. As we were discussing the possibility of a bear attacking our bowls of beany-goodness we noticed a creature approach us. All we heard were its footsteps in the snow. We froze, beans in mid-air, as we watched a deer approach our campsite in curiosity, perhaps lured in by our raging campfire. We watched her until she left with a flick of her tail and then froze our hands in the cold spigot water only to be partially successful in rinsing our dinner bowls. Noticing that every campsite was provided with a giant steel box anchored to the ground, with a latching mechanism on its door, we assumed we should stuff all over our food items into it. (They were bear boxes, meant to keep out black bears, which the rangers told us were frequent visitors to the park). Lastly, not wanting our freshly purchased milk to curdle, we packed our cooler with snow. Ahhh… the convenience of snow in June!

We can’t wait to see what tomorrow has in store for us!

Day 7: A Day in the Redwoods

We started out our day the same way we have the whole week: cereal and milk, but the dense fog was a new addition. We drove on north on 101 into the forest, and stopped at the Ladybird Johnson Grove hiking trail. This was a scenic 1-mile loop hike through some of the oldest redwoods in the area.

This area actually has an interesting history. The public realization that old-growth redwood forests were disappearing far too rapidly led to the establishment of three redwood state parks in the 1920s and Redwood National park in 1968. Presidents Nixon and Johnson joined Governor Reagan in dedicating this 300-acre grove to Lady Bird Johnson and her campaign to preserve the towering giants. According to Frommer’sNational Parks of the American West (thank you to Maura, our friend who so generously lent us this book to take along with us), we should be very happy when the sun comes out due to intermittent patches of fog and drizzle. We noticed our moods instantly lift as the sun began to peek through the giant branches of the redwoods and in the shade we could see the forest coming to life. There were more banana slugs, colorful millipedes, snails and birds galore. Moss covered almost everything, lichens hung from trees, and the ferns grew over our heads. Pink rhododendrons grew overhead and we found many forest lilies growing in the moist undergrowth. Sadly, we could still see clearings where loggers had cut down hundreds of trees many years ago, and it was evident that the forest was still recovering from this stress.

There were many wooden plaques that guided us along the trail and we made mental notes of all the interesting information they offered, some of the most intriguing being the growth of these huge trees. Capable of ascending to heights over 360 feet, coast redwoods tower over all living things on the planet. Most of its height is gained in its first 100 years. With adequate sunlight, a redwood can grow more than 30 feet in its first 20 years. If shade, drought, or fire does not inhibit its growth, it will grow two to three feet per year, reaching the forest canopy by its 200^th birthday. Once a redwood reaches the canopy and the uppermost foliage is exposed to direct sunlight, strong winds, and lower humidity, its upward growth slows to two or three inches a year. Turning its energy to its core, after 400 years the trunk of an old-growth redwood averages five to seven feet in diameter; at 700 years old, 10-15 foot diameter trunks are possible. After our hike, we drove further up the mountain to a look out point. Here we had a beautiful view of the redwoods far below and the ocean even further in the distance. From way up here, we could see the fog creeping through the tops of the trees, but we were still above it in the warm sunshine. The sun was wonderfully warm as we basked for a while in the sun.

After this, we headed back down the mountain and to the sea town of Crescent City, about 30 minutes away. On the way, we took a pass for elk viewing and we saw about 20 elk grazing in the fields. In town, we drove along the ocean for a while before we headed to the center of the town. Apparently, the cool thing to do in this town is to sit on top of the cab of your giant truck or furnish huge on the road dog cages out of the bed of your truck. Unfortunately, without a truck we could not partake in these townie rituals, so all we could do was enjoy these happenings from the seats of our small-enclosed car. Since our attempt of a birthday dinner had flopped miserably last night, we did the next best thing and celebrated with Crescent

City’s idea of Chinese delicacy.

With the experiences of the night behind us, our next stop was Wal-Mart to stock up on long underwear, hats and mittens for the cold night ahead of us. We bought out the entire winter-wear section (not very expansive during summer); there was a knit Oakland Raiders hat, a bright pink pair of gloves and a white headband. With our new knitted loot, sandwich bread and ginger snaps Martina couldn’t possibly live without, we headed out of Crescent City back towards our campsite in Trinidad. Along the way, we stopped by a state beach and collected a good amount of driftwood in the setting sunlight. We planned to use this for a campfire because we felt $8 was a bit exorbitant for a small bundle of gas station wood. California had one last surprise for us this evening; we rounded a bend in the road and hit our brakes to avoid a herd of 12 – 15 elk contemplating a road crossing. Most of them were females along with a couple young bucks with velvet on their antlers.

We had a much warmer night this time around thanks to a raging campfire and multiple clothing layers. No joke – Stephanie wore 2 pairs of socks, long underwear plus pajama pants, 6 layers on top and the white woolen headband, while Martina braved the cold with only 1 pair of socks, her cuddle-duds and pajama pants, seven layers on top, her Raider’s hat and the pink pair of gloves. We both slept snugger than two bugs in a rug!!

Day 6: Sacramento to Trinidad, CA

Today concludes what we hope will be the last 10+ hours of straight driving, both for our wallet’s and sanity’s sake. We arrived at a little inn called the “Good Nite Inn” at 3:45am and were given the only room left: a smoking, one-bed room with ripped screens and a partially kicked-in door. Fortunately, both locks on the door still worked. Here we got a much-needed 5 hours of sleep before we hit the road again. Today, Stephanie turned 24 and unfortunately, much of the day was spent in the car. We got a call from Dad that morning, instructing us to search the far reaches of the glove compartment; he had hidden a birthday card. What a wonderful surprise! After a free birthday breakfast at Sacramento’s finest (Denny’s), we headed up Interstate 5 towards Trinidad, a little town just south of Redwood National Park. Luckily, the scenery on the way to the northern Pacific coast was breath taking. There were orchards of apricot trees and vast fields of sunflowers on either side of the interstate. Once in the mountains, our car clung to the curves as we ascended pass after pass of redwood, pine and fir forests, and the Trinity River raging far below us.

Route 299 took us through a beautiful area called Shasta-Trinity National Forest. The air smelled like pine and cedar as the wind blew our hair and the sun shined brightly through our moon-roof. We soon learned that taking 45-degree turns at 35 miles per hour was considered amateur driving. The locals soon schooled us in how to drive these one-laned, hair-pin turns: in 30 year-old pickups, held together with ductape and twine, while navigating the turns at break-neck speeds. As a matter of fact, semi-trucks fully loaded with lumber were blowing past our Jetta like Jeff Gordon with a shopping cart at Wal-Mart.

We finally broke through the sunny forest onto the foggy coastline, and we soon learned about the coast’s dynamic weather patterns. The temperature had dropped significantly and encountered sporadic sections of fog all the way to our campsite in Trinidad. Our bags were immediately ripped apart in the frantic search to find our warmest clothing. Noticing our tent neighbors huddling around their fire in hats, gloves and what seemed like winter parkas, we knew we were in for a cold night. Their dog had a sweater on too. We knew we were close to the redwood forests, but we didn’t realize we would be sleeping at the base of these giant trees. It was already early evening, so we quickly set up our tent, and headed towards the Pacific for some tidal exploring and to catch the sunset.

The cliffs were very steep, but we finally found our way down to the water. We were delighted to find many bright yellow banana slugs (which happen to be the University of California – Santa Cruz’s team mascot) and many flowers that we definitely don’t see in Illinois. A favorite was the wild lavender. The tide had left behind wonderful caches of driftwood and smooth pebbles littered with seaweed and shells. Every now and then, a smooth blue or green piece of sea-glass was found. We were surprised by the bright orange and pink sunset, as fog had just settled on the horizon a couple hours earlier.

Finally realizing that it was 9:30 and that we still wanted to celebrate Stephanie’s birthday with a nice dinner, we scrambled up the rocky path and back to the car. We had to do the old change-in-the-car trick, and soon we were ready for dinner. As we began to drive towards the small town of Trinidad, we noticed that every building was pitch black. We had a sneaking suspicion that the town was closed down for the night, and this feeling grew stronger as we stopped at the local casino in hopes of finding food. This was closed as well, so we headed back to a food mart that had been open just minutes earlier (at 9:45). Just as we pulled up in front of the mart, a man pulled the string to the neon “open” sign, officially dashing our hopes of a mish-mash dinner, which most likely would have consisted of instant potatoes, coldcuts and milk. Now that the only place open was the Chevron gas station across the road, this would have to be where we would have a birthday dinner. I guess we thought circling the shelves of junk food covered in a fine layer of dust would reveal some hidden treasure of an excellent meal in disguise, but to no avail. We had to settle with a microwavable pack of shrimp lo mein noodles, a refrigerated Italian sandwich and a can of Arizona ice tea to share. Happy Birthday!!! No cake this year. Martina’s 21^st birthday is in 12 days and we hope to celebrate in a town that stays open past ten o’clock. With our bellies full, we made the trek back to our quiet campsite. We were shivering for most of the night in what seemed like subzero temperatures. The 45-degree coastal temperature here at night caught both of us off guard. To add insult to injury, Martina ‘s stomach ended up fighting a battle with her lo mein noodles that she unfortunately, did not win. Stumbling out of the tent at 3:30, she officially waved her white flag of surrender and bowed out of the fight. Exhausted and shivering, we quietly gave thanks for this great opportunity of traveling to such wonderful places but also took grave note of Northwest summer temperatures and gas station dinners.

Day 5: Utah and Her Oddities

**This is where Utah's oddities began to emerge. None of this day's events are fabricated or exaggerated. We were just as shocked as you probably will be when you read how the day's events unfolded.**

With solid plans to hit the road by 7am, 8:30 rolled around to find us struggling to put our Rubix-cube Jetta back together with all the supplies we had torn out of it during our gnat-fueled fury the night before. In true Gehrig-woman fashion, we hit the road at 8:45 (1 hour and 45 minutes behind schedule), more than confident that we would make up the time with furious speeding.

Two hours into the trip, the Jetta took a turn for the worst. Halfway up the San Rafael Swell (75 by 41 miles in size and around 6,000 feet in elevation), we realized that even with the gas pedal completely pressed down, FedEx semis towing 3 trailers were blowing past us. We knew no good could come from this. We made it to Salt Lake City at 1pm and found the local VW repair shop. An hour later, we were informed that our mass air intake valve was almost completely clogged with carbon and fuel gunk. What we had hoped would be a simple adjustment to the engine check-light and a filter change, had turned into an estimated 6 hour ordeal. We had wanted to arrive in Reno, Nevada (approximately 9 hours away) by 5p.



With nothing but the clothes on on our backs, pennies in our pockets, 2 dead cell phones and a computer, we headed west further into the industrial smog of the great Salt Lake City. (We were nowhere near the beautiful lake we saw later or the gorgeous foothills. We were stuck in the commerical automobile sector of town). We found a park, and realizing how hot Utah is in mid-June, continued walking on down the street. We spotted a Hair & Nail salon and immediately thought about the possibility of painted nails and time to burn. As soon as we entered, we immediately realized that our light-skinned features were few and far between in this African-American hair-weaving and corn-row shop. We were quickly ushered to the back of the shop as soon as the word "nails" escaped our lips. After a brief and confused exchange, we bid the woman good day and continued on our way. Next door, the friendly Subway workers (we were sorry to see that one had a severely injured arm and a lazy eye) informed us that we were but a stone's throw from a Walmart, which might have had a Starbucks next to it, but they didn't remember. Even more exasperated that this would be a 10 block trek, we left disheartened. Thanks to lady luck, we came across a friendly, chain-smoking, cross-eyed and partially toothless woman, sitting in a tree's shade next to Subway. More than happy to guide us to the closest coffee shop, she suggested that we hit up Carl's Junior downtown (approximately 10 blocks in the other direction as previously mentioned) because "dey got coffee der." With the suspicions that she had no idea what she was talking about, we thanked her and immediately walked away with a little spring in our step. We passed Salt Lake's finest and most impoverished areas included within the same city blocks. Our favorite example was the Ducati/Maserati/Ferrari showroom next to a run-down children's playground littered with tires and miscellaneous metal scrap. Thoroughly disgusted now with the host city of the 2002 Winter Olympic games, we rounded the corner and came upon a cupcake shop. What luck!! They had a large neon sign proclaiming free wi-fi and excellent cupcakes; we knew we had found safe haven in "Mini's Cupcakes." As we stepped into the shop, both of us immediately realized that we had set foot in a hybrid of an "I Love Lucy" and "I Dream of Jeannie" set. Apparently, the store owner just couldn't let go of her love of retro 50's and 60's decor. We purchased our goodies, charged phones and surfed the internet on a bright red velour couch to pass the time. We kid you not - a flat screen TV (the only modern device in the shop) played a single episode of "Jeannie" continuously in black and white in the background. Finally, at 4:30, we got the long-awaited call from Malik, our friendly VW representative, that our car was ready to be picked up. As we were gathering our things, one of the friendly bakers who had heard of our ordeal, gave us two of his friends' contact numbers in Seattle if we had any more car troubles. His name was Job and he was from Nigeria. On the way back, three more odd things occurred. 1) Martina and I stepped back into the Subway on the way back to the mechanics shop to grab a bite to eat on the road. As we stood in line to order, we witnessed a woman pay for her bottle of Sprite with a cup full of nickels and pennies. We overheard her promise the cashier that she would return with the remaining 29 cents needed to complete the transacion, "when she got out of rehab." She left the store with Sprite in hand. 2) Almost back to our destination, we passed the same shade tree we had encountered earlier in the day, only this time with a wide assortment of more odd people. We looked at one another, confused because this exact spot was where we had spoken with the Carl's Junior Lady, and had been passed by a white bus full of happy-looking people with their arms hanging out windows. 20 feet later, our suspicions were confirmed. We passed a sign reading "Mental Health Association of Utah." 3) A man that had passed us 1 hour earlier in the day, running at such a speed as if he was outrunning a small velociraptor, was the same man that kindly informed us that we were pulling out of the VW parking lot with our pillows on the roof of our car. We were left to ponder why he had been at the dealership as he sped off running again in another direction, most likely being chased this time by a jackal.

The rest of the day passed in a blur. We took a major and accidental detour around Salt Lake City and then were treated to the beautiful scenery of Salt Lake itself and the surrounding mountains. We both immediately thought of New Zealand photos we had seen and briefly contemplated how we could fit it into this roadtrip.



We spent 45 minutes crossing Salt Lake Desert on I80 W. Just as we were sure the day couldn't get any stranger, we passed a bizarre structure resembling a tree with tennis-ball leaves. Thanks to Bonnie Cannon (our friend that loaned us a wireless chip for internet use on the road), we immediately found the strange spectacle online. Check it out at here. Currently, it's 11:30am, we still haven't hit Sacramento and we're still trying to makeup for our late departure from Goblin Valley this morning. HA! One last picture. We've been blowing through massive swarms of insects on our hell-bent path through Nevada on the way to the Redwood National Park. We captured this moment with a picture. Hopefully tomorrow's blog will find us lounging under the boughs of a Redwood Tree. Goodnight for now.

Stephanie & Martina

PS. Oh wait, we have one last addition to today's blog. We just traveled through California's Agricultural Inspection Point and had our one orange and container of Sam's Club kiwis bought in bulk, confiscated from our cooler. The lady is probably sitting in her checkpoint hut adding to her daily fruit intake.

Day 4: Goblin Valley

This morning was the first morning we were up against stuffing everything back into the car the way it was on the trip out, and it definitely wasn't as easy the second time around. We headed out to the very tip of the plateau we stayed on, called Dead Horse Point and checked out the view. We've decided we no longer need to see the Grand Canyon in our lifetimes, as the view from this area seemed to be just as spectacular and almost 360 degrees.




Next on the day's itinerary was a stop in Moab, pretty much the only place to buy diesel in 100 square miles and where the locals all have Chaco-sandal strap tans darker than death. We tooled around for a while, purchased the mandatory couple of souvenirs and then loaded up with ice and diesel for what we thought was going to be a quick 1 hour trip over to Goblin State Park. We were a bit confused as to why there was an unmarked dirt road leading to the park, and our suspicions were confirmed after 2 minutes of driving on the bumpiest, most pot-holed and washed away gravel road we had every seen. The road took us along ravines, cliffs and very possibly many body drop-off sites, most likely used by multiple Mexican drug cartels. After 45 minutes of not seeing a single trace of human or animal life, we hit blacktop and a sign that proclaimed our destination, and at this point, we realized we had taken the hardest, most discreet and challenging cattle road in all of Utah.

Now that our silver car could have blended in perfectly with the red rock landscape, due to the seemingly inch-thick layer of Utah dust, we headed down the road to the land of goblins. Besides wanting to see the unique rock structures, we decided to visit Goblin State Park to visit an old Metamora high school friend of Stephanie, Sarah Siefken, who is a managing park ranger here. The stone structures at this park resembled fields of mushrooms, or whatever else you think they may look like.



The landscape really made us feel like we were on Discovery's Meerkat Manor, because everything resembled termite mounds and burrows. Later on at the campsite, swarms of gnats and a vacationing juvenile delinquent campers deterred us from really taking in the scenery. We silently thanked Dad for insisting that we pack head nets.



We retired to our tent early to wait for the nuisances to die down.
In the evening, we headed over to the ranger station to catch up with Sarah and we met some other rangers she works with. Coincidentally, all three of them are from central Illinois. This gave Steph a chance to learn more about park management and the nocturnal wildlife of the area, prompting our new friend Mike to fetch his new pet. He was happy to show off his new catch of the day, a bio-illuminating scorpion which he had caught earlier that day.

Day 3: Romping around Arches Nat'l Park

Today was the first day of actually traveling to see some cool sights. We left Denver around 8 and made it to Moab, Utah around 1 o'clock. It was pretty sweet to see the landscape change along the way, but the heat was insane. We also passed through some funny little towns with creative names. Some of our favorites were: "No Name," "Parachute," "Rifle" and "Silt." Our first National Park stop was Arches National Park. Neither of us have EVER been to a place like this. Natural stone arches and fantastic rock formations are the defining features of this park, and they exist in remarkable numbers and variety. Just as soon as we'd thought we'd seen the most beautiful, most colorful, most gigantic arch we could imagine, we'd walk around the bend to find some bigger, better and more brilliant site than the last. Some of our favorites were Balanced Rock, a 3,600 ton rock perched upon an eroding pedestal, high in the sky, and Delicate Arch, a huge free-standing arch. We were really hoping to encounter some big horn sheep battling, or perhaps a mountain lion on prey attack, but no such luck. We did however witness an array of strangely dressed hikers as we climbed the 1.5 mile trail up to see Delicate Arch, Arch's most famous spectacle. Several people were simple running straight up the mountain practically naked and barefoot. There were cacti and sharp rocks everywhere, so we're not really sure how that worked out. Anyway, after we each sweat about a gallon, we made it to the top of the lookout and the sight was incredible. Along the way, there was a detour over to some rust-colored rocks covered in Ute petroglyphs. This was Stepanie's favorite part of the day. There were images of Ute hunters and their horses in pursuit of bighorn sheep. We both agree that our campsite at Dead Horse State Park was one of the nicest and most unique campsites we've ever stayed in; the Colorado River cut it's way through the canyon far below us in intricate series of twists and bends. Good thing neither of us sleep-walk, as the edge of the cliff was a few hundred feet behind our tent! Headed into town for a gander at the locals...