Day 3: Boogie wonderland

We're here. The cross-country trek, or at least the first half of it, is over. Will I have the energy to blog the return trip in late August? Hard to say, but this has been a pretty fun way of capturing some memories.

Today we awoke in Council Bluffs, packed up and headed out for some brunch. Naturally, my Midwestern instincts kicked in and brought us to the nearest Perkins, where we feasted on omelets, pancakes, french toast, fresh fruit and so-so coffee. Needing a stronger caffeine kick for the final leg of our relay, we began a search for a coffee shop.

Well, here in the heartland, or at least in Iowa, you won't find a Starbucks on every street corner like you might in a major metropolitan area. In fact, Fiona related the hard lesson she'd learned as we cruised along the highway near the river: "They've got all these casinos here but no Starbucks?"

Eventually I spotted a sign for Western Iowa Community College, and we quickly did the math: college students = need for caffeine. We still didn't find a Starbucks, but we did come across a quaint mom-and-pop-and-dog joint called the Coffee Stop that had everything we wanted: coffee and wi-fi. Plus Nora got to play with the dog while Fiona and I checked e-mail, so everybody won.

Later on the road, Nora notified me that a pit stop for bathroom-related reasons was relatively urgent, so we pulled off at the next exit in search of a gas station. Five minutes later, as we were nearing the lavatorial oasis, came the Backseat Exchange of the Day:

Nora: "Dad, I really have to go. I'm dancing back here!"
Dad: "I know, I know. We're almost there."
Nora: "Well, can I at least have some music to go with my dancing?"

Stifling my laughter, I turned off the audiobook I was enjoying and cranked up a CD for my dancing daughter.

North of Des Moines, Fiona surveyed the landscape and let loose a contented sigh. "I know we're not in Minnesota yet, but this just looks like home to me."

Amen, sister. And here we are.

Day 2: A logical progression

Sorry today's update is late -- the hotel in Council Bluffs last night had a crappy wifi setup -- pay $6.95 for 24 hours of access and the web site granting said access didn't work. So here we are.

Also, I misplaced the cord that connects the camera to the computer, so I can't upload today's photos. Some pretty good shots of Nora in there -- she put on an Austin Powers-type show with a series of wacky facial expressions on camera. Not funny faces, mind you -- these were complex, well-planned visages on her part.

We covered the second half of Colorado (Vail to the border) and all of Nebraska today, hitting Council Bluffs at 11 p.m. local time. I have to say, Colorado is a big state. Once you get past Denver you think you're through with it, and then you're driving for about another week. Everything east of Denver should just be named Coloraska, because it's virtually indistinguishable from the Great Plains. I can only imagine what the first Anglo settlers in the region must have thought once they saw the Rockies for the first time. "They told me the earth wasn't flat but I was starting to doubt it until now."

That stretch of the drive did produce the Day 2 Backseat Exchange of the Day:

Fiona: "Ugh, what stinks? It smells like poop!"
Dad: "Well, we are in farm country now ..."
Nora: "I tooted."
Dad: "... or there's that."

We got more than our share of foul farmland odors on the drive through Nebraska, but I'm not complaining -- it's just good to be back in the Midwest.

Also, I saw quite possibly the stupidest sign ever on the side of the road in eastern Colorado: "Gov. Ritter Welcomes You to TAXORADO"

This is an epic FAIL for a couple of reasons. One, it was in eastern Colorado, but faced an eastbound road, meaning everybody who could read it was actually leaving Colorado, not being "welcomed" into it. Turn your sign around, genius.

And two, you can't just throw "TAX" into any word and make the pun work. "Taxachusetts" works because "tax" and "mass" sort of rhyme, and of course Massachusetts has a long tradition of liberal politics, which naturally means "big tax bill" in the minds of most conservatives, whether it's true or not.

I'm not up to speed on the tax policies of the Colorado governor or how much impact he's had on the bottom line of Joe Colorado, but after living in the West for the last four years, I've got a pretty good idea of who the sign guy is: He calls himself a Libertarian, wants the damn gummint to get out of his life and let him keep everything that's his, but is the first guy to bitch when any government service doesn't work efficiently enough to suit his needs -- i.e., there's a pothole in front of his house so the DOT is corrupt, his kid's school didn't fare well in national testing so they're incompetent, not underfunded, etc.

I know our country has a rich history of tax protest, but if you bother to read your U.S. history, the colonists were protesting taxation without representation. These newfangled "tea parties" are filled with right-wing miscreants who have plenty of say in how their tax money is spent, via their elected officials. But go ahead and think you're a 21st Century Paul Revere when you call into Rush's show and call the President a monkey.

Wow, not sure how we got from here to there, but I promise to lighten things up the rest of the trip. Day 3 takes us through Iowa and into God's Country, so a trio of happy campers will report back tomorrow!

Day 1: A sight for sore butts

Well, Day 1 of our journey back to Minnesota is in the books, but before I lay me down to sleep here in Avon, Colo., let's quickly review our big day.

We got off to a rousing start when I had to lock up my brakes no more than 10 minutes into the trip as some guy in front of me decided to nearly stop in the left lane of I-15 near the Strip. At least I know the brakes work fine.

We actually made it three blocks from home before Nora fired up the DVD player. She is a big fan of the Johnny Depp/Willie Wonka remake, so on Monday I picked up a copy of the original version for her, and she couldn't wait to watch it. She spent two hours calling out differences between the two movies ("This Violet Beauregard isn't as big as the other one!" -- which led to a discussion of CGI vs. old-fashioned special effects), and she enjoyed it so much that when she got the DVD player back two hours later, she watched Gene Wilder and the orange-faced Oompa-Loompas again.

Fiona watched a Harry Potter movie during her turn with the DVD player and mostly read or texted with one of her friends the rest of the way. She was also such a big help, volunteering to take Nora to the restroom at lunch and patiently helping her get set up with coloring or adjusting the blanket just so in the back seat. I was very proud of her positive, can-do attitude.

The highlight of the trip was this backseat exchange, about four hours into our drive.

Fiona: "Ugh, my butt hurts!"
Nora: "Everybody's butt hurts. Lift your butt up!"

I also enjoyed paying $2.84 a gallon at the Sinclair station in Salina, Utah. That's 20 cents more than I paid in Vegas before we left, mostly due to the fact that Salina is literally the last place you can buy gas for the next 111 miles. Luckily I drove the extra 300 feet to the Sinclair, rather than paying an extra nickel per gallon at the Shell station, which is literally the first thing you see after you get off the freeway exit. You won't catch me complaining too much though -- last year on the same trip we paid $4.59 a gallon at the same station. (Yes, I'm one of those nerds who jots down that kind of thing in a notebook that I keep in the glove box. So sue me.)

As evening fell, the full moon was our constant companion in the southern sky, and the temperature dipped a bit, too. When we left Vegas, the car's thermometer read 100. When we parked for the night here in Avon, it was 55. Crazy, but blissful as well.


See you tomorrow with more Tales of the Road from lovely Council Bluffs!

Ah, the Grand Canyon!

What a ... grand ... ... canyon ...

I've always loved these WPA-era signs. They remind me that there once was a time in this country when people cared about something bigger than their own self-interest. How quaint.

Nice view from the South Rim.


Afternoon shadows.


Mesas and plateaus as far as the eye can see -- a geography teacher's dream.


The happy family pauses for their moment in the sun.


Kris and her parents.


Mom and Nora, hand-in-hand.


Dinner in Williams at a cool, Route 66-themed brewpub.


The day ended with ice cream, as usual.

Lawd, I was born a ...

... what was it the brothers Allman sang? Oh yeah, a Travelin' Man. Aspen you know about. Tucson you do not. Atlanta either.

I got a chance to land some key interviews on Tuesday for an upcoming story on the Colorado Rockies, so I high-tailed it to Tucson on Monday night. It ended up being much cheaper to drive than fly so I put 800 miles on the ride (just a week after putting 1300 miles on it from the Aspen round trip), spent about 7.5 hours in a hotel room in Tempe and another 5 hours at the ballpark before returning home 28 hours after I'd left. But I got the interviews, so there.

On Friday I fly out to Atlanta to meet Mrs. Gopher, who is running in the local half-marathon, her second such feat of epic physical prowess. Needless to say, I'm very proud of her. I also get to visit old friend Corey and meet his new gal, and we're going to take in the Braves-Pirates game on Monday, the 2008 home opener at Turner Field. Wow, baseball is upon us already. You know what that means -- daily Twins posts! Or something like that.

Carry on.

Aspen, part V -- let it snow!

I don't think I can emphasize enough how much snow they've got here! This is late March, which is supposed to be "mud season" as the snow melts and the ground turns to mush. Instead, they're talking about extending the skiing season by another couple of weeks -- until late April -- and the locals are actually sick of looking skyward and seeing another dumping of "white gold" on the way.

Today was play day for the family. Fiona and I took a snowshoe tour of the back side of Mt. Ajax (that's her with our tour guide, Lindsey), bathed in brilliant sunshine -- and my face has a pinkish hue to prove it.

Toward the end of our trek, the skies turned dark, and Lindsey pointed toward the horizon and said, "In 20 minutes, you won't be able to see the tops of those mountains." And sure enough, dark clouds heavy with snow soon obscured our view of those majestic peaks.

After lunch, we took the kids sledding (which was a gas -- like riding a bicycle, you never forget, no matter how long you've lived in the desert), and it was still sunny. But by mid-afternoon, a heavy snowfall blanketed the valley (if you can call 7900 feet a valley). Massive flakes the size of quarters floated down upon us, and the girls decided it was time to sneak in one last dip in the hot tub.

It's been a great week, and the 10-hour return trip to Southern Nevada begins in a scant few hours, so I'll sign off for now. But Aspen has won me over. Any time the local publisher needs some face time with the VP of Circulation from her parent company, I'm riding shotgun.v

Aspen, part IV -- climbing that mountain

It's been an interesting and enlightening visit to Aspen (as well as entertaining and relaxing, of course). Aside from all the fun side trips and good meals and pool time, I've had the chance to engage in some geological and economic reflection. To wit:

We've heard numerous times that this is the snowiest winter anybody here can remember. As of two weeks ago, all the streets in town were one-way because the snowbanks were encroaching on the lanes. (At left, you'll see workers shoveling snow off the roof of the restaurant atop Mount Ajax.) There's serious concern about flooding this spring. But we Nevadans are hoping that all this snow will trickle down to us via the Colorado River. Anybody who's been to Lake Mead in the past couple of years knows how low the water level has dipped -- some have speculated that the lake itself will be dry by 2021, and the underwater ghost town of St. Thomas, which was flooded when the dam was built, has recently reemerged from its watery grave. So bring it on!

This week has also provided a stark lesson on the relative weakness of the American dollar. Everywhere we turn, we're face-to-face with foreign tourists who are taking advantage of the strength of their native currency to enjoy Aspen on the cheap (relatively speaking). Germans, French, Italians, Spaniards, Brits -- they're everywhere. On the bright side, it's nice to see that the world's supposed anti-American sentiment isn't preventing our allies from spending their money here -- or at least the skiing portion of that population.

Then again, I can't see why anybody would turn down a chance to come here. I don't even ski (haven't been on skis since a rather embarrassing and frustrating trip to Mount Kato in about 1984), but there's still plenty to do. The whole family took the gondola to the top of Mt. Ajax on Wednesday for a little lunch and some hiking around. And the views from 11,000 feet are spectacular. Fiona and I returned on Thursday for a snowshoe tour of the back side of the mountain, and despite the thin air we huffed and puffed our way through a great 90-minute hike.

Aspen, part III -- snow swimming

The condo where we're staying has an outdoor swimming pool. I'm sure it comes in handy when the temps rise in the summer, but I couldn't imagine using it in the winter. Then I found out that they heat it to 103 degrees, so it's like a giant hot tub.

The girls and I have enjoyed a long soak each of the past two afternoons, and we plan on hitting it again today. We're about to head up to the top of the mountain (via gondola -- we're not that ambitious!) for lunch with Mrs. Gopher, and rumor has it there will be opportunities to strap on the snowshoes and go for a hike. If so, we'll need another long soak in the giant hot tub.

Aspen, part II -- the snowman

Grandpa Tom requested a snowman. The girls couldn't let him down.

Aspen, part I -- getting here

The four of us rolled into Aspen late Sunday night. Mrs. Gopher has some business meetings here this week, and the little Gophers are on Spring Break, so we decided to make a family vacation out of it.

We arrived to a few inches of fresh snow, enough to make driving treacherous for our poor Highlander, which had never seen the white stuff. Let's just say that tires made to withstand 115-degree summers don't perform as well in wintry conditions.

St. Paddy's Day was pretty tame, given the holiday's unfortunate coincidence with Holy Week. Aspen's big celebration was held last week, so we settled for decent take-out barbecue and made our Guinness stew (no soda bread) on Tuesday.

The girls and I frolicked in the snow at a local park yesterday. Photographic evidence that these Minnesota ex-pats are still conversant with the frozen medium is provided below.

The totals on the board are correct

Here's the final tally for my recently completed road trip throughout 20 percent of this great country.

Days on the road: 26
Beds slept in: 10
States visited: 10
Cups of truck stop coffee consumed: Infinity
Miles driven: 5,162
Gallons of gas consumed: 213.6
Average mpg: 24.2
Money spent on gas: $625.93
Average price/gallon: $2.93
Best mileage/tank: 26.6 mpg (Minneapolis to Park Rapids, MN)
Worst mileage/tank: 21.6 mpg (Mitchell, SD to Blackhawk, SD)

The fuel efficiency numbers are somewhat surprising. I was told the hybrid engine wouldn't get great mileage on the freeway because the gas engine kicks in when you're driving above 30 mph, but I got pretty much the same mileage on this trip that I do when I'm tooling around Henderson. I'd credit that to cruise control regulating my speed and limiting the constant acceleration you see during most highway miles, but the worst mileage came on I-90 when I had the cruise locked in at 80 mph pretty much the whole way.

Regardless, I'm happy to be back, and even happier to have spent so much quality time with family, friends, and my iPod (in that order).

God. What a practical joker.

So, we'd made it seven hours into Wyoming yesterday with no blatant reminders of the state's favorite son. Sure, we passed four 100-car coal trains (all the better to choke your environment with, my dear!), but no signs pointing to the boyhood home of He Whose Name Shall Not Be Mentioned, no trail of octogenarian bank executives with cranial gunshot wounds ... nothing. Just rolling hills, fruited plains, buffalo roaming -- lovely.

Then, as we were checking into our deluxe accommodations at the Rock Springs La Quinta (Spanish for "mediocre continental breakfast"), a fella who'd pulled in just behind us approached the desk and asked the clerk, "Y'all got any rooms available tonight?" When we went back outside, I checked the name painted on the door of his pickup truck:

"Halliburton. Houston, Texas."

I fully expect to trip over a pile of Vietnam War deferments on our way out of town today.

Signs o' the times

Number of Wall Drug signs along I-90 between Worthington, Minn., and Wall, S.D.: 84

Granted, the last 25 or so were withing 15 miles of Wall, but still, that's saturation marketing at its finest.

Heading home

The trek west has begun. After a fantastic visit with both sets of parents/in-laws, a very fun class reunion and a hilarious and (hopefully) profitable fantasy football draft, it's time to get back to Nevada. Fiona and I leave this morning for Mt. Rushmore, will reach western Wyoming by Thursday night, and will arrive home Friday evening.

I'll total up the gas and mileage numbers when we get there, just in case you're wondering how much damage we did to our vehicle, the environment and our bank account along the way.v

Halfway home and we'll be there by mornin'

Actually, we're more like two-thirds of the way home, and we'll be there by evenin', like Wednesday evening. For those who don't know, I'm driving with Fiona and Nora back to Minnesota for a little beat-the-heat and see-the-grandparents vacation. Kris is in Denmark visiting her best friend, Randi, and will join us in Minnesota next week.

Right now, I'm enjoying the free wi-fi at the Comfort Inn in Lexington, Neb. We left Henderson on Monday at 2:30 p.m. and made it as far as Eagle, Colo., over the next 11 hours. We'd hoped to stay in Grand Junction, but every hotel between there and Eagle was booked, so three weary travelers happly took refuge at an AmericInn, despite the branch's corny corporate name.

The kids have been great, and the Highlander has been getting awesome mileage -- anywhere from 23 to 26 mpg, which you can't beat with a stick for an SUV. We'll arrive at my parents' house in New Ulm on Wednesday night, and will visit Park Rapids and the Twin Cities before it's all said and done in mid-August. Hope to see some of you along the way!

(By the way, can anybody name the song from which the title of this post was derived?)