Postcards: Montana's greatest hits

Yesterday, I had lunch with Evel Knievel. That might be a confusing statement, so I'll clarify: I had a Wendy's Crispy Chicken sandwich.

Much as I had hoped for an Evel-related attraction to visit in Butte, it appears there are Evel Knievel Days (in July) and a museum...in Las Vegas. So I was out of luck. Unless I wanted to visit Evel's gravesite, located on the main drag in Butte.
And of course I did want that. So Dell and I picnicked in Mountain View Cemetery, which actually does have a lovely mountain vista behind it (and a Walmart directly across the street).
I am not a huge Evel fan, and I have never been into monster trucks or dirt bikes, but there is a certain something I respect about Evel's stunts. That is: he was able to look across some great expanse and to imagine himself landing safely on the other end. Because who would attempt a jump ending in 37 broken bones if all he thought about was the possibility of 37 broken bones?

And that is an attitude I'd like to have about any major, worthwhile risk I take in life. Not necessarily about a stunt jump - I've injured myself as an adult on Li'l Tykes play yard equipment before - but maybe about trying new things, or seeing new places.

So far, seeing new places has paid off. Missoula is awesome.

Road Trends: That playlist? Surely uJest. iRefuse!

You might wonder how we pass the time in the car all day. Sometimes we read funny and/or misspelled road signs out loud ('Crazy Woman Creek Road' in Wyoming? What a hoot!), but mostly we endlessly negotiate about the music play list.

As it turns out, if the intra-car musical summit were the United Nations, NPR would be Switzerland. Totally neutral, if soporific, territory.

Anyway! Dell is fond of Venn diagrams. I have put together the following helpful illustration of our musical tastes.

Cat Status: Cease the Insomniac Maniac Attack!

Generally I choose pet-friendly lodging options, partly because I am a good citizen, but mostly because Pablo has been known to yowl bloody murder at night and sometimes I can't be bothered to wear pants to bed. Therefore, in the event we get booted at 3 am for smuggling him into a hotel, it would be a major sartorial hassle.

Pablo has not been tolerating the hotels very well. A couple of nights ago, I threatened to: sell him to a shady ethnic restaurant; drop him off on the side of the highway in coyote country; and never buy him another mousie. Somehow none of these threats compelled him to quit yowling. This, despite the fact we were in a great Holiday Inn Express location!

However, I'm happy to report Pablo did something other than yowl last night. I'm hoping this turns into a Road Trend, if you know what I'm saying.

Postcards: Abe Lincoln's best Blue Steel pose (Mount Rushmore)

See the art

Be the art

They made a statue of us
And they put it on a mountaintop
Now the tourists come and stare at us
Blow bubbles with their gum
Take photographs, have fun
"Us"/Regina Spektor

Earlier today, we stopped at Mount Rushmore National Park.

This is, of course, the monolithic facescape dedicated to the memory of George Washington, Thomas Jefferson, Yosemite Sam*, and Abraham Lincoln. Pablo was not allowed in, which is to be expected, since we all know how Yosemite Sam felt about varmints.

This is totally worth seeing, though I wished for more informative plaques scattered around the place. I like to read every word on those things because it annoys Dell - particularly when I start to read portions of the text aloud and then say: 'Wait, I'll just start at the beginning. This is fascinating stuff.'

If I learned one thing today, it is that any art project that begins with: 1) Buy Dynamite is the best kind of art.

*CORRECTION: Whoops, this is actually Teddy Roosevelt - FDR's polio-free cousin

Gutzon Borglum, Mount Rushmore's sculptor. So remember: next time the Jeopardy category is 'Sculptor OR James Bond villain', this guy goes in the sculptor camp.

Postcards: The Hormel Spam Museum!

The Spam Museum (EZ-on, EZ-off: I-90)

Hormel's Spam Museum in Austin, MN, has no admission charge, which frees up some coin to buy Spam-related products as one exits the building through the gift shop. Unfortunately, only the gift store was open when Dell and I showed up this morning, but we took in the wares with much amusement. Furthermore, the very nice lady working the counter absorbed our [my] excitement about Spam collectibles with equanimity.

In my opinion, Spam represents the intersection of Midwestern lard-based culinary values and of pioneer pride in not wasting anything, such as pig lips, ears or tails (in modern times, this thriftiness is usually expressed thusly: 'You're not going to throw that away, are you? The fryolater's still hot!'). I mean, our Oregon-trail bound forefathers whittled the moldy bits off lumps of hardtack to poultice sores and then fed the rest to the kids without sores*. Germ theory? Pshaw.

I am pretty sure our forefathers would love Spam, as it is (relatively) delicious and calorie-rich. Think of the immense energy it would provide to yoke the oxen and to drive the conestoga wagon across the Black Hills of South Dakota! Gosh, can you imagine? Having spent the last, oh, eight hours absorbing the landscape, that sounds pretty bleak. A Spamburger might just make everything all right.

*I'm pretty full of it right here

Spamwear

Spambear

Road trends: boats!

As part of planning to tell my reader(s) Way Too Much about our days on the road, I'll be sharing some of the trends we encounter in traveling.

First trend: Applebee's has wi-fi. And so, here I am at an Applebee's posting on this blog. Thanks, Applebee's, and to the indisputably technologically-minded person who manages the Onalaska, WI location! My beer is a badger brew, no joke.

Anyway! Second trend: outsourcing your locomotion. Why drive all the way there (Wisconsin) when you can drive to a boat, park your car on a boat, and then meet new people or sleep while motoring across Lake Michigan from Muskegon to Milwaukee? Well, you just wouldn't. Especially since there is a snack bar in the main cabin selling cinnamon buns the size of a toddler's head.

Here I come, Cheeseheads.

Mini Cat Status: Altered (Ha! Specifically, he was sedated for the boat ride. Trippin')

Cat Status: Round

Cat beds should come in all kinds of shapes, which is a mediocre idea for an invention someone else is welcome to steal. Why must cats always be round? Pablo is obviously bored with this shape; he is yawning! Let me know when there is a star-shaped bed, a lightning bolt, or maybe an ankh.

Clearly, it is high time to hit the road.

Postcards: Goodbye Boston, Hello Seattle

Driving away from Boston felt disorienting. After I hit the turnpike, I thought, 'I bet Fenway's back there somewhere! G'bye, Fenway!'. Even then, I was not quite sure of my exact position in Boston. Anyone who has ever been a passenger in my car knows that approximation and forbearance will get me everywhere.

But then, it's not the city that I'll miss. It'll be my coworkers, my friends, my writers' group, and all 31 neighborhood flavors, like the guy wearing the top hat and riding his stereophonic discobike down the street at 11pm. Or the next-door neighbor who admired my hyper-fussy Michigander snow shoveling technique in February.

Yesterday, I ran across some old pictures I took at the World's End reservation in Hingham, MA. It's a nice place and a good hike. I've included the view from my favorite stop on the hike. Someday, I'll come back.

Cat Status: Paranoid

He had thought it could never follow him from Boston. But last night, The Laser Toy - its irresistible red dot mocking him - returned to taunt him in earnest. Pablo has dedicated his life to saving the world from this insidious force. At every chance, he attempts to catch and destroy the threat The Laser Toy poses to mankind. Pablo is committed to uncovering the conspiracy of The Laser Toy and will continue to pursue this dastardly foe in the Emerald City, should his nemesis wiggle its way across the carpet and make Pong-like maneuvers on the wall.

Cat Status: Clandestine

Pablo was successfully smuggled through Upstate New York to arrive in Michigan. In the days following, he has been subjected to a VC Andrews-like banishment on the second floor, so as to keep him separate from the resident feline(s). Updates to follow.