Snapshots of our recent trip to San Francisco, CA via I-5. I’m yet to drive the 101 from coast-to-coast (which is on my short list of things to do in the next couple of years), but the view from I-5 is still quite spectacular.

Previously, we had driven from San Francisco to San Diego and from Portland to Seattle, so this connecting trip helped put the last of the puzzle into place. Next stop, Vancouver BC!

Just over the OR boarder

Mt. Shasta

California Flora

The Sutro Baths

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It’s taken far too long to get the last of these images online, but here we go. In July Brandon and I moved from Chicago, IL to Portland, OR. We spent five days crossing the country, making some detours and visits along the way.

In driving across this land, some 2,304 miles, I finally gained a tactile sense of just how large our nation is. We are an enormous land and a broad and diverse people.

This section of the trip takes us from the steep mountains of western Montana, to the quick descent of the Idaho panhandle, into the flat desertic plains of Washington State, into the high desert of the Columbia River Valley in Eastern Oregon, and finally into the lush evergreen valley of Willamette Valley, where we are making our new home.

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My favorite stop in our cross country adventure was certainly Butte, MT. The city has a historic, rustic, and outlaw feel. Evil Kneivel hails from Butte, and the city is a progressive enclave in the middle of conservative Montana—signs for Hilary and Obama were plentiful but I didn’t see one for McCain. Sadly, one of the nation’s largest EPA Superfund sites is located on the outskirts of Butte, and the copper mining in the region has made much of the outlying area a toxic wasteland. Still, Butte has an old west charm that seems unmatched.

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…Sitting, right now, at the M&M Diner in Butte, Montana the place Jack Kerouac once said “ended his quest for the perfect bar.” More than 50 years later, the M&M still exudes an authentic, rustic charm that is hard to dispute.

Butte is a gorgeous, preserved, well-loved mountain town at the western foot of the Rockies. Copper mines dot the hillsides and Butte scales one of the steeper hills.

Rising up the incline of the main streets of the town my mind, freed of all distractions from driving in through the Rockies, slowly captures each of the simple marvels of this town. Three and four story buildings in red brick, an occasional anomaly , such as a pink and lime green building, this is a town of presence and charm.

Now, sipping my black coffee in this bar as the bacon for my BLT fries on the grill behind me, I find myself unexpectedly thinking “I could live here.”

Life here seems calm, relaxed, and revelatory with the majestic Rockies as a constant backdrop.

I’m going to stop writing now, settle in with my coffee and BLT and see if maybe I can spot the ghost of Kerouac here with the Obama and Clinton tshirts, video poker machines, old mountain couple hugging and crying in the back.

This is a splendid piece of Americana, so I’m going to shut up now and just enjoy it.

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Note: And now, my favorite part of the drive Cross-Country, Eastern Wyoming and Southeaster Montana at nightfall. These pictures can barely begin to capture the majesty of this land.

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Montana is a dream—50 miles with no sign of civilization except the road we travel on and an occasional power line far off on the distant horizon.

I have never seen mountains like this, never stood on ground as hallowed as this. We drive by the valley of Custard’s last stand. There’s a museum that is empty tonight, and that feels right to me.

Driving north on I-90, there are no billboards, no strip malls, no worthless excess of our modern lives.

My mind is emptied here, free to drift in whichever direction it will. Free from the tyranny of thought. Night blinded. Driving. Meet me in Montana. I’ll show you sky large enough to see the night and twilight at once.

More photos here:

Cross Country 08, Part Four: Wall, SO to Billings, MO

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Driving across South Dakota it is easy to understand the mythology and lure of the American West. So much land, immense and flat…

The Badlands—Desert cliffs—no sound when you hike out of the range of tourists and their cameras. Wind, no other sound, occasional birds. A world where you can see for miles, farther than I’ve ever seen at once from the ground. Land, perfect in the absence of strip malls, Best Buys, McDonald’s, Jiffy-Lubes, Culvers….

Just land, perfect and immense.

The Badlands are freakish in their out-of-placeness. This land is flat fields for as far as the eye can see, then, all at once, the Badlands are cut into the landscape and they stretch for miles…barren and intense…

More photos available by clicking the box below:

Cross Country 08, Part 3: Mitchell, SD to The Badlands, SD

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Travel notes:

I have no future
I have no past
Home is beyond the farthest point on the horizon
It is a journey
I leave myself behind me and
pull my body into a future

I am not who I have been

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6/29/08
11:31 CST

Just arrived in Mitchell, SD and now Brandon is trying to book us a room for the night at the Hampton Inn. We are 800 miles exactly into this journey, with approximately 1600 miles to go over the next 2 1/2 days.

Today was an exhausting drive. We left Rice Lake, WI after a fantastic breakfast at a Laundry Mat/Diner with the best sausage gravy this side of the Mason-Dixon.

We had a 3 hour detour in Minneapolis to see one of Brandon’s cousins. Minneapolis, upon first impression, strikes me as a clean, well designed city. I was impressed by the red brick buildings with ivy vines all along Clinton Street—gorgeous.

Minnesota in the summer, driving I-90 to I-94 and then west is vast and green—enormous wind turbines speckling the distance.

We watched the sun set over western Minnesota—stunning. Brilliant orange, and clouds washed in dark lavender.

Sunsets here seem to linger. The light holding on beyond the horizon, warming the sky, bringing a levity to night in this strange place. The sunset lingers until we cross into South Dakota—Sioux Falls shimmering in the distance like a respectable small city.

We push through an approaching delirium, destined to reach Mitchell, SD.

The crossing from Minnesota to South Dakota seems to mark a transition in my head. Though others may draw this line at a different place, I feel that we have distinctly left behind the Midwest and we are now traveling through the mythic American West.

See more pictures from the road by clicking on the image below::

Cross Country 08: Rice Lake, WI to Mitchell, SD

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As most of you who read this site already know, the husband and just moved from Chicago, IL to a new life in Portland, OR.

So far I haven’t given a true account of the journey cross country, an experience that has forever reshaped my notions of America and led me to realize how little I knew about this great land.

This nation is enormous, beautiful, and vulgar.

Over the next few days I am going to post photos from our trip cross country, most of which were taken from a speeding car, as well as a few notes about our journey.

Our first day of driving took us from Chicago to Stoughton, WI where Brandon’s family lives. After a very nice visit with the family we drove another four hours north to visit my dear friend Molly in her new home in Rice Lake, WI.

Having only driven through the southern end of Wisconsin before this trip, I will truthfully admit that I have been deeply skeptical about reports of how beautiful Wisconsin really is. The southern route is mostly flat, with far too many billboards and strip malls for my taste.

North of Madison, however, the state flourishes with rich forests and big blue skies. The Wisconsin that I saw on this trip was a beauty to behold, and I am certainly glad to have made this trip.

Our first night we stayed with Molly in Rice Lake and enjoyed a most fantastic night. As always, Molly and I talked for hours—having the conversations that only she and I can have. She fed us dinner, a first, and all of the food was fantastic.

The next morning we drove to a small diner/laundrymat and did a load of clothes while enjoying the best souther breakfast that I’ve had north of the Mason-Dixon. By noon on Sunday we said our goodbyes and set out on the rest of our journey.

Realizing that this night was one of the last midwest evenings I would have with Molly for quite some time was difficult, but the quality of our friendship will never diminish or fade. All in all, this was the perfect first day of driving.

Click below to see all of the photographs:

Cross Country 08: Part 1—Chicago, IL to Rice Lake, WI

Journal Entry:
Driving west now, past the WI Dells, the trees are wild green and we’re driving just in front of a storm front. The cats have finally stopped meowing and the husband and I have taken a break from talking to listen to the radio as I write. We are 195 miles into this trip. We are light, unmoored, eager to be on the road and driving. Saying goodbye to our friends was difficult, but we have no regrets about leaving Chicago. Already we know how necessary this move is. Two men, two cats, and our plant Bozeman (later renamed Butte)—a family on our first trip cross-country.

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Friday, everything we own will be loaded into cubes which will be set off on their way to Portland, OR. We’ll have a final dinner with our dear friend ESR, then wake early and grumpy, grab breakfast and coffee for the road, and leave Chicago for the last time as citizens of this place.

These past six years have been full of change, subtle revelation, shifts in perception and awareness, heartbreak and great love. I have lived in this gridded city for six years, and in that time I have had many distinct lives. I was an art school slacker. I was a boystown club kid. I was the only white guy at a hispanic nonprofit. I was in the theatre world. I was in the publishing world. I had the worst breakup of my life. I have found the greatest love of my life. I have been single and now married. I have been a writer and a dj, a sex editor and a college teacher. I have lived so many lives in this city, that saying goodbye to them all is as complicated as it is freeing.

I moved to Chicago on August 1, 2002. I leave now on June 28, 2008. It seems like such a short time when written down, but how long and wonderful these years have seemed. And how trapped and hopeless I have been in the city. City of broad shoulders; city of constant contradiction.

On the morning of June 28, 2008 we will drive north to Madison, WI for a quick visit to the husband’s family. Then, we’ll keep driving north to Rice Lake, WI for a final midwest evening with my dear friend Molly. Margaritas, discussions of Blanchot, and many long hours by a campfire will pass and then we’ll sleep and wake; drive to Minneapolis for dinner with another friend, and after that my expectations vanish.

We will drive through Minnesota, South Dakota, Wyoming, Montana, Idaho, Washington, and finally Oregon. Once we arrive I set out on a month of reconstruction with the following goals: stop smoking; run every day; eat healthier, get smarter about money; secure a career I can live with; and finally write every single day for thirty days. These are grand undertakings, but the way I see it there’s no better way to tackle every roadblock in my way than to do it all at once and with complete dedication and focus.

So, I will try to update this blog from the road—giving my impressions of an immense country that I have only flown over until now. I am nearly thirty, and in many ways it seems I am only just beginning.

Friends and readers, be well. For those Kentuckians and Chicagoans reading this blog, I will miss you all terribly but the distance will not severe the love I feel for all of you. For now, this is JHW signing off for the last time as a Chicagoan on this beautiful summer afternoon in the city.

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If you think too much about your life in heaven, then it’s clear you’re doing something wrong with your life on Earth.

The longer I hang around Fundamentalists (such as my parents), the more I realize that you can not reason with these people about politics, sexuality, culture, or any of the polarizing topics that divide us. The responses are too immediate, too unseasoned. When asked about Barack Obama’s presidential prospects, my father responds “Is he going to be sworn in on a Bible?” (an oblique reference to the Obama=Muslim story that’s been thoroughly debunked yet still seems to find life on the internet).

To hold the sorts of contradictions in your head that these people hold on a daily basis (being gay is a sin but eating shellfish is not? They’re both in Leviticus) requires a serious failure of education, so how do you speak to these minds? How do you convince them that the world may not be exactly as they see it from their little town in the hills? How do you convince them to step outside the metaphorical box, when they haven’t done so for the first 50 years of their life?

Listening to my niece and nephew performing cheers for Jesus, I wonder how long will it take to break the cycle—and when will we, as a nation, make a real commitment to education? Imperical thinking. Scientific method. True multiculturalism.

Do any of us stand a chance before this commitment is made?

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