The Scene of the Crime

This lovely spot is along US 289 at the north end of the Grand Tetons National Park, just a bit south of the entrance to Yellowstone. This was my second occasion to spend some time along this roadside, the first being back in August of 1999. However, the story actually begins in February of that year, a couple of thousand miles away in the little town of Tuxedo, New York, just upstate from the City.
It was in the quaint little speedtrap of Tuxedo that I received a speeding ticket. The speed limit went from 55 to like, 18, instantly, and the cop was just beyond the sign. He was a jerk, and I was annoyed. I was also pretty broke at the time, not having budgeted any money for unwarranted traffic tickets, so I just didn't pay it. Looking back, not so smart.
I had just recently moved from Tennessee to the City, so a couple of months later I finally got around to switching my license over to New York State. I was fairly certain that my unpaid indiscretion would come up in the system, but nothing was said by the exceedingly pleasant NYC DMV officer. I assumed that the ticket was lost in the system, and having changed my license to a different state, I was home free. Again, not so smart.
Come August, I took a few weeks off to make a cross-country roadtrip to visit my friend Jason in Portland, Oregon. I did not at all have the financial resources to make such a trip. I did, however, have Mr. Visa, who was getting to be my best friend at the time. My car at the time was a little blue Toyota Tercel with about a billion miles on it. Though it would unknowingly die a violent death six months later it was still a great car, but unable to get cross-country. By doing some research, however, I discovered that it was insanely cheaper (by about $200) to rent a car in Columbus, Ohio, than in NYC.
So early one morning I headed west in my little blue Tercel, drove about 8 hours to Columbus to get my rental car, stopped off in Louisville to have dinner with a friend, and was home to my parents house in Missouri by midnight. I drove really fast. Once a cop pulled out and I was sure I was caught, but he pulled over the car behind me.
It was, in the beginning, a wonderful trip. Before then, I had never been west of Colorado. I hit Utah, Tahoe, San Francisco, and drove up the coast through the redwoods to Portland. I had a terrific time hanging out with my friends there. We went to the beach. We went to the mountains. We saw Lucinda Williams perform in a small club. Great times. I next detoured up through Seattle, crossed the border to Vancouver, then headed east. Cutting southeast through Montana, I spent the day in Yellowstone, and was heading to Jackson, Wyoming to spend the night when I got right about to the spot where I took that picture.
Turns out I was speeding. A park ranger pulled me over. I was a little annoyed, more hungry than anything because it was close to dinner. He went back to his car and did his thing, then came back up to me and said something like, "Did you know your license got revoked about two months ago?"
No. No I did not. I (not so smart) had actually forgotten about the unpaid ticket until he told me the reason why I had driven 5000 miles without a license.
The good news was, he didn't arrest me, which he could have. Actually, he was pretty nice. The rest of the news was all bad. Driving without a license, now a federal offense since it was on national park land: $400. I was in the middle of the wilderness, about 40 miles from Jackson, unable to drive my car, which was going to be impounded. A tow truck out from Jackson and back for the car, plus a cab for me (why I couldn't ride in the truck was never satisfactorily explained), not cheap at all. On the plus side, the cabbie tried desperately to talk the tow truck driver into letting me have my car, wherein I would make my escape as some sort of fugitive. Looking back, it was probably a good thing he didn't go for it.
So the cabbie dropped me off at the Super 8. I didn't have any money. There was no way to get the car out of impound, and I was alone, 2300 miles from home. Paying the ticket (with money I didn't have) and processing it through the system would have taken days. I had to make the phone call.
I've called my dad for assistance many times, but for some reason I thought this might be different. I thought I was going to be happy that we were separated by several states, but he was very calm when I explained the situation. Our conversation, as I remember it, was fairly short, and ended along the lines of him saying: "I'll see what I can do."
The next morning I discovered there was a rental car outlet in Jackson where I could drop off my car, and even better, they did not charge me the full drop charge. Dad bought me a plane ticket out of Salt Lake City. A shuttle operated between Jackson and the airport and would leave about six the next morning.
I was still broke. The unexpected expenses of the past 24 hours had maxed out Mr. Visa. He was no longer my friend. Fortunately, Jackson had a youth hostel so I had a cheap bed for my last night in Wyoming. I got up early, early the next morning and walked about a mile to the shuttle pickup for the five hour trip to Salt Lake. My flight didn't leave for another day, so I had a lovely 24 hour stay in the SLC airport. If I remember right I budgeted enough money for one meal for that 24 hours, at the Burger King. I couldn't afford anything on the extra value menu. I think I ate some fries.
The next day, however, I was back home. I was so broke that I couldn't afford a whole cab ride to my apartment from LaGuardia, instead instructing the driver to stop when the money ran out. I then walked a few blocks, used a Metrocard, and took the subway the rest of the way home.

So I guess you're wondering if I learned any lessons. A few. Since then, Mr. Visa is no longer a friend. Once paying him off I've been more or less credit card free ever since. Another lesson: Always pay your traffic tickets. The law always wins. Seems obvious enough. And a big thanks to dad, who did what fathers do, love their sons and help them even when they are breathtakingly stupid.
And, finally, if you were astute you realized that while I flew back to New York, my little blue Tercel was still in long term parking in Columbus. And there it stayed, for several weeks, until I was able to afford a one-way ticket to bring it home. Other than a flat tire that had to be changed, it was just as I left it. It started beautifully, and made the trip back to the City without any problems. That was a great car.

The Great Western Roadtrip, Part 1

Whenever I go visit a friend in some far off land, I like to rent a car before or after that visit and go out and explore the country. When I go visit New York friends, I'll spend a day or two up in New England, or when I visit Oregon friend, I'll explore the great Northwest. A few weeks ago, when I met Brant in Las Vegas, I had a week's vacation, so I did a somewhat extreme version of this. 2600 miles, 7 states, 5 national parks. I started in Las Vegas, and worked north by northeast across southern Utah to Telluride, Colorado. From there it was a straight shot north into Wyoming to the Tetons and Yellowstone, before circling back to Mormon country and flying out of Salt Lake. I absolutely love the west. I'm sure a part of me will always regret never living out there. My requirements for such trips are a couple of books (The DaVinci Code and A Brief History of the Dead, the latter being much better than the former), my iPod (which briefly died 15 miles out of Las Vegas, causing much, thankfully short-lived, rage), my camera, and a lot of film. Anyway, what follows are some pictures, in sort-of-chronological order, from my time out west.

This is what's supposed to be the world's tallest chocolate fountain, in a confectionary in the Bellagio Casino. There are three little rivers of chocolate: Dark, milk, and white. Unfortunately, the whole deal is behind glass so you can't stick your face in it. The chocolate must remain untouched by human hands.

The Spring Mountains National Recreation Area, home to Mt. Charleston, at 11,900 feet the tallest peak in southern Nevada. Incredibly, this is only about 40 miles or so from the Las Vegas Strip. We went hiking out here, up to a waterfall at about 9000 feet in elevation. The waterfalls are in the picture below. That would be Brant in the lower left hand corner.

Capitol Reef National Park in southern Utah. Southern Utah had some of the most amazing and remote landscapes I had ever seen. The picture below is the overlook towards Escalante Canyon. This overlook, according to a nearby sign, is one of the best places in the country for stargazing, since the nearest manmade light is almost 40 miles away. Conveniently, I was there in midmorning.

Glen Canyon and the Colorado River, still in southern Utah. I think that this is also supposed to be the high end of Lake Powell, but the drought put a stop to it. Finally, since its late and I'm tired, we'll end with a couple of pictures of Bryce Canyon, probably my favorite of the Utah National Parks. The geology of the rock formations there was beautiful.

So that ends the picture show for today. Fortunately (or unfortunately, depending on your perspective) there is still Colorado, the Grand Tetons (my personal favorite), and Yellowstone to go, but those pictures will wait for another time.

The 20 Minute Guarantee

So I recently returned from a trip out west that included a weekend in Las Vegas. This has been a yearly tradition for Brant and I. Brant is a good friend who lives in Houston. Our first trip was a stress relief weekend during graduate school, and we've tried to make the trip once a year since.
In comparison to many who travel to Vegas, our experiences are very, very tame. I can enjoy Vegas for about 48 hours at the most. After that the griminess that lies just beneath all the neon and glitz starts to get to me. Vegas is like the proverbial whitewashed fence, all shiny and glistening on the surface, but at its core it is something different entirely.
So a weekend there is good for me. It is fun to just wander the Strip. I usually blow a little money on the slot machines (spending $10 and coming out with $40 at one casino was high rolling in my world). In addition to the regular gluttony, we have our customary steak dinner (BOA Steakhouse in Caesar's Palace was fantastic). We'll also rent a car and get out of town. This time we went hiking in the mountains northwest of the city. It is amazing that 30 miles outside of the city limits you can be some 6000 feet higher in elevation, 30 degrees cooler, and hiking in snow covered, alpine forest. Some pictures are coming soon from that, but otherwise here are a few observations about the city:

Best free entertainment: The Fountains at the Bellagio. In front of the Bellagio Casino is a eight acre lake (filled with treated wastewater, but don't think about that). Every fifteen minutes or so at night, dozens and dozens of fountains choreograph a water show to music, sometimes shooting water a hundred feet in the air. It was my favorite thing to watch my first time out there, and its still my favorite thing to see. Anything that can make a Celine Dion song bearable, or God forbid, even touching, has to be special. We caught the last show, at midnight, when they played the Star Spangled Banner.

Worst free entertainment: The Sirens of TI. First off, TI is the new hip name for Treasure Island Casino. Back in the day, when Vegas was attempting a family friendly image, this was a pretty neat show in which two pirate ships attacked each other on a lake in front of the casino. There were stunts, explosions, and one of the ships actually sank. But family friendly is so 2000, so today you have the Sirens of TI, in which a ship of unsuspecting pirates is attacked by a ship of sirens, who are basically half dressed pirate-hookers. There is some sort of plot involved, in which the pirates succumb to the seductive siren song of the pirate-hookers. Unfortunately their siren song consists of some horribly dubbed Paula Abdul outtakes circa 1995, and the dancing is sub-Spring Sing. Its not like the pirates succumb so much as they commit suicide.

Best offer that we did not take advantage of: Hookers to your room in 20 minutes, guaranteed. Last year the guarantee was 30 minutes, so there is either increased competition, or sometime in the past year a huge breakthrough was made in the field of prostitute transport logistics. It is pretty impressive. It took us on average at least 20 minutes from the time we left the Strip to navigate through the lobby, make our way through the maze of slots and other distractions, down the corridors, up the elevator, and to our room. I don't see how a prostitute could do it. All weekend long I was on the lookout for some hooker in stilettos madly sprinting through the casino to make the deadline. There must be some vast underground prostitute delivery system, perhaps using pneumatic tubes or something. Hookers arriving a full 10 minutes before your pizza. What a world.

Randomosity

Congrats to Vick, who posted and therefore had her blog moved off of my critical care list. Dan, LB, and Rachel: Learn by example. However, I think that these three have moved on to the Next Big Thing, which is myspace.com . This seems to be the online equivalent of a perpetual yearbook signing. It is fun to hop around and see how many people you know, but not enough fun to put forth the effort and create a page myself.

I ran the Country Music .5 Marathon last Saturday, with an unofficial time of 2:18 minutes and a chip time of 2:20:08. I am fairly happy with that. I was doing ok until mile 10.5 or so when the decision had to be made to either slow up and walk a bit or vomit and die. I chose wisely, but it broke me off of my 10 minute mile pace. (The winner, by the way, did it in an hour and four minutes, less than a 5 minute a mile pace. I hate him.) At the end of the race I never wanted to use my legs again. Now there is an outside chance I might try for the full one next year.

This Wednesday is a new episode of Lost. It will be the first new episode I will be able to watch since I've caught up on the series. Kate and I watched the first season on DVD, and then joined a group of Others to watch the second season off of various Tivos and iTunes downloads. Now that I am current I have let my full geekiness come forth and have started exploring the internet for various Lost sites and chatrooms. Check out lostpedia.com , or dharmasecrets.com . Again, I apologize for the geekiness.
Best moment: Shannon gets killed. Sorry, but she was basically a walking migraine.
Sweetest moment: The reunion of Bernard and Rose.
Freakiest moment: Libby in the psych hospital at the end of the Hurley episode.
Creepiest therefore most intriguing character: Henry Gale. Creepiest stare ever. He also has my favorite line. Referring to the Others, Locke says "these people have been here for God knows how long," to which Henry replies "God doesn't know how long we've been here. He can't see this island any better than the rest of the world can." What does that mean? The popular Everyone is Dead Already theory seems too easy, as does The Its All in Hurley's Head Theory. Obviously something supernatural is going on (witness big black cloud with the faces). Answers are needed.
Finally, could they please, just once, let the numbers run out, just to see what happens. My guess is absolutely nothing, but some contend that if the numbers run out then the whole world ends. They should take that risk.
Lost has built the best mythology of any series since the X-Files. I just hope it finds a way to resolve things better than that show did. The more complicated it gets, the more it risks painting itself into a corner. And yet I'll still watch.

Update (don't read if you haven't watched): Between writing all that mess above and this moment I've watched this week's episode; the end of which was, um, unexpected, to say the least. Has Michael been brainwashed to change teams, or is he going to insanely desparate measures to save his son?