Postblog from Home: Final Thoughts on the Excellent Adventure

My goal was to spontaneously travel to someplace different, by car. I almost succeeded. The spontaneity fell by the wayside early in the trip. Hopefully planning ahead isn’t such a terrible character trait after all.

My selection of destinations may seem a little odd: a tour exploring the haunts and homes of Abraham Lincoln seems like the trip a couple of elderly geography teachers might take. Hodgensville, Kentucky, Springfield, Illinois, and of course Lincoln, Nebraska are not “hot” destinations for the typical single gay man. But can you see me on a gay cruise in the Caribbean with all those shirtless posers? I might enjoy watching, but I’d be too self-conscious to talk to anyone.

I certainly didn’t mind traveling alone, but I would have enjoyed a companion who would also nerd out about the park ranger presentation at a national historic site.

Why can’t a tour company offer a gay bus tour of presidential museums and libraries? Now that’s something I could get into, and there would be something to talk about with the other gay nerds.

The good news is that I enjoyed myself thoroughly, and as should happen after a trip away, I’ve returned with a renewed appreciation of my home. In fact, driving into Colorado at dusk was breath taking with the sun setting behind the mountains, and the air dry enough to crack the windows open and smell the fresh cut hay along the South Platte River. It was the perfect way to end a trip in which every state was beautiful in its own way.

Be sure to check out my pictures on Facebook. While not National Geographic worthy, they’ll give you a taste of what I saw.

Meanwhile, I’m starting to think about where I should go on my next excellent adventure.

Postblog from Nebraska: Subtle Distinctiveness - and Food.

Though very much at home in Colorado, I am Nebraskan to my bones. Here’s one indication: at each stop during the past week’s road trip, the first thing I wanted to know was the temperature and the humidity, and whether there was a chance of thunderstorms. No one is more obsessed with weather than a Cornhusker. Driving across Missouri today, I also noted standing water in the fields and tried to ascertain the condition of the crops. Though I’ve never even planted a garden, it’s all about the crops when you’re from Nebraska.

Another indication has to do with sports awareness: while I have next to none, what little I do have is related to Nebraska University football. I almost instinctively know who they’re playing some weeks, and I secretly delight in their wins. I laugh at the big rivalry between NU and CU which exists only in the minds of Coloradoans. Ask any Nebraskan who their rival is and they’ll tell you it’s Oklahoma. Colorado is barely a spec on the radar. Of course the reorganization of the conferences (big 10? big 12?) has messed that all up, so Colorado will have to find some other pretend rivalry.

Nebraska is a quirky state and requires a different kind of appreciation. Anyone can “ooo” and “ahh” at the mountains – that’s so obvious.

The Cornhusker State is a place of more subtle distinctiveness. I felt it today as soon as I crossed the Missouri River from Iowa. As if on cue, bugs started to smash into my windshield at such a rate that the wiper fluid couldn’t keep up. Why are there so many more bugs here than in all those other states I visited?

I was barely into Lincoln before I came upon an Amigos restaurant. Amigos, a Nebraska based chain, is home to the cheese Frenchie, which used to be served at the old Kings restaurants. Let’s see, there’s also Runza for those unique enclosed sandwiches and fabulous fries, and Valentino’s pizza of course – I could just eat my way from Waverly to West O Street and back again.

Oh yes, and on a side note, Lincoln is also the capital city of Nebraska and home to many institutions of higher education.

But the food, really, is what I plan my visits around.

Postblog from Illinois: The More Things Change the More They Remain the Same

After just over a year in office his presidency seems doomed. No one is happy with him. He doesn’t go far enough. He goes too far. He compromises too easily. He’s cold and distant. The country has polarized to a point where reaching out to both sides seems an impossible and thankless task. The President lacks the necessary experience and worldliness to get the job done. He actually appointed rivals to his cabinet. Many citizens unrealistically look to him to solve all of the big problems. Others deeply hate him. Many fear for his safety.

I’m sure that it isn’t easy to be President Obama. He has a huge job. I myself get frustrated that he seems to drag his feet on, say, “Don’t Ask Don’t Tell,” the policy which prohibits gays and lesbians from serving their country in the armed forces. I wanted to throttle him when he kept compromising on health care reform. And the news this week reports criticism that he seems restrained in his reaction to the Gulf Coast disaster. His practiced and tempered language doesn’t reflect the outrage of the nation.

I hope President Obama takes some comfort in knowing that all of the statements above were also bestowed upon another President, Abraham Lincoln. As I wandered through the Abraham Lincoln Presidential Museum in Springfield today, I kept seeing Obama as a similar recipient of the vitriol heaped upon Lincoln. For example, discussion of allowing African Americans to serve in the army alongside whites mirrors “Don’t Ask Don’t Tell”: there was intense fear that the morale and discipline of the troops would erode so much that national security would be threatened.

The museum does a terrific job of presenting Lincoln in the context of the politics, events, and even technology of the time.

Often, the flesh and blood part of Lincoln’s life is overwhelmed by myth. It behooves us to remember that while he was indeed a very great President, he was also a human being. He suffered nightmares and the deaths of his children. He was regularly exasperated with his wife. He had a wicked, even lewd, sense of humor. He was a brilliant politician who could spin the truth in order to appease rivals. We conveniently forget that some of his views were uncomfortably different from our own. For example, while he advocated the abolition of slavery, he didn’t view African Americans as truly equal. His thought was that after emancipation, it would be best if they all returned to Africa.

Abe Lincoln is a little like Jesus Christ in that everyone wants to remake him in their own image. Just take your predetermined beliefs and justify them by telling everyone how Lincoln would agree with you. 21st Century discussion of Lincoln reflects our current concerns rather than anything he would have thought about. Anti-abortionists claim him as an emancipator of the unborn. Lincoln is said to have suffered from depression or bipolar disease (clinical terms which weren’t in use at that time). I’m amused at the vehement discussion about whether he had sexual relations with other men. Why is it so important to assure ourselves either way? In fact, though he did share a bed with his friend Joshua Speed, we will never know for sure what, if anything, happened between those sheets and frankly, what difference does it make?

Abraham Lincoln, Barack Obama, and the rest of us are reflections of our own times and cultures. But while the issues change from decade to century, we continue to struggle with how to be a nation of free people.

Postblog from Indiana: Random Observations

• Local TV news is the same everywhere – except in Denver they don’t report the temperature-humidity index which, by the way, was over 100 degrees Sunday in Louisville. At 11:00 p.m., the temperature cooled to a manageable 85, the humidity 75%. At the same time, I noted on the Weather Channel that Denver was at 51 degrees with rain.
• Remember Stuckeys, the once ubiquitous gas, snack, and tacky souvenir places in the middle of nowhere along the interstates? They are mostly closed now, but you’ll be glad to know that many of the buildings are still in use – as adult sex toy shops. I imagine that since they are outside city limits, municipal regulations don’t apply.
• So far, Colorado has the worst rest areas. Illinois has the best. In Missouri, I took a nice little nap on a picnic table in the shade. A few Zs make driving safer – as long as you’re not at the wheel when you catch them.
• BP is thick in these parts. Fortunately I have been able to find alternative places to spend my fuel dollars.
• Kansas, Missouri, Illinois, Indiana, and Kentucky drivers all follow the speed limit better than those in Colorado. I’ve only been tail-gated once by an impatient speed maniac. The obnoxious vehicle was from, you guessed it, Colorado. I try to positively represent my state by driving with patience and consideration. But it’s tough when you have to pass those damn slow Midwesterners all the time. It doesn’t help that the speed limits are lower in the east.
• You can pick up NPR everywhere. What’s more difficult is avoiding The Car Guys. Every time I changed stations on Sunday I caught the beginning of their annoying show and had to switch to the country music countdown. It was either that or fundamentalist “Christian” radio. No thanks.
• I thought gas was expensive in Illinois – until it occurred to me to drive into the towns to fill the tank. Service stations gouge interstate travelers.
• Rivers are a lot bigger east of Kansas. Mountains are bigger west of Kansas. Pickups are the same size everywhere.
• Yogurt doesn’t explode when you open it at 1000 feet elevation.
• Kentucky bluegrass grows naturally in Kentucky – in fact, their natural landscape is what people in Denver’s suburbs spend a lot of time and money to create artificially.
• If you order iced tea south of the Ohio River, beware – it will be sweetened before you get it.

Postblog from Kentucky: Distilleries, Abe Lincoln, and Shoney’s

Instead of going to California or staying home like I usually do when I have time off work, I decided this summer to just get in the car and drive - destination unknown. I tried very hard not to plan this trip (except for a stop in Nebraska) and to be honest, it wasn't easy. But the following postblog is a written snapshot from my travels.

“The sun shines bright in my old Kentucky home
'Tis summer, the people are GAY …”

June 13, 2010 - Leave it to my friend Frank to include the second line of the state song. Actually, until 1986, that was a very racist second line and they changed it. I don’t know how that “gay” reference passed notice.

I’ve been to Louisville many times, but usually I’ve flown in and out, missing the surrounding area. There is history here, and character like crazy. For example, some of the earlier local residents were real hillbillies who supplemented their incomes by making, uh, “spirits” or “hooch,” and selling it, um, beneath the radar of the law.

Mammoth Cave is near where I’m staying in Elizabethtown, south of Louisville. The Nebraska Wesleyan choir once sang in the huge, dark cavern many years ago. Today I settled for singing in the car with the Dixie Chicks at full volume.

I think that those of us who pride ourselves on living in such a spectacular state (I’m talking to the Coloradoans now) forget that there are other amazing places in this country. Many of us ignore the “flyover” in favor of either coast. But we miss a lot that way. Driving through Missouri, Illinois, and Indiana today, I saw beautiful rolling farmland, magnificent mountains, and even the awesome Hoosier National Forest. That’s right: a national forest in Indiana.

Tomorrow I will visit the National Historic Park where there is a log cabin reconstructed, as near as can be surmised, like the one in which Abraham Lincoln was born. Finally an historic home I can visit without reflecting on how small my condo is. According to the AAA book there are organized nature hikes too. Just my things: history and hiking.

My other thing, of course, is food. I spotted the first Bob Evans restaurant in Missouri today and several more after that. I think tomorrow I’ll be visiting Bob for some of his famous soft, hot rolls.

But that’s not all. Near my hotel here in E-town is a Shoney’s – a southern chain where in my Virginia days I used to savor the most wonderful strawberry pie. Guess where I’m going for dinner.

On a less enthusiastic note, I have to confess that I freaked out last night in KC about getting the last available room in the hotel. Because of that, I had a slip in my plan not to plan and, I’m a little ashamed to say, I made hotel reservations for the next few nights. It is too stressful to worry about getting a room, particularly when just breathing in this humid country works up a sweat and I really want a shower at the end of my drive. But first, pie.

Postblog from Missouri: Is This Oz?

Instead of going to California or staying home like I usually do when I have time off work, I decided this summer to just get in the car and drive - destination unknown. I tried very hard not to plan this trip (except for a stop in Nebraska) and to be honest, it wasn't easy. But the following postblog is a written snapshot from my travels.

Saturday June 12, 2010 - Listening to a Tom Shane ad on The Fox radio station made me think that there isn’t much left in the world that is unique. I listen to the same ad on the same station at home in Denver, only today the station’s number on the dial and the Shane Company address were different. Kansas City doesn’t look like Denver. It’s older, for one thing, and its downtown buildings are more interesting. But as everywhere else in this country, the next WalMart is only one exit away.

The first day of my “excellent adventure” took me through Kansas where billboards reminded me regularly that Jesus is the real deal. The sunflower state probably has the same number of fundamentalists as the Pakistan-Afghanistan border. Instead of the Taliban, however, Kansas has Fred Phelps, leader of the gang that pickets funerals and carries a sign that says, “God Hates Fags.” As I neared Topeka, Phelps’ home base, I drove a little faster with the idea of leaving Kansas behind as quickly as possible.

Being gay, though barely according to some friends who question my decorating and fashion abilities, I thought today of Dorothy in the Wizard of Oz, going from black and white to color as she left her home state, and saying innocently to her dog, “Toto, I don’t think we’re in Kansas anymore.”

And now I’m over the rainbow, camped out at a Missouri Quality Inn near the stadium where the Royals play. (Is that the first sports reference I’ve ever blogged?)

It’s fun to see the Midwest again. There are lots of trees, and it’s so green! Before dinner, I drove and hiked through a huge park complete with trails and campgrounds, and enough foilage to really get lost in. Living in Colorado, I’m not used to forests that aren’t in the mountains. And when the sun went down, I saw the strangest thing: little bugs that fly around and light up! We sure don’t see fireflies at home.

Keeping true to my goal of not over planning this trip, I can’t say for sure where I’ll be tomorrow. I am looking forward to seeing more of the beautiful Show Me State and following the call of the open road.

Frequently Asked Questions:

Why are you doing this? Every year I take a week off in the summer. Usually I just stick around home, perhaps driving to the mountains once or twice. This year I wanted to do something different. Realizing that when I do go places, I get a little OCD and plan everything out to the greatest detail, I decided to challenge myself. I took off this morning from Denver with no plan (almost) and an open mind about where I’d be going and what I’d be doing. This risk taking did spawn a thrill: I got the last room available at the Quality Inn. Whew! That was close.

Are you really doing this alone? The implication of this question is that it’s odd, even sad, to be traveling on an adventure alone. I assure you, I’m enjoying myself very much. The news today tells of a 16 year old girl who attempted to sail around the world alone. Well if she can try that, why can’t I do this? Besides, if I waited until I had someone to do things with, I’d never do anything!

Open the Window and Kick Off Your Shoes – A BillsWeek Summer List

Ok, I know that technically it isn’t summer yet, but when temperatures hover around 90 degrees and the cold beverage container is “sweating,” I’m not interested in whether the sun has reached its greatest distance south of the celestial equator. It feels like summer in Colorado and I LOVE it, and here (in no particular order) are some of the reasons why:

• Open windows
• Hot (usually) dry days and (mostly) cool nights
• Trees and trails
• Thunder storms
• Shorts (on myself and others)
• Bare feet
• Showing snow to tourists from the east - in July
• Outdoor movies on Fillmore Plaza (I never go, but I like the idea)
• Driving up to 10,000 feet to cool off
• Going to the mail box or taking out the trash without having to put on more layers
• That blast of dry air when you first get off the plane after a trip back east
• Hiking to the old homestead ruins at Golden Gate State Park
• Sidewalk dining at Las Margaritas
• Fresh strawberries and blueberries
• Trail Ridge Road
• Movies and music at Chautauqua in Boulder (I’d like to go more often than I do)
• Fewer obnoxious kids on the city busses going to/from school
• Driving to neighboring states without fear of snow
• People everywhere enjoying being outside – walking dogs, chatting with neighbors, riding bikes, just hanging out
• The outdoor pool at the health club is open
• Russian ladies in the park watching their grandchildren
• TV reruns of Christmas shows
• Peoples’ dogs on the patio at Liks (ice cream)
• Nearly weekly events in Civic Center from People’s Fair to Pridefest (one of the largest in the U.S.) to Taste of Colorado (I don’t go often but I fully recommend them)
• Watching the Rocky Mountain Rowing Club early Saturday mornings at Cherry Creek Lake (I do this every week)
• Fresh strawberries and blueberries mixed into fine vanilla ice cream
• Concerts in City Park (I rarely go but it’s really great to have the option)

And finally:

• When it’s summertime in Colorado, I almost forget that I’ve recently, seriously thought about moving to California.

Their Mountains are Older

“The Great Smokies are the largest single mountain range …”

So begins a quote from the Smoky Mountain News of Waynesville, NC, February 14, 2003. The sentence widens my eyes and a major objection commences in the back of my Colorado throat.

“… in Eastern North America.”

While calmed by the qualifier, I still roll my eyes at the tone of the claim.

The quote kicks off a mystery novel I just started, High Country Fall, by Margaret Maron.

Maron’s mysteries spill beyond the genre into literature. She has a way of capturing the modern rural south (no, it’s not an oxymoron) which makes you feel like you are there. When the primary character, Debra Knott, swelters in a North Carolina summer, the sweat drips down my back. When she chats with neighbors at a large community picnic, my mouth waters for the ham, fried chicken, and biscuits they eat.

I “did time” living in the south, pursuing my graduate degree 20 years ago, in Richmond, Virginia. To say perspectives vary between regions of the country is an understatement. For example, I couldn’t get used the Virginian reverence for war heros – I’m talking about the Civil War, which was fought over 140 years ago. Even in the artsy, hipster part of town called The Fan, Monument Avenue is dotted regularly with magnificent statues of Confederate generals. Stonewall Jackson was less than a block from my apartment. To hear some (not all, to be fair) Richmonders discuss the war, you’d think they were talking about events which happened to them personally. The bitterness against the North is, for some, as fresh as if the “the war of Northern aggression” were still being fought.

When I lived there, I bristled at being called a Yankee. I am from the West. My state didn’t exist during the War Between the States. That anyone from outside is considered a Yankee, no matter where they are from, relegated me to the status of foreign visitor. While always treated with courtesy, I would never outlive my outsider standing.

Not that I was always a paragon of tact and tolerance, myself. I didn’t make any friends by saying, for example, “The war is over. You lost. Get over it.”

The quote about the Smokies reminds me of my reaction to hearing Virginians extol the virtues of their own Blue Ridge Mountains.

Though technically not yet a Coloradoan, I looked down my long nose at the locals and told them that if they wanted to see real mountains, I’d be happy to take them up to, say, Trail Ridge Road in Rocky Mountain National Park.

While unable to deny that the Rockies are quite impressive, my friends in Richmond sniffed, “Your mountains may be bigger, but ours are older.” End of conversation.

I grew to appreciate those beautiful little eastern mountains, dripping with history and character. And I would recommend a drive along the Blue Ridge Parkway anytime.

Meanwhile, if anyone from back east would like to see some snow, in July, at 13,000 feet, just give me a call.