Posts Tagged ‘ road trips ’

MONTANA TREK: Also, I’m being leaked on.

The Milwaukee bus terminal is made of glass. Kind of really want to vacay here – not because of sweet terminals, though. Perhaps next year?

MONTANA TREK: The Beginning

On y va commencer, everybody. So far, looks like I managed to get one of the plush buses to Chicago. Plug-ins, even! Now to sleep?

I’m leaving on a jetbus…

Goodness gracious, you* must be thinking, why all this mobile posting nonsense? Is this another godawful ploy to start blogging again like a pro? Yes, no, maybe so? In the awful syntax of the lolcat: my reasoning, let me show you it.

So, I’m taking a trip. More specifically, it is a vacation. Even more specifically, it is a vacation filled with a wedding. Even more more specifically, it is to participate in the wedding of this lady right here. (Aw yeah, I can link too!) But even more more more specifically, the journey aspect of it is going to be epic as it is going to be on a Greyhound bus.

Please keep in mind: most of my childhood summers were spent in airports. Every late June to early July, we would be escorted to Indianapolis International and fly up into the sky, only to land in the incinerating heat of Sky Harbor roughly five hours later. Afterward, we would either be picked up by a rental car service or my aunt and would start the epic trek up I-17 to Flagstaff. Once (and a particularly memorable once it was), I made the trip via Amtrak with said aunt, zipping through the countryside amongst a gaggle of people that I would never meet again that were just as enraptured with the romance of riding the train as I was. But as much as I suspect that air travel is as alien to train travel as a thoroughbred to a giraffe, so too is the animal that is bus travel to either of these. So far, my internet excursions to research such things have left me at a loss; there have been rumors of sleep deprivation, bad terminal food, and tons of sketchy people at every corner. The word “convict” was heavily sprinkled amongst the articles and personal reviews on message boards alike. To say that my tiny suburban white girl heart hasn’t skipped a few beats during the planning of this trip would be a blatant lie. Apparently, bus travel is not for the faint of heart.

But there’s a part of me that says this and then says, “When did you become such a fucking pussy?” I’ve cavorted about in France just fine, thank you and that wasn’t in my native country! Furthermore, since when did I ever think it was productive to automatically assume the worst out of a situation? And alright: what makes me so awesome that I might not be part of this riff-raff, too? I’m a broke college student that is presently trying to bake and cook for a week’s vegetarian/vegan camping trip so that I don’t have to buy any food on the road. I have debt up to my neck and am surly as hell to strangers. Although I’ve bought provisions to (hopefully!) guard against this, I too will probably start smelling like rank ass once I’m dropped off neatly in Great Falls, Montana with the hope that my hostess with the mostess won’t cry when she sees my little hobo face. I’m hardly royalty and acting so nervous about getting on board one of the most affordable travel options in America is stupid! Besides, I went to women’s college — they teach you how to defend yourself craftily.

That being said, there are a few things I can’t defend myself from, and that’s an exhausting travel schedule (two days there, three days back) and the monotony that comes with it. Along with food and portable shower/face washing solutions, I’ve also been hoarding entertainment options. Books, podcasts, sketchbook + the usual drawing accouterments, knitting projects, and the purchase-to-be of a portable radio (and printed guide of every NPR station in the continental US) are all on the list. But so too, my friends, is blogging. I’m going to attempt to chronicle the weird nature of Greyhound travel and make a documentary of sorts from it, I suppose. Voice posts will be used for my longer discussions, with short observations via the bus being dictated via e-mail text posts. The last post with the picture will be used for Sketch Challenges that I’m going to give myself: I’ll take a picture with my phone and then I’ll draw the results and upload them when I get back to Indiana. Good thing too: apparently, if there’s a picture with the post, it takes WordPress an entire day to upload it.

I hope that my misgivings are foolish, but no matter whether I’m right or wrong about this entire brouhaha, it won’t change this little fact: whatever I’m about to embark upon is going to be one hell of an adventure.

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*My one follower named Loren.

Combatting autumnal intolerance.

Admittedly, for the past few seasons, fall hasn’t exactly been agreeing with me in an emotional sense. I don’t give a shit if people think that SAD is made up — it usually feels pretty damn real to me around the time where the first real weather shift happens and my summer commute turns into the dark and dreary drudge on I-70. Still, that doesn’t mean that I don’t love the good old atumnal equinox in an intellectual sense; after all, my birthday usually falls (har har!) right on the first day of autumn, the weather is nothing if not striking (when not raining), and there are great smells that exist with the departure of leaves et al that are incapable of being reproduced anywhere else. As such, I like to take advantage of the awesome thingsĀ  that fall provides, even though I am frequently moping and pining through it.

Some examples of this awesome were taken at the Mansfield Covered Bridge Festival with the biffle, who makes being sad at any juncture rather impossible:

Sadly, I did not see how fucking delicious this was.

Sadly, I did not see how fucking delicious this was.

I totally crapped myself taking this photograph.

I totally crapped myself taking this photograph.

Seriously, I thought of My Antonia the entire time we drove through here.

Seriously, I thought of My Antonia the entire time we drove through here.

Sometimes, Indiana can be pretty. Really really.

Sometimes, Indiana can be pretty. Really really.

When you go to my Flickr account, you can see some of the more humorous accounts of this particular adventure, but these are by far the prettiest examples I have of early fall in the Midwest to date. I want to go on a leaves-are-changing photo spree sometime in between assignments or drag the family to an orchard to depict the epic inevitability that is picking a good load of apples fresh from the tree, but these are for times when I am not procrastinating desperately on starting the beginning of the end of my study blitz for my midterm. I think this tiny entry has served its purpose of warming me up to write, though, as well as a nice reminder that there are lovely things about this season even when shit feels rough.