I hung around Pacific for a day or two before taking the last of my stuff home on the immediate Sunday following my Friday final. On Thursday after everyone's last final, I planned to drive up to Canada with my good friend Sean (not Eric). But for a few days at least, I was free, free at last. (Actually, I ended up writing an essay or two before Wednesday, but it was still awesome the lack of responsibility.)
I think I overuse parentheses.
Thursday morning rolled around. My week was finally over. Seven straight sunrises I had seen and gleaned, and I knew Wednesday night had to change. So Thursday morning rolled around, finding me woken up at 7:45AM simply by the sheer excitement of leaving Stockton, officially ending the months of existence that I thought akin to prison but must concede to label "school."
Oh, I know why the caged bird sings, alright.
Yes, I just compared the life of the average college student to the plight of pre-Civil Rights Era blacks. I am indeed a Renaissance man.
We dropped Eric off at Sacramento Airport, about an hour north of Stockton. I was forced into the cubbyhole backseat, not unlike the ones my father used to describe to me when he was escaping the warfare in Vietnam.
Yes, I just compared sitting in the a cramped back seat to the struggles of Vietnamese refugees escaping a war-torn country, harrowingly haunted by the napalm and smell of burning flesh that followed them until they left in the barren waters that still held no promises.
But Eric left, and gave me a hug. I say this because his goddamn cologne (perfume) stuck on my collar for about 10 hours. It's like he never left at all.
As Sean and I drove past Truckee, we noticed the Sierra Nevada hills, and we agreed that a camera would have been nice. Man, those hills scream vista and beauty.
We stopped at Reno for lunch, at a place called the "Wild River Grille." According to Sean, they had the best bread, at least for a (turkey) burger. I had a salmon wrap that was superb. We continued to trek across the Nevada desert, rarely stopping and using smallish towns as milestones to mark our travel. In the process, we came to the conclusion that Sean's car should be named Jenna. It has something to do with Moses. Ask me if you're really curious.We also started calling each other S-Man and A-Dawg. It had something to do with the town of Elko, NV ("The Heart of Northeast Nevada"). The website says to "take a moment to explore the "City" of Elko and all it has to offer!" because it really only takes a moment to explore all Elko has to offer.
But take it from S-Man and A-Dawg. That moment may be one of the greatest moments you'll ever have while exploring. Elko has loads to offer. Like the Fire Science Academy. And Metro Gasoline...
Both were lame. One was defunct and decrepit.
In Elko, we had a chat about whether to take a different route or not. It would be about the same distance as the previous one, but would cut through Utah, which I wanted to do, just to say we went through Utah. However, we agreed to stay on course and just take the original route to be safe.
Instead we missed the exits to both routes and ended up in Utah regardless of our intentions. West Wendover, NV-UT was our destination, to be precise.
We only crossed the border of Utah for about 50 yards, but we stopped at a gas station 50 yards in Utah, realizing that Utah was definitely NOT a part of our road plans. Sean got an apple and a coffee, and I bought a hot dog.
As we drove back into Nevada (which took about a minute since we were so close to the NV-UT border), we both agreed: Utah has the best apples, coffees and hot dogs. Damn that hot dog was good. I got one in Idaho, and it wasn't even CLOSE to the quality of dog I experienced in Utah.
Anyways, we drove up to Idaho and believe me you, Idaho is by far the WORST state. It's so bland and boring.
I swear, when we got to Montana, everything was just so much better. I recommend that everyone experience a Montana sunrise. Since it was so early, few cars were on the road. Thus, I was "allowed" to go 100-115 on the highway uncontested. Those damn mountains were so goddamn beautiful I have to swear to describe them.
Actually, Sean described them best when he said that Canadian mountains were better.
Said Sean, "These snow-capped mountains look like they're wearing a yarmulke while the Canadian mountains are wearing KKK hoods."
True dat.
vs.
When we were driving in Montana, a tantalizing 60 miles south of the border (it's weird from that perspective, isn't it?), Sean was pulled over for going 90 miles on a 75mph stretch. The fine was $40, which had to be paid right there. The cop was nice, but he would have been nicer if he let us go. So close. I actually thought it would be a good revenge idea to go outside and take a dump in the grass while the cop was looking up the information. Sean was against it.
Anyways, we stopped by Helena, Montana for some breakfast. By breakfast I mean Sean and I both had burgers. Eric called shortly thereafter, as he does twice daily to see how Sean is doing, and when I told him we were in Montana, well, it was funny.
"Where are you guys right now?" Eric asked through the reception-seeking phone.
"We're in Helena," I replied. I fielded a look from Sean, shaking his head.
There was a silence in the car magnified to me by the silence on the phone.
"...Is that in North Dakota or South Dakota?" Eric asked hesitantly.
I laughed, but Sean said he didn't know it either. He said he doubted most people knew...which makes me the abnormal one.
Dammit. Talk about story of my life.
I'll have more to come later!
