Year of First Visit – 2011
Point of Entry – I-95 near Seabrook
New Hampshire currently stands as the only state I've been to without actually stopping in it. My first trip there was on a drive from Boston to Maine. My second trip there, ten days later, was on a drive from New Brunswick to Boston. Though we planned to stop in New Hampshire for a break in our drive, we were out of the state before we had a chance to.
My son missed his first trip to New Hampshire. He nodded off in the car around Salem, Massachusetts, and woke up near Kennebunkport. On the trip back he made it a point to stay away through the Granite State.
Now, some might judge and scoff me for counting these quick drives through as having "been to" this state. I figure I was there long enough to live the irony of my EZPass to taking my money for the privilege of being in the state whose motto is Live Free or Die, then it more than counts.
Friday, April 27, 2012
Friday, April 20, 2012
Nevada
Year of First Visit – 1995
Point of Entry – Hoover Dam
A white Lincoln with a navy blue faux soft top.
That was how I arrived in Nevada the first time I traveled there. And each entrance into Nevada seems to be packed with visual memories.
Like approaching the state line from California in I-15. There in the middle of the Mojave with the rental car's thermostat reading 121, we saw a green hew in the distance. Yes, the grass is greener (actually, it's the only place with even a little grass) when you cross into Nevada with golf courses and resort-style hotels and casinos marking the state line.
Crossing into Nevada from Death Valley in California made me feel like I was in the movies. The long, straight, stunningly desolate road radiating heat at sunset with the full moon rising ahead of me was made for Hollywood.
And what can compare with landing at McCarran on a crystal clear desert night? The neon of the strip is at its most iridescent with the hundreds of miles of pitch-black desolation surrounding it.
Of course, those entrances weren't exactly what they appeared to be. It was my in-law's Lincoln and my wife and I had been riding with them in it since Houston. The green burst along I-15 melts quickly into the desert sands. The movie set is actually a long, long drive back to someplace with a restaurant and hotel. And the landing in Vegas is but the start of a long layover in a crowded airport.
Yes, Nevada has been a great place to make an entrance. And it's been a place where reality, lurking just below the surface, cuts through a bit of its grandness. A harsh desert and its tempting mirages define my Nevada memories.
Point of Entry – Hoover Dam
A white Lincoln with a navy blue faux soft top.
That was how I arrived in Nevada the first time I traveled there. And each entrance into Nevada seems to be packed with visual memories.
Like approaching the state line from California in I-15. There in the middle of the Mojave with the rental car's thermostat reading 121, we saw a green hew in the distance. Yes, the grass is greener (actually, it's the only place with even a little grass) when you cross into Nevada with golf courses and resort-style hotels and casinos marking the state line.
Crossing into Nevada from Death Valley in California made me feel like I was in the movies. The long, straight, stunningly desolate road radiating heat at sunset with the full moon rising ahead of me was made for Hollywood.
And what can compare with landing at McCarran on a crystal clear desert night? The neon of the strip is at its most iridescent with the hundreds of miles of pitch-black desolation surrounding it.
Of course, those entrances weren't exactly what they appeared to be. It was my in-law's Lincoln and my wife and I had been riding with them in it since Houston. The green burst along I-15 melts quickly into the desert sands. The movie set is actually a long, long drive back to someplace with a restaurant and hotel. And the landing in Vegas is but the start of a long layover in a crowded airport.
Yes, Nevada has been a great place to make an entrance. And it's been a place where reality, lurking just below the surface, cuts through a bit of its grandness. A harsh desert and its tempting mirages define my Nevada memories.
Friday, April 13, 2012
Nebraska
Year of First Visit – 1979
Point of Entry – I-80 near Omaha
It's perhaps a testament to my small-town upbringing that my formative memories of Nebraska are urban and cosmopolitan.
I've always been attracted to big cities. By the time I was nine I'd been around Detroit and Kansas City a couple of times. We'd driven through a few others, though mostly via the outer freeways through the surrounding sprawl.
But my brother started graduate school at UNO and that meant going to Omaha for a visit. We drove through downtown. His apartment was near the city center so we actually stayed in the city.
We took Dodge Street out to Westroads Mall. I had never experienced anything like either of them.
Yes, for me Nebraska was cutting edge urban life. Had I written the Broadway musical, the song would have been Everything's Up To Date in East Nebraska!
A couple years later my brother took a job nearly half way across the state in Ord. I remember pulling off the main road (which had corn growing right up to the white line marking the shoulder)and walking into a restaurant for lunch on our way there. We could tell everyone was looking at us a little funny while we read the menus. Few minutes later a woman at the table next to us leaned over and said, "No one else here will ask, but we're all wondering who you are and where you're headed."
We were in Ord for its festival celebrating the 100th anniversary of its founding. Included was an Antique Car Show at which my parents saw a car just like the one they used to have. We're all glad they're now called "classic" car shows rather than labeling the vehicles as "antique."
My wife and I went to Bellevue for a job interview and we later had an interview in central Kansas which meant a drive back through Nebraska to our apartment in Iowa. Other than that, I didn't return to Nebraska for nearly 20 years.
On that trip we were driving from the South Dakota Badlands to Denver. We had a leisurely Sunday drive through the western part of the state that day, including a stopover at Scotts Bluff.
Urban or rural, recent or distant, all my memories of Nebraska are pleasant. Pleasant people. Pleasant places. Pleasant times. I can see how someone could lead a most contented life there.
Point of Entry – I-80 near Omaha
It's perhaps a testament to my small-town upbringing that my formative memories of Nebraska are urban and cosmopolitan.
I've always been attracted to big cities. By the time I was nine I'd been around Detroit and Kansas City a couple of times. We'd driven through a few others, though mostly via the outer freeways through the surrounding sprawl.
But my brother started graduate school at UNO and that meant going to Omaha for a visit. We drove through downtown. His apartment was near the city center so we actually stayed in the city.
We took Dodge Street out to Westroads Mall. I had never experienced anything like either of them.
Yes, for me Nebraska was cutting edge urban life. Had I written the Broadway musical, the song would have been Everything's Up To Date in East Nebraska!
A couple years later my brother took a job nearly half way across the state in Ord. I remember pulling off the main road (which had corn growing right up to the white line marking the shoulder)and walking into a restaurant for lunch on our way there. We could tell everyone was looking at us a little funny while we read the menus. Few minutes later a woman at the table next to us leaned over and said, "No one else here will ask, but we're all wondering who you are and where you're headed."
We were in Ord for its festival celebrating the 100th anniversary of its founding. Included was an Antique Car Show at which my parents saw a car just like the one they used to have. We're all glad they're now called "classic" car shows rather than labeling the vehicles as "antique."
My wife and I went to Bellevue for a job interview and we later had an interview in central Kansas which meant a drive back through Nebraska to our apartment in Iowa. Other than that, I didn't return to Nebraska for nearly 20 years.
On that trip we were driving from the South Dakota Badlands to Denver. We had a leisurely Sunday drive through the western part of the state that day, including a stopover at Scotts Bluff.
Urban or rural, recent or distant, all my memories of Nebraska are pleasant. Pleasant people. Pleasant places. Pleasant times. I can see how someone could lead a most contented life there.
Friday, April 6, 2012
Montana
Year of First Visit – 2007
Point of Entry – I-90 near Lookout Pass
"Toto, I don't think we're in Kansas anymore," said Dorothy to her little dog as she looked at the wonders of Oz. I felt similarly foreign when in Montana.
Most of my Montana memories are from Glacier National Park. The main reason for being in that region was to visit Yellowstone but we started our adventure with several days in Glacier. The mountains. The lakes. The waterfalls. The trails. The lodges. The wildlife. The park became an instant favorite, and a return trip to it comes on my travel planning radar every year.
We also knew quite clearly that we weren't on the East Coast anymore on the drive from Glacier to Yellowstone. A significant portion of the main highway toward Helena was under construction. For mile after mile, we found ourselves traveling across a gravel road where highway used to be and, presumably, would be again.
Even with the construction I remembered something: I enjoy a good drive. I used to drive for fun, but living on the East Coast turned that love affair into a bad, dysfunctional marriage. I'd gone from loving the road to dreading and avoiding it. Driving Montana rekindled that romance.
On our way back to Spokane to fly home we stopped to stretch our legs at Grant-Kohrs Ranch. We thought an hour there would be a nice quick way to break up the drive. But the place caught our spirits and the National Park Service rangers and volunteers were so captivating that we overstayed. We reluctantly left knowing there was much more to see and do.
Much like Dorothy, I new that my time there would need to come to an end. For though Montana was magical, it's not a place I could live for very long. And though I had to do more than just click my heals three times and wish really hard, there is no place like home.
And there's no place like Montana, either.
Point of Entry – I-90 near Lookout Pass
"Toto, I don't think we're in Kansas anymore," said Dorothy to her little dog as she looked at the wonders of Oz. I felt similarly foreign when in Montana.
Most of my Montana memories are from Glacier National Park. The main reason for being in that region was to visit Yellowstone but we started our adventure with several days in Glacier. The mountains. The lakes. The waterfalls. The trails. The lodges. The wildlife. The park became an instant favorite, and a return trip to it comes on my travel planning radar every year.
We also knew quite clearly that we weren't on the East Coast anymore on the drive from Glacier to Yellowstone. A significant portion of the main highway toward Helena was under construction. For mile after mile, we found ourselves traveling across a gravel road where highway used to be and, presumably, would be again.
Even with the construction I remembered something: I enjoy a good drive. I used to drive for fun, but living on the East Coast turned that love affair into a bad, dysfunctional marriage. I'd gone from loving the road to dreading and avoiding it. Driving Montana rekindled that romance.
On our way back to Spokane to fly home we stopped to stretch our legs at Grant-Kohrs Ranch. We thought an hour there would be a nice quick way to break up the drive. But the place caught our spirits and the National Park Service rangers and volunteers were so captivating that we overstayed. We reluctantly left knowing there was much more to see and do.
Much like Dorothy, I new that my time there would need to come to an end. For though Montana was magical, it's not a place I could live for very long. And though I had to do more than just click my heals three times and wish really hard, there is no place like home.
And there's no place like Montana, either.
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