Ah... The great affair is to move, indeed.

Robert Louis Stevenson said that. I only know because I've just looked it up to sound sharp. But it is a fine quote. I partook in the great affair for 12 days earlier this month, and have been wandering around in a cloud since my return. I've caught the fever.

There are too many good tales and great photos to include here, but I've managed to compile a few of both the Mouse's and my own in a quick slide show. The awesome ones are his. Those less awesome are probably mine.



Let me explain. No, there is too much. Let me sum up...

Matt Bethancourt and myself drove a Penske moving truck from Los Angeles to New York City by way of the Northern United States of America.
We hiked, sipped, napped, and ate Tri Tip with our fellow campers in Yosemite.
We drove the straits of insanity in Northern Nevada exploring abandoned truck stops and filling out post cards to our better halves back home.
We ate breakfast for dinner at Cactus Pete's in Jackpot, then blasted Built To Spill as the evening turned into Idaho.
We cowboy camped under the stars, talking politics and sharing a handle of Makers Mark.
And wow, lunch at the Silver Horseshoe equals America. Biscuits and gravy covered in bacon, Idaho potatoes, Camels, Buds, coffee, and the husband of our stout waitress playing World of Warcraft on what may have been the only wifi for miles.
We passed through Montana, and passed the Makers whilst doing so.
We soon entered Wyoming and Yellowstone. We saw Old Faithful in the 34 degree wind, watched the sun go down over Lewis Lake, drove around Yellowstone Lake and over the Continental divide.
We camped in Grizzly country without bear lockers, where we were attacked in the middle of the night. Not by bears, oh no. Worse. Osprey. Aka the Devil’s bird. The Mouse slept happily through this. I did not.
We blew a flat just short of South Dekota, and sat for four hours while a guy whose name was most likely Bubba and his girlfriend drove to the next state to find us a tire.
We drove through Deadwood as the sun set again, and pulled into the Mount Rushmore parking area just in time for the lighting ceremony, which was followed immediately by the departure of every soul but the Mouse and I, which was soon followed by epic, nonstop lightning (most of which was captured by Bethancourt's sweet camera skillz) , which was followed by the swiftest gale of wind I’ve ever known, which was followed by the most treacherous hale storm I’ve ever been in, which was followed by thick Black Hills rain and steamy roads. Awesome, then scary. Matty sprung for a double queen smoking room in Rapid City that night.
We drove across the rest of the state, then down through Iowa and Missouri, by way of several Cracker Barrels and several million fire flies.
We ate at Waffle House then pulled into the Harbaugh’s in the wee hours of the morning, slept shortly, ate a lovely breakfast, and hit the streets of St. Louis. The Arch, Citygarden, a free Sheryl Crow show, stuffed pizza and shuffleboard, and some Ricky Gervais netflix.
We drove over five states and stopped to camp in the sort of Appalachians of Pennsylvania. We ate chili and drank some of the park owner’s Southern Comfort.
We drove across the rest of the state, through a bit of New Jersey, and spent several hours trying to get the truck through Manhattan and into Brooklyn, where we unloaded it, and where it got tagged.

Then it was New York City for several days.

So that's the summed up version. Twas a really great time.

Thanks Matt B.