Adventure Shoes

Hopkinsville, KY

Work Day #60

Today the publisher of the newspaper told me I was a little green behind the ears when it came to covering typical small-town events. I think he meant I was either “green” or “wet behind the ears.” I’m not sure which.

Either way, I had to agree with him after my first trip to a demolition derby.

I had only been there about five minutes when the first person drawled out in his token regional accent, “You’re not from around here are you?” And for about the hundredth time since I’ve been in Hopkinsville I had to smile and shake my head, “No, I’m not in fact from around here.”

I’m not sure what gave me away… was it when he invited me to ride along with him during the derby and I asked how you got in the car without door handles (those were mysteriously missing on this rusted, rebuilt junker)? Turns out, you climb through the windshield… since it’s missing as well. Or was it when I sat fearfully gripping the side of the car, legs straddling the battery of the car that was bolted into the passenger seat floorboard?

I think it actually came after I politely declined his invitation to “take a whack at it” as he beat the frame of the car back into place with a sledgehammer after a few minor (!!!) bumps during the first heat.

Yes in some ways, like in the knowledge of demolition derby etiquette, I guess I am a little green behind the ears.

Lesson learned: Don’t ever, EVER ask a driver what the purpose of a demolition derby is. You will be cast out.

10 days to go…

Work Day #46

I called the fire department today and got an answering machine… I guess it’s a good thing my house wasn’t on fire. The number at the jail forwards to the Circuit Court judge’s office. On purpose? I’m not sure. I called the Drug Enforcement Administration number available on the organization’s Web site and a dry cleaners answered.

It’s just another challenge.

Work Day #36

This gives a whole new meaning to the term “field reporter.”

Work Day #35

I have learned Hopkinsville has doctors with the following names:

Dr. Cutoff, Dr. Cost, Dr. Pain, Dr. Fingers

Let’s hope Dr. Cutoff and Dr. Fingers don’t open a practice together… that could be traumatizing for so many.

Lately I’m finding that so many of the assignments I’m sent on start with me rolling my eyes and heading out into the summer heat and end with me making a somewhat interesting story that is barely (like we’re talking a hair here) related to the original topic.

For example, yesterday I drove across town after receiving an anonymous complaint that there was a mattress covered in blood on the curb outside a house. Normally this wouldn’t interest me, only gross me out. But the address was one where a man committed suicide a few weeks ago and encouraged by the heat in the newsroom (the air conditioner is broken) I headed to Henderson Drive.

Yes there was a mattress. No you couldn’t see a drop of blood. But sanitation workers were there and everyone kept saying something about a “bio hazard” so I stuck around. Turns out, disease can live in dried up blood. Who knew?

Anyway, all of this starts me thinking about crime scene clean ups. When someone is killed or commits suicide, who is responsible for cleaning up the mess? Guess what, it’s the family. Yep, so amid tragedy and sadness, by the way you also have to clean up the mess.

So I write a story about it.

That was all yesterday, today I call the police department to ask the chief a question about a crime report and his secretary tells me to hang on. After 30 seconds or so of holding she comes back on the line and says, “I’m sorry Miss Thomas, Chief Howie says he isn’t talking to you.” What? “Yes he’s mad that you made him look bad so he’s not going to talk to you today. Have a nice day.”

I guess he isn’t going to invite me to his birthday party either.

Work Day #15

Every morning I pick up crime and accident reports from the police and sheriff’s departments. Every day it seems, there is something to laugh about quietly as I type up the briefs.

Today, there was something good enough to laugh out loud.

From an accident report: “the man was eating pork rinds and didn’t see the guard rail. he swerved to miss it. damaged property includes a truck and a wheat field.”

Culture shock isn’t quite the word for this. It’s more like lifestyle earth quake… a 9.9 on the Richter scale. And no matter how much time passes, the shock doesn’t seem to settle into acceptance. At least not yet.

Things that I’ve learned will appear in accident reports: The term “undignified”; lots and lots of dirt bikes; the occasional Amish buggy wreck (the horses usually die); the words “totally ejected”; riding lawn mowers… used for racing, not mowing; crop dusters; “personal flying machine”… still figuring that one out…; pork rinds; and possibly my favorite: “the man claims to have run the red light because he thought he saw the ghost of his ex wife.”  Scary.

Work Day #9

The water came up to my knee. I was standing in a field – that had become a pond with the recent rain levels – talking to Walt Holder about setting his tobacco. He stood a few feet from me, knee-deep in water as well and didn’t seem to notice.

I could feel the water sucking my sandals into the soggy ground and each step I took following him as we walked around looking at his drowning tobacco plants, it became harder and harder to pull my foot out of the muck.

“Young lady you need better walking shoes,” he said to me and laughed as he struck a match and lit his pipe.

Yes sir, I do.

Lacking better shoes for this type of assignment, I’ve found myself barefoot with my khakis rolled up around my thighs most days since I’ve been here. With the exception of course of the day I spent locked up in mini-jail at Fort Campbell.

That afternoon it wasn’t Walt Holder reminding me of how unprepared I seemed to be for Western Kentucky, it was a guard at the home of the 101st Airborne who more sternly (and lighting a cigarette, not a pipe) told me to wait here as he locked me in a white washed room until he could confirm my credentials.

Lessons learned so far: You need permission and an escort to go ANYWHERE at Fort Campbell. A little bit of rain goes a long way when it comes to a flat tobacco field. Old ladies will call their Congressmen if the Humane Society won’t pick up the dead deer in their front yard. The number at the Todd County Jail has been disconnected, no forwarding number. People will try to cry arson even if they themselves caused the fire in the home they own by leaving their curling iron on. That is not in fact arson. Chigger bites obtained walking barefoot in tobacco fields or along the banks of the Little River during “Take Kids Fishing Day” can be treated by painting your leg with clearn fingernail polish.

Work day #2:

I’m not sure I knew what to think when I answered the newsroom phone this morning at 8 a.m.

“Ma’am, yes hi. We’re being robbed. Help us. We’re being robbed.”

It was all I could do to get the address out of her, grab my notebook and head out the door. I forgot to consider that I had no clue where I was going, but I finally made it there and upon seeing a couple of cop cars out front, I figured it was safe to push my way through the door.

It was safe. But that doesn’t mean I was ready for what I would find there. A man stood at the counter with his fingers pointed like a gun repeating over and over, “Give me all your money, give me all your money.” By the second or third “money” his words were slurring – possibly related to the stench of alcohol that surrounded him – and it came out more like “monet.”

The police just stood back and chuckled a little bit, waiting to take the guy into custody. The clerks stood half terrified of the drunk and half irritated by his extended presence. The drunk stumbled around, finger gun sometimes aimed carefully, other times bent in a very un-gun-like way. And then there was me. Standing back, trying to take it all in. Of course I would have to write a story about this.

I’d add it to the list with the stolen lawn mower (A John Deere 840- A zero turn valued at $11,000), and the dead deer in the lady’s front yard that she planned to call the Congressman about if it wasn’t removed by the end of the day. I took my time getting back to the newsroom.

I’m learning a lot on this trip to Idaho… here are a few of my lessons. And the list is always growing.

(18.) If you ever leave the west, whether it be Idaho or Wyoming or Montana or Utah… or Colorado or California, Washington or Oregon, you will miss it every day you are not there. (17.) I’m 105% sure Elliott has conditional Turret’s syndrome. (16.) If Elliott says “I wonder where this road goes it probably means a) We’re not supposed to be on that road. b) We’re going to find out where the road goes. c) It will involved 4-wheel drive. (15.) If you live in Idaho you must own cowboy boots, according to Elliott. (14.) Trusting the GPS to take you the quickest route might mean you drive through a cemetery or a zoo… or both in one trip. (13.) “Clean, fresh paint, plenty of storage,” in no way means a nice apartment. It might even mean standing water in the kitchen. (12.) Mormons prefer to be called LDS’s. And they don’t appreciate it when you wear shorts. Even long ones. (11.) Elliott burps a lot. (10.) If there aren’t any big white fluffy clouds, it’s not worth stopping. (9.) If we pass a fish hatchery we will turn around to stop at it. And it isn’t nearly as boring as it sounds. It’s actually quite cool. (8.) Elliott and I can spend an hour in an outdoor store and not buy anything. Not one thing. (7.) You can drive all day and not get anywhere. And those are the best adventures. (6.) Small towns in Illinois are good for general stores. Some that offer gifts, misc., live bait, and small motor repair. Everything I could need. (5.) Letting Elliott control the satellite radio means you’ll be listening to Martha Stewart one minute, and Playboy the next. Just hope he doesn’t fall asleep with the remote when it’s on the Playboy channel. You don’t want to know what I’ve learned from that. (4.) I’m not so good at reading a map… but I’m learning. I have a good teacher. (3.) Elliott knows a TON about geology. And it’s fascinating. (2.) “Look at that, I almost want to turn around and take a picture.” Is something that will come out of Elliott’s mouth a lot. You never actually turn around and take the picture, you only hear about how you should have for a couple of miles. (1.) Elliott doesn’t NEED Cracker Barrel, he only wants it, and you don’t always have to stop for it.

Returning Home

I was in a hurry to leave. I was in a hurry to pack. I was in a hurry to see my last sunrise, my last sunset, my last windmill, my last old guy scootering across the parking lot to Walmart. I was in a hurry to fly. I was in a hurry to get home. I was in a hurry… and now I’m standing still.

I couldn’t stay forever, adventures always come to an end, but I wish I had stayed longer. Responsibility called me home, familiarity welcomed me here, but memories are calling me back. Well, and Elliott- he’s calling me back, too.

Part of me is glad to be home, part of me is comfortable here. But part of me didn’t make the trip back. I used to be content, I had the desire to see the world but was happy to visit it in readings or pictures or on vacations throughout my life. Home was where I belonged.

But there’s been a dull ache that has been present in my chest from the moment I boarded the plane in Salt Lake City more than a week ago. It’s a sick feeling that won’t settle, a longing to be somewhere I’m not.

I thought all of me would always be here, but I left something in the west. And it’s only a matter of time before I go back looking for it.

Yellowstone

This weekend we took off for Yellowstone National Park. I’d never been and Elliott was excited to go again. We drove 100 miles to the west entrance of the park and spent all day Saturday and Sunday there.

I thought I’d be animal watching- I couldn’t wait to see the bison (BEEFalo), elk, bears, bighorned sheep, wolves… the list goes on. But what I really ended up doing was people watching.

It never failed: around every corner there were a handful of cars pulled off to the side of the road pointing off into the distance and Elliott would yell, “What is it? What are they looking at? What is it? Do you see it? Are you looking? Look over there.”

Of course I was looking, and I rarely saw what they were pointing to. I finally gave in and drove just to keep from having to be on animal watch. But it was beautiful and we did see animals… lots of them. But the people were the ones who looked out of place.

We also got out and walked around in the Norris Geyser Basin, seeing more than 20 geysers and countless hot springs. They were cool looking with beautiful colors, but smelled awful. There’s nothing like the smell of rotten eggs and rain to make a mile hike seem longer.

We didn’t get the chance to make it all of the way around the lower loop because of road closures so we didn’t see Old Faithful. Maybe next weekend. But Elliott did make time to test the waters of the hot springs… which of course you’re not supposed to touch.

Living in Idaho, Week One

Its mostly been about getting settled. Multiple trips to Walmart, endless lists of things we forgot to pack or thought we could live without and now need. Elliott’s apartment is about 500 feet from both a Walmart (thank goodness) and Sonic and right across the street from a nursing home. Whoever said capitalism is dying has clearly never lived in between a bunch of old people and a discount empire.

I spend most afternoons watching as the old folks ride their Jazzy Chairs across the apartment parking lot to Walmart and back… this is of course while I’m waiting for the Mormon missionaries to knock on the door and try to convert me. We don’t need a clock (thank goodness because that would only be another trip to Walmart), these daily rituals work like clockwork.

Elliott is getting into the groove of working at the Post-Register, having to get used to working for new editors and at a different pace. He says the paper is unorganized and there is a ping pong table in the middle of the newsroom. Maybe it won’t be so hard to get used to… sounds like just another Thursday afternoon at the Kernel.

And they’re hiring reporters…

DAY SIX: Taking the day off

We were getting no where in the search for an apartment. Worse, we couldn’t get in touch with any prospective landlords because it was Sunday and no Mormon answers the telephone on Sunday (and a good 90 % of Idaho Falls is Mormon) so Elliott and I temporarily threw in the towel, headed to Sportsman’s Warehouse for fishing gear and licenses and drove north looking for a good place to catch the biggest fish in Idaho.

Elliott tried fly fishing. I stuck to the usual drop the line in the water approach. Neither of us caught a fish. So we took off once again looking for an adventure within an adventure and found ourselves at Mesa Falls. Snow covered the path down to the waterfalls but we trekked through in our flip flops and the view was worth the climb.

But it was getting late, darkness hinted at the clear sky (even though the light doesn’t fully disappear until after 10 pm) and we faced another night in a hotel.

Another night homeless. I could tell Elliott was disheartened and I was frustrated so instead of dragging our backpacks into another cookie cutter room at another hotel chain, El drove us 30 minutes out of town to the Blue Heron Inn, a bed and breakfast on the bank of the Snake River.

We fished. We lounged around on the overstuffed leather couches. We stood out on the huge log house’s balcony. We slept in a bed that felt like home. And we ate the best breakfast I’ve had in a long time.

It was just what both of us needed to be rejuvenated enough to start the apartment hunt again tomorrow. And we have to hurry… Elliott starts work in three days.

DAY FIVE: Looking for an apartment 203950248845 miles… and all in circles

I’m not sure what we expected. Maybe to arrive in town and walk right into a perfect apartment. Maybe to look at a couple of places, pick one that was decent, affordable and bearable. Whatever it was that we expected, we didn’t find it.

What we did find was mildewing refrigerators, flooded basement kitchens, suspicious mattresses, shower-less bathrooms, strange smells, and a slew of other things that caused us to turn back to the car before we even made it past the front door.

14 apartments, more than 20 calls and countless circles around Idaho Falls later, Elliott and I were exhausted and discouraged and not any closer to finding him a home than when we started. The classified section of the paper sat in my lap with x’s scratched over the circles made earlier that morning. Addresses and rent costs were scribbled in the margins.

This is going to be harder than either of us thought.

DAY FOUR: Lander, WY to Idaho Falls, ID 185 miles

The loudmouth GPS was on Elliott’s last nerve as we started on the last leg of our journey. It didn’t like the route we had chosen to take on our western adventure and was constantly “recalculating” as we made one turn after another and veered off it’s charted course. It may have planned us the most efficient route but if there’s anything I’ve learned over the past week it’s that we weren’t on this trip for efficiency… we were on it to see the west, to see the snow capped mountains, the Grand Tetons, the Snake River, Jackson Hole, and every gas station and dirt road along the way.

So the GPS was turned off (gasp!) and the atlas was dragged out of the backseat, a handful of Starburst stood in for breakfast and we were on our way.

We drove north into the Teton Mountain Range. It was no big white fluffy cloud day (a good picture-taking day, I’ve learned) but we stopped to check out the Grand Teton for a few seconds before moving on (ignoring our growling stomachs) to the fish hatchery.

I had no idea what a fish hatchery was… turns out it’s where they hatch fish, Elliott is such a great tour guide. And though I rolled my eyes to myself at having to stop at this less-than-eye-appealing aquatic nursery, it was really interesting and I saw my first-ever natural spring. It really comes straight up from the ground. Pretty cool stuff.

We stopped and watched the men fly fishing in the pond at the hatchery for a few minutes, both of us wondering whether or not you are really allowed to fish at a fish hatchery before getting back in the car and continuing our trek through the wild west.

A few miles later we found ourselves in Jackson, Wyoming in what looked to be the set of a John Wayne movie (and Elliott says he thinks one was filmed there at some point). It was a great little town with cute restaurants and shops, an antler-framed town square and colorful locals. Starving (go figure) and already sick of driving, we parked the car to get lunch and ended up spending half the day there.

I never found the saloon with swinging doors that I was hoping for, but we did find ice cream and enough outdoor stores to keep us busy for hours. What else could we ask for?

As evening approached, we wandered back to the car and soon crossed the Idaho state line and followed the Snake River into Idaho Falls.

It was what we had been aiming for all week. The destination of our mini-road trip. The finale to our grand adventure. And as we charted our way through the streets of the town, it was hard to hide our disappointment at what we found at the end of our rainbow. Except for the falls. There really are waterfalls in the middle of the town.

Swearing not to judge the town too soon, we checked into another hotel for the night. And now we sit here, soaking in more hours of cable television and wondering what tomorrow has in store.

This trip has been funny like that… each night ends with us trying to imagine what the next day has in store. And we’re usually wrong.

I guess that’s what makes this an adventure.

DAY THREE: Central City, CO to Lander, WY 466 miles

We woke up to snow flakes. Big giant snow flakes falling outside our window! By the time we checked out of our casino accommodations, old ladies with their fanny packs and credit cards were already parked in front of the slot machines and the mountain had accumulated more than three inches of snow.

And Elliott was wearing flip flops.

We started out through the Rocky Mountains, cutting through the western side of the snow covered beasts because, much to El’s dismay, the road leading directly through Rocky Mountain National Park was closed due to snow. But his dissappointment soon fell on a back burner as we wound around the mountains into some of the most amazing views I’ve ever seen through the blizzard of flurries that fell around us. When we reached 9,000 feet, we stopped to take pictures and play in the snow.

And Elliott was still wearing flip flops.

Only 50 or so miles later we crossed the Wyoming state line and by the time I had taken over driving, the snow covered mountains were replaced by flat dirt fields and dry rocks and the white caps were just pretty pictures on the horizon out the back window.

We opted for back highways instead of busy interstates and stopped every few miles or so to take pictures or visit oddly-named gas stations or just to take in the scenery. We stopped almost 6 hours after we’d left our hotel this morning andI glanced at the trip meter- we’d only traveled 200 miles.

It was only 200 miles but we’d seen indescribable views and radical climate changes… it was now in the 70’s, the blizzard had stopped and large white fluffy clouds filled the sky. Elliott was standing in the middle of the road taking pictures… there was no sign of a car in either direction.

He had ditched the flip flops. He was shoeless now.

Daylight still lingered when we decided to stop for the evening in Lander, WY, about 40 miles short of Jackson. We were hungry and tired and the sights that awaited us were “far too beautiful to waste in the dark,” Elliott said.

So we’ve stopped, checked in to yet another hotel and El is standing in the window watching as the sun sets behind the mountains.

“It’s good light,” he says and calls me over to see it. “See how it turns your skin gold?”

I ask him if he’s going to take a picture.

“No,” he answers and I’m surprised. “It’s not a good picture. It’s just great light.”

DAY TWO: Topeka, KS to Central City, CO 575 miles

We stopped at Cracker Barrel. I’d like to pretend like it was a huge sacrifice and I caved in to Elliott’s begging but really I was starving, I wanted pancakes and seeing that old country store on the horizon after a night at Motel 6, was one of the most beautiful sights of the day.

Kansas was all Elliott had said it would be: flat, green, and more flat. But in its own prairie and cow way, it was beautiful. And it was a big white fluffy cloud day which helped. We stopped to take pictures and marvel at the giant windmills on the west side of Salina, KS. The hundred or so white giants are amazing in size and absolutely mesmerizing to watch. Even Elliott, who had seen them before wanted to pull over to watch them. We’re officially tourists.

We crossed the Colorado state line just 3 miles short of reaching the 1000th mile of our journey. Elliott promised me mountains but it was even flatter than Kansas. In fact, we were 144 miles into the state before the Rocky Mountains appeared on the horizon. But, better than he had promised, the view was worth the wait. Denver’s towering skyscrapers paled at the base of the mountains and were lost in their presence. I’ve never seen mountains so beautiful.

Once we were through Denver, we began looking for somewhere to stay. As we turned off of the interstate and began climbing into the mountains, we saw our first snow! It was only a trace at the base of some trees and a mile or two later piles of white hung over the rooftops of houses. Snow in May… what a climate change.

Tucked away in the mountains, nestled between a few campgrounds and an old gold mine, we came upon the neighboring towns of Blackhawk and Central City. At first glance, it was a quaint community, perfect for us to stay the night and enjoy the beauty of the mountains. At second glance, we had stumbled upon the Las Vegas of Colorado. More than 25 casinos lit up the sky as the sun began to set but unwilling to drive any farther, we checked in to a hotel and casino (which didn’t have a 21 only policy like the Best Western) and will fall asleep tonight in our quaint, snow-covered casino town to the sound of slot machines.

DAY ONE: Lexington, KY to Topeka, KS 643 miles

“Get a good look at it now because you won’t be seeing much green for the next couple of days,” Elliott told me as I stared out of the passenger window as we headed out of Kentucky.

“Yeah,” I smiled at him, not really thinking much of it and he stuffed his Doughdaddy’s donut in his mouth and went on about the grass and how it kind of did look blue in the right light and honked at cows that stood close enough to the road to startle. It is the beginning of a great adventure, I reminded myself an Elliott scrolled through the channels of the satellite radio.

We were barely across the state line and we had already listened to all 4240923845 channels of the fancy radio and Elliott of course knew the words to the songs on each one. It’s the beginning of a great adventure, I once again reminded myself and Indiana quickly faded into Illinois and before we knew it, St. Louis stood in front of us.

“I’ve never been here,” I said and knew that was the first of a hundred times I’d be saying that over the next weeks.

“Have you seen the arch because it’s coming up?” Elliott asked and I refrained from repeating that when I said I hadn’t been to St. Louis that would of course mean I hadn’t seen the giant structure. Instead, I only answered no. “Well there’s a fantastic Cracker Barrel right before we get to it.”

It was such an Elliott thing to say.

The arch was exiting but fleeting as the GPS yelled at us to turn right and the ‘gateway to the west’ was lost in the rearview mirror. So if the arch was our gateway, Elliott and I are officially in ‘the west,’ which (so far, at least) looks oddly similar to ‘the east’ except maybe flatter.

We’re spending the night in Kansas tonight, just outside of Topeka. It’s a Motel 6 (or motel seis as El calls it) that is overpriced even at $50 and has stained sheets and suspicious hairs in the shower. It’s not luxurious. It’s not even sanitary. But since Elliott isn’t 21, a policy of Best Western, and the Holiday Inn is full it looks like this is home tonight.