Meteor Shower

Chicago has a lot of light pollution. This picture was taken around 1am.


But luckily I'm in Evanston now, which looks out at Chicago. Granted, it's not very far:


But far enough so that Evanston's northern sky gets mildly dark. As one of my co-workers pointed out, there is a huge, dark lake stretching to our east.

Luckily, the meteor shower tonight is visible in the northeast sky. So I went out to the lakefront, (on the beach with waves [even though it's a lake, not an ocean or a sea...]) to watch the meteors fall. I only stayed for about 20 minutes, but I saw a few shooting stars.

It was interesting to think about the thousands of miles between each meteors entry point into the atmosphere, but there on the ground, it was only a few degrees in my field of vision. That small turn of the head can translate into vast distances when magnified to the outer reaches of Earth's atmosphere. Pretty cool that huge, inconceivable distances are as close as our own planet's metaphorical doorstep.

But what is an inconceivable distance? A hundred miles? A thousand miles? Ten thousand miles? When was the last time you traveled that far? By land? By car?

By foot?

Will you ever?

Facing the Music

At the time of my last post, I had packed all my possessions into my car and headed west. I had a job for 7 weeks, and a place to stay. And after that job, life.

Well, 7 weeks is more or less over, and life is staring me in the face. It was another nerve-wracking game of chicken to find something to do next. What would happen first: would I get a job, or would my current living situation expire?

I was at the brink of reconsidering my nomadic lifestyle, of having to stop this romantic game of hobo-ing and consider where I was actually going to sleep at night once I got sick of the cramped conditions of my car (and needed a shower). Then a couple things fell into place, another month sorted itself out, and just like that, the crevasse of uncertainty was pushed back another few weeks.

Life as usual. Apparently. It'll take some getting used to, but I suspect that my nerves will be solid steel after a couple years of this. Game on.

Epic Driving

I drove from Portland, Maine through Canada to Chicago. My route took me past the White Mountains of New Hampshire, through upper Vermont, where French-Canadian culture started making its way into the road signs (with distances also in kilometers and French translations), across the border into Quebec, past Montreal and Toronto, and through Michigan.

I left in the morning, giving myself plenty of time to see the landscape I was driving through. The White Mountains were quite stunning, even with a low cloud cover. Montreal had a very nice skyline, but horrible traffic. My conclusion from spending an hour on the 5 miles of highway surrounding Montreal is that in Canada, all cars break. Constantly. At all times within sight there was at least one car broken down, and traffic backed up for miles. Luckily, there were no accidents, just cars getting tired.

Driving through Canada was an epic task, and I have a new appreciation for the distance between Toronto and Montreal (about as far as, say, Philadelphia and Boston). I also now know about the difference between Quebec and Ontario, two provinces of Canada, and appreciate their differences. Also, the view of the stars to the west of Toronto was striking. I have never seen stars that clear while being on a major highway.

I drove until a little after 4am (not being used to caffeine, a little goes a long way!), slept in my car (in a hotel parking lot), woke up early, baking a little bit in my car, and continued to the big city. I drove from one climate to another, and crossed a time zone. Very disorienting. Three hours of sleep combined with 19+ hours of driving does not make for a chipper afternoon, but being excited about life kinda makes up for the lack of sleep.

Is that cat missing something?

Looks a little weird, maybe. A shaved spot on her front leg for an IV...

I'm up in Maine again (my first time was in winter, now I'm back to experience the summer, six months later). I'm pet-sitting the menagerie for my trainer during her honeymoon.

I flew into Philadelphia from San Francisco last Tuesday to pick up my car and trunk-full of stuff that will get me through a summer in Chicago (so, not too many sweaters). Then I hit the road, driving up to my trainer's house outside of Portland, ME. Although the drive was only around 8 hours, I split it up overnight, stopping somewhere in Massachusetts around midnight to sleep. I pulled into the parking lot of a highway-side hotel, read for a bit, and tried to get back on Eastern Time. Well, trying to sleep when not extremely tired in cramped, uncomfortable car while parked underneath a streetlight and trying to be semi-attentive to crazies who might want to murder you is not an easy task. I did sleep for several hours, though, and woke up nice and early and nice and tired. One day back on the East Coast, and I'm already back on Eastern time. Perfect.

I got to my trainer's house very smoothly, packed the car and helped with some last-minute preparations. Then in the morning, it was off to Bar Harbor and Acadia National Park, a three hour drive. The trip was smooth and scenic, with some fierce downpours along the way.

I was at the wedding to be the photographer, so I spent the weekend behind the camera lens, attempted to document the goings-on. The ceremony was outdoors, and the forecast was not so great. We had the rehearsal in driving rain (with only 6 people there, due to weather), and hoped for better weather on Saturday. Well, the weather for the ceremony was not better. It held itself to a drizzle for most of it, but let loose with a few downpours just to make sure everyone was thoroughly soaked.

Many tourists and visitors to the park stopped to take a picture of the ceremony. It was an unexpected sight, I imagine: 30 people in nice clothes gathered in a circle on the rocks by the crashing sea, the bride and groom inside the circle without any weather gear, rain pelting down incessantly... Some of the small children started to cry. But it was a hugely successful ceremony, short and memorable, and it was a marriage, which is what counts.

After a fun reception and a late night in the hot-tub, the wedding part disbanded the next day, and I was left to explore Acadia National Park, then find my way home to the animals. I ended up taking the long route home (local roads the whole 170 miles... Oops).

The animals are much the same as over winter break, only Baxter, the little fourth dog, was given to a friend of the family. And Truvie, the cat. She was tragically hit by a car earlier this year, broke her pelvis and shattered her right foreleg. Luckily, she survived, and is as mobile and weird as ever. The only big change is that she no longer has two front legs...


So tomorrow it's off to Chicago, via Canada, with another two-day car journey.

Urban Hiking

I'm out visiting my brother in the lovely, urban San Mateo, which is a city-suburb of the lovely, urban San Francisco. I've been wandering around the city, seeing the sights. I've been taking the metro into the city and walking around in whatever direction I felt like going at the time. I enjoy touring cities by feel, relying on my sense of direction. I throw a city map in my bag, glance at the subway layout, and off I go.

San Francisco is a great city for walking around to see the sights. True there are wicked hills, but down by the water the land is pretty flat, making for good all-day walking.

One of my favorite ways to see a city after a full day of walking is to jump on the subway. I rode the subway out to the end of the line into the suburbs, walked across the platform and rode back into the city. No charge, no hassle, a free tour of the countryside surrounding the city. San Francisco has an excellent surrounding landscape, with striking scenery and great views across the bay.

An Ad-Hoc Spring Break... In Canada

Girls Gone Wild not being the first thing that comes to mind when I think of the ideal spring break, I decided to look North. I had a week off between striking the set from one show in Washington, D.C. and one show going into tech rehearsals in the Philly area, so I decided to head somewhere close, interesting, accessible, and where I had never been. Being in the Philadelphia area, possessing a car, and never having been to Canada, I settled on Niagara Falls.

Niagara Falls is less than 7 hours away by car from Philadelphia, with an easy drive over multi-lane highways and Appalachian scenery. I looked up State Parks in that part of New York (on their lovely website), found several that were interesting and semi-en-route, and planned an itinerary. First stop: Chimney Bluffs State Park.

These clay cliffs were originally part of a glacial formation called a drumlin. A drumlin is a long hill with a blunted end (formed in parallel to the ice moment, with the blunt end facing 'upriver'). These bluffs are what remains from the blunted end, with erosion causing the dramatic craters, leaving behind large chimneys of land.

I drove up to the park in one day, quicker than I anticipated, and took a walk in the moonlight. I walked down to Lake Ontario, which had some ice chunks in the waves lapping the shore.The Great Lakes don't freeze, but it was cold enough for ice in their waters. The moon was pretty full, so I ended up following a trail. I intended to just walk around, but found myself hiking the whole trail up to the bluffs. I emerged from the forest I had been hiking through to find myself on top of a hundred-foot-high cave-out. A trickle of melted snow ran down the center of the formation, and pillars of un-eroded ground stood around the perimeter of the dug-out. Walking back towards the car, there was formation after formation, with more chimney-like projections of earth, until the trail descended to lake level.

I slept in my car that night, greatful for my 0-degree sleeping bag. The next day dawned grey and overcast, so I sat in my car (with windows fogged), reading, until my morning was interupted by a flurry of activity from police, firetrucks and SUVs. Then a helicopter landed not 30 feet from my car. An ambulance drove up and a patient was transfered to the helicopter. Apparently medivacs are everyday activites up on the shores of Lake Ontario.

After hiking the Bluffs again in daylight, I drove to the next state park, then the next, stopping to read for hours on end, enjoying the quiet and the sound of the surf. It was drizzly and deserted. March is definitely the off-season at this lattitude.

I made dinner in my camp stove (rice and lentils in bullion broth, with tea) at Wilson-Tuscarora State Park, with a quiet moment pondering the vast stretches of Lake Ontario. With a full pot of dinner and some jam on slices of wheat bread for dessert, I curled up in my back seat to read. At dusk, the park closed (a ranger knocked on my window and told me to move along), so I packed up and headed to Fort Niagara. A police officer woke me up at midnight to tell me the park was closed, so I headed into Niagara Falls proper. I was hoping to save the entry into that city for daylight the next day, but I made the half-hour drive over in a very disoriented state (luckily there was no traffic) and slept in my car in a hotel parking lot. No one bothered me.

In the morning, I followed my ears to the rushing river, onto Goat Island, and to an up-close look at Niagara Falls. It's not every day that one wakes up, shuffles over a foot bridge and comes face-to-face with the most powerful waterfall in North America. I turned my attention to Niagara Falls, New York-a tourist town in its off-season. I drove around, looking for a diner for some nice breakfast options. Everything seemed closed, and most certainly deserted, and (when I got away from the tourist district) run-down. The casino's rainbow display dominated the skyline, and the roaring of the falls dominated the silence. I eventually settled on a Dennys. How quaint. I took some pictures from Goat Island, enjoyed the sun that peaked out (although the wind whipped away all that warmth), then headed over into our Neighbor to the North. I had booked a room in a hostel, and had no problem finding them.

Lyons House Hostel was very personable, very friendly, and very alive. The rest of the town was empty, shuttered and completely touristy. Kitsch and camp reigned supreme. This was a place for tourists. There were cheap souvenirs, thrill rides and haunted houses, bright colors and momento T-shirts. Luckily, the hostel owners were very knowledgable about the area, its natural and political history, and the interesting sights of the area. The other people staying the hostel were all both interesting and interested, so the whole experience was positive. It was a reality check among the commercial way of life of the two cities.

I ended up going with 3 other hostel-stayers to Niagara On The Lake, and the wine country. We drove along the Niagara River to the lowlands where Ice Wine is grown. We went from vineyard to vineyard, tasting the wines they provided (anything for free, we were all poor travelers). It made for a wonderful day trip, combined with a stop for lunch in the quaint one-street town of Niagara On The Lake. The German couple with us hadn't comprehended the vastness of the Great Lakes, so their reaction was unexpected when we stopped for a look across Lake Ontario. You could just see Toronto's skyline in the distance. After the day trip, we made pasta, had a wonderful dinner, and I headed home.

With one more night in my car, at a rest stop along the route home, I made it back, a little tired, very relaxed, and satisfied with my sojourn to another country. I had read two books, recharged my drained batteries, and still had the weekend to rest (apparently, sleeping in one's car does not give one deep, restful sleep) before work started on Monday. This was a perfect four-and-a-half-day (could probably get squeezed into a three-day) adventure, cheap and not too far from home.

The Frozen North

I'm dog sitting in Maine, alone in my trainer's new house with 4 dogs, a cat and a tank full of fish (by my trainer, I mean the person who I was a working student for, on a horse farm in Virginia, who I spent two summers training under). After a Christmas appearance at my parents' house, I spent the next day traveling to get up to Maine. It's only a 7 hour drive in a private car, but cobbling together buses and trains makes it a full 13 hours.

I got to the frozen north well after dark, found my trainer's truck that she left in the parking lot, got the keys from the wheel well, and proceeded to poke my way through the dark Maine suburban streets. I fought with her huge dually pickup truck the whole way. It was a stick shift, and I'm not completely proficient at standard. It was a nerve wracking experience, but I forced myself to keep at it. I finally found the right house, and happily left the truck parked (haphazardly) in the driveway. I was about as happy to stop driving as the 4 dogs were to finally get their dinner.


The next day I fell into a pattern of vacation: wake up at 7:30am (impossible to sleep later, with the doggies breaking down the door, asking for breakfast), read a bit, watch some TV, take the dogs for a hike through the snow (with my new snowshoes) for the rest of the morning, come back, eat lunch and relax, and do some mild excursion in the afternoon.


Over the course of the week, I went hiking at state parks, saw a movie by myself (literally: there was no one else in the theater), read two books, watched an entire season of a new TV show, noted it was New Years Eve, made cookies and went to the LL Bean outlet. That's my idea of a vacation.


The dogs were great, the weather was decent (only snowed a couple times, it got into the high 20s on multiple occasions), and I finally got the hang of the truck.