Day 18: Ramparts
I slept in, or at least it felt like sleeping in. When I got up it was bright and beautiful. I tried taking several shots to see if I could capture it. This was the closest. (Open it on a desktop, if you can)
It was already starting to heat up. The days were in the high 90’s. Time to check on the warning light. Like I said, this one was different, so I’d have to look it up in the manual. I’d never actually used a car manual before, it’s a little bit like a choose-your-own-adventure book: If your car is doing X turn to page 172, if your car is doing Y turn to 384. To anyone who’s more familiar with cars, this is probably pretty obvious, but I’ve been intentionally car-free for many many years, so I’m learning in real-time here.
Clearly some kind of fluid is low. Which one? No clue.
Turn to 47… turn to 86… turn to appendix VI… specification tabl… if you hav… open the… MOPAR… okay, it’s the engine coolant. Which, in the constellation of parts under the hood, is housed in the Death Star.
Visual check confirmed it was clearly below the min line. Thank god. This is probably the easiest thing to solve. Mix some antifreeze with distilled water. Refill. Done.
I was starting to believe the worst of my car troubles were over.
I called the places that were closest first, places that (to me) sounded like they’d have engine coolant. You know, like Mike’s Auto Depot. But the first few I called were actually so specialized that they didn’t even carry engine coolant. When I found one that did, I put a pin in it and wandered towards something that caught my eye.
The night before, I’d assumed that the car was someone sleeping (in the shadow of the tree). I’d wanted to park there, since it was a little more off the road, but didn’t want to crowd them. The possibly abandoned car, the train tracks, the hint of water, I couldn’t resist.
Hard to say if anyone was there, in the car. I mean, they clearly weren’t at that moment, but it seemed impossible to tell how recently they had been. Regardless, the water and train tracks were calling. I could hear that there was more, bigger, water somewhere beyond the tracks. I walked along them for a little bit. Being on tracks always reminds me of a particularly wackadoodle adventure with my phone-a-friend Kyle.
The water was so much better than I was expecting.
Years ago when I was building houses at a Quaker Eco-Village there was one character, Eric. Much could be said about Eric and about all of the characters from QIVC, but I just want to highlight a piece of indirect advice that always stuck with me. When Eric’s niece took a month’s long road trip, his one piece of wisdom was swim every day. Not every day on the Reverse Oregon Trail allowed for swimming, but I took that to heart and did it as often as I could.
Today’s swim spot was the best of the whole trip. Completely alone. Just the sounds of nature. Butt ass naked. Blissful.
Plus it had the added bonus of a sprawling, wooded mystery. What mystery, you ask?
When I first got to the water there were signs of a camp. Not surprising, in and of itself. The part that was strange though, was that the camp clearly got a lot of use, was fairly trashed (i.e. dudes), and it extended back for hundreds if not several thousand feet. A long series of very intentionally built-up pathways. Pathways and ramparts. At first I thought it was a BMX track, but the strange structures, which clearly took a lot of effort, couldn’t have served any purpose for bikes. It had to be something else. But what?
Again, to some of you this will be obvious. But to me, raised Quaker in the suburbs of Philadelphia, I had no idea what I was looking at. What logical reason would there be to build this? Maybe it was for a really elaborate game of hide-and-seek. You know, for the local Adult Hide n’ Seek League.
Though naive, I wasn’t too far off. A final clue solved the mystery. I’d been seeing these little plastic balls everywhere. No idea what they were.
And then it hit me, the dots connected. These were plastic “bullets” for mock warfare. This was some combination of a recreation space and training ground. Formally or informally. I always assume that this kind of stuff is under the radar, but later a google map view revealed that this is very much a known entity- the 12th St. Airsoft Field.
Airsoft.
Well, that’s euphemistic.
But, who am I to judge? As long as no one is getting too seriously injured, seems like it’s fine. Hell, it’s probably a lot of fun. If it gets people off their phones, into nature, and actually spending time together doing shit, I vote yes. Despite my pacifist leanings. Despite the microplastic nightmare. I still vote yes. Go be outside!
Naked, I wandered back toward the car. (Don’t worry, I got dressed before I was in anyone’s line of sight- though I did worry about someone seeing me in the woods, actually this one specific lady from Eugene— which, I know, is a bizarre and irrational anxiety that will make more sense when I write about the wagon building).
Driving to the AutoZone I passed through mile after mile of lookalike housing. It’s always struck me as strange, there’s this one template, this one model of success- a two/three story, vinyl-sided or stuccoed, perfectly turfed, two-car-garage house that just gets repeated over and over and over. No matter where you are, no matter the climate, or local flora, the building materials are the same, the landscaping is the same, the deployment is the same, the look and feel is the same. It is devoid of any sense of place, you could be anywhere. A crank I used to follow, James Howard Kunstler, calls this the Geography of Nowhere. Aptly put. That’s where I was: Nowhere, Utah.
It took a minute to hunt down the appropriate engine coolant, they had the right kind, but not the right grade, or something like that. Eventually, several employees later, we got the right stuff. I filled up the Death Star and then hit the road. Well, I had to refuel first. Diesel and a hoagie. (Apparently, that’s a Philly thing. Everyone else calls hoagies subs. Huh.)
While waiting to fill up I spotted these two vehicular cousins, funny to all be there at the same time. I was almost tempted to see if we could get a family portrait, but it wasn’t worth the effort.
And then it was back on the road. As I was exiting Ogden there was one stretch of road that was particularly gorgeous. I was going through a canyon, there was a white water river, falls, outcroppings, cool rock formations, perfect lighting. Sadly, I didn’t get a single photo. This was prime time for a drone follow behind. (*Sigh*) It was also a very fast and narrow road, it came upon me quickly and was gone almost as fast. There really wasn’t time, and I couldn’t afford to turn around. I’d spent my surplus time already for the day. Now I just had to drive.
Drive, drive, drive.
Okay, so driving didn’t actually last that long. In short order I was getting heavy eyelids and had to pull over for a nap. No good shoulders, but there was an off-ramp and a cattle crossing. It would have been cooler (temperature wise) to park in the tunnel, but I was concerned about some dingus coming along and smacking into me. So I took the highly visible, very sunny, very hot parking spot. I kind of napped, but it was one of those really uncomfortable sleeps where you don’t want to move a muscle because it will burn calories and make you hotter. My little USB fan was no match for this heat, though it did help some.
When I woke up what felt like 2 minutes later I wandered down to the cattle tunnel. I took the opportunity to do some chanting in honor of Bland. The graffiti gave me a good chuckle. I particularly liked the Donnie Darko reference. (No joke— I recently matched with Grandma Death on Tinder and the conversation that ensued was fucking hilarious). (And if this means nothing to you, cancel your evening plans and go watch Donnie Darko). (Also, do you need a period after the parentheses? It feels simultaneously correct and incorrect).
There were also these strange mud nests. Birds? Bugs? Impressive, either way.
Back on the road, I tried to capture some of the cool rocks as I left Utah. I regretted not stopping in that canyon out of Ogden. These were a lackluster substitute, relatively speaking, but still cool. The bug splatter on the windshield doesn’t help.
Up next was Little America. Assumedly, another overhyped, non-destination. I’d had enough ticky tack B.S. that I… 75 CENT SOFT SERVE?!? Sold and sold.
Unexpectedly, the best part of Little America was that this vintage hippie van had passed me on the highway, clearly also on a road trip, with hanging plants and a dog and I was suuuuuuuper curious what their story was, and they were there!
Without my notes I’m at a total loss as to what their names were (Rose and George? Dog was Sequoia?). But I remember that they were friendly and that the lady was very overheated. She explained that she’d had a heat stroke recently and, apparently, that then makes you much more likely to overheat in the near term. There was no AC in their sweet sweet vintage teal Ford Econoline. They had done a lot of work on it to get it ready, but, to her chagrin, that was one thing that didn’t happen. They were coming from the Bay Area where they’d been living on a boat. I think they were also headed to the east coast, Portland Maine maybe? I had seen that there was a pool, free to use for anyone, and suggested it. The lady was ALL about it and grateful for the tip. I wished them well and went in search of 75 CENT SOFT SERVE. It did not disappoint.
In fact, it was such a win, that I had to ride the Bison to celebrate.
As I worked on my ice cream cone I wandered around Little America. Which, I realize, I didn’t explain. It’s a truck stop, but with historically themed lodging. Not really my thing, but I can see why it would hold a certain appeal to a particularly nostalgic and/or jingoistic audience.
Honestly, I was far more interested in the line at the back of the property that separated what they wanted to grow there vs. what actually wants to grow there. It felt apropos.
It was also surprisingly hard to properly capture on camera. The full effect, I mean.
Overall, I’d give it two stars.
And that’s only because of the ice cream.
I got back on the road, which was now Wyoming. I think I forgot to mention that. I think I crossed over into WY right around where I napped at the Donnie Darko cattle tunnel. Not that it’s super important, just for reference. Anyway, Wyoming had some pretty great roadside rock formations too. Yuck, the bug splatter, sorry.
The geography was progressively less interesting as the night went on. Then it was dark. Then it was Nebraska. And then there was this oddball gas station. I think it was family-run and I think they were South Asian, as in from India/Pakistan/Bangladesh/Sri Lanka. The mom-and-pop joints are always so much more interesting than the chains, especially when they’re immigrants. It was almost as if they had too much space and didn’t quite know how to fill it. There was all the stuff you’d expect, but then bonus items you’d never get at a Jackson’s or BuyTwo. Like these outfits. I love that they have them, but let’s be real, who’s actually buying these? In Nebraska? On the highway?
Also, I love the accidental pink polka-dotted wall. And WHO THROWS AWAY THEIR CANE? If you needed it to come in, won’t you need it to leave? Were you miraculously healed while peeing?
Not too long after stopping to refuel, I found a rest stop with plenty of overnighters. I drove around a little, trying to find the combination of the quietest and darkest place. A little challenging since the semis were providing the shade from the fluorescence, but also the source of the noise. Every single one was running their engine. Whatever, it wouldn’t matter soon. I was exhausted.