Coffee Break: Swell COffee Co.

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Mission Beach, California

by Samantha Adler

I finally found the perfect morning beverage. And an acceptable excuse to down a hoppy, cold drink at 10 AM on the beach.

San Diego’s Mission Beach is especially well equipped for this morning routine; with food vendors, cafes, a boardwalk, and little shops to accommodate surfers, locals, and wanderers (like myself). Colorful houses sprout off this main road on little alleys, with leafy and succulent-rich yards squished against each other. Walking through one of these alleys leads you from the main road to the beach.

I parked in front of one of these cozy little blocks and set off on to get my caffeine fix at Swell Coffee Co. Swell fits right in at Mission Beach, with its beach-y, chill vibes. The cafe is located completely outside, with several stools and tables located in an outside patio. I was pleased to find the bathroom even rode the beach-themed wave, with posters of Point Break serving as wallpaper.

I approached the counter eyeing their coffee options and yummy breakfast menu. Swell was also a roaster, and served it’s own coffee. They also have an extensive breakfast menu, with healthy noms and Mexi-Cali egg dishes. After only eating burritos for a week and getting distracted by several pups behind me in line, I quickly decided to go with a classic breakfast sandwich and a normal, black cold brew.

I found a sunny spot at the corner of the patio. I slurped down half of my coffee when my sandwich came out. While the egg, spinach, cheese, and bacon sandwich was the tamest option, it was so delicious that I ate it too fast to take a photo (I’m sorry!). The bread was fresh and lightly toasted, the bacon was super crispy, and there was plenty of melted sharp cheddar.

It was only after I sat down and took a closer look at the menu that I saw it: a cold brew brewed in hops. A beer ice coffee? My two favorite beverages joined together in a glorious liquid?

After polishing off my plate and my original cup of coffee, I ordered the hopped cold brew to go. I held the cold plastic cup in my hand and took off down a leafy alley towards the beach. Halfway down, standing in front of a tiny fenced yard, with surfboards and yard decorations strewn about, I took my first sip.

The familiar acidity of iced coffee filled my mouth, but then came a big hoppy punch. The flavor was strong, but pleasant for anyone who enjoys a hoppy, bitty IPA. It gave the cold brew a kick, with a hop-bite at the tail-end of every sip.

I would highly recommend to my fellow IPA and coffee enthusiasts. And if you can, drink it on the beach.

Grand Canyon: An Expedition

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Grand Canyon National Park

by Samantha Adler

If you want a reminder that you are just a small, little speck in a huge, titanic, wondrous earth, go stand at the edge of the Grand Canyon.

I had expected it to be beautiful (it is one of the natural wonders of the world after all), but wasn’t quite prepared for its mind-altering majesty. We pulled through the park entrance and barely parked before I leapt out of the car, ran to the edge, and leaned over the metal railing in complete awe.

It’s easy to get lost in the Canyon’s beauty and forget that it’s an awesome force of nature. You’re advised only to hike in the wee hours of the morning and evening, as the sun is too powerful during the day. Fliers are stapled every five feet, with photos of 25 year old marathon runners who expired because they refused to drink the recommended amount of water and take breaks. This Canyon is not to be taken lightly, even for the most fit of us mere mortals.

So I woke up at 5AM, hopped on the GC bus (yes, the park is so big they have a fully functioning bus system), and stumbled onto South Kaibab trail. The dusty orange path switched back and forth on the cliff face, inching slowly towards the bottom of the Canyon. With every turn my perspective of the Canyon would shift, but it never got old and it never got less intimidating.

Taking a break on a jut out, I sat beneath the one tree (and single source of shade for miles) and admired the view. Growing up I had seen this place in photos, in National Geographic, and all over geography textbooks. But, imagine tracking the southwest American wilderness in the late 1800’s and stumbling across this huge crack in the earth? I would have pooped myself (and they probably did due to dysentery).

Joseph Christmas Ives (cool name) set out to explore the Canyon via the Colorado River (what shaped this crazy structure and runs through the middle of Canyon) in 1857 on an expedition funded by the US government.

The area at the time was uncharted,  just a huge blank space on US maps, so the government paid Ives to chart this area. He gathered a crew and set sail on his steamboat the Explorer (very practical, Christmas). Unfortunately, they didn’t make it far; his boat crashed at a smaller canyon right outside and they continued on foot for thirty miles, reaching an overland view of the Canyon. He wrote:

"The extent and magnitude of the system of canyons is astounding. The plateau is cut into shreds by these gigantic chasms, and resembles a vast ruin. Belts of country miles in width have been swept away, leaving only isolated mountains standing in the gap. Fissures so profound that the eye cannot penetrate their depths are separated by walls whose thickness one can almost span, and slender spires that seem to be tottering upon their bases shoot up thousands of feet from the vaults below."

It’s hard not to think in poetic prose when starring out on this vast maze of canyons.

Next up was Jon Weselly Powell, a one armed curious geologist and Civil War vet. Set out to conquer the wild Colorado (this river’s rapids are so powerful I could hear them from the overlook) with four man made wooden boats, an extensive knowledge about Ives’ journey, and ragtag team of civil war vets and trappers. The team made it further than Ives, crashing at the Lodore Canyon.

They then spent three months explore the upper canyons, eventually entering the belly of the Grand Canyon. However, by then the team had run out of food. Out of the original nine crew members, only six completed the journey. Powell named several important landmarks including the Lodore Canyon, Disaster Falls, and the Flaming Gorge.

Not to be deterred by his previous hardships on his initial journey, he returned again in 1871 with a group of scientists, set out to study the geology of the Canyon. The majesty of the Canyon changed him, and he dedicated his life to uncovering its mysteries one rock at a time. Afterwards he became the director of the U.S. Geological Survey, taking a keen interest on the geology of the American southwest.

If you’re a fit and brave soul, you can still trek to the base of the Canyon and ride the rapids of the Colorado (under the supervision of an guide and in a floaty raft). Sipping my water under the shade of a tree, I looked around at the deep and wide crevices all around me. I had walked for hours on groomed trails and I felt like an explorer. It’s not not to, despite having a path leveled for you, a hike still means braving an aggressive heat, steep inclines, and a new mind-altering view on every switch-back.

While I had set off to see a pretty sight once pictured in my text books, Powell and Ives went to study rocks in an area the government was too lazy to explore. And we had all stumbled on something that shook our foundation and reminded us we hold very little power next to a beast like the Grand Canyon.

* To learn more about the Grand Canyon explorers visit the Grand Canyon site here.

Drank in America: Bacchanal Wine

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New Orleans, Louisiana

by Samantha Adler

What city can mix you the best drink, play you the smoothest jazz, and steal your heart? New Orleans, baby.

The Big Easy is easily one my favorite cities in the world. It has an electric energy that is unlike any other.

It’s a city that finds a rare balance of holding onto its past with a vibrant pride, while also pushing brightly into the future. Its Spanish, Creole, Caribbean, French, African, and American roots have influenced its food, music, and lifestyle. Not to mention, its the freaking birthplace of Jazz. And NOLA continues to grow, as it is becoming the most recent hub for film, media, and music.

I had visited NOLA once before my most recent trip. I saw, ate, and listened to all the “musts”: drank on Bourbon, listened to jazz on Frenchman Street, strolled the Garden District, and ate in the French Quarter.

This time around was a little more relaxed, but I was anxious to get back to that captivating city. I strolled the same neighborhoods and returned to Frenchman Street my first night there to listen to some jazz and grab a beer.

The next day I was set on breaking away from the routine of my last visit. After a morning of walking the Warehouse district (NOLA’s art district), my travel buddy said he had found a bar for us to check out later that night called Bacchanal Wine. 

Our cab driver overhead us and gave us the thumbs up via the review mirror.

“I love Bacchanal! That place is awesome.”

Yesss, we are actually cool.

After dinner we grabbed a cab and headed over to Bacchanal. The bar is located in NOLA’s Ninth Ward neighborhood, which was a little ways from our digs in Treme, a neighborhood next to the famous French Quarter.

It turns out that Bacchanal Wine is actually much more than a bar. Sitting squarely on the corner of two streets, it looks unimposing with a worn exposed brick exterior and forest green shutters. The inside is equally quaint...until you realize that you have a magical plethora of drink options. While it offers custom cocktails, glasses of wine, and bottled beer, its main attraction is its vast selection of bottled wine and cheese. The idea is to purchase a bottle and some cheese and to sit and enjoy the live music outside.

Its large fenced-in yard is dotted with iron picnic tables and a sea of mismatched chairs. During peak night hours the yard twinkles with bulbs strung tautly overhead and spotlights pointed towards an outdoor stage.

When we first walked into the small shop in front, my travel buddy started looking intensely through the wine selection.  Like the city, Bacchanal excluded no one from a good time, but didn’t eliminate the option of adding a little glamour to the night. With a sizable wine and cheese selection you could spend $15 or $150.

Not knowing much about wine, I scooted outside to snatch a table. I didn’t make it far before I ran into Queen Koldmadina. She stood behind a large folding table, tapping to the live music in the background. Piled in front of her were bundles of t-shirts with the words “Let Me” silk screened across the front and a stack of DVDs.

Queen is a Ninth Ward local and a hip hop musician. She was also the star of the Academy-Award nominated documentary Trouble The Water, which chronicled her heroism during and after Hurricane Katrina. We started chatting, she told me the doc gave her a platform to make a difference and she was fundraising for the New Orleans Women’s Shelter (Queen continues to raise awareness about Katrina’s continuous effects on her community. Look up her album here.)

“What does ‘Let Me’ mean?”

“It means just let me be who I am, do what I want, what I dream.”

After buying a t-shirt, I snagged a table and guarded two chairs. My buddy came out, wine and ice bucket in one hand and two glasses in another.

The acts switched and we sat back, wine in hand, listening to Dixeland jazz until we polished off the bottle of white.

A little wine drunk, with fairy lights twinkling above, and jazz swinging through the summer air, Bacchanal was NOLA perfection: music, drink, and community.

 

Scenic Drives: Sailing the Blue Ridge

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Blue Ridge Parkway, Tennessee & North Carolina

by Samantha Adler

Cassia & Sam Help You Survive The Zomb-Pocalypse

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So this conversation happened.

And it got the road warriors in us thinking about where we would want to end up in the United States if (read: when) the inevitable zomb-pocalypse actually happens.

Here are the results, because, as resident America cross country travel experts (read: enthusiasts) we’ve scoped it out for you. And we don’t want to leave the good people hanging when the undead come a-knocking.

Samantha’s Vision:

I’ve been binge watching an unhealthy amount of The Walking Dead. While Georgia is gorgeous and the forests provide good cover from the swarms of zombies, the cast always looks hot (sexy and sweaty), hungry, and far from everything.

So...my zombie apocalypse go-to would have to be the California coast. Why you ask?

A. Climate

A mild climate seems huge for survival...and comfort. If you’re low on water you don’t want to overheat and if you’re without shelter or fire you don’t want to be somewhere with tons of snow fall. Also I think we’re allowed to enjoy the ocean breeze if were running from zombies all day, am I right?

As you travel south to north, the climate changes but stays pretty temperate. This allows you to change up the scenery, but never run into extreme weather.

B. Shelter

California is heavily populated with tons of places to set up camp. There are more houses, factories, schools, hospitals...etc. The coast is also diverse in that you can bop into a city or run inland to a forested area for cover.

Also (taking a hint from Woody Harrelson in Zombieland), you could always pop over to the Hollywood Hills and set up camp in an A-Listers mansion. Big fences, lots of space, and probably well stocked.

The ocean is also HUGE. If things get too crazy on dry land, steal a boat and anchor for a few weeks.

C. Food

Walking corpses roaming the earth should not stop you from enjoying a trendy avocado toast once in awhile. California’s climate is great for growing fruits and veggies. And with an abundance of farms, you can load up and learn how to grow them yourself. You also would have the ability to fish on the ocean.

WINE. There are a ton of wineries on the California coast. The vineyards might be abandoned, but wine only gets better with age right?

The zombie diet: wine, fish, fruit, and veggies. I feel like Gwyneth Paltrow would be really into this.

D. Weaponry

Dotted with cities and highly populated towns, the coast will have restaurants full of knives and guns abundant. The ocean is again a huge asset here. There are several marine army bases on the coast. Big guns on boats? Yes.

So if the dead start walking the earth, head west. We’ll get a tan on while we kick zombie ass.

Cassia’s Vision:

As indecisive as I am about what I want to eat for dinner on a daily basis (but is there really a straightforward answer when you’re choosing between tacos at the Mexican place down the street, Southern barbecue, and Chinese leftovers?), I have thought long and hard about where I would want to be if the zomb-pocalypse ever became a viable threat to my safety. Zombies aren’t difficult to study; watch the movies and you learn enough about their undead nature to construct a tentative sketch of their strengths and weaknesses (i.e. strength: can smell human flesh miles away, weakness: not very good at walking up stairs). And so it is without a doubt that I can say at the slightest hint of this cannibalism-disease bearing down on America, I’d drop my life in Atlanta (apologies in advance for betraying you, my lovely city, and your cult-like following of The Walking Dead) and make my way to Charleston, South Carolina.

A. Climate

It’s simple geography. Charleston is a city built almost as if with the intent to prepare for the zombie-pocalypse and protect inhabitants from these mutants. The seaside provides mild winters to prevent frostbite during a long, electricity-less winter (though the smell of rotting corpses in the summer may be a bit of a con). It’s also surrounded by farmland and maintains perfect weather for growing vegetables and fruits.

B. Shelter

At the city’s core is a marina, where there is a bounty of oysters to dig out for food and plenty of snazzy yachts and boats just waiting for someone in need of escape from the undead. The marina itself is framed by historical, pastel-colored, colonial-style mansions (read: mini-fortresses). These gated, four- and five- story homes of yesteryear boast fireplaces, tons of staircases, and lots of rooms to barricade oneself in. There are big windows on the upper floors to open up during the sweaty summertimes and I’m sure at least a few of them still have an outhouse in the backyard (you have to prepare for everything).

C. Weaponry

Charleston’s has deep South roots. It’s the kind of place where one can pretty easily find the #1 Zombie-Re-Killing Weapon (according to the resident experts; 28 Days Later, Dawn of the Dead, Zombieland, World War Z, and Warm Bodies): the shotgun. I figure that in Charleston, not only am I going to be able to access plenty of shotguns and ammo at the nearest Wal-Mart Superstore, but I’ll be able to find a few other survivors who already know how to hunt (or attend Charleston’s military school, The Citadel) and can bring down a zombie while wasting the least amount of shells per undead monster (thanks for the lesson in survival, Zombieland).

D. A Fortress

And last but not least, there’s the fortress on an island just a little ways offshore. Yeah, that’s right. If the zombies overcome all your blockades and you run out of ammo and you’re in a pinch, you can just steal away on one of those yachts and make your way to a fabulous island paradise for fun-in-the-sun while you wait out the end of the world as we know it.

Selfie Shame

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by Samantha Adler

Tis the age of the selfie. That iPhone front camera has created a world where the duck face is a coveted skill and Kim Kardashian is a bestselling author.

While it’s easy to lose patience with the selfie and its rule over your social media feeds, it’s not completely evil. A selfie can be the ultimate tool for a solo adventurer looking to document their travels. And no, you do not have narcissistic stockholm syndrome.

I’m admittedly a culprit of the selfie epidemic (hey, sometimes you can’t let a good hair-day slip by unnoticed). But, my real internal, ethical struggle lies with the selfie’s trusty sidekick: the selfie stick.

A tool used only for the most serious front-cam-glam, I didn’t think we’d ever become acquainted. But, when strolling down the aisles of the Target picking up supplies in preparation for my roadtrip, there it was on sale for $5.

Memories of New York City tourists huddled together, smiling creepily too hard, blocking the sidewalk with a metallic stick stretched out above them were seared into my brain, telling me to walk away if I wanted to maintain any sort of dignity. But, the humor of owning one was too good and I caved.

Tucked away in the corner of my ratty backpack, I forgot about the selfie stick until I was well into my roadtrip. I had left the familiar landscape of the Northeast and the cities along the way, and was now immersed into the vast landscape of the West. Here nature was grander, bigger and sprawling.

I snapped photos on my camera and a few on my phone, to send to family and friends. But as far as I stretched or jumped or climbed, I couldn’t capture the titanic landscapes and natural wonders. One of the most challenging to capture was the Grand Canyon. After trying to snap a photo of me with the canyon behind me, I was frustrated. The photos were 70% my sweaty face and 30% beautiful landscape.

Frustrated, annoyed and hot, I furiously wrestled through my bag for my water bottle when my hand hit something cold and metallic: the selfie stick. I pulled it out, slid my phone into the grip and connected the cord. Holding it close to me, I scanned the ledge for fellow judgmental hikers. I was safe to test this baby out.

Stretching out the metal pole, I lifted it up so the camera was well above my head and started clicking away. The grip wasn’t screwed in tight enough, the camera whirled upside down and swung its weight to the side.  I lost balance of the over extended metal rod and fell over. This tool I had mocked was now testing me.

I checked the photos I snapped before securing the grip. While I hadn’t figure out how to get the entirety of the pole out of the photo, it captured a large part of the landscape behind me. After several tries with happy results, I was giddy. I didn’t even wince when other hikers passed and giggled. With a handful of approved selfies on my camera roll, I set off the path grinning with my new selfie-stick-pal.

I had underestimated the usefulness of the stick. It proved to be a really helpful tool for documenting adventures that are bigger than an arm’s length. Go forth, adventure and selfie away.

Hide & Seek at Houmas House

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Darrow, Louisiana

by Samantha Adler

Food for Thought: Some (All of Nashville) Like it Hot

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Nashville, Tennessee

by Samantha Adler

Recently Colonel Sanders has been taking over American Television with his announcement of the new KFC recipe: Nashville Hot Chicken. Now I love fast food to an unhealthy degree. Love it. So it breaks my heart to say: sorry KFC, I’ve had the real thing and you don’t stand a chance.

Hot chicken is a Nashville food staple, and Prince’s Hot Chicken is where it all began.

Story has it that one night over 70 years ago, playboy Thornton Prince stayed out a little too late. His woman, having none of it, decided to play a trick on Thorton and his friends. She sneakily added a hefty helping of spice to their late night fried chicken, thinking it would burn a lesson into her man’s tongue. However, Thornton loved it and opened a restaurant with this hot, new recipe. His great-granddaughter, Andres Prince Jeffries, now runs the restaurant and is the keeper of Prince’s secret family recipe.

I stopped over at Prince’s my second day in Nashville. This famous foodie pitstop is tucked away in the corner of a strip mall. The restaurant’s name spelled out in fiery crimson and orange window paint is the only indicator that you’re in the right place. I stepped inside to a line that stretched to the door, originating from a small window connecting the dining room to the kitchen. A woman leaned over with a notepad scribbling orders down and handing them behind her.  The interior was a bare bones white, with one aqua-blue painted wall and several picnic tables against the left hand side. I tried to read the faces of the munching patrons at the tables as I shuffled in line: wince in scalding pain, euphoric satisfaction, wince in scalding pain.

Hot chicken came in three levels of spice, ranging from mild to extremely hot. The crisp, juicy chicken is served with pickles atop a slice of white bread to soak up extra hot juices and provide a small relief to the tasty fire poultry.

It was finally my turn to approach the window.

Photo credit: www.wheretraveler.com

Photo credit: www.wheretraveler.com

“What will you have?”

My buddy went with a milder, but hot chicken. I, a notorious spice wimp, ordered plain.

“Ohhhh come on,” The woman exclaimed.

“I’m a baby! I know.”

*turns to my buddy*

“You have to toughen her up. Plain...”

*laughter echoes through the kitchen as my order is passed around.*

After snagging a coveted table, we waited for our number. The dining room was packed; people slumped against the walls holding their order tickets, eyes darting up when there was any movement around the seating area. The white walls were spotted with a few framed mentions in magazines and newspapers (one with Guy Fieri's grinning face and spiky, frosted tips). We ended up sharing our seats with a pair of locals, who were also here for their first taste. Sitting shoulder to shoulder, our new friends informed us they had moved from Texas, Louisiana, Mississippi, finally landing in Nashville. And they were no stranger to hot food. They were two engineers who chased the flame. It came as no surprise that they ordered extremely hot.

Our number was called and I returned with a tray of steaming fried chicken, laid out like a casual picnic spread...a picnic that would kick you in the ass with heat. My plain jane fried chicken was amazing, crispy and flavorful. I snagged a bite of my buddy’s low-level hot. It was delicious with a hard kick. The chicken is super crispy, with the spice laid into its fried exterior. We sat back satisfied with our new friends, as they wiped away pepper-filled tears.

So try KFC’s new hot chicken. But I guarantee Andres didn’t share any secrets.

Drank in America: Firefly Hollow

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Bristol, Connecticut

by Samantha Adler

What’s more patriotic than sipping a cold glass of American beer? And it’s becoming easier and easier to do. With breweries popping up in cities all over the US that delicious new lager is that much closer to the the keg at your local bar or on the shelf at your corner liquor store.

I have to say I’m pretty proud of my growing appetite for craft beer (while mildly ashamed at the quantity I consume), especially considering how far I’ve come from my collegiate chugging of Nattie Lights.

A few weeks ago I came across one of the best beers I’ve had in a while, maybe ever, brewed right in my little state of Connecticut! Of course, this title is totally based on my taste. But if you love hoppy, citrusy IPAs, get ready to fall in love at first sip.

I had gone to grab dinner at the local pub in town, Celtic Cavern in Middletown. It’s a small gastropub that has an ever-changing menu of yummy beers on tap, many from local breweries. A floor to ceiling beer list greets you as you step into the basement entrance. The large array of brews are etched in colorful variations of chalk. After squinting at the chalky scribbles for a few minutes too long, the owner approached and excitedly suggest I try an Imperial IPA called Cone Flakes. I agreed, partly because anything with a name somewhat resembling the delicious, golden Corn Flakes cereal had to be good, right?

Exactly right. I took my first sip of the golden Imperial IIPA and was blown away with flavor. This beer is not for the hoppy light of heart. It’s pack full of flavor, and it takes a minute to explore all the levels of it’s hoppy-goodness. It has the normal punch of a strong IPA with a strong flavor of hops, but the added citrus and malt gives it a unique and extremely satisfying complexity.

Firefly Hollow became first on my list of Connecticut breweries to check out. The next weekend I took a drive out to the Bristol brewery. The brewing company is located near train tracks in an industrial area of town, tucked behind what seems to be an abandoned warehouse. The tasting room has a similar feel, with a lot of open space, industrial piping and large garage doors leading to an outside seating area. Iron framed paned glass allowed the late afternoon sun to pour into the open room and reflect off old growlers, glass 32 and 62 ounce jars used to transport draught beer, now used as lampshades and wall decor.

The brewery boasts more than the magical Cone Flakes, it has several different stouts, IPAs and lagers to try. I swiped a sip of the Imperial Choconaut Porter, a dark beer with hints of chocolate and oats, and the Red Lantern, a traditional red ale with a caramel and cherry kick. However, I was a bit un-adventurous and ordered Cone Flakes again AND got a growler before leaving (I’m obsessed, ok?).

The brewery was surprising crowded, for something so tucked away. Friends sat in circles of leather couches, parents fed toddlers snacks as they took a much deserved cold sip (weirdly kids are regular, legal visitors of most breweries) and regulars gathered at the bar. The seating area was spacious and airy, but held the local comfort of a neighborhood watering hole.

Firefly Hollow was my first visit to a local, hometown brewery. I encourage you to try out yours. You might get lucky and find a match made in beer heaven.

Mardi Gras: The Ultimate Party

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New Orleans, Louisiana

by Samantha Adler

Q&A with Maureen and Larry Gelo: Nomadic Retirees and Road Trip Professionals

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Unity, New Hampshire

by Samantha Adler

Florida palm trees, luxurious naps and bingo: these are the things retirement dreams are made of.

But, if you travel up to woodsy New Hampshire and ask Maureen and Larry Gelo they’d beg to differ. A couple of retirement rebels, these two fill their time seeking new adventures on America’s open roads, breaking away from the status quo of retirees.

The two lived, worked and raised their children in Connecticut. He worked as a police officer in a small town on the shore and she worked as a nanny. Larry’s a handyman who can fix all and create any device you’d ever need from scratch. Maureen’s gentle and loving with a dash of cheeky spunk. After retiring at age of 62, they bought a motorhome and set off on a series of spontaneous road trips in North America, driven by curiosity and an unfulfilled wanderlust. It’s been over a decade and they’re still going, insisting there is so much to see in this big, beautiful country of ours.

This pair of serial roadtrippers happen to be my grandparents (+10 cool points for me) and two of the biggest supporters of the road trip. I recently visited them in Unity, New Hampshire, their home base. When they’re not out on the road, Larry does woodwork with materials from the forest behind their house (Check out some of his amazing work), visit friends, hike and enjoy their rugged New England home.

Before settling down over the kitchen table, we went on a short hike in the nearby Quechee Gorge. A few remaining leaves hung off wiry branches, clinging on against the chilly late autumn breeze. We got home, tore off hiking boots and unbundled. After putting a log on the furnace, we gathered around a plate of brownies and they shared their stories, travel advice and all their coveted road trip knowledge in their usual hilarious banter.

First off, why the travel retirement?

L: There’s a lot of places we’ve never been and we’d like to go there.

M: That pretty much says it all. We just wanted to travel and see this beautiful country.

 

Why roadtripping in particular?

L: Because you can see a lot more. And with a camper you can stop wherever, whenever and for as long as you want.

M: To get off the beaten path and see things. We’ve had so many surprises, especially in these little towns along the way. [There was] one place in Nebraska we ended up. It was the end of the day and we were tired. We just about got into this parking lot, when we saw there was a museum. Well, we ended up staying there for three more days because this museum was blocks long. A man had collected everything from soup to nuts; from cars to buttons. And he had all these buildings with all these wonderful things, like the earliest telephone. We found out that he was the creator of bubble wrap! And he just collected for years and years and years. But like I said when we pulled into this place it looked like nothing, it was just a place we stopped at because it was the end of the day and we were tired. So that’s the wonderful thing about traveling across this country in a vehicle.

 

Did you travel when you were younger?

M: I think the farthest we ever went was to visit my father’s sister in New York. And that was about three or four times in my childhood. Neither of my parents liked to travel, they were homebodies. So that gave me the wanderlust.

L: When I was single in the service and my teenage years, I used to travel down the East Coast, and that was it. But I did get to go to college in Alaska and loved it. About forty years ago we got the chance to take a cruise up there and loved it. Then we went back and spent eight or ten weeks traveling around in the motorhome.

What was your first road trip?

M:  We had a trailer and we went up to Canada, Quebec and Niagara falls, on both sides. There again, we found this wonderful little town that we would have never found if we weren’t riding around.

L: We first started with a truck, we camped in the back of the truck, then we got a little trailer, then we got a little bigger trailer and then we decided [to get the RV] when we got close to retirement.

 

What was the best trip or route you’ve taken?

L: I think Alaska was probably the greatest. They’ve all been great. One time we went down Route 50 from the East Coast all the way out to California. It was the old 1950/60’s.  Most of it’s disappeared by now, but it was kind of nostalgic and off the beaten path. It was stuff we remembered from when we were young.

M: Route 66.

L: Yea, a lot of it was Route 66. Another time we went along the Canadian border all the way west, then down the coast to San Francisco and then back along the southern coast. That was an amazing trip.

 

What was the craziest thing you saw because you were driving?

L: We’ve seen just about everything. We’ve been in tornados, major thunderstorms, hailstorms, windstorms where we thought the camper was going to flip over. Anything you can think of we’ve been near it, too near it for comfort or right in the middle of it.

 

Have you made any friends along the way?

L: We’ve met all sorts of people. You never know who you’re going to run into. We stopped in one place in Canada and met people we’ve been in touch with for seven or eight years now.

M: All nice people from all walks of life.

L: Everyplace you stop you should talk to somebody. You’ll talk about where you’ve been and where you’re going and they’ll tell you what you should go and see. And if they’ve been to places you’ve already been, they’ll tell you about places you missed after you thought you’ve seen everything there is to see. We went to Wall Drugs a few times going across country. It’s a big, big drug store and big tourist attraction. And almost across the street, were the Badlands. We drove right by it. The third time we finally figured it out after chatting with people.

 

What are the best things you’ve picked up along the way?

L: She likes to shop. We had to go all the way to Alaska to go to Walmart.

M: No. My best souvenirs were in Sequoia National Park, we filled our trunk with great big pinecones.

L: Then we found out it was illegal.

M: And then I got a piece of wood from the Petrified Forest. Which was...another illegal thing.  Nothing I bought. I have a chunk of rock from the base of Crazy Horse. And that was legal! They said I could take it.

L: Every place we’ve gone to I’ve gotten a walking stick emblem.

I know you’ve had some run-ins with pretty large critters.

L: We saw every animal you could think of in Alaska: mountain lions, moose, bears. I’ve walked up on a moose. Not intentionally. I was walking along the road and right next to me a moose started snorting. I said “oh that’s not a smart idea.” I kept walking and he went back on to minding his own business.

 

Advice for aspiring roadtrippers?

L: It’s the most exciting way in the world to go. You don’t have to go on an airplane and go through all that crap. Travel as much as you can. You get a whole, totally different outlook on the world. You see it’s more than this little town you live in.

M: Enjoy the ride and the surprises. In Saint Louis we ended up seeing the Clydesdales from the Budweiser commercials at Grant’s Farm. That was a surprise that we came upon. It was in this beautiful nature park that had all types of animals. And it was totally free.

L: Talk to everyone you can talk to.

M: I like stopping at visitors centers because you can get all the information you need. It’s always good to stop there.

L: If you see something interesting you should stop. The most important thing about traveling like this is being able to stop when you see something interesting and if you don’t make your destination, fine.

 

The one place you must see in the US?

M: Grand Tetons.

L: When we were traveling to a balloon festival in Arizona, we hit every presidential library in the country. That was amazing, I never knew the presidential libraries had so much to offer.

 

What route do you recommend for someone who wants to road trip for the first time?

L: I think Route 50 was one of the nicest. If you can stay off the main highways, do it. The interstates are beautiful things for when you want to get somewhere fast, but you miss everything.

 

There’s so much to see. What should someone base their route on when planning?

L: No matter what you’re interested in look for things that are in that area. Like history, if you’re interested in battlefields you could spend months visiting them all in the southeast. Or if you find a writer you’re interested in...anything!

M: Just seeing the country and riding along.

L: We’ve got friends who like to go to zoos. They just travel all around the country going to zoos. It’s whatever you’re interested in.

M: I wanted to go to Savannah because I heard there was a museum here that had Scarlett O’Hara’s dress from Gone with the Wind. I was so excited because that’s one of my favorite movies. I never thought i’d be able to do that. Especially because I never traveled when I was younger, so it’s amazing to be able to hop in the motorhome, drive down and see something as ridiculous as Scarlett O’Hara’s gown.

L: One time we tried to hit as many national forests and parks as we could.

Has anything you’ve seen changed your perspective?

L: It’s changed our outlook on life. Before we started traveling  the north east was basically it. Yea, I’d gone down south a few times for the service. But I’ve probably never gone more than 100 miles from the Atlantic Ocean. And it’s amazing. I thought everyone in the world lived in New York City; that was civilization. Then you find out Chicago is bigger. And the first time we went across country, to see how big this country is, where you’re driving and you can see fifty miles ahead, drive for hours and see nothing else. You can’t wrap your head around that or visualize that from reading a book or watching TV. You can’t appreciate it until you see it. And to see how different people live. It’s changing a bit now. But we’d hit totally different cultures and foods. I do carpenter work and I’ve seen carpenters make the same thing I make but in totally different ways, with different tools and different methods. That’s where you learn things.

 

So, you guys are the cool nomadic kids in your friend group.

M: Yea.

L: We dare a little more.

M: Some of our friends don’t follow us cause they feel we’re too old. They don’t want to get off the beaten path.

L: We’ll just go and if we stop, we’ll stop. We’re a little more daring, but everyone is different. It’s still nice to get home. Then regroup, reorganize and then take off again.

 

Mesa Verde National Park: The Wild Side

Mesa Verde National Park, Colorado

by Samantha Adler

Check out my first Mesa Verde installment: Withering Heights

I stepped back on solid ground and gripped the metal fence separating me from the canyon below. I had just completed a heart pounding journey through one of Mesa Verde’s high-up cliff dwellings. I took a glance back at the man-made structure; brown solid walls, windows and tunnels, all nestled into a little alcove, carved out of a towering cliff, up high in a vast canyon, that cut through an even larger desert forest.

These man-made wonders of Mesa Verde spark so much curiosity and hold so much cultural significance, that they sometime overshadow the fact that Mesa Verde is a national park blooming with diverse plant and animal life.

I certainly forgot.  It wasn’t until after I wandered starry eyed from exploring thousand year old cliff dwellings, started up the car and drove up the windy road to the park’s campsite, that it hit me

I wandered into the camp store looking for snacks and firewood. While I had noticed a diverse array of plant life and trees on the drive, the smiling plush toys in the camp store seemed out of place. A mountain lion stuffed buddy? A smiling owl? A fluffy bobcat?

You guys don’t belong here.

I grabbed a rock solid frozen breakfast burrito and a bundle of wood and went to check out. The cashier handed me a list of guidelines and an event itinerary. A park ranger was giving a wildlife talk after sunset that night. I had to go because A. park rangers are the coolest and B. I was eager to find out what critters dwelled secretly in this park.

The tent site was set within a field of tall, tan grass. The sun was beginning to set in a cascade of striking warm colors when I started to put the tent together and defrost the block of ice, egg and cheese over the fire. I heard a rustle in the brush and shot up. All those little fluffy faces in the camp store popped into my head, only now they were muscly, toothy and hungry. I froze with fear and excitement.  I squinted in the dusk and saw a deer meandering in the hazy light, like she ran the whole show and I was zero threat.

After finishing off dinner and putting out a short lived fire, I grabbed a flashlight and made my way to the ranger talk at the amphitheater. The amphitheater was an outdoor semi circle of concrete benches, with a raised platform for a stage. The presentation had begun and I snuck into a seat amongst a crowd of children and a few parents. The ranger at the front had an image of a curious hare pull up on a large projector. She began explaining that the animals that lived in Mesa Verde have gone through some amazing adaptations to live in this climate.

Mesa Verde’s 5200 acres are sandwiched between the lush forests of the Rockies and the desert of the SouthWest. This gives the park a mostly a semi-arid environment at a 6000 ft elevation. While it seems like a tough environment, the park boasts 640 species of plants, 74 species of mammals, 200 species of birds, 16 species of reptiles, five species of amphibians, six species of fishes (four of which are native), and over 1,000 species of insects.

This includes the threatened Mexican Spotted Owl. The park boasts several protected breeding areas for these rare birds. The unique climate here actually provides a rare pocket for niche animals, plants and insects to thrive.

The ranger clicked through photos noting adaptations such as camouflage, clawed footing for climbing and quick mobility to escape predators. I joined the kiddos in their Oooh’s and Ahhh’s. The ranger then pulled up the apex predator and one of the most beautiful animals in North America: the mountain lion.

It’s adaptations seemed more fitting for conquering than surviving: the ability to leap from fifty feet above, speed and strength. While beautiful, these animals were not to be messed with. However, sighting one of these big cats was rare as they keep to themselves in the canyon.

Then the presentation ended in the best possible way: baby animal photos. She knew how to win the crowd over. Suspense, danger...cute baby animals.

I walked with the crowd of giggling children, flashlight in hand to my campsite. The light shone a bright white circle in front of me. My peripherals were a black darkness and I chose to ignore any rustle, chirps or movement. I hopped into my tent and gazed up towards the sky. Now knowledgeable of ALL the possibilities that might lie in that brush, I closed my eyes, imagined the adorable baby versions and hoped to encounter them in the morning.

A reminder that the wildlife you learn about at national parks are indeed...wild. Follow the National Park Service guidelines when you're exploring, camping or hiking to keep things wild and free:

  • Feeding wild animals is dangerous to you and unhealthy for them.

  • Wild animals can carry deadly diseases, including hantavirus, plague and rabies.

  • Repeated human contact with wildlife may cause animals to lose their natural fear of humans and become aggressive.

  • Always view wildlife from the safety of your car or from a distance.

  • Do not approach animals to feed or take photographs, and teach children not to chase, tease, or pick up animals.

  • Please report any animal that may appear sick or injured.

  • Keep your food, cooking equipment, and garbage in your vehicle with the windows closed, hard-sided trailer, or food locker.

 

Coffee Break: Barista Parlor

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by Samantha Adler

Every road trip/adventure has its ebbs and flows. You’re cruising down the interstate singing on the top of your lungs, skipping along the sidewalks of a new town or giggling gleefully at shenanigans you and your road trip buddy have gotten into. Then the adrenaline wears off and the three hours of sleep you got the night before becomes painfully obvious. You find your eyes crossing on a long stretch of highway, yourself shuffling zombie-style through that new city, and you begin to chastise your road trip companion for their song choice, boring stories and the reason they were even born.

Then you find it: coffee. That magical liquid that grants you the energy of a labrador and the optimism of Spongebob. And you’re back to singing, skipping and giggling.

In addition to it’s magical, life-giving powers, coffee is often surrounded by the culture, music, flavors and people of the place you’re visiting. Coffeehouses can transform into Friends-like hang out spots, unofficial work offices, low-key concert venues for local artists and your own mad scientist-esque laboratory for testing out experimental concoctions.

Here are a few favorite coffee break spots we've come across in our travels.

Barista Parlor

Nashville, Tennessee

I arrived in Nashville after several nights of camping and long days of interstate driving. I passed the famed Broadway, with neon signs screaming the names of famous live music venues like Tootsie’s and Honky Tonk Central. Even behind my car’s tinted windshield the lights were blinding and the faint sound of country music seeped in. I continued down several smaller streets before arriving at my destination: an Airbnb. I had chosen to stay with two super friendly girls, who were recent Nashville transplants and had a cute little house on the city’s east side.

I wanted to go out and experience the city’s famous musical allure, but after sitting on the pull-out couch and sinking into it’s feathery bed, a nap was more tempting.  

*clap to the face*

My road trip buddy shook me.

“We’re only here for twenty-four hours. You need to wake up.”

*low guttural growls*

“Let’s get coffee. I read about a great place called Barista Parlor. We can walk there.”

After a fifteen minute zombie-shuffle through Nashville’s green, hip east side we turned the corner to Barista Parlor. The coffeehouse was built inside a renovated auto-repair shop, which gives it its industrial look and feel. The large blue, concrete building sat in the back corner of a large asphalt lot, with outdoor seating and massive carnival style block lettering.

Barista Parlor is no stranger to coffee-fame. The cafe has been written up on several best coffeeshops in the US lists, due to its ingenuity, stylish interior design, fresh baked goods and array of coffee techniques and quality.

Once your step inside, it’s not hard to see why. The coffeehouse is modern, industrial and warm. The space is wide and open, a sign of it’s former car-fixin’ days, with vintage-bulbs dangling from the ceiling, expansive warm wooden tables, metal piping, modern art pieces on the walls and two coffee bars with busy, bustling baristas who were busy as bees. The baristas wore mechanic-style aprons to protect from splattering coffee.

Stepping up to the metal bar, my tired mind was entranced by the baristas’ efficiency.  I ordered an espresso and a homemade strawberry poptart that caught my eye last minute. It looked too good to walk away from, golden with a drizzle of frosting and rainbow sprinkles. Who can say no to something with sprinkles? We sat down at the wooden bar adjacent to the barista station. Priding themselves on the variety of their menu and attention to detail in brewing, the barista station mirrored a mad scientist’s lab.

The poptart was flakey, buttery and fresh with a hint of lemon. I devoured it before my name was called for my espresso, which was a beautiful, dark, earthy, tasty sip of energy. Along with my little cup, I was served a small chewy caramel which was infused with sea salt. It was the perfect post-espresso treat.

We returned the next morning, after a day of romping about Nashville, eating hot chicken and a night of seeing a few live shows on Broadway. This time I ordered the cold brew and a breakfast biscuit, while my buddy ordered a house made "BP Soda Pop" made from carbonated cascara, vanilla and orange. 

Unlike the previous morning, we didn’t beat the rush. The line circled outside the garage doors, with young families, hand holding couples and the tired pre-work individual.

Sitting at the same wooden bench, we got our cold drinks. My cold brew was chocolaty and earthy, served in a printed glass. My buddy’s orange soda was tangy and fresh, both perfect for the hot Tennessee day ahead of us.

Then the biscuit came. It was served on a wooden slab with a bandana for a napkin. The buttery biscuit sandwich was hot, fresh and smelled like breakfast heaven with ham, a sunnyside up egg and cheese. The food definitely mirrored the attention to quality and detail of the coffee.

As the crowd died down, and we sat on out wooden bench sipping cold drinks slowly. Several people stared intently at their laptops, friends greeted others in lines and the few kids munched on fresh cookies.

Barista Parlor mirrors the young, trendy feel of the east side. And like its city, it pays a heavy attention to music. The shop has a stage outside for occasional live performances. The coffeeshop also recently opened another location in an old recording studio downtown in partnership with Black Keys frontman Dan Auerbach.

If you’re in Nashville and feeling a little sleepy or want a tasty treat/ well-brewed coffee make sure to hit up Barista Parlor.

  • Atmosphere: *****
    • Amenities included:
    • Good, chill working music
    • Quiet and polite patrons
    • Plentiful seating
  • Coffee: ****
    • Caffeine Power: Happily Hyper
    • Flavor: Dark, Earthy
  • Creativity: *****
  • Food: ****
  • Workspace: ***
    • Amenities included:
    • Wifi
    • Outlets

New Orleans' Afterlife

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Lafayette Cemetery No. 1, New Orleans, Louisana

by Samantha Adler

Mesa Verde National Park: Withering Heights

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Mesa Verde National Park, Colorado

by Samantha Adler

Visiting Mesa Verde was a very last minute decision inspired by a curiosity stemming from foggy memories of middle school history books and the fear conjured by my neighbor of the previous campsite: a single man/possible serial killer who stayed up all hours of the night scribbling his manifesto in the middle of the Colorado forest armed only with a pen, piles of paper and a hatchet.

Located near the Four Corners (Colorado, Utah, Arizona and New Mexico), this “green table” is nestled at Colorado’s southwest pocket, at an elevation of 7000 - 8500 ft (psh, not high at all).

The drive up to Mesa Verde was steep and precarious, with the dusty grass as the only barrier separating road from cliff edges. When I finally rounded the last terrifying turn, I got a breathtaking glimpse of why this park was vital aspect of every middle schooler’s history lesson.

This elevated destination is not only a National Park, but is the largest archeological preserve in the United States.There are over 600 cliff dwellings still standing within the park’s limits, the most famous of these being the Cliff Palace (the largest cliff dwelling in North America and probably the one pictured in your history book!). And a few of these preserved ancestral homes are open to visitors.

This mountainous park is bursting with history, wildlife and opportunities for adventure seekers.

The Height You’ll Go for History

I was late as usual. When I arrived at the park in the afternoon, the summer sun was still beating down heavily. But small herds of smiling families, linked together by vice-link hand holds, meandered the parking lot in search of their vehicles as I swerved into a spot.

I ran into the information center, almost knocking into several of those little chain-linked families, in search of a map and a bathroom (the drive in was very long). I grabbed a map, Spruce Tree House was open to the public. Spruce Tree House was one of the only self-guided dwellings open, due to it’s proximity to the ground and easy-footed terrain. And I had an hour before the site closed. Since many other dwellings open to tour were very high up in the cliff and didn’t have infrastructure built around them to hold large groups, you had to be brought in by a ranger.

While less hazardous than other sites, Spruce Tree was still a trek in the heat of this summer evening. Starting from the peak, I had to take several staircases and switchbacks down the steep incline. However, this first glimpse of Mesa Verde’s rich history was worth it.

It was something you read about and heard about, but didn’t quite imagine it in its reality. Nestled within an alcove of the cliff, warm brown stone walls stood erect and seemingly sturdy.

Spruce Tree House would inspire the most apathetic of persons to transform into a history nerd. This wasn’t a decrepit fossil that you had to squint in concentration to imagine the life it once breathed, but a still standing, perfectly preserved home used 1400 years ago by a badass people who braved cliff faces and soaring heights.

The occupants were the ancestral Puebloans, otherwise known as the Anasazi. They built communities in the cliffs of Mesa Verde and thrived for about 700 years before moving on and settling elsewhere. At the time the cliffs provided shelter, safety and access to water.

I had definitely joined the end of the day rush. By the time I reached the bottom, crowds buzzed around the site snapping a few last photos and catching the tail-end of ranger-led tours, pointing out handprints in the clay and explaining the function of different rooms.

I started back up the steep pathway to my car, falling in line next to a park ranger. I told her I wanted to go into one of the ranger guided houses the next day.

“Definitely go see Balcony House! It has the best views and you’ll get to see a kiva* and a lot of climbing.”

“Cool! Thanks!”

“Wait...but are you OK with heights? If not, DO NOT do it. Although I saw a three year old on the tour last week...eh you’ll be fine.”

She sped on ahead of me to unlatch the gate and yell instructions to the stragglers. I couldn’t be more clumsy that a three year old. Balcony House it was!

My tour began at 8AM the next morning, so I left my campsite around 6:30. The drive up the mountains from the Mesa Verde campsite was about forty-five minutes of the steepest, twistiest roads I had encountered thus far. When I was brave enough to break focus and look, the views were extraordinary.

I joined the group of about thirty who were standing by the trail entrance on the parking lot pavement. The group spanned all ages; from a middle-aged couple snapping photos in their hiking gear, to small families loading up on snacks and water, to a group of European twenty-somethings laughing about the night before. Our ranger guide appeared and beckoned us to come closer for instructions. She warned us that it was a hike and it was imperative that we keep drinking water (the desert climate is hot, dry and it is very easy to become dehydrated).

“If any of you are afraid of heights this is not the tour for you. We will get to a steep ladder, this is your last opportunity to turn around. Do not be embarrassed about 50% will head back.”

Intimidating. In my peripheral a five year old was jumping off his father’s back onto the asphalt, oblivious to any potential dangers of the day.

If this little nugget can do it, so can I. I mean come on.

We began down the steep trail, which lined the edge of a large canyon. Eagles circled above, soaring across the epic crevice. What a kingdom.

The trail began to elevate as we inched toward the peak and the hike became harder and hotter. The ranger stopped us and we circled around, taking deep sips of water and wiping sweat from our brows. When I mustered the energy to look up, we had reached a giant ladder scaling the cliff face.

“This is your chance to turn back. Just don’t look down if you climb.”

Looking down meant looking down the depth of the huge canyon this dwelling was built into. The little five year old and his dad started to scale, his dad behind him for support. I approached the ladder and took the first step.

Not so bad.

It was a slow climb. The ladder was super-sized to fit the cliff face so there was a wide gap between each step. You wanted to be sure about your footing. The ranger assured us that even if someone launched themselves backwards we would be fine, but not to do that. By the time I was two thirds up the ladder my stomach turned. I looked down. This was not for the faint hearted.

I reached the top and someone held out a hand to pull me up. I hugged the stone wall of the cliff, so happy to be on solid ground. But then I turned around. The view was spectacular. We had a glimpse of what those surveying eagles see everyday.

We rounded the corner to Balcony House, a group of dwellings nestled into the rock, with nothing separating them from the cliff drop off. Like Spruce Tree, the walls were preserved in a similar style. However, Balcony House was obviously much higher up, and had a kiva dug into its foundation and sticks protruding from the stone wall. While you might think it’s the view, the sticks are what inspired the name. These were used as foundations for little balconies outside the windows, where people would sit and take in the view.

The Balcony House is believed to be a middle-sized dwelling with about ten rooms, plazas, kivas and tunnels. It was a community built for several families.

Though still erect, these walls are delicate artifacts and the oil from our hands can be detrimental. If touched often the oil can erode the rock, leaving a blackish smudge. The ranger gave close instructions on where to touch and step. After taking in the views, we were led through a tight tunnel used to enter different family homes. I had to squeeze through and at one point crawl on my hands and knees through a damp dark hallway.

After walking through several rooms, we made our ascent up to another ladder. It was smaller, thank god. Climbing quickly, only looking ahead I pulled myself up to the stone floor. I was now on a cliff face, a foot wide, with only a chain-link fence between me and the edge. This was far more terrifying than any ladder. I turned facing the cliff, heart beating through my throat and inched toward the first switchback. Tour mates ahead of me stopped, breathed deeply and exclaimed about the beauty of the view. I shot them a fiery look.

MOVE ALONG. I WANT TO LIVE.

After about five minutes of terror scaling, I reached the peak. This was where you safely admire the view people. To my surprise we were only a few steps away from the parking lot where we had met. On shaky legs I walked over to the fence and looked over the horizon, and listened to the next tour group get their warning.

It was an exhilarating step through time. And unlike that middle school history lesson, it will definitely stick.

* "Kivas is a Hopi word used to refer to specialized round and rectangular rooms in modern Pueblos" (http://www.nps.gov/museum/exhibits/chcu/slideshow/kivas/kivasintro.html)

 

Elk, Horses and Saturn...Oh My? : The Land Between the Lakes

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Land Between the Lakes National Recreation Area, Kentucky

by Samantha Adler

My drive across country was anything but straight; it was filled with loops, turns and zigzags according to where the next mini-destination lay. I had just left Nashville for Kentucky’s Bourbon Country, hoping to reach Memphis in a few days. My road trip buddy and I decided to make our descent back into Tennessee a bit creative by taking I-80 through the Land Between the Lakes.

This epically named plot of land is a long, skinny national recreation area placed between two large lakes, located half in Kentucky and half in Tennessee. If the name wasn’t incentive enough, I found that the area had several campgrounds and amazing wildlife scattered about its 170,000 acres.

We reached the bridge linking the Kentucky “mainland” to LBL around midday. The large metal structure was sturdy but narrow and the only way to access our destination. The car clanked over the metal grid as trucks sped by in  loud gusts of wind.  I held on tightly to the side of my seat as I looked over the metal bars at the large body of blue water beneath us.

The car hit a bump and we were back on solid road, cruising along the two-way I-80. There was little other than wild, green vegetation when we first began driving along the main road. The Land Between the Lakes was lush and wild.

Eventually we came across a sign for the visitor’s center. The signs were government created, and still were drenched in 1960’s style from the area’s inception; dark wood and light brown bold script (think any Disney font).

The visitors center was seated at the top of a hill, with a large dome extension. Children buzzed around us pointing at the taxidermied animals mounted on the walls and chasing each other. While we waited in line to ask the front desk for campsite recommendations, I read the local wilderness facts and event fliers nailed on the wood-paneled wall. I learned the dome was actually a planetarium and research center, and there was a free Saturn viewing party that night.  I tugged on my buddy’s shirt in excitement as he approached the desk. The woman who assisted us opened a brochure and circled a few campgrounds with open sites and campstores (as we were out of food).

The woman then pointed out the Bison and Elk Safari. This was a definite Samantha-approved activity. I had been waiting to see a bison in its natural habitat, to me they were a quintessential part of the american wild. We bought a ticket for our car and planned to head over at dusk, in hopes to catch a glimpse at some of these huge critters.

We hopped back in the car and went over our campsite options. I was all about the names on this trip and picked the most niche sounding one: Wrangler. We took off back down I-80 towards our campground.

At first glance Wrangler seemed quaint, friendly and a good fit for us. Their sign was etched in a western-inspired font and had an image of a cowboy and his horse. The land was mainly flat, with a small entrance hut at the front adorned in a few hanging flowers. The stable was adjacent to the hut, and horses used for tours galloped through their little field. As we purchased a tent site from the women in the entrance hut, a long trailer pulled up aside us. Three horses stuck their heads out in greeting. Thinking this was a rare sighting, I snapped a photo and cooed at the horses as they whinnied a hello.

We drove down the gravelly path towards our campsite. The tent sites were nestled in the back in a tiny little valley behind a wall of trees, beyond the campstore and bathrooms. As the car rumbled along the path, I gazed out at our fellow campers. Every single one had an equestrian companion.

The name Wrangler wasn’t niche, it was literal. We were the weirdos with no horse. Realizing our oddity, we choose a spot towards the back of the secluded valley. After setting up the tent I unfolded a lawn chair and opened a beer, waiting for dusk and bison. Sitting cross-legged facing the open field, I watched as strangers trotted by. 

When dusk hit we got in the car and drove a few miles to the pasture where the deer and the buffalo graze (get it?).  The cashier at the campstore assured us in a thick accent that we’d see bison and that they would probably serve as a lazy road block.

The “safari” was a driving tour of the pasture and a three mile paved road looped in a circle. We began the crawl, slowly inching forward behind a handful of other cars. Head out of the window, eyes glued to the dimly lit brush, I watched closely for any sign of life.

After about five minutes we came across a rustling in the tall grass ahead of us. Using my camera as binoculars I spotted a female elk grazing and popping her head up to check out the noise (noise meaning me squealing).

We continued the crawl around the paved circled and stopped when we saw the red glow of brake lights ahead of us. Two huge racks of antlers appeared from the horizon, gazing at the new vehicle in line. It was a huge male elk grazing close to us spectators.The elk were shy, peaceful and would never mess with the metal beast of a car.

We rounded the loop three more times at my request, seeing wildflowers and a handful of elk having an evening meal, but not bison. It was hard to be disappointed with all we had seen.

As the sun set, we left the elk’s valley and drove back to the visitors center in hope of meeting Saturn. Hopefully he wouldn’t allude us like the bison. We walked around to the backyard of the center where a crowd gathered, staring up at the sky. A back door was swung open to the dome, and a warm light spilled out. The self-identified scientist announced we had about twenty more minutes until we could line up for the telescope.

As my buddy stepped aside to take a quick phone call, I sat in the dewy grass. A grandfather sat on the dark lawn, with his little granddaughter in his lap, both gazing up at the stars. They were two people at very different points of life, with the same hungry curiosity, asking the same questions, with the same look of awe on their faces as they clung to each other.

We were all called in to line up for the telescope. Children scrambled up, and their parents who lifted them up to see, had an equally wondrous reaction. The scientist watching over was stiff and nodded at each group as they left the building.

To reach the massive telescope, you had to climb a few steps and brace yourself on the railing. When it was my turn I wobbled up, grasped the railing for support and narrowed my eye to focus. I was prepared to ask the scientist to point out exactly what I was looking for, but there was no need. Smack-dab in the middle of the lens was saturn, with it’s famous rings visible as day. It looked as though someone just stuck a sticker on the inside of the glass.

I stepped down from the ladder, wide-eyed and smiley. The stiff scientist gave me wink and I stepped back out into the starry yard.

The Kentucky night was hot and sticky, as we settled in for bed. I laid up looking through the tent at the stars, listening to the clicky-clack of our neighbors’ nighttime ride. I might not have seen a bison, but I got to peek into space. You never know what you’ll find when you stray from the ordinary. When you look for one thing, you usually find something much weirder and more extraordinary.


Presidential Pitstop: Touring LBJ's Old Digs

Lyndon B. Johnson Ranch, Stonewall, Texas

by Samantha Adler

Bayou Byways

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Louisiana

by Samantha Adler

Where Did You Come From, Sand Dunes?

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The Great Sand Dunes National Park, Colorado

by Samantha Adler

The farther west I traveled the more awestruck I became with the wilderness of the US. The space was vast, untamed and unpredictable. Here nature was an unstoppable force with a mind of its own. These forces challenge our perception and how we’re used to understanding our home turf; The Great Sand Dunes is one of these wonders.

I was late to arrive at the southwest Colorado park. It was dusk as I pulled into the Great Sand Dunes National Park entrance and I sped down the dusty, long road, eager to claim my campsite before the ranger station closed. My laser focus waned when I turned the corner and saw the dunes. I had researched the park a bit on my phone and marked as a must see, but the preparation didn’t make it any less extraordinary.

As the sun set behind the mountains, everything had a misty tinge of blue. Light leaked between the mountains’ peaks illuminating the varying curves of the giant sand dunes at their base. Even in the bewitching glow of twilight, the dunes seemed magically out of place. They resemble those of a typical desert, ones you would find in the Middle East or Northern Africa, but plopped at the base of a mountain range in Colorado. The contrast between the sandy mounds and the sharp mountain peaks was striking.

The Great Sand Dunes is one of the lesser known national parks, located at the foot of the Sangre de Cristo Mountain Range in the San Luis Valley of southwest Colorado. Geologists are still studying the dunes’ origins, but believe that sediments and water from the creation of the nearby mountain range fell into the valley. The valley was originally a large lake, but due to climate change only the sediments remain. Wind tunnels from the mountain ranges helped to then create the shape of the dunes we see today (for a much better description and animated visuals narrating the dunes’ creation, check out the NPS geologists' research).

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I woke up around daybreak to hike the dunes. While located within the mild tempered Colorado, the dunes hold many qualities of a normal desert. It’s only recommended that you hike in the early morning and early evening, due to the varying degrees of the sand. During midday to late afternoon the sand becomes scorchingly hot from the sun. During the summer the dunes' surface can reach 150°.  The hot sands can burn any skin that comes into contact with it.

Standing at the base of the dunes I felt like I was in the middle of a desert, somewhere across the ocean. Turning away from the mountain range, I could only see the curves of the white sand against a baby blue sky.

This was, to my surprise, the most strenuous hike I’ve ever done. There are no trails on the dunes, it’s a free for all, and you can explore freely like it’s your own huge sandbox. I started up the closest dune at a quick pace and quickly began to realize this wasn’t going to be an easy frolic. Climbing sand is incredibly difficult; your body weight pushes you into ground sometimes causing you slide and swerve. I felt like an eager golden retriever, out of breath in a matter of minutes but starry-eyed and excitable by everything that surrounded me.

I continued on up the dunes, taking many breaks, panting heavily and plopping atop of peaks to take long sips of water. Other hikers bounded on nearby dunes. Some genius individuals brought sleds, to slide back down the slopes when they reached the highest one. As I hiked up and down endless mounds, scaled edges of peaks and slid down sandy mountains this small dollop of sand seemed like an endless world.

The Great Sand Dunes is often shadowed by bigger parks like the Grand Canyon and Yellowstone. But don’t underestimate it, the Sand Dunes is one of those wonders that reminds you that you’re a little piece of a much bigger world.

Food for Thought: Christa's Country Corner

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Newland, North Carolina

by Samantha Adler

I had taken the Blue Ridge Parkway from Virginia to Tennessee to meet Cassia in the Smokies. The scenic route is one of my favorites with misty mountain views, lush wooded landscapes and loads of wild flowers. However, the nature of the windy mountain road added about two hours to my trip (sorry Cassia!) and didn’t offer much in terms of lunch options.

The Parkway boasts a few country restaurants and eateries amongst its vast forests. These are few and far inbetween and are mainly tourist sites like Little Switzerland, a pitstop filled with restaurants and shops imitating a Swiss mountain town. But, just off the parkway on Highway 181 in North Carolina, lies Christa’s Country Corner. The perfect stop for a quick, delicious lunch.

Christa’s resembles a small log cabin on the side of the highway; humble and warm. This pitstop serves as both a country store and deli. Before turning off the parkway, I had read raving reviews about their yeast buns and daily BBQ specials. Unfortunately, it was a bit too late in the day for the yeast buns. So I got a pimento cheese sandwich on a freshly baked potato bun.

It ruined pimento cheese sandwiches for me. For the rest of my road trip through the south, no other sandwich came close to the mouthwatering one at Christa’s. It’s a combo made in sandwich heaven. The cheese is perfectly salty, creamy and full of flavor, while the bun is light, toasty and a little sweet. I’m drooling while I write about it.

The store also has a variety of local sodas, jams, candies and other food goods to accompany a tasty sandwich. The staff was extremely warm and helpful, eagerly offering  sandwich suggestions and asking about my trip. They gave me my first dose of southern hospitality.

Christa’s Country Corner is the perfect stop for a cheap, delectable, best-sandwich-of-your-life lunch break!