Ida-whoo?

I must start this post by expressing my profound gratitude to my co-worker who decided to go on vacation.  Thanks to his two week safari in South Africa, I have been (probably only temporarily) released from my “cube arrest”.  YAHOOOO!!!!  I was able to spend most of this week in the Boise, ID area.  Next week, Iowa!

It’s been great to shake the dust off and take a little plane ride across the country.  This is a quick trip, however, just one site in the city of Nampa, which lies about 30 minutes west of Boise.  The best part of quick trips like these is that work is usually done around noonish and that leaves the rest of the day to do a little exploring/touristing.  The city of Boise sits along the shores of the river that shares its name in a relatively flat area between two mountain ranges.  The closest range, the Sawtooth Range, is a fairly short drive to the northeast of the city.

Flying over this mountain range before landing, I knew instantly that I would finish work as soon as possible and point the rental car to higher elevations.  The funny thing about Idaho in early May, though, is the oddball weather.  Isolated storms randomly floated by yesterday and today.  The sun was brightly beating down on much of the land, but the precipitation under the random puffs of cloud was so intense you could see the sheets coming down from miles away.  In the lowlands near Boise, the result was a brief heavy rain.  Then the cloud would float into the mountain and when it passed onward, you’d see new snowfall at elevations.

So, little known fact about me.  I am the worlds biggest chicken.  Total scaredy cat.  This would probably shock some people.  I mean, I do pack a bag and wander across the entire country by myself.  I will hold my chin up and walk through some of the most economically depressed neighborhoods (*cough* ghettos) in Philadelphia and Chicago.  I’ve strolled through Harlem, NY all alone without so much as a can of mace in my bag (carrying camera equipment, I might add).  But, there are some times in life when I have to talk myself through, tell myself it will be alright, and just focus on taking one step at a time.

Today was one of those days.  I finished my work as planned and pointed the rental car towards those mountains with the fresh fallen snow… just as planned.  But, somewhere along the way the little voice in the back of my head started telling me I pick the craziest times to do some of the stupidest things.  The rental car doesn’t have four wheel drive and Idaho mountain roads don’t have guard rails.  They DO, however, have daunting drop offs on one side.  The start of my journey was no big deal.  I drove up Hwy 21 past Lucky Peak Lake, into the Boise State Forest and up to Idaho City (population 458).  Then things started to get hairy.  The grade of the road started to increase, the shoulder width began to decrease, and the snow started pelting down faster.  It occurred to me that perhaps it wasn’t smart to take a drive into the mountains in the great american northwest at the beginning of May.  But then, I’ve not always been known for smart plans. 

There was an occasional car on the road at this point, so I told the little voice in my head to shut up and continued trekking higher in elevation.  That’s when I started to pass the ominous road signs.  The first said “chains advised beyond this point when snow and ice present”.  Then there was the “avalanche area next 23 miles”.  And as if that weren’t enough to make me question my own sanity, I whizzed past the sign that said “drive at your own risk, Idaho City to Lowman”.  I spent the next five miles pondering what that really meant.  Don’t we drive at our own risks even when we just go to the grocery?  Or does that mean that if you’re stupid enough to drive up in there and get stuck in a snow bank, you shouldn’t expect someone to come pull you out.  Is there a point when the police and fire departments laugh when you call for help and tell you sorry about your tough luck, stupid?  Would the forest rangers or national guard turn their back on you if you’ve slipped off the highway in an avalanche zone?  I glanced at my cell phone and realized it wouldn’t matter either way, I would have to send smoke signals to get the word out.  The roads weren’t snow covered, so part of me really wanted to just keep driving.  The scenery was spectacular and well worth the trip up to this point.  But, the part of my mind that grew up in Northern Michigan knew my real trouble would be black ice.  The snow pack was in various stages of melting and often there were wet spots on the road.  I would have thought this late in the year the ground would have started to thaw enough that the road wouldn’t be able to harbor black ice.  But then I stepped out of the car to take a photograph and the first breath I exhaled instantly turned to a white mist in front of my face.

And that’s when the ‘afraid of everything’ voice loudly outcried the rational voice.  I snapped the shot I wanted, got back in the car and very gently eased the rental in a downward direction.  I passed one lonely truck on the way back down and wondered how I hadn’t noticed the wet spots on the road shined brightly in the other vehicles headlights.  Awww crap.  Ice at elevations where it’s been snowing periodically all day, and such a sharp drop off at the edge of the pavement that I can’t see where down is from the drivers seat.

Obviously, since you’re reading this blog, I managed to make it back to my hotel safe and sound.  I got a couple of good photographs along the way and had a bit of an adventure that made my day.  It sure beat sitting in my cubicle with no window to stare out of!  Next week I get to drive to Iowa.  I haven’t been to that state yet, so even though I’ve heard it’s a bit of a snooze, I’m excited to check one more state off my list!

Spring

One of the surest signs of spring in Northern Michigan (aside from the sudden odors of skunk and field fertilizers, i.e. cow poop) is the emergence of the cherry blossoms in Grand Traverse and Leelanau Counties.  Each year as the snows melt and the temperatures warm, the rows upon rows of cherry trees in rural areas of these counties turn snow white with mounds of small flowers.  It’s an excellent time to take a drive along the Old Mission Peninsula in Grand Traverse County and the Leelanau Peninsula in Leelanau County.  Last weekend, I grabbed my camera, filled up my truck, chucked the map and headed out for a day of adventuring.

I started up the east side of the Old Mission Peninsula along M-37  all the way to the Old Mission Lighthouse at the northernmost point.  Then I travelled down the western side, through Bowers Harbor, and back into Traverse City.  A quick swing around the end of West Bay and I was northbound on M-22 into the Leelanau Peninsula.  It was a beautiful day to drive up through historic Suttons Bay and Norhport all the way to the Grand Traverse Lighthouse at the northernmost point.  I then swung down the west side of the Leelanau Peninsula to the town of Leland and the Whaleback Nature Preserve (with stellar views of the Sleeping Bear Dunes National Lakeshore).  I ended my trip by criss-crossing through the back roads to the town of Cedar and then down to M-72 and back into Traverse City.

Following are some photographs of that trip:

Grounded… again

I have gypsy blood in my veins.  There is absolutely no arguing that, it’s plain fact, proven over and over again.  So, it comes as no shock to anyone who really knows me that I am incredibly uncomfortable to be confined within the short walls of a cubicle.  In fact, the entire office building gives me a severe case of claustrophobia. 

But, as with most irrational fears, one must face their phobia head-on and laugh at it in order to overcome it.  It is with this in mind that I am facing a full MONTH in a confirmed (totally written in stone) grounded state.  The overload of reports in the office is towering over the general lack of field work (yet again), so I was told (because I’m so awesome at writing ) that I should not plan to get on a plane for a while.  My frequent flyer status is in jeopardy and my sanity level is quickly dwindling.

In an attempt to combat my addiction for wandering, I will probably spend the next month exploring places near my home in Northern Michigan.  Prepare yourself to be regaled by adventures of two tracking, stomping through the woods, and most likely getting stuck in the mud.  For my first, “office arrest” blog, I will take you on a trip to the peninsulas of Old Mission and Leelanau.  Tune in next week for that.

Aaaaaahhhhh!!!!!

It’s 7am on a rainy Friday morning at Boston’s Logan International Airport and yes I am blogging for the second time in less than twelve hours; a new record here at Circular Navigation.  I started this blog because a couple friends of mine had commented more than once that interesting things were always happening to me, and that I had enough comical/tragic/stupendously unique stories to fill volumes of books.  Oddly enough, shortly after starting this blog, my life took a turn down a tremendously boring and overly plain path.  But, today on this Friday morning in April, things have once again been fully thrust into the realm of chaos.  Today, in the hours when normal people are slumbering comfortably in their cushy beds, I was out and about wreaking havoc on the world and experiencing those things that could only possibly happen to moi!  What, say you, could bring on such dramatic proclamations?  Oh,I shall tell you.  I shall weave the tale that brought me to this place; this moment of blogging furiously from an uncomfortable seat in a freezing airport terminal on a gray morning in April.

It all began at 3:00am.  I was sleeping soundly in my comfy hotel bed when the alarm went off a mere 3 hours after I had fallen to sleep.  After the haze of sleep induced confusion passed, I remembered that I was in a hotel room in Boston and that I needed to get ready to board a plane in just two hours.   Most airports suggest that you allow two hours in the airport before your scheduled departure to go through the checking in/security/boarding process.  But what they fail to tell you is that TSA doesn’t open it’s doors for business until 4:30 am.  So those who have a 5:30am flight will find themselves waiting at the airport door for an hour before they can be shuffled through the arduous process of getting to the gate.  Knowing this, I planned my morning so as not to arrive at the airport prior to 4:30.

I had packed the night before, so by the time I hit the snooze button a couple of times, all I had to do was shower and dress and return the rental car.  It was 4am when I walked out of the hotel and began the series of unfortunate events which lead to my blogging a mere 3 hours later.  I have a ritual the night before an early flight in which I look through all the cubbies in the console, glove box, doors, and the dark places under seats to retrieve all of my belongings from the rental car.  Everything I carry with me has a specific place in my carry on.  It’s the only thing in my life I can rely on with certainty.  The only stability in my day is knowing that my belongings will all go in my carry on (I don’t check bags for reasons that will become clear later) in the exact same order and position that they have done a thousand times before.  So, after collecting all of my things, I put them all in their place in my carry on and set the bags by the door for a quick escape in the morning.

This morning I grabbed my bags, walked out to the car and put them in the trunk, knowing I had already searched the car for stray chargers and pens.  I got in the driver’s seat with my usual confidence and struck out for the airport.  Unfortunately, I soon met the first of my morning hurdles.  The exit ramp to the airport was closed and there was a serious lack of detour signage.  I was counting myself fortunate to have gotten behind the hotel shuttle when leaving the parking lot.  Knowing it was carrying a load of people to the airport, and banking on the assumption that the detour hadn’t sprung up overnight and that the shuttle driver should know where he was going, I followed the van.  The detour went through downtown Boston, over a couple of bridges, around about a hundred turns…  eventually, it got me to the airport. 

Feeling a bit frazzled, I parked the car in the rental return spot and hopped the shuttle to the airport.  I checked myself in for my flight, waited impatiently in the security line, removed my shoes, liquids, aerosols, and ran my laptop through the x-ray screening.  Smooth sailing thus far, everything down to a fine science.  I grabbed my bag and the bins holding my belongings and moved to the side to put things back where they belong.  I picked up my bag, my laptop case, my coat…. oh wait.  I had a coat.  I came to Boston with a coat and now all I had was the fleece lining of the coat.  Instantly the image of the coat’s shell came to mind, sitting on the backseat of the rental car.  In the darkness of 4am and having ritually removed all other objects from the vehicle the night before, it had slipped my mind that my coats outer shell remained in the back seat of the car.   Add to it the frazzled feeling I was fighting and it is understandable how the oversight happened.  I called the rental company and told the desk agent that I’d left an item and would have it mailed to me.  It sucked, but it’s not the end of the world.

I made my way to the gate, boarded my flight, stowed my belongings, took my seat, buckled myself in and settled down for the flight to Detroit.  That’s when the wheels in my mind went to work.  If I’d forgotten the coat, maybe I’d forgotten something else.  Something could have been under the coat.  I began to run the mental check list of things I knew I had packed in their place the night before.  Car chargers, check.  GPS, check. Camera, check.  Car keys… awww shit.  Something wasn’t forgotten under the coat, it was forgotten in the coat.  The keys for the company car parked in Grand Rapids, MI (roughly a 3 hour drive from my home base) were zipped in the pocket of the coat that was still lying on the back seat of the rental car a 15 minute shuttle ride away from the airport, on the other side of the security check point and certainly not anywhere near the plane I was sitting on at that moment. 

There was only one real plan of attack on this particular problem.  I unbuckled myself, grabbed my belongings, talked to the flight attendant.  “Yes, this is a very nice plane, clean, doesn’t smell.  No, the people next to me aren’t obnoxious.  Yes, I realize it’s highly unorthodox to suddenly decide you aren’t going to Detroit at 5am afterall.”  I de-boarded the plane, walked back to the gate agent (who looked at me like I was up to something illegal), told my tale of woe and promptly burst into tears.  Three hours is not enough sleep and knowing you have a choice of missing the plane or leaving the car keys in Boston is a slight bit more stress than I could handle.  Thankfully, Ernie at gate A13 was effected in a positive way by my tears.  He quickly rebooked me for a later flight, waived all the change ticket fees, told me that before I returned back through security after retrieving my coat, that I should stop at the main ticket counter and ask for a “wait-list” on all earlier flights.  And if anyone gave me any problem about it, to have them call Ernie and he’d deal with it directly!

The rental car company sent my coat back to the airport on the very next shuttle run and the driver waited patiently for me to come and retrieve it after Ernie had taken care of my ticketing woes.  All in all, it could have ended much worse.  I could have gotten all the way to Grand Rapids before realizing where my keys were.  Ernie could have accused me of some terrorist acts or at the very least charged me the $150 change-ticket fee.  Or heaven forbid, all the afternoon flights could have been booked solid, thus stranding me in Boston for the weekend.  definitely, worse things could have happened.

It was nice to be in the field after such a long hiatus.  It is nice to know that my life has fully returned to a state of entropy and I can once again feed off the chaos that surrounds me wherever I go.  In the future, however, I will be sure to find a secure location within the orderly world of my carry-on to place the car keys.  That way I know, when I pack in the same routine fashion at the end of each and every trip, I will be sure to have the keys before getting on the plane home.

Boston, Bahston… tomato tomahto

Every once in a while I’m sent on a trip that requires very minimal time in the field. Yesterday, for example, I spent 11 hours traveling from my home in Michigan to Boston, MA so that this morning I could get up, do two hours worth of work, and call my mission accomplished. Tomorrow I will spend another 11 hours traveling back home. Seems a little silly, but when the client provides only one site, then only one site gets done. For me, however, these are the best of trips. I typically try to get out of bed by 7am so I can have everything work related all wrapped up by 10am. That leaves the remainder of the day to see the sights.

This is my third such marathon trip to Boston (or Bahston as the locals call it). The first time around, I spent a full day walking the Freedom Trail and checking out the city. The second trip, I spent time in Rockport and Gloucester. Today’s highlights were Salem and Marblehead. The first by plan the second by accident.

I left the site at around noon today and drove towards Salem. I am somewhat of a closet historian. I have a thing for historic architecture and I think most of the true stories from the past are far more intriguing than anything our modern fiction writers come up with. Of course, I don’t go about proclaiming my love for history, so it might come as a bit of a surprise. In any case, I decided Salem was calling my name. Witches and persecutions seemed a tantalizing combination and a good way to spend a beautiful afternoon. Upon arrival in Salem I reached a fork in the road (route 114 to be exact) in which a rather large sign pointed right for Salem Witch Museums and left for Marblehead. There is another thing that might (or after reading my blog, might not) come as a surprise. I have a tendency to make flash decisions on the spot, particularly when it comes to navigation. In fact, sometimes the decisions are made in such a hasty fashion that even I don’t realize I’ve made them until after the fact. Such was the case at that fork in the road. My brain said “turn right” all the while my hands turned left. Before I knew what was going on, I had run out of road at the end of Marblehead just before Fort Sewall.

Since there’s free parking at the end of the road, and since the water is right there and since the sun was shining so brightly, I figured I might as well get out and have a look around. So for a couple of hours today, I wandered the narrow colonial streets of Marblehead. It was absolutely stunning with the trees in full spring blossom and the houses all painted so vibrantly. The streets are largely one way given their lack of berth and they wind and curve and cross each other at varied and odd ways. At times I thought I might lose my way, but no one’s ever truly lost if they’re near habitation, so I kept wandering and enjoying the day.

The buildings in Marblehead, for the most part, lack any cubic fashion and are often constructed into the corners of connecting streets, or straight up out of jutting bedrock. It’s like someone set the livestock free, used their trails to plant the roads, and then constructed the buildings to fit the open spaces. But the relatively small town overflows with character and charm.

After a couple hours, I wandered back to my car and drove back to Salem. Witches and persecution were still calling my name. I parked next to the Salem Green and took off walking in a random direction. After strolling in circles for a bit, I came across the Salem Witch Museum. Which, oddly enough, is in a remodeled church. It costs $8.50 for adults to enter the “two part program”. Everyone is showed into this large room where dioramas are lit up and a recorded voice tells the history of the Salem Witch Hunts. Then everyone is moved like cattle through a door at the opposite end of the room into a small museum where a guide explains the displays. Then everyone is once again moved like cattle through another set of doors into the requisite gift shop where all of the items for sale depict witches more like the wicked one from the west than the ones you would have anticipated in colonial america. I had to wonder if anyone ever asks for their $8.50 back. I left the museum feeling someone jipped and not any wiser as to what really happened in Salem. But, the day was still bright and beautiful and I had time on my hands, so I wandered around a bit more. It didn’t take me long, unfortunately, to have my fill of Salem. The buildings lacked the warm inviting quality of Marblehead and a solid 90% of the shops were hocking wiccan wares and stereotypes of black cats and broom sticks. It amazed me how effectively the town of Salem turned one of the darkest moments in American history into a gaudy tourist trap.

Aside from a quick look at the Friendship of Salem tall ship (again one of my weaknesses), Salem really isn’t worth your time. But if anyone gets a chance to spend some time in Marblehead, I would suggest it be done. I can’t wait to get back during the summer months when all the boats are moored in the coves and harbors and the true life of that quaint colonial fishing village comes alive. But for now, it’s off to bed with me and up in the morning to catch the first flight home.

Heeellllloooooo Blog World!

Holy cow has it been nearly a year since I blogged last?  Of course it has.  You are probably all wondering where I have disappeared to, assuming you are still checking this blog in hopes that I haven’t perished in some tragic and untimely way. 

I got back from vacation last year at the beginning of September and returned to work to the worst words a seasoned traveller such as myself can ever hear; “you’re grounded”.  (insert forlorn sigh here)  An overload of report writing and an underload of field work meant I was needed in the office more than I was out and about in the great beyond.  So, I spent the months of September, October, November, and most of December sitting in a three walled jail cell that most 9-5ers refer to as a cubicle.  I wrote report after report until  my fingers bled on my keyboard.  I was served a crust of bread and a glass of water daily and was whipped regularly by a big hairy bloke named Earl.  Ok, it wasn’t quite that bad, but I still considered it cruel and unusual punishment.

The week before Christmas, perhaps as a holiday present from my boss, I was allowed to travel to the San Fransisco area to help a co-worker through some site work.  It was wonderful to fly again, to rent a car again, to sleep on freshly laundered hotel sheets again.  I was a little rusty on the packing, but I managed to kick the dust off the luggage and find all my little miniature shampoos and conditioners.  (insert contented sigh here)  I managed to find an entire day and a half to do some serious touristing.  I visited Half Moon Bay, and then crossed the Golden Gate and took a walk on the Marin Headlands.  I hopped a cable car, ate fresh crab at Fisherman’s Wharf, and did some shopping in the Embarcadero area.  Of all the places I have visited, I have loved San Fransisco the best.  It is the best of all worlds, chic urban areas and lush rural areas are all within a 30 minute drive of each other.  You can wear a suit to work, come home and toss on your wet suit and be surfing within minutes.  I hope to return again over and over again.

After Christmas I came back to the office and worked at those reports again for another month.  Then February and March passed in a blur of alternating trips to Missouri, Maryland, Virginia, Pennsylvania, New Jersey, New York, Connecticut, Rhode Island, Massachusetts, AND the office.  It’s no wonder I can’t remember what I did when.   For the last couple of weeks I have been grounded again and the cubicle life is starting to wear on me.  I get burned out staring at the computer screen all day, trying to remember the memos about TPS reports.  It’s not the life for me. 

Thankfully, I am on a flight to Boston tomorrow!  I will try to be more frequent on this blog, though I can’t promise I’ll have much to say more than once or twice a year.  But, we’ll call it my May Day Resolution… blog more, travel more, write reports less!

vacation

miles covered: 388.6
cities visited: Chicago, Illinois

I’m on vacation this week.  What does a person who travels for work do when they go on vacation?  Most sane individuals lock themselves in their homes and don’t leave the house (or their beds even) for the whole time they are on vacation.  Sanity, however, isn’t something I’ve ever made claims to.  So, I decided to pack myself and my kid brother up and travel to Chicago for the week.  We drove from home in Northern Michigan through Grand Rapids, MI and around the end of Lake Michigan through Gary, IN (the smelliest town outside of Jersey) and finally pulled into the Windy City.

It was the first time my kid brother had been outside of the state, and the first time in recent memory that he’d been to a town with a building taller than four stories.  It’s been a couple of days full of firsts.  First state line, first sky scraper, first elevator and escalator, first traffic jam, first time trying to sleep in a hotel room that faces not only a highway but also a frieght train line.  It blew his mind when he realized the traffic would continue through the entire night, as cities are places that don’t sleep.  It blew his mind that someone would come into the hotel room every day and make his bed and replace the dirty towels. 

It’s been refreshing to spend some time with a non-traveler.  Things I take for granted, things I have become so accustomed to that they’ve become invisible to me, these are the simple things that my travel partner has noticed and called back to my attention.  Today we spent the day at the Museum of Science and Industry.  Tomorrow we attack the Shedd Aquarium and a double decker bus tour.  The day after?  We’re flying by the seat of our pants here and will figure that out as it comes

miles to date: 6,518.8

dinner impossible

miles covered: 175.2
cities visited: Philadelphia, PA; Annapolis and Baltimore, MD

Friday was one of the longest days I have had in a while.  I woke in the morning to find the battery dead in the rental car.  After getting a jump from the front desk personnel, I drove into Philadelphia to work up a site.  The neighborhood was one of those slightly odoriferous places where you watch your feet to guarantee that you won’t step on glass or needles. 

I left Philadelphia and travelled down I-95 through Wilmington (where I ran into bad traffic), through Baltimore (where I ran into bad traffic) and down to Annapolis, MD.  This beautiful city has long been on my list of places to explore more thoroughly, and knowing I had several hours before my flight, I headed there.  I parked on West Street and walked down to the waterfront.  This very historic city, and state capital, is brimming with charm and character.  The many small shops and restaurants are located in buildings that have existed since the 17 and 1800′s.  The narrow, winding side streets are essentially transported from the old world in Europe.  I wandered from my car down to the waterfront and then back towards the vehicle.  Unfortunately, it was too hot and humid to further explore the area.

I drove from Annapolis then to BWI and checked in for my flight home.  I was supposed to fly from Baltimore at 6:30pm to land in Detroit at roughly 7:30pm, in time to hop the last flight to Traverse City, Michigan at 9:00pm.  Knowing that I was going to be flying first class (thanks to some frequent flyer perks) and figuring that they would be serving dinner, I hadn’t eaten since about 11am on Friday.  I was starting to feel a little hungry at about 6:00pm when the gate agent for Northwest announced that we would begin boarding shortly.  Myself and all the other first class flyers lined up at the gate and began patiently waiting.  At about 6:30pm the gate agent made an announcement that the flight would be delayed as our flight crew was MIA.  Not wanting to miss an immediate boarding as soon as the crew showed, everyone remained standing in line.  An hour later, when the flight attendants finally arrived, us first classers were having a good conversation, joking and laughing it up.

I believe that is largely why the remaining flight was far less miserable than it should have.  The crew arrived to a standing ovation from the waiting passengers and we were all hurriedly rushed to board so as to get off the ground in a timely manner.  The first round of drinks were handed out to the first class passengers while the remainder of the plane found their seats.  Then the door was quickly closed and we pushed back from the gate.  I watched out the window as the terminal withdrew and we headed for the runway. And then we were stopped. 

Ugh… the flight was supposed to have taken off at 6:30pm, it was now 8:00pm and we were in a holding pattern on the tarmac.  It would be another two hours before we found ourselves in the air.  The excuse this time, a band of severe weather including tornado warnings that was passing over the airport and had shut down the runway.  I will say again that it was a highly fortunate the make-up of passengers on this flight.  Not a single person sitting in first class was in the least bit angry or disruptive in a situation that normally would have people stressed out to the max.  Instead, we’d all started a rapport in the airport and continued that while waiting on the tarmac.  Drinks were passed about and the jokes were flowing as liberally.  The flight crew had probably been buttered up by that standing ovation when they arrived, but they too were in high spirits and were as quick with a joke as they were with the drinks.

The only complaint about the whole experience, aside from the obvious (we missed that last flight out of Detroit to Traverse City and were forced to spend the night in the airport) was that they never did get around to serving dinner.  By the time we landed in Detroit, it was about midnight and all I managed to eat since 11am were two bags of pretzel chips and a leinenkuegels.  The trip truly became Dinner Impossible.

miles to date: 6,130.2

The two sides of Philadelphia

 I have been working in Philadelphia for the past week and have come to see many surprising aspects to this urban environment.  There are vast portions of this city that are so run-down and derelect, you would think you’d been thrown into a third world country.  Alternately, there are portions of the city that are so elegant and breathtaking, you would think you had woken in a European city.  I am going to let the photos do the talking this blog around.  I have seen amazing urban art, beautiful fountains, and trash strewn streets…

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

brotherly love? part two

miles covered: 483.7 land; ~1,000 air (since last recorded post)
cities visited: Mt. Laurel, NJ; Philadelphia, PA; Baltimore, MD

I must have worn a look on my face for the travel day on Tuesday, one that said ‘please, I’m lacking human interaction’.  I need to figure out how to remove that look permanently.  The gentleman who, as mentioned in the previous blog, made comment about the amount of paperwork he was carrying, proceeded to make my flight from Detroit to Baltimore miserable.

He was originally sitting in the row behind me, but upon seeing when they closed the plane door that I was sitting alone, he moved to join me.  He launched into conversation immediately, asking many a question about what I do for work.  I don’t mind discussing this, but after we had fully explained the purposes of both our career choices, he began to delve further into the realm of crazy.  By the time we reached Baltimore, he was spouting poetry and asking me to spend the night with him.

I managed to shake him in the terminal.  But, the damage was already done, it was another flight to file in the category of “utterly painful”.

miles to date:  5,5955.0