Me and all my friends are poets of the deed, we're exactly what this country needs. We scratch until we're drunk, we drink until we bleed. We are what we believe.

With New Jersey mere miles away, I found myself looking back on this nearly three month trip Dan and I have just completed. I could write a sappy, possibly tear-jerking adieu to the blogosphere, reminiscing on the good times we had - the friends and family we were lucky enough to reconnect with and those we had the privilege of meeting, the very cold nights and the views that made them worth it and all of the times we probably should have died and how laughable it all is in retrospect. I could get all sentimental about the fact that in the one month Steve was with us, he threw up more times than Dan and I combined for in the entire trip. I should probably write something about how these last three months have been some of the best of my life, and it is difficult to put into words what they have meant to me.

Instead, with twenty miles left until the state line, I find myself wanting to tally things up from this trip:

80 days on the road - 27 nights in a hotel, 23 with friends, 14 camping and an impressive 16 in the car.

Miles traveled - 17,240

Gallons used - 530.436 for $2,061.93 

Average MPG - 30+ 

Photos taken - more than 6,000 (160 gigs)

Dead car batteries - 1 

Times at 100mph+ - 2 

Speeding tickets - 1 (don't ever mess with Texas)

Clothing Items lost - 1 pair of shorts and possibly a t-shirt (though the shirt is still unconfirmed)

Mystery socks acquired - 2 (not a pair, though)

Longest streak without a shower - 7 days

Coldest recorded night time temperature - 19 degrees Fahrenheit

Most articles of clothing worn at one time - 4 socks, 5 pants, 6 shirts and a hat
Number of time No-Shave November was completed - 1

Times eating at Green in two days - 3

Bears defeated - 2 (one by the Green Bay Packers, one by Sean Cogan)
Life lessons learned - 1/2

Many people have already asked us if we learned anything on this trip, and I'm certain neither of us took away purposeful life lesson that can be written down in one line. However, I can say for certain that this trip added more fuel to our desire to travel. We were on the road for three months and have seen so much, but in the grand scheme of things, we haven't really seen a thing.

This country is alarmingly large, almost to a fault. It is an enormous and motley collection of different people, landscapes and lifestyles. There are deserts and rain forests, mountains and grasslands, cowboys and lawyers, farmers and scientists. It's an trite description, but this country truly is a melting pot of cultures and ideas, and that is embodied in the beautiful American landscape. I have traveled the world and seen many countries, but as of yet, I have not stumbled across one that has the diversity that we are lucky enough to have in the United States.

We crossed the border into New Jersey unceremoniously. Not yet ready to head home, we turned northward up the Garden State towards my childhood hometown of Old Bridge. I hadn't been in years, and as we started this adventure with a trip to Dan's hometown, it felt right to end it in mine. We arrived in my old development, after driving past some of my childhood memories, and parked Appa. I got out, snapping some pictures of my old house, until a woman emerged from the house next door, eyeing me suspiciously.

"Hi there, I'm nosy, so what are you doing?"

I realized I must look like a creep snapping pictures of a house owned by a person I did not know. "Oh, I used to live there," I replied, trying to not sound like some sort of pedophile, "so I was..uh...just taking some pictures."

"Sean Cogan?" the woman said, beginning to smile.

It turned out that my old next door neighbors still lived in the same house. Dan and I were graciously invited in by the Langans, where we chatted a bit, catching up on the nearly 15 elapsed years since my family moved. They told me stories of how I spent lots of time in their house as a child, eating all of the food and constantly asking for another glass of milk - very politely they made sure to add. 

It was nice to see that not much has changed.

After a bit, we said goodbye and headed back to Appa. With no more excuses to prolong this trip, we headed to my house, thinking about ironic it would be if something were to happen to us during this final 60 miles.  We have swam across the mighty Mississippi River, climbed the Rocky Mountains, camped atop of freshly fallen snow, slept in sketchy truck stops, meandered through unfamiliar streets heavily under the influence, longboarded bona fide mountains and hiked over one hundred miles through the wilderness. To kick the bucket somehow on the Garden State Parkway would be borderline comical. 

However, we ran into no complications, and less than an hour later, Dan and I were unloading my things from the car that had been our home for three months. Once I was cleared out of Appa, I said goodbye to my faithful companion. There is no one with whom I would have rather taken this trip (with the possible exception of Jessica Alba), and I thank him for doing it with me. I watched him leave and then began to settle back into real life, already mulling over possible trip ideas for the future. I checked in with him about an hour later to find that he too had made it home safely, officially ending this trip...

Four wheels, three months, two guys, one epic adventure, and zero fatalities. 

This post has been brought to you by America.

It doesn't matter where you come from. It matters where you go.

The final week of our trip flew by in a haze of of binge drinking, sex and rock and roll. Fine, so that is not entirely true. More factual might be that it flew by in a haze of moderate drinking, national monuments and brownies. 

We battled rain and dreary weather to make it to Nashville, only to find that it, too, had succumbed to melancholic gray skies and leaky clouds. We were staying with Janelle Hawkes at her college friend, Amanda's, home just outside of the city, where we were offered a luxury we have not been afforded in nearly three months - separate rooms. 

We spent two days in the Music City, enjoying the sights under a blanket of rain while eating freshly baked brownies. Feeling rested, we continued our northeastward trek, stopping in Virginia for one final night of sleep in the car. It was sentimental; tears were shed. We awoke to an exceptionally bright Virginian sun and set off into Shenedoah National Park, leaving the highway to drive on Skyline Drive, which cuts through the heart of the park and is a beautiful drive. After spending a couple weeks in the Deep South, we finally began to see winter's touch on the landscape as we continued northward. The trees that flanked Skyline Drive, normally full of color and life, were barren. With the thick fog that had conveniently emerged, it was like a mist-enshrouded convention for the American Federation of Eerie Trees (AFET). 

We were heading to our old housemate, Mike "Buddha" O'Keefe's apartment just outside of Baltimore, where his lives with his girlfriend, Chris. We tiptoed around Washington DC's traffic, arriving at his place just in time to be served a home-cooked meal - it is an uncanny ability of ours, to make it just in time to be fed. 

We whiled away the night catching up with an old friend and regressing to our college selves by playing copious amounts of video games. However, when morning reared its ugly head, Buddha had to return to his big-boy job, so we gave our thanks and took our leave, heading into Baltimore. We passed the time doing some computer work until our next hostesses, Alaina and Julia, were done with work. We met them for dinner at Alaina's favorite Mexican joint, No Way Jose, for some food and margaritas. When we had our fill, we walked back to their place, where we melted into the couches, watching some television until we passed out. 

We started off strong the next morning, going for a run up to the top of Federal Hill overlooking the Baltimore Harbor, but after getting back and showering, we fell into naps, barely moving until hunger drove us out of the house to find some nourishment. Alaina made me promise not to write about that sluggish afternoon, for fear she would seem a poor hostess, but so it was a good thing we rested up that previous night. We spent the whole morning walking around the city, seeing the sights and meeting the locals. Dan even saved a kitten that was stuck up a tree and was awarded the key to the city by the mayor himself! It was such a productive afternoon that we decided to get some food. 

We grabbed some dinner at Mother's, a place that surreptitiously charged patrons for things like tomatoes and sides of buffalo sauce (it was egregious), and one once filled, we met up with Julia, now out of work, for a 25 cent Miller Lite special at a nearby bar. The deal lasts from 5 until 7, and Julia like to use that finite amount of time to turn it into a challenge to see how many beers she can drink in that time frame - she managed 7 today. It was quite impressive, and quite necessary, for we were going to watch the Philadelphia Eagles' game right after, and seeing as the three of them are Eagles' fans, drinking helps them cope with the disappointing season.

We stayed out until about halftime before their disappointment in the game drove us home. We braved the bitter cold to walk home, though it fought back by giving me a cold, which I swear I did not once complain about while staying while in Baltimore!

Both Alaina and Julia had off the next day, so we decided to take the train into Washington DC to see the sights. We wandered through the city on what seemed to be an endless grid of uphill streets, seeing the Supreme Court, Congress, the Botanical Gardens, the National Mall and its surrounding sea of museums, the White House, the Lincoln Memorial and the Jefferson Memorial from a distance. We also saw the Christmas tree set up across from the White House, but much to the chagrin of Julia, it was a mangled, tumorous tree that left her quite disappointed. We also saw the Washington Monument, complete with the reflection pool, though, to be fair, it was less of a reflection pool at that point and more of a pile of dirt under construction. Overall, we probably walked around 5 miles, but making it all worth it was a stop at Chipotle, the first one Dan had ever been to, over a year ago. 

We made the trip back to Baltimore, where Alaina was sweet enough to cook us an 11 pound ham for dinner. Her generosity knew no bounds, and try as we might, we barely put a dent in that enormous beast. Afterwards, I took more cold medicine and quickly lost consciousness for nearly 13 hours, but Dan and Alaina went out for a night on the town with "Pundy" James Punderson and his girlfriend, Michelle, another Baltimore resident. I heard good things about the night from Alaina the next morning; Dan was a little foggy on the details of events but seemed to have a good time, nonetheless. 

It was our last morning in Baltimore, and as luck would have it, there was a special going on at the Baltimore Harbor allowing entry to all of its attractions for one dollar apiece, so we decided to go see the aquarium. So did half the population of Baltimore, apparently, because, upon arriving, we were greeted with a line the size of Rhode Island wrapping around the building and looping through the city streets halfway back to New Jersey. We settled on touring the seemingly less popular Torst submarine, which has the United States Naval record for most dives. We walked through the cramped quarters, wondering how they fit 81 people within its walls. We were inside for less than 15 minutes, and I was already beginning to feel the onset of claustrophobia; it's hard to imagine people being stuck inside for weeks at a time. 

When we resurfaced, we began to feel the pangs of hunger, so we met Pundy and Michelle for brunch, before accepting that it was indeed time to move on. Down to our last day, we found ourselves grasping at the frays of a trip now nearly unraveled.  We bid farewell to Alaina and Julia, setting off on the road north to York, Pennsylvania to visit Dan's family.

We picked up his Grandma Wilma from her home and met Margo, Keith and Matt, his aunt, uncle and cousin, respectively, for dinner at a local pizza place. Margo and Keith recently took a little cross-country trip of their own so we traded stories and had a pleasant evening reminiscing on old family stories. The next morning, we enjoyed a nice breakfast with the same cast of people plus Dan's other cousin Kelly and her family, before finally hitting the road to reenter the Garden State.

This post has been brought to you by leftover ham, Baltimore rats and extra-strength cold medicine. 

I have no home to go to so I wander awhile, from coast to coast, from sin to sin, from the coldest coast to the warmest islands. I've been around the world and back to New Orleans.

We arrived in New Orleans early, as we had slept in the car in a rest stop just outside its limits.. The sun has finally fought back the rain clouds and reclaimed the sky, giving the city a shining glow. We headed to the airport, for today was the day we were again receiving visitors. Nemesis (yes, that is her real name) and Mary, two friends from college, were coming to visit us for the Thanksgiving holidays, and we were thankful. We found them at the airport with little difficulty and set off back into the city, deciding that we would waste no time in dampening their moods. We headed to the Lower 9th Ward, a neighborhood of New Orleans hit hardest by Katrina and other recent storms, to see how the area was recovering. Many years later, the devastation was still quite apparent. Half razed houses and empty foundations still littered the blocks. Far too many of the houses still standing were marked with an x, signifying that someone had lost their life there.

We circled through the neighborhood for a while, scarcely talking as we absorbed the gravity of the problems still facing these parts of New Orleans. We ended up stumbling upon a cluster of modern, environmentally-friendly houses built by Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie, which was a welcome sight. 

As we left the Lower 9th Ward, Dan had the idea of lightening to mood by taking us to a graveyard. Because of the marshy, swampland that the city was built upon, normal burials are quite rare because the bodies would quite literally be sitting underwater. Instead, graveyards are an elaborate labyrinth of white marble mausoleums.

We reentered the land of the living and headed right over to the French Quarter, taking to our feet and walking through the historic and lively district. We drifted past the Cafe Du Monde, a brasserie that might have been plucked right off a French rue and dropped in the middle of New Orleans. We continued on through the neighborhood, enjoying the plethora of street performers and live music, until hunger reared its tasty head and we popped into a cajun restaurant that caught our eye with a special of alligator sausage. The sausage, which turned out to be delicious, was the preface to a very pleasant meal, filled with jambalaya, cajun shrimp and a chicken po-boy. Filled to capacity, we headed to the hotel, checking in and illegally smuggling our two stowaways up to the room. 

After a nap to adjust to the jet lag (a whopping one hour), we hit the streets of the Big Easy. Dan, a veteran to these parts, having been down four times to work on a documentary, suggested we go to the Theatres at Canal Street, an upscale cinema that, along with cozy and spacious seating, offered meals to its viewers. With Mr. and Mrs. Hagen as our gracious benefactors, we enjoyed dinner and a movie. J. Edgar was on the screen, and though far from what we were expecting, it was filled with interesting (to say the least) historical tidbits and did not disappoint.

Afterwards, we headed back to the hotel, deciding to make some adult hot chocolates in our ice bin, which turned out to be quite heavy on the spearmint schnapps. Needless to say, we slept quite soundly that night. 

I awoke quite early the following morning, Thanksgiving morning, while the others slept  late. I passed the time by going for a run, using the dilapidated gym facilities and getting some work done on my computer, until the rest of the posse arose from the darkness of our curtain-covered room. Very little was open because of the holiday, so we spent the day loitering in our hotel room. We watched some football until the afternoon, when we took the streets to see what was going on. Bourbon Street was relatively quiet, but there were still quite a few groups of people wandering up and down the avenue. We took stock of the slew of bars and strip clubs, and wondered why parents were parading their children around such an R-rated neighborhood. When we returned to Canal Street, we stumbled across a Thanksgiving parade. We watched as college and high school marching bands made a procession down the boulevard, with some floats and small, dancing black boys with enormous afros peppered in for good measure.

Once the parade had lost its appeal, we decided that it was time for Thanksgiving dinner. Seeing as we had no family or roasted turkey and stuffing to call our own in the deep south, it felt like the next best thing was, clearly, Indian food. It was the closest thing we could get to pilgrims and Native Americans that was still open, and I, for one, reveled in the dry wit of it all. The food, namely the na'an, turned out to be superb, which was good because Mary might have physically and emotionally harmed me if that did not turn out to be the case.

Dan had already procured the after-dinner entertainment for the evening, having purchased tickets to the Rebirth Brass Band and Kermit show. Both groups put on amazing shows. Kermit and his crew covered several songs, putting their own jazzy twist on them. Rebirth, a band with upwards of 10 members, put on a high-energy show, making me wish they could put on their performance while marching through the streets of the city with the crowds trailing them. Making the evening even more enjoyable was the fact that we were also able to meet up with Yona and Eric, our gracious hosts from many moons ago in Portland, who were in town visiting Eric's family. 

The ladies had planned on doing some Black Friday shopping the next morning, but after a procession of alarm clocks, decided that sleeping in was a far superior way to spend their time. When we finally awoke, Dan and I headed over to a local hat shop, a family-run business for more than three generations, of which Dan has previously been a patron. Our objective was to obtain a replacement feather for Dan's current fedora, as well as to purchase a new hat to add to his already suave collection. On both counts the morning was a smashing success, and we rewarded ourselves by meeting up with the ladies for lunch. They had picked up a straggler by the name of Jeff, a friend of Mary's who had recently moved to Texas and bravely made the 8-hour drive to visit. After we dined on more gumbo and alligator, it was time for something big; something epic.

It was time to get tattoos. 

We headed over to a tattoo shop on the recommendation of our heavily-inked waitress, and after explaining what each of us wanted, sat down for the deed to be done. Dan was getting "Be the Change," and I was getting an enso circle on my forearm. I am little inclined to explain the significance of either of them to either of us here, but please, feel free to ask if you have any curiosity. After making several jokes about not remembering how to do the type of strokes needed for my tattoo, making me far more nervous than I already was, the artist working on mine proceeded to do a fantastic job.  Dan's came out very nice too, though they spelled change wrong.

Just kidding.

When we were finished mutilating our bodies, we met up with Yona and Eric for some drinks and good conversation. Once our hunger could no longer be satiated with alcohol, we bid them adieu once more, hoping to meet again soon, and set off in search of one last cajun meal, which we found and throughly enjoyed. Our belts a little tighter, we returned to Bourbon Street, which was now bustling with people in anticipation for the Bayou Classic, a 75-year old traditional football game between Grambling State University and Southern University held at the Superdome. It is a big deal for people in Louisiana and brought out a bit of the crazy in them. We walked around, mostly people-watching, while the girls collected beads (the PG-13 way, I swear). I, too, made off with some beads after being coaxed into flashing a stripper. All in all, it was a good night.

We headed back to the hotel around midnight, because Nem and Mary had to be at the airport around 4:30 am. After a short 3 hours of sleep and a painfully loud alarm clock, we were on the road to drop them off for their flight. We said our goodbyes amidst yawns and stretches and watched them enter the airport before heading back to the hotel to sleep until the hotel security came and dragged us out of the room at the 11 am checkout time. We returned to Appa, our home away from home, for what would be our final week on the road. 

This post has been brought to you by a traditional Thanksgiving meal of Indian food.

Amarillo by morning, up from San Antone. Everything that I got is just what I've got on. I ain't got a dime, but what I got is mine. I ain't rich, but Lord I'm free.

Dan greeted Texas the way all Philadelphia Eagle fans would greet Texas - by letting a middle digit fly in the general direction of a "Welcome to Texas" sign on the side of Interstate 40. I vaguely wondered whether that would come back to bite him in the keister then promptly fell back asleep.

Our first stop in Texas was an interesting landmark known as Cadillac Ranch. The ranch consists of 10 old, rusted Cadillacs half buried nose into the dirt on the side of the highway. The cars, now covered in layers and layers of spray paint, have been at rest since the 1970's, and passersby are encouraged to leave their mark. So we did as we were told, each leaving our own veritable signature somewhere on those long dead vehicles. I challenge you to take a road-trip and find them.

We said our goodbyes to the ranch and began making our way southbound toward San Antonio.  It did not take long for Texas to exact its revenge, in the form of some flashing police lights. Apparently, driving 79 miles per hour in a 70 mph zone is frowned upon in northern Texas. The officer was friendly enough, but he had apparently skipped the class of police academy that says its shameful to give someone a ticket for less than 10 mph over on a road that sees that a maximum of 27 cars any given day. After casting him the dirtiest of looks as he walked away, we continued onward until our eyelids began to subside to the perpetual effects of gravity, and we pulled into a rest area for some rest.

At this point in the trip, we are semi-professional vehicular-sleepers, which intentions of going pro in the near future, barring a career-ending diagnosis of sleep apnea . When sleeping in a car, there are many factors to take into consideration - the angle at which to lower your seat (no, friends, a full recline is not going to give you optimum comfort), the correct placement of clothing for satisfactory head support and the positioning of the vehicle to maximize darkness in a well-lit area.

We have it down to a science. Charts. Protractors. Pie Graphs. The whole enchilada.

We slept into the sun inevitably plucked up from dreamland. We were not far from San Antonio at this point, so we made our way into the city, which has been built up around the old mission now immortalized as the Alamo. Being a long time fan of Davy Crockett (I once had a faux-raccoon tail hat that my mother made me), I suggested we head to the spot where he and hundreds others made their last stand against the Mexican armies. It was far bigger than I imagined; I had always pictured a small room, lit by candles and torches, teeming with a ragtag group of heavily bearded Texans, with someone periodically shouting things like "You don't mess with Texas," which would be by a rousing group response of "We like big!"

In reality, it was a much larger facility, relatively speaking, with several buildings and a lot of open space. During the siege of the Alamo, there were people from around the United States (Crockett, himself, was a Congressman from Tennessee) and even many immigrants. The Irish seemed particularly interested in the outcome of this battle, with many representatives holed up within the walls. There were also many women and children, families of some of the men who had been brought in, ironically enough, for their safety. Thankfully, once the Alamo was finally overrun, the lives of most of these innocents were spared. However, one can hardly imagine the memories they took with them from the Alamo when they finally left its walls.

What struck me the most was how low the back wall of the Alamo was. I'm not sure if erosion or some fortification disaster took place (there was certainly no sign implying this), but I am relatively certain that I could have hurdled that wall. I shall concede that people were far shorter in those days, but it seems to me that the Mexicans could have had a spirited argument with the Americans inside, in much the same way neighbors bicker over property lines over their white picket fences.

The San Antonio River cuts through the city of San Antonio, and along a section of its banks, the city has built up a pedestrian walkway, which itself makes for a beautiful stroll, but now is so overgrown with high-priced restaurants and gimmicky tourist shops that it unfortunately feels contrived.

We found a bar to watch some football outside of the center of the city. It happened to have five or six beach volleyball nets out back, with perfect weather to boot. Sadly, Steve was no longer with us, so I resigned myself to watching football and eating copious amounts of food with Dan. 

We checked into a cheap hotel, taking our first shower in days, before melting into our beds. We awoke the next morning to tumultuous rains. We were on our way to Austin, so we urged Appa onward through the deluge. When we arrive, the storm had not ceased, which through a damper on our plans for Austin, which consisted mostly of outdoor activities. We headed to South Congress Avenue, an street known for its eccentric shops and markets. Because of the rain, we only looked around for a little while, but Dan managed to buy a cupcake from a food cart devoted to the little pastry. The rain drove us into a little shop called Uncommon Things, and we were immediately transported into a different world, full of all things your house you constantly think of throwing away but generally find their way into between couch cushions and random drawers and the attic. There was keys for things unknown, house numbers, pieces to games no longer in production, blocks made decades ago, rubber band balls, belt buckles of varying levels of absurdity, eerie dolls with cracked faces, silverware, foreign medical charts, eclectic furniture and clothing; the list is endless. My personal favorites were the black and white photographs (namely the one of the German couple of Hermann and Helena) that each cost more than $5. I'm not one to spend money on a photo of someone I had never met, solely on principle, but the look in Hermann's eyes nearly convinced me to reconsider my tenets.

We wandered through the shop for a while, and when the rain had subsided, we returned to Appa. The rest of the day was spent battling the weather. When the sun broke through the clouds, we made a short climb up to an overlook of the city, which was nothing particularly special especially in the overcast weather. I hear that under normal circumstances, Austin is a delightful city, with a thriving music and art scene, but with the weather and our short stay, it was rather underwhelming. We put it in our rear view mirror and drove out into the torrential rain eastward. 

This post has been brought to you by Cadillacs, uncommon things and Rep. David Crockett of the great state of Tennessee.

If you ever plan to motor west, travel my way - take the highway that is best. Get your kicks on Route 66.

Sedona is a small town in central Arizona with a landscape of arresting red-rock formations amidst a desert-like backdrop. It is also world-renowned as being one of four major pockets of energy, called vortexes, in the United States. Apparently just being around these vortexes is enough to raise one's mood, so Dan and I decided we wanted to get all up in one. We were told that a major one was at the top of a rock-mass called Bell Rock, so we set off to get up to it. After a fun climb on a beautiful day, we were rewarded with lovely view of the landscape. I'm not sure if we ever entered the vortex, but it was certainly relaxing up there, surrounded by intoxicating beauty. We lingered for about an hour, soaking in the sun and sights, before climbing back down, momentarily getting lost in the thick, particularly spiny brush at the foot of Bell Rock. We returned to Appa a bit scratched up but content.

We decided to head into town and see what made Sedona tick. We parked the car and began walking around an area of town that would be charming if not for the fact that it was made up entirely of touristy gift shops, with some bars and restaurants peppered in to refuel the shopping sightseers. We found a small bar to watch some Thursday Night Football, got a couple drinks and after settling our tab with our waitress who was a dead ringer for Jo from Scrubs, we left to find a place to camp for the night.

We were told by Jackie that there was a free camping around a bit of a ways outside of the town, so we began heading that way. She had warned that the road was bumpy, but she was able to make it in her old Jeep. However, part of the way up the road, which at that point would have given some Baghdad streets a run for their money, it became clear that Appa did not want to go any farther so we carefully maneuvered a U-turn and made our way to a trailhead parking lot, settling in the car for a night's sleep. 

We awoke with the sun the next morning, quite warm for a change. We went through our rudimentary bathing routine, which included washing our faces with a wet-nap, brushing our teeth and reapplying deodorant, before heading out to do a bit of hiking before continuing on our trek. We had heard that Bear Mountain was an excellent tramp, so we embarked on the five mile traipse up the rocky terrain.

Neither Dan or I are expert trackers, to say the least. We are certainly not Bear Grylls. We have, however, accrued a bit of wilderness experience on this trip, to be sure. We can generally make our way from start to finish with little difficulty. In fact, I am proud to report that we had not yet gotten so lost that we had to be rescued by park rangers. However, this trail certainly tried to end that streak. The path was marked by little rock piles that signified that you were still en route to your intended destination. The problem was that they were few and far between and other travelers had taken to making their own, identical rock piles to mark the routes they had taken. So paths spawned off in all directions, making it quite difficult to stay on the tried and true trail.

Long story short, we found ourselves scaling the ways of this rock face, trying to make it to the top by way of a path that had since clearly proved to be the wrong way. We fought through cacti and bramble up this mountain until we at last made it to the top, rewarding us with an amazing panoramic view of Sedona and the outlying area. 

On the way back down, I was viscously attacked by a cactus that lodged a spine into my ankle. I have officially withdrawn my friendship from all cacti, except those Saguaros, because they look particularly genial, as though they are inviting me over for a drink and possibly a high-five. So we climbed (I hobbled, mostly jumping on one foot) back down to 1000 foot climb, cursing ourselves as we passed the real trail along the way, and after having a quick lunch, we set off on the road again - our next destination the Four Corners.

The drive to the Four Corners is long and barren; even the cacti seemed smaller and gloomier on this leg of the trip. We arrived around quarter to five and were immediately enraged that we would have to pay five dollars each to view the meeting of arbitrarily drawn state lines. However, the Native American proprietor's of this site brightened our day by granting us entry gratis, seeing as it would be closing in less than 15 minutes. We hurried along and parked, walking up with baited breath to see the meeting of four American states. Had we had any expectations of grandeur, they would have been monumentally let down, but seeing as we knew it would going to be a trumped up intersection of lines, we then frolicked from state to state and did some pushups with one extremity in each state before jumping back on the open road,  with Texas in our sights and the setting sun nipping playfully at our heels.

This post has been brought to you by vortexes, enso circles and the abundance of cacti in the southwest.

Well I have been searching all of my days; many a road, you know. I've been walking on, and I've been trying to find what's been in my mind, as the days keep turning into night.

Successfully having dwindled our numbers back down to two, we comfortably returned to Appa, now teeming with extra space, and set off south back into Arizona. We were heading to Tempe (pronounced temp - eeey), Arizona, just outside of Phoenix, to meet up with Rebecca, one of Dan's friends from high school. We arrived just as the sun began to set, so she took us to Hole in a Rock, an aptly named rock formation that is plagued with a gaping hole in the middle of it. The view of the sunset was surreal, the pollution from Phoenix distorting the colors into deep oranges and reds that are not naturally seen. I don't know what all these "Save the Environment" people are talking back - warmer weather and stunning sunsets? Bring on the greenhouse emissions. 

Once the sun had successfully plowed through the smog to its sub-horizon resting place, we dismounted the rocks and headed out to dinner at Green, a little vegan restaurant offering all sorts of mock meats and soy products. Had we not been informed of the meats' lack of authenticity, we would have had no idea; the food was, in two words, lip-smackingly nummy. We made a note to return the next day for lunch (perhaps without the ironic accompanying accessory of Rebecca's leather purse), and set off to get some ice cream from the shop where Rebecca is employed. This was the type of ice cream shop where they mix all of the toppings in with the ice cream - a marriage of flavors certain to turn any frown upside-down. I would never be able to work at a place like this because I would literally eat myself stupid. So we bought a cup and romantically shared it three ways before setting off and exploring Mill Street, a bar scene found near the University of Arizona. Rebecca introduced us to the musical stylings of Guitar Man on Mill, a man with dreads down to his ankles playing regularly found jamming on a street corner. After deciding to like him on Facebook later, we headed to Forepeaks, a local brewery, rather than one of the college bars.

We ordered a couple of beers, including a remarkably palatable peach beer. Feel free to question our masculinity, but that beer was delicious. While there, we were met by Jackie, an old friend was college out in Tempe for medical school. Under the influence of some alcohol, it was decided it would be a good idea for her to practice the skill of acupuncture on me. I spent some time with a needle sticking out of my hand. I can't remember what it was supposed to be doing, but the combination of alcohol and the shock of having a needle projecting out of my skin was oddly relaxing.

Seeing our utter delight in the peach beer, the ladies decided we needed to try another fruity beer that Tempe had to offer - an orange concoction at the Mellow Mushroom back on Mill Street. We settled our tab, headed over to this new bar, ordered the Orange Blossom Wheat and successfully had our minds blown. Not only was orange in there, there was a hint of vanilla and dare I say a tinge of honey? It easily could have been the best beer we had ever tasted, and let me tell you, Dan knows something about beer.

The next day, we attempted to sleep in a bit, still trying to rebuild energy after our multi-week camping excursion, but the two tiny dogs in the house had different plans for us. They greeted us as the sun greeted the sky, walking on our faces until we reluctantly awoke. We wiled away the morning, chatting with Rebecca's housemates while she was at both work and class. We have forgotten what those things feel like, so we spent the morning moving sluggishly, until we decided it was time get some lunch. Obviously we went back to Green, for there was still so much more to try. We spent a few hours there, eating mock this and soy that while catching up on picture posting and email sending (obviously not blog writing, though).

We had every intention of taking a hike on some of the nearby trails on the recommendation of both Rebecca and Jackie, but with full stomachs and tired legs, we decided to return to Rebecca's house and regroup. That regrouping immediately turned into a three and a half hour nap for me. When I next opened my eyes, the sun had set, Rebecca was home and it was time for dinner.

It is a wonderful feeling to eat a big meal and then sleep until the next big meal - to call it an accomplishment is an understatement.

We tried to use a restaurant.com coupon for a local Thai place, but we were greeted with a sign saying they no longer accepted such coupons, so we were forced to think on the fly. Dan and I are notoriously inept at thinking on the fly, so we  forced Rebecca to make the decision, as true gentlemen do. After some deliberation, we were back on the road on our way back to what had become our home away from home, Green. We enjoyed our third meal there in less than 24 hours, and returned to Rebecca's house for some wine and hot chocolate filled with peppermint schnapps, marshmallows and a candy cane. Feeling particularly jolly and full, we retired for the night.

We awoke the next morning, said goodbye and thank you to Rebecca and her housemates and hit the road for Sedona, Arizona, to explore the red rock landscapes in that area.

This post has been brought to you by tasty, feminine beers, Green and naps.

Lets keep this party polite; never get out of my sight. Stick with me baby, I'm the guy that you came in with. Luck be a lady tonight

I rolled over, groggily eyeing the table where the clock stood perched and rubbed my eyes - 9:45 am. In Vegas that was still an incredibly early hour, but my stomach was pleading for something solid to balance out the considerable amount of liquid it was, at that moment, housing.

I stumbled out of bed, only then realizing I had a pounding headache. I looked over to the bed next to mine where Dan was still passed out and to the mess of blankets and pillows on the floor in which I assumed Steve was currently engulfed. 

"Dan, Steve. Do you guys want to go get some breakfast?" I asked them.

Dan shifted. He looked as though he was feeling a similar headache.

"I'm up," he managed to mutter.

"Steve, c'mon." I nudged the mass of blankets in the general vicinity that Steve's corporeal self should have been lying. It crumbled to the floor beneath my touch.

"Where is he?" I asked Dan.

"Bathroom?" he suggested.

We both began searching. Empty beer and rum bottles lined the walls, the victims of a night of general debauchery, but there was no sign of Steve. I try calling his phone, but it goes straight to voicemail.

Dan and I look at each other, concerned. Steve rarely wakes up before noon without significant coercion. We tried to think back to last night for clues, but that just added to our already significant headaches. We sat down, deciding it was best if we retraced our steps, starting at the beginning of Las Vegas.

I thought back to when we got to Las Vegas. Cue the wavy flashback signifying lines.

We arrived early on Sunday, and after dropping Alana off at the airport, we checked into the Circus Circus Hotel, taking three consecutive 20 minute showers, washing away a weeks worth of dirt, sweat and general grime. 

At this point, the appeal of not moving was overwhelming, so we melted into the bed and watched football well into the evening. Dan's friend Mary paid us a visit around eight, coaxing us from bed with beer. We brought ourselves to put on pants (as any good host ought to do) and set out onto the Vegas Strip.

Beers in hand, we wandered in and out of several casinos - Treasure Island, Caesars, the Bellagio - before stopping to watch the fountain show outside the Bellagio. We stood amongst throngs of predominately Asian and elderly tourists watching as water was propelled into the air and lights flashed in sync with Luck Be a Lady Tonight . It was Old Faithful with a soundtrack, sans the acrid sulfuric stench, though to the best of my recollection Yellowstone didn't employ hundreds of hispanic men, women and teenagers to persistently pester you with cards advertising "hot, naked girls who want to meet you."

I shook my head, coming back to reality.

The remainder of the night is a blur of alcohol and casinos - New York New York, the Luxor, The Venetians. That's the thing about Vegas - it is the pinnacle of imitation, possibly surpassed only by Dubai. It's filled with enough replicas of famous things and places - the New York skyline, pyramids and Venetian canals - so as to appease the tiniest sliver of culture in visitors who in reality just want to get piss drunk and throw money at flashing lights and pretty girls.

I can only assume that on my moral high horse, I performed that rant to whomever would listen last night, but this is the point of the night when everything becomes a little bit hazy. A bit of detective work on the part of Dan found a receipt in his pocket from a CVS, where we presumably bought more of the booze (since you can get alcohol nearly anywhere in Vegas), apparently eager to continue enjoying the legality of drinking in the streets. We made our way back to the CVS, where a cashier luckily remembered us, saying we had a relatively incoherent conversation the night before, the gist of which being that we were going to go win big at Caesar's.

We thanked him and made our way over to Caesar's, knowing that if we were going to try and go big in Vegas it would be on the roulette table. We spoke to a few dealers before chancing upon the one who had the unfortunate duty of dealing with  us the previous night. Apparently we raked in a solid $40 in winnings (now there's a tank of gas) but acted as if is were $40 thousand. He also remembered that there were two girls with us while we were playing who were, luckily enough, still passed out over by the poker tables.

We wandered over to the two sleeping girls and were immediately greeted with the trifecta of clues that prove a woman spent the night in Vegas - generously applied, now heavily smeared make-up and tussled hair, revealing shirts that proffered their breasts for all to see and dresses just short enough that they revealed the entirety of their backsides. It was a sad sight, not helped by the fact that these two were certainly not on the fast track to win any beauty pageants. 

We stirred them from their drunken slumber - rousing the beast, as it were. We cautiously took a step back as they awoke, afraid they might bite. We asked them if they remembered anything from the previous night.

"Well, you two and your friend were over there gambling when we met you," said Snaggletooth.

"Yeah, yous two were rude and didn't pay any attention to us," began Bare Butt, "but your friend was a little nicer. After yous won some money, yous said you was going to get us some drinks and you never came back."

"But you did say you were going to go to Tacos El Gordo, some Mexican place. We were supposta go withchu."

Neither Snaggletooth or Bare Butt looked happy with us. We told them we would go get them some drinks to make it up to them, walked away and then left the casino, deciding to go to Tacos El Gordo to see if we could find anything out there.

We arrived and asked one of the workers if he remembered us or our friend, Steve. He looked up from churning out what seemed to be 400 tacos a minute, gave us a confused look and said, "No hablo ingles."

Alas, this man was speaking in tongues to us.

I used my limited grasp of the Spanish language to hold a mangled conversation with the man, the conclusion of which was either that he did not remember us or that I may have insulted his wife and children somehow.

We had hit a wall. We bought some tacos, momentarily forgetting our predicament in a wave of deliciousness, but once that final bite was bitten, it became all too clear that we had lost Steve.

As we walked back to our hotel room, we thought of the good times we had with Steve- the drinks in Seattle, the laughs in Vancouver, the sunshine in Cali and the beautiful vistas in all of the national parks. This was no way for it to end.

We got back to the room, went in and settled onto the beds dejectedly. Just then, I felt my pocket vibrate. I instinctively flipped open my phone, reading my new text message.

From: Steve McFadden

Hey guys, just landed safely. Thanks for waking up early to drive me to the airport. Enjoy the rest of your trip - see you in a few weeks.

Nov 15 2:03 pm.

This post has been brought to you by hot, naked girls who want to meet you.

The blizzard's never seen the desert sands, and I have never understood a written plan. I have set my house on fire cause I don't need it anymore; oh the blizzard's never seen the desert sand.

Weary, smelly, but incredibly content, we made our way to Las Vegas to pick up the beautiful Alana Richards, who was flying out to join us for the Grand Canyon. 

This was certain to be a fantastic time, but it did raise some issues. We were barely squeezing three of us, with gear, into Appa, so the addition of a fourth and more luggage had potential to be troublesome.

However, we tracked her down at the airport and made it work. As an added bonus, the cramped conditions during our five hour drive from Vegas to the Canyon would allow Alana and Steve to get better acquainted. We made a quick supply stop at Target, had a parking lot picnic, piled back into Appa, now more cramped with additional food stuffs, and set off for the grandest of canyons.

After a few hours of driving, we pulled off the main highway onto the historic Highway 66. which took us through Williams, Arizona, an old town vaguely reminiscent of the animated town, Radiator Springs, from the Pixar classic, Cars. Ready for a break from the car, we took some time to explore this rustic old town, full of old diners and classic cars, relics of a time now lost. Though well beyond its heyday, it is not hard to imagine this town bustling with life and teeming with eclectic cross-country travelers before the advent of the highway system. It was getting on in the day and the sun was all but down, but some of the shops were still open, so we took a gander. The shops were mostly full of cheap touristy trinkets and souvenirs, but despite the obvious downturn in visitor flow, the spirits of the two shopkeepers we met did not seem to be dampened. Both were warm and inviting, genuinely interested in where we were from and where we were going. 

Feeling peckish, we began looking for a place to get a bite to eat, and as though a beam of light from heaven itself shone down upon it, I spotted, in the distance (or restaurants.com), our oasis - Pancho McGillicuddy's. Finally, someone combined the ne'er compared cuisines and beverages from south of the border and the Emerald Isle.  I had my fingers crossed for a roast beef and yorkshire pudding taco. 

We gorged ourselves on copious amounts of food and local brews, trying to fatten ourselves up for the upcoming cold nights. Feeling genuinely stuffed, we headed back to Appa, ready for our final cramped hour on the road.

Much to our dismay, the top of the canyon was already snow-covered when we arrived. Alana was well-prepared, with a sleeping bag fit for arctic explorers. Dan, Steve and I were a little less prepared. Ultimately, it was decided that we would set up Steve's two-person tent on a relatively thin pile of snow, and Alana and Dan would squeeze in there. Steve and I would layer up, hot box Appa with body heat and sleep there.

Though quite cold, it was not the worst night we have had. I was just beginning to be bothered by cold's cruel bite when my alarm went off, thus spiting the not-yet-risen sun by denying it the opportunity to wake me up, as it has grown accustomed to. We planned to hike down to the bottom of the canyon and back today, so we hit the road and arrived at the Angel Bright trailhead as the sun was rising.

The trail was snowy and icy at the rim of the canyon, so our progress was slow at first. However, Steve and I soon found that we could make like penguins, a la Super Mario 64, and toboggan on our backsides with greater speed, so long as we avoided the land mines of donkey poop.

After a few switchbacks, the ice and snow faded into dirt and dust, but the trail's downward slope grew steeper forcing us to think warily of our return climb. We came across a sign stating that, "Down is optional. Up is mandatory," which squelched our hopes of getting to the bottom and just collapsing into a nap. So it had been decided - we were required by sign to make it back up alive. No excuses.

Around this time, we noticed a fellow hiker, traveling alone, was approaching the rear of our caravan. Alana, the social butterfly that she is, made friendly with the man, named Jose, who happened to be in town for the Grand Canyon marathon taking place the following day. It seemed a bold strategy to hike the Grand Canyon a day before running 26.2 miles. We'll see how it plays out for him, Cotton.

So our group, now a quintet, continued onward and downward into the canyon. I noticed my shoelace had come undone, and as I bent down to retie it, I felt something bump into me…

I apologized to Sean; I had not seen him bend over to relace his shoe. I'm really glad I met this group. Hiking the trail alone would have been much less exciting, and that group of older guys I passed before were a bit on the strange side. Plus they seem to be interested in marathons as well.

After about an hour and a half and 4.5 miles, we made it to the bottom of the canyon. 3000 feet down. Impressive. I looked back up at the trail we just traversed. The climb looked daunting, to say the least, and by the look of the faces of my newfound friends, they seemed to agree. 

We decided to continue on to Plateau Point, another 1.5 miles and 110 feet in elevation change, and it was well worth the hike. The point juts outward, overlooking the powerful Colorado River as it surges through and continues to the shape the Grand Canyon. We all had some lunch enjoying the views. Before we left for our return trip, they wanted to take a picture of the five of us at 11:11 on 11/11/11.

Alright, so maybe this group was a little strange too.

We started to make our way back - only six miles to go and 3110 feet to climb. Sean and I set off at a bit of a quicker pace than the rest. I could have gone faster still, but since I had my race the next day, I decided to linger back with him.

We fought our way up the trail, which was quite steep and particularly muddy at points due to the melting ice and snow. We took a quick break three miles in and another at 4.5 miles in and then pushed our way through the final mile and a half. Along the way, we saw several groups that had absolutely no chance of making it down and back up - one group with people wearing flip-flops and another with a girl wearing pure-white, designer boots that looked very expensive. Apparently they underestimated the grandness of the Grand Canyon.

At last, we took the final uphill step and put our feet on the flat land of the canyon rim. I turned to Sean, congratulating him and bumping his fist.

I looked at Jose, still regaining my breath from the 4.5 mile and 3000-foot incline climb we just completed in under 2 hours and 40 minutes. Dan, Steve and Alana made it up a bit after us, impressively under the three hour mark as well. 

In total, we hiked 12 miles through an elevation change of 3110 feet, which called for a celebratory drink and meal. Plus, Jose needed to carbo-load for the race the next day. Full on food and drink, and just beginning to come down from our hiker's high, we said goodbye to Jose and started to make our way back to camp, stopping at a viewpoint to watch the sun's light dance along the canyon walls as it set.

Back at camp, Dan started a fire, which we all thoroughly enjoyed for a bit before calling it a night. We woke early the next day to go see Jose off in his race. Luckily, we found him and were able to give him our best wishes. We watched the start of the race, cheering as he ran by, which seemed to genuinely brighten his already surprisingly cheery demeanor. I don't think any of the four of us would have been particularly jovial if we had to run a marathon that day. 

However, we did have enough in our tanks to venture back into the heart of the canyon again, this time taking the South Kaibab trail, a 6-mile roundtrip trail with a 2020-foot elevation change. We set off on the trail, again gleefully (less so for Alana) being reduced to the penguin slide for the first few switchbacks. About halfway down, we passed Ooh-Aah point, an aptly-named view that gave breathtaking gasp-eliciting views of the canyon. We lingered there, saying nothing, mesmerized by the scenery, until other groups of hikers arrived and sullied the silence. So we pressed on to Skeleton Point, the culmination of this day's trek, enjoying another panoramic vista as well as a bite of lunch, before embarking on the perpendicular ascent back to the rim of the canyon. 

Back at the car, we enjoyed a hard-earned parking lot picnic before setting out on one last hike along the canyon rim, which not only lent us some final spectacular views of the canyon in the light of the descending sun, but also brought us to a grand total of 21 horizontal and two vertical miles of hiking in two days, an impressive feat by any measure. We celebrated in the lodge, in true vagabond fashion, with me bringing in a can of chili and eating it cold and Dan taking some leftover pizza cast aside by the neighboring table's previous occupants. There is no depth to our penny-pinching.

When other patrons began eyeing us uneasily, in much the same way one eyes the homeless man rooting through a garbage can, we thought it best to transplant our smelly selves to our campsite and retire for the night. At this point the cold was of little consequence in comparison to our aching and sleep-deprived bodies, and we slept as soundly as one can on frozen grounds and semi-reclined car seats. We awoke the following morning, had a light breakfast, repacked the car and crammed in for our voyage to the Silver City - Las Vegas.

This post has been brought to you by Jose Ramil Jamosmos, boss.

Say you just can't live that negative way if you know what I mean - make way for the positive day...

11/7/11

12:00 pm - Feeling rejuvenated and full of such life that only a bed, shower and Target can bring you, we set off back to Zion National Park, with the sun shining on us.

2:00 pm - We have entered Zion, secured a campsite and arrived at our first hike, a trek into what has been dubbed, Hidden Canyon.

2:05 pm - This hike is insufferably steep. It is mind-boggling to me that nobody has yet to install escalators onto mountainsides.

2:44 pm - Steve jumped down from a step on the trail, raising the furor of a passing woman who warms him not to "poopoo the danger" while hiking these trails.

2:45 pm - We begin poopoo-ing the danger by any and all means necessary.

3:02 pm - Using the chains set up, we finish hiking the literally cliffside trail, but we don't see the canyon. It seems to be living up to its name.

3:07 pm - After a bit of scrambling, we make it into the canyon. We walk between the plant-covered canyon walls until we reach a seemingly impassable rock wall. Steve and Dan concede defeat.

3:10 pm - I am at the top of said wall, urging them upward. We continue on.

3:22 pm - Another wall, another concession, another victory for Seansquatch. We could keep going, but our hands are growing numb and the sun is retreating to the horizon. We turn to head back.

5:02 pm - We take a small detour to Weeping Rock. We are unable to determine the causes of this rock's melancholy, but it seems to have something to do with the waterfall constantly pouring over it.

5:45 pm - Back at camp, we eat a small meal, decide its unnaturally cold and opt to retreat to the safety of a bar for some Monday Night Football, warmth and alcohol. 

9:30 pm - After a disappointing loss for Dan's Eagles, we reluctantly return to the cold night, immediately trying to fall asleep after taking a few shots of rum to warm our insides. The temperature is 33 degrees.

11:22 pm - 27 degrees.

11/8/11

2:56 am -  In case you were wondering, it is still really, really cold. I haven't felt my toes in hours. 

8:12 am - The sun is up, though the temperatures have not gotten that memo yet. We are driving to the Middle Taylor Creek trailhead, with the heat in Appa set to the surface of the sun.

9:08 am -  We begin the trail, but the snow on the path gives an ominous sense of foreboding.

9:40 am - The trail has crossed the creek several times already, and we have now come to a crossing that doesn't seem to be passable without moistening our already snow-covered toes. However, within minutes, I have successfully fashioned a stepping-stone bridge, making our crossing manageable. I'm a problem solver. I ask questions.

10:03 am - The snow is getting progressively deeper. Dan seems unconcerned as he is wearing boots, but those of us in sneakers are growing wary.

10:07 am - My calf is fully submerged.

10:52 am - We have made it to the end of our trail- Double Arch Alcove. It is a beautiful cave-like rock formation, with a (mostly) frozen pool in the middle. The rock forms a sort of natural dome formation, where shades of brown, red, and white swirl majestically. A look back towards Taylor Creek reveals a great view of the sun washing over the cliffs of the valley we've just hiked. We decide to have a bit to eat here before heading back.

12:07 pm - We are nearly back to the trailhead. Steve has miniature ice-balls clinging to the heels of his sweatpants, a true testament to older generations' diatribes against baggy pants.

12:28 pm - Steve has abandoned his sweatpants for the rest of the trip, and is now whipping them against any large rock we pass by in an attempt to break the ice off the pants. He just stumbled while crossing the creek, nearly submerging his foot.

12:37 pm - His foot went fully in this time. He is having a rough morning.

12:49 pm - Finally made it back to Appa. Steve attempts to defrost his pants.

1:17 pm - We've climbed to a lookout of Zion, persevering a squishy and muddy trail. The view is equally split between a massive wall of red cliffs topped off in snow, and a panoramic look out at miles and miles of rolling hills, covered in both trees and snow, flanked with Zion's typical red mountains. A delightful group of older ladies who have also made trip ask if we'd like our picture taken, and we oblige, of course repaying the favor. Not only did they not lecture us on poopoo-ing danger, I believe Steve may have gotten some digits.

2:45 pm - We make it back to the main section of the park and decide upon the Riverside Walk for our next hike. It is supposed to give a good view into the Narrows, a popular area of the park.  We should be able to get some good intel for our superiors.

2:53 pm - Finally a hike with an incline grade bordering on zero. This is something I can get behind. While this trail is not so challenging, it doubles as the beginning of a much more serious trek, which wades through the river several times. 

5:45 pm - Back at camp. The sun is setting fast and the temperatures faster still. Lows tonight are predicted to drop below 20 degrees. Time to layer up and take some shots.

6:57 pm - Thermal underwear, shorts, two pairs of sweatpants, under armour, t-shirt, two thermals, two hoodies, four pairs of socks, gloves, and a delightfully fashionable hat. Bring it on, cold.

8:22 pm - Bring it on a little less, please.

11/9/11

1:03 am - It is epically cold, and moral is low. There is talk of mutiny amongst the men.

6:47 am - I have never been so happy to see the sun at such an ungodly hour.

8:00 am - After eating breakfast and thawing out our extremities, we have arrived at Angel's Landing trailhead, for what will be the most difficult climb of our excursion. It is still quite cold, so we decide to keep on several of our layers.

9:58 am - Halfway there and quite possibly several pounds lighter. We were forced to take off several layers as to not sweat out our internal organs. The final leg of the trail is a treacherous climb to the summit along the edge of the cliffs. Game on.

12:22 pm - The three of us spend about an hour on the landing, essentially the culmination of our expedition to these three national parks. The panoramic view of the Virgin River carving its way through the soft red walls of Zion Canyon is stunning, and we are sure to take copious amounts of photographs. Command will be most pleased with this informa…wait…what was that? Oh god, they are everywhere…

12:55 pm - We just survived an ambush from a ravenous brigade of chipmunks, but barely. They seemed to be attracted to our eclectic assortment of Clif bars and fruit snacks, but we were able to defend our rations by flailing our limbs and yelling obscenities. I saw one bite the head off an innocent passing cricket. They were vicious hooligans. They may be gathering reinforcements for a second wave, so we don't stick around to find out.

2:35 pm - Back in Appa we deice we still have enough energy to do one final hike. We settle on a route up to Upper Emerald Pool.

3:37 pm - We arrive at Upper Emerald Pool, a peaceful, little pond nestled deep in the canyon. We sit down to relax with our feet in the ice, blue water, enjoying the silence and serenity that is broken sporadically only by the chirping of the birds or the rustling of the wind through the trees.

4:18 pm - The silence is broken abruptly by the voice of a woman from Alaska. She truly lovely to talk to, but borders on too friendly. She turned the entire area into a social hotspot, with all of the previously quiet enjoyers of nature chatting to each other as if at a potluck dinner. It turns out that she and her husband sold their house and and are traveling the country by RV. Also, they do not like Obama at all.

4:40 pm - She is going still, showing substantial endurance. It seems she has three daughters, all adventurous in their travels. She has sparked a curiosity within Steve and I as to whether any of the three are spicy.

4:52 pm - We say our goodbyes and begin heading down. Mrs. Alaska gets one more shot in about how Obama has ruined our lives. I'm tempted to ask her of her views of fellow Alaskan, Sarah Palin, but I think better of setting her on another tangent. The sun will be down soon as it is.

7:30 pm - Back at camp for our last night. Luckily, we are incredibly exhausted from quite a bit of hiking, so hopefully, we will sleep through the cold. The 17 layers I just put on certainly won't hurt either. Good night, Zion.

9:48 pm - I guess we were not tired enough to sleep through it. It is getting nippy out here…

Several entries between the times of 10:00 pm on 11/9/11 and 6:30 am on 11/10/11 could not be transcribed because they were highly illegible, possibly due to excessive shivering and teeth chattering.

6:37 am - Cold, tired and sore. But alive. Time to break down camp.

7:30 am - We are leaving Zion National Park, the mission a success. We are en route to Las Vegas for debriefing and to pick up the newest addition to our crew - Alana "Grandma" Richards. Finally, a feminine touch in Appa. 

This post has been brought to you by cliffside chains, snow-covered cabins, and cold soup.

The Sound of Silence

St. George, Utah. We ate lots of food, watched lots of football and shopped at the local Target on more than one occasion in preparation for the cold days ahead.

There is not much else going on over there.

This post has been brought to you by relatively little.

Let the sun beat down upon my face, stars to fill my dream. I am a traveler of both time and space to be where I have been.

The mission orders just came down from the brass upstairs. They were to embark on a twelve-day exploratory missions into three different national parks in the southwest quadrant of the territory known as the United States of America. Their mission, should they choose to accept it (oh, they'll accept it), is to explore, via hiking and climbing, Joshua Tree, Death Valley and Zion National Parks.

They set off in the S.S. Appa on November 1, 2011 with an experienced crew of three members - Bombardier Daniel "Danimal" Hagen, Deckhand Steve "Stev" McFadden and myself, Colonel Sean "The Squatch" Cogan. 

The following is a recovered written log of their exploits:

11/1/11

3:00 pm -  We've arrived at Joshua Tree National Park and are forced to pay an entrance fee. Do they not realize we are on a serious reconnaissance mission here?

3:25 pm - We stop at Hidden Valley and set off on a loop that circles through the canyon. I begin to do some rock climbing.

3:32 pm -  I already lost my crew. I use my newfound altitude to try and locate them.

3:34 pm - This technique fails to yield any results.

3:42 pm - I successfully climb down from my perch, continuing my hunt from the ground.

4:26 pm - I jogged around the trail for a bit, searching in vain for my comrades. After confirming that they were nowhere on the loop, I nervously return to Appa, only to find them relaxing nearby. They had apparently left the loop and made their own trail back. Lesson learned - yell if you die.

6:30 pm - We made it to our campsite, after a stop at Baker's Dam. The sun had long since set, leaving us to set up camp in the dark. The wind is picking up.

7:18 pm - Our camp is fully set up and we have eaten an underwhelming meal of Clif bars. It is a crisp, clear night, with a sky full of stars and an especially bright moon, lighting up the campsite.

7:42 pm -  There is alarmingly little to do while camping after the sun sets when you do not have a fire. We are considering going to bed for lack of more entertaining options.

11:45 pm -  We have been asleep for a bit now, but we periodically wake up to what sounds like carnivorous creatures lurking around our tent. We are hoping that it is just the gale force winds blowing the tents around, as the rocky ground made it impossible to stake them down.

11/2/11

6:53 am - The sun can be vicious vixen in the mornings.

8:42 am - Having finally succumbed to the perpetual shining of nature's alarm, we ate breakfast and are now in the S.S. Appa on our way to the Lost Palm's Trail.

9:36 am - Apparently in September about 3 inches of rain poured down on the southern section of the park in less than 30 minutes, washing away an entire campsite as well as the road we need to access the Lost Palms trailhead. Time to rework our plans.

10:07 am - We stumbled across an enormous cactus farm and decided to explore it.

10:09 am - Multiple signs adamantly caution against making any contact with these cacti. Being a long-time friend of the cacti, I am skeptical of the warnings.

10:13 am - I picked up a dead bit of cactus off the ground with little difficultly, in my mind proving those signs wrong.

10:14 am - Just because you can pick up a piece of dead cactus does necessarily qualify you to dropkick it. I should know - I now have about 8 needles in my toe.

10:17 am - All needles removed. Toe and ego are still slightly bruised.

10:27 am -  I try to make nice with the cacti. They don't comply. There is now a piece of cactus hanging off my arm.

10:33 am - I've successfully trapped the piece of cactus previously in my arm in an old Clif bar box. Natural selection at its best.

11:17 am -  We set off on the 49 Palms Oasis Trail. We expect there to be no fewer than 49 palms.

11:32 am - We pass by a tall, old man carrying a rock on the trail. He informs us that there are a "lotta Brits on the trail today." We politely nod at the strange, old man, and begin to move ourselves out of range of his projectile.

11:58 am - We meet a couple from Brooklyn, who inform us that the crazy, old man we saw earlier was none other than Robert Plant, lead singer of Led Zeppelin. We feel foolish.

12:12 pm - The number of palms on this trail can not be confirmed, but they are certainly bountiful.

2:07 pm - We stop at Skull Rock and climb for a bit. Done exploring, we head over to the namesake of the area, a rock that is vaguely reminiscent of a skull, shockingly enough. Dan and I climb into the "eye sockets" while Steve sets his camera's self timer for 10 seconds and runs to climb into the picture.

2:07 pm + 10 seconds - Steve doesn't make it.

3:47 pm - We have successfully scaled Ryan Mountain, giving ourselves a panoramic view of Joshua Tree National Park, full of the abstract-looking trees that give it the park its name.

5:15 pm - We arrive back at the campsite. I begin climbing the surrounding rock-faces.

5:45 p m - Dan and Steve scramble up some rocks to get a good view of the sunset. I am lurking above them, in the shadows.

6:23 pm - I have successfully climbed to the top of the entire rock formation. I am unsure of whether I will be able to get back down.

6:52 pm - I am back on the ground, in one piece. Dan and Steve seem unimpressed.

8:42 pm - The sun has been down for quite some time now. Time for bed.

11/3/11

6:27 am - There is one beam of sunlight peaking out from behind the rocks, and it has managed to successfully find its way directly into my right eye.

8:30 am - Packed and ready to go. Death Valley awaits.

1:02 pm - We have reached the outer limits of the supposed valley of death. It seems to be teeming with life.

1:32 pm - We find a fox roaming in the middle of the street. We slow to a stop, watching him as he circles the car curiously. I meet his gaze; he seems friendly. However, we think it best for the mission to leave him to his own devices.

1:43 pm - We stop at Badwater, an enormous salt flat 200 feet below sea level. We taste it. It is indeed salty.

2:42 pm - We come across Mosaic Canyon and wander in. We explore for a bit, and while climbing up one of the canyon walls, I draw the audience of an old man hiking alone. To the best of our knowledge, he is not the lead singer of any band of consequence.

4:13 pm - We stumble upon some giant piles of sand, known as Mesquite Sand Dunes. We  take off our shoes and head out.

4:17 pm - Feeling at home, Steve and I decide to hit around the volleyball a bit.

4:29 pm - Volleyball has been called on account of cacti.

5:45 pm - We arrive at the campsite and set up the tents. Dan sets up his hammock.

7:33 pm - The sun has set, and our dinner has been consumed. The wind is steadily picking up.

8:30 pm - I'm no meteorologist, but I'm relatively certain that these winds are closing in on gale-force. 

10:45 pm - We are camping in what now appears to be a rainless category-4 hurricane. Dan is in his hammock still, but it is dubious whether the tree he is dangling from will make it through the night, so I can not imagine his hammock has better odds.

11/4/11

1:45 am - It's dark, but I am fairly sure I just saw Dorothy and random cow fly by. However, it may have just been Steve and his tent. The rocks he brought in to weigh down his tent have proven no match for this wind.

6:43 am - The wind storm has subsided just in time to allow for the sun to rise. Nature is cruel mistress.

9:00 am - After breaking down camp, we set out for a day of hiking.

3:00 pm - We have already completed treks into two different canyons, both of which were beautiful in a colorfully barren sort of way. We are ready to begin our final hike in the Golden Canyon.

3:15 pm - The mist and wind give the landscape a very Star Wars-y feel. I half expect to be attacked by a Jawa. 

3:22 pm - We have reached a literal fork in the road with no available clues to help us reach an educated decision. Perhaps we should have stuck to clearer trails, instead of the ones with abstract instructions on how to return to your car. I flip a coin.

3:35 pm - At long last, a trail marker confirms our previous choice. However, we have come to yet another unmarked split in the path. The wind is picking up and the mist is growing thicker, giving all of our choices the feeling of having epic implications.

4:17 pm - We may be lost. Steve is no longer allowed to make directional decisions. Too much is at stake.

4:37 pm - I have us back on course. We may survive this hike after all.

4:45 pm -  Yet another fork; still no sign. For a park with such heavy signage warning of the dangers of the heat exhaustion, dehydration and death in Death Valley, they go surprisingly light on the trail markers,

5:22 pm - We finally make it back to the car. The trail ended with a walk through a gulch, ending in a dried-up waterfall. Combined with the setting sun over the salt flats in the background and mountains beyond that still, It was one of the most picturesque views we have seen thus far.

6:00 pm - We drive up to Dante's Point, which is supposed to give the best views of the park. However, our plans were foiled by a passing snow flurry. Such is life.

6:45 pm - We took the weather as a sign to leave Death Valley and make our way to our final destination, Zion National Park. As we enter Nevada, we stop at a gas station/brothel to get our fill of gas and promiscuous women. 

6:47 pm - The voice in our heads stop up dead in our tracks - "No," it avers, "we have a mission to complete. There is no time to be wasted on these wanton women."

11/5/11

12:36 am -We pull over in a truck stop to get a few hours of sleep. 

1:47 am - Three people and an immense amount of gear makes for some uncomfortable sleeping conditions in a VW Jetta.

2:23 am - Judging by the ice of the windshield and our shivering bodies, we probably should have brought out our sleeping bags or blankets or something.

6:45 am - We abandon hope of sleeping this night and voyage onward to Zion. 

9:35 am - We arrive and are greeted with a steady rainfall. There is really only one option for us at this point - put off Zion for a sunnier day and retreat to the safety of a hotel for showers, beds and football.

This post has been brought to you by petroglyphs, confrontational cacti and abstract hiking trails.

Drunk Girls Cause Hangovers

Our reputation with the ladies of San Diego never stood a chance.

We rolled into San Diego late on the Saturday preceding Halloween, a ragtag group of primarily sickly individuals. Steve had been feeling ill all day, having already logged four vomits already. My malady was relatively novel, having ambushed me on the drive over from our late lunch with my cousins outside of Los Angeles. Dan, on the other hand, felt simply superb.

We were being hosted by Cara and Noelle, two of Dan's friends from Jersey who moved out to San Diego the previous summer. As we drove into their neighborhood, which they affectionately called the gay part of town, we were immediately thrust into quite a scene. An enormous Halloween block party was going on just down the street from their apartment. As we circled the blocks, looking for parking, the streets teemed with glittery, half-naked men. 

After parking over a mile away, we finally arrived at their apartment. Upon dropping our stuff, Steve sank into the couch and I allowed my body to become totally dependent on the support of their wall. It rapidly became abundantly clear that Steve and I had no intention of imbibing any alcohol, let along costuming up for a night on the town. This was the first affront to our manhood in the eyes of our hosts. The drunken and generally raucous shouts emanating from the predominately homosexual shenanigans outside were not helping our case either.

Strike one.

So the three of them, formerly Dan, Cara and Noelle, now the boy from Up!, Olive Oyl and a dinosaur headed out for a night on the town, leaving the sickly ones home alone in a dark room to watch How to Train Your Dragon. 

Strike two.

They did not return until the following morning, implying a good night full of copious amounts of alcohol. Steve and I were recovering well; a bro-mantic evening was just the teaspoon of medicine we needed, and we were ready to head to Jolt'n Joe's to watch some football. After eating lunch, the first meal for Steve and I in about 24 hours, we engaged in some highly competitive ping-pong action. Steve emerged victorious from this epic battle as the afternoon games were concluding, so we left to meet Noelle to watch the Eagles' game. Noelle, like Dan, is a huge Eagles' fan, and she found an Eagles' bar,  named Plum Crazy, nestled in San Diego. We entered and were immediately bombarded with an disproportionate number of Eagles' fans per square Californian foot. Luckily for the city of San Diego, the Eagles trounced the Dallas Cowboys. Unluckily for one of the three Cowboys' fans that were brave enough to have entered Plums, Eagles' fan are notoriously terrible zealots. This poor fan ended up getting attacked by a particularly deplorable Eagles' fan, and it did not end well for him at all. 

When the game ended, we went back to the apartment to get ready for the night. Dan retransformed into the boy scout, and I suited up as Woody from Toy Story. Steve, completely lacking a costume, donned his Mexican soccer jersey and a floppy witch's hat. The six of us (us three, Noelle, Cara, and her boyfriend Ken) went to their friends' apartment for a little bit of pregaming, where we were immediately greeted with double shots of rum. Once we were a solid eight shots deep, the group of us made our way to a bar, which we promptly left because Dan lost his license and was denied entry (Don't worry kids, it was later found back at Plums). In lieu of a bar, we headed to World Curry, a restaurant that had long since closed for the evening, but because Noelle is friends with several of its employees who had both key access and a morally suspect policy of using it, we were granted entry, along with free beer from the tap and an undeniably potent smell of curry.

There is something to be said for peer pressure. It is difficult enough to feel masculine while wearing a Woody the Cowboy costume; it is impossible to feel masculine while wearing that costume and having several females half your size assail you with emasculating slurs coaxing you to drink more. Eventually, you will waver and take that next shot. And eventually the number of shots you have taken will have skyrocketed well into the double digits. And eventually you will probably black out. You might say that this should be a learning experience about succumbing to peer pressure, and it would be, if not for the fact that after taking 14 shots in less than two hours, you rarely have the cognitive function to remember anything, let alone lessons.

When 4 a.m. rolled around, as far as I can remember, the three of us were quite ready to collapse. We made our way back to the apartment where the drinking began, accompanied by Noelle and a friend, who were both continuing the onslaught of disparaging attacks on our collective manhood.

Strike three.

We awoke the next morning, feeling the brunt of a night that we don't entirely remember. After a bit of recovery time, our hosts and us headed out for a walk in nearby Balboa Park, hoping that some sunshine would help us feel like human beings again. Sadly, despite both lovely weather and beautiful surroundings, we remained immensely hungover. However, we pushed through the pain and set out onto the San Diego Bay atop kayaks, paddling right up to sea lions barking and bickering with each other. The teenage years are toughest for any species.

We successfully were not eaten by these aquatic lions, leaving us free to go play some beach volleyball with the one and only Andrew J. Bennett Esq, winning a best of three series against him in heroic fashion. Afterwards, we grabbed a bite to eat with Andy, where he bombarded us with compelling arguments to move out to San Diego immediately. However, we still have a road trip to complete, so we said our goodbyes to Andrew and made our way back to the apartment. The girls were already out for day three of their Halloween shenanigans, and they fully expected us to join them. Dan immediately began getting into costume, while Steve and I starting melting into the couch. Dan, at that point in full costume, made a halfhearted plea for us to join him, but seeing that we were watching Arrested Development with rapt attention, he quickly realized he was fighting a losing battle.

Both girls had work early the next day, so we were not able to see them before we had to depart San Diego, but Dan relayed a message that is simply not suitable for our younger readers. It is often considered difficult to make it to four strikes, but both Steve and myself, well, we are of a different breed, it seems. 

At this point, I feel the need to log a defense for the two of us. The constant shift from sunrise wake-up calls in national parks to the expected "raging" in cities impressively disrupts one's internal clock. We are not usually this lame. Well, at the very least, Steve is not usually this lame.

So after about two weeks on the Californian coast, it was finally time to began our trek back east. Our next two weeks have 12 days of camping lined up, with several of the nights' forecasted temperatures set at well below freezing, with a few projected to be in the teens. We are relatively pessimistic about survival.

This post was brought to you by Sprouts, beach volleyball and men on stilts.

Whole Hearts and Broken Dreams in La La Land

It is late in the afternoon on a Wednesday. Three men, mid twenties gather at an In + Out Burger in Southern California. They sit alone, with other customers keeping their distance, owing mainly to the overwhelming odor accumulated from 3 days of hiking emanating from the table.

Steve

(cringing at his own odor) 

Damn, I smell.

Dan

Well, you have worn that exact outfit for 4 straight days.

Sean (VO)

In Steve's defense, we had just spent 3 days in Yosemite National Park, completing "strenuous" hikes and being too cold to even consider the thought of changing our pants. It's a rough and tough life on the road. I took the final bite of my burger. The juicy beef was rejuvenating after 3 days of nothing but Clif bars and trail mix.

Sean

(sitting back in seat, holding stomach)

Well, I feel like almost a human being again.

Dan

I'll share that sentiment once I've showered.

Cue music - "California" by Phantom Planet

Sean (VO)

With that, we got back on the road. The other customers were eyeing us with the same caution one gives a mangey stray dog in a dark alley, and it was disconcerting. Also, the glitz and glamour of the city of Angels was beckoning out to us. We were greeted by the Hollywood sign, the same landmark that has greeted millions on their quest to be discovered. Perhaps today, a Dana Gordon-type exec will be stricken by the angelic figure longboarding the streets of the city.

The sun has set around the Adventurer All-Suite Hostel in Los Angeles, California, where Dan, Sean, and Steve sit in the open-air bar, amongst hostel patrons. Admist the sounds of the television and a humming popcorn machine, there are conversations going on in several different languages and accents.

Dan

(noticeably relieved and well-groomed)

Now I feel like a human again.

Sean (VO)

Steve and I both nod. Our showers had been both invigorating and refreshing, and I no longer felt like people were inching their tables away from us. Now all we needed was a good night's sleep and several more bags from the free 24-hour popcorn machine, and we would be ready to take on LA.

Sean

How many bags of popcorn have you knocked down?

Steve

Well, it's debatable.

Dan

No, it's quite literally six.

Enter old lady from stage right. She is shuffling her feet as she walks, muttering incoherently to herself.

Woman

(Audibly, but to herself) 

During the day, I'm in the kitchen, and at night, I'm always naked.

Sean (VO)

We stared at each other, baffled. La La land certainly has a cast of characters. Just a few minutes ago we saw an older man hitting on a young Asian woman, using tales of his divorce, attempted suicide and anti-depressant medications. She indulged him politely, but you had to assume that barring an unforeseeable rise in her BAC, that was going nowhere.

Dan

Oh god, look to your 4:30.

Steve and Sean look to their 4:30, where a fern sits innocently. They look at Dan. He finally points to the woman, who had shuffled up to the television and began doing a sort of pained happy dance. She was apparently a big Notre Dame fan and had gotten over her obvious dissatisfaction of being naked every night, as they began their trouncing of Navy.

Dan

Well, I've seen enough.

Steve

Time for bed?

Sean (VO)

Though still early, we headed to bed. We had lots of sleep to catch up on and an entire city to see tomorrow. 

It is a perfect sunny late afternoon at Venice Beach, California. The sun is starting to consider setting for the night as our three compadres walk down the boardwalk, idly roaming past a multitude of shops and characters.

Dan

What a beautiful way to end this day.

Sean (VO)

In a very cliche way, he was right. We had a pleasant day in LA. We caught a matinee of Ides of March in the iconic ArcLight Theatre after perusing the enormous Amoeba Music store. We also meandered down the Walk of Fame, ending at the Chinese Mann Theatre, complete with its famous cemented handprints. Unfortunately, however, even in the heart of Hollywood, we were neither approached or discovered. Nevertheless, we kept our heads held high. If the road to fame wasn't full of some bumps and detours, everyone would take it. The literal roads in LA were full of both of those things too, as well as an exuberant amount of traffic, so after battling through LA's parking lot of vehicles for what felt like hours, we had finally made it to Venice Beach.

Enter man in green scrubs on stage right. He speaks with a typical California stoner drawl. 

Man

Do you guys want to get legal today? Only $40 to get your Medical Marijuana card!

Sean (VO)

We chuckle. He is standing under a big sign reading "Green Doctor."

Man

Don't hesitate, medicate! The doctor is in!

Sean

No thanks, we're all good.

Sean (VO)

Our lime-robed friend didn't miss a beat and immediately moved on to the group of females passing behind us.

Man

You ladies looking to get high tonight?

Sean (VO)

That's the problem with Los Angeles. Faux male nurses in green scrubs only act like your friend to sell you pot. It's full of phonies. 

Dan

Hey look, muscle beach!

Sean (VO)

In an outdoor, beachside facility, we see several guys getting their collective swell on. They were probably trying to look their best for head-shots or casting calls.

Steve

I wonder if they got the full spectrum of amino acids.

Sean (VO)

They probably did. They have that look about them, what with their 80's styled sweatpants and muscle tees. I can imagine them taking a plethora of supplements. Unsurprisingly, all this thought of working out has made me hungry.

Sean: Dinner?

The night's darkness envelopes the windows of a mediocre sushi restaurant in LA. The guys are being served by a flamboyant Latino waiter, who had affectionately called them "thirsties" already. 

Sean

(with a mouth full of spicy tuna)

I want to see a game 7. 

(To Steve) 

Even if you were a Rangers fan, wouldn't you kinda wanna blow this game just to see a game 7?

Steve

That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard. A game 7 is a toss-up!

Game six of the World Series between the St. Louis Cardinals and the Texas Rangers was on the television. The Rangers were on the verge of winning the series, with a two run lead going into the ninth.

Cut the lights, and empty the restaurant. The boys still sit at the table, as St. Louis has tied the game, given up two runs, tied the game again, and Ryan Freese stepped to the plate.

Waiter

(with the entire staff by the door, anxiously looking at their watches)

So how much time is left?

Steve

(apprehensively)

Well, it should be any minute now..

And Freese hits one deep! It is high, it is far, it is... gone! Sean Cogan fist pumps enthusiastically as his dreams of a game 7 are realized.

Sean (VO)

We pack up and leave quickly, thanking the waiter for his hospitality. HIs generosity and the Cardinals' come-from-behind win has rekindled our belief in the soul of Hollywood. We head to bed, with dreams of making it big still pouring through our heads.

The sun is setting over the Pacific at Huntington Beach, California. Dan meanders around the beach capturing the photogenic sunset from all the right angles. Steve has found his way into a pickup game of volleyball with a few of the locals, and Sean, having had to return to the car to replace his shoes after his incredibly used flip-flops were heartlessly stolen, watched jealously.

Sean

I am so beat, I would kill for a meal and a bed right now.

Sean (VO)

Our exhaustion was understandable, considering the day we had. It was filled with competitive frisbee H-O-R-S-E, dabbles into beach volleyball, frigid dips in the Pacific and active bargaining at a local market. TK's burgers, a local surfer joint had filled our bellies at noon, but by the time of the sunset, a full-sized hunger had grown.

Steve

OK, I think they are calling the game on account of the sun being down for 20 minutes.

Sean (VO)

And with that, we set off in search of a place to dine.

Dan, Sean and Steve are sitting in an Irish pub. The lights above their table are off, leaving the nearby television to be their primary source of light as they poured over the menu.

Sean (VO)

Restaurants.com led us to Gallagher's, an Irish-pub right off the beach that was conveniently showing Game 7 of the World Series. We were greeted by the overtly Irish bartender, and sat down at a table near the TV.

Enter Irish bartender on stage left.

Irish bartender

(with a comically heavy Irish accent)

So where ya boys from?

Steve

Jersey.

Irish bartender

(with his accent still hilariously strong)

Oh, Joisey, eh? Where there are the crooks and criminals and the good times, eh?

Dan

(with a straight face)

So you've been there?

Sean (VO)

He took our order and left us to watch the game. The Cardinals were leading, leaving the underdog lover in me considering throwing my support in Texas's corner.

Enter Drunken Irishman on stage right.

Drunken Irishman

(in a hardly comprehensible Irish accent)

G'evening lads. You gents e'er been to Ireland?

Sean

I have. My dad was born there.

Drunken Irishman

(in an even more slurred accent)

I'm from Donegal, but don't go letting people know I'm in the IRA!

Sean

(awkwardly laughing)

Oh, yeah, I wouldn't want to do that…

Sean (VO)

Our new, apparently radically militant Irish friend left us to our meal, and we turned our attention to the game, just in time to watch the Cardinals cap off an amazing series come back to win the World Series. We finished up our drinks, paid our bill and left the bar, which turned out to be a hotspot for the middle-aged crowd in Huntington Beach. Maybe another night we would have stayed and partied late into the night with this older, washed-up crowd, but tonight, in LA, they just evoked memories of our broken dreams. They reminded us that we didn't make it big.

Cue music - "Under the Bridge" by Red Hot Chili Peppers.

It seems to pointless to say, but it is another perfect day in Southern California. Dan Steve and Sean are sitting at a restaurant eating lunch with Sean's cousins Eugene  and Anna, and Eugene's wife, Desirae.

Eugene: So where are you guys off to next?

Dan: We are heading down to San Diego tonight for Halloween. I am going as the kid from Up!, and Sean is going as Woody. We are doing a bit of a tribute to Pixar and Steve Jobs. We wanted Steve to go as Rex the dinosaur, but he hasn't gotten a costume yet, right Steve? Steve?

Steve
(head in hands, looking down) 

I need to go sit in the car.

Sean (VO)

Some combination of tasty Irish pub sandwiches, one shot of whiskey and too much free popcorn was punishing Steve, who spent several hours doubled over and mostly incoherent. A perfectly timed arrival at lunch saved Appa from any danger, but the city of LA was not safe as Steve already unleashed four public ralphs upon it. We finished up our meal and said goodbye to my cousins, with the hope that our time apart would be short. The atmosphere in Southern California makes it easy to be hopeful, unless, as in Steve's case, it relegates you to the front seat of the car feeling like you might throw up for a fifth time in as many hours.

We set off down the Pacific Coast Highway, and with the lights and glamour of Hollywood in our rearview mirror, we started to get our senses back, realizing we were probably better suited for a more laid-back scene in San Diego. 

Cue music - "Party in the USA" by Miley Cyrus. A red VW Jetta, driven by Dan, with Sean and Steve as passengers, is seen driving down an oceanside highway, with the sun setting over the ocean.

Cut to black.

This post has been brought to you by a liberal state, the film and volleyball capitals of the world and Hollywood dreaming.