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.

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