All around me are familiar faces...

As the miles between us and Portland, Oregon melted away, and the landscapes shifted from mountains and dry grasslands to the notoriously green and moist deciduous rainforest of the Pacific Northwest, the sun retreated further and further behind a thick shield of ominous clouds. According to the Portlandians we were lucky to meet, it does not rain as much as you might think, but it is nearly always overcast with the heavens perpetually threatening to unleash their wrath.

So with the sun safely stowed away, we arrived and met a lovable motley crew of fellow New Jersians staying in Portland for the premiere of The Kill Hole, a movie Dan's brother, Zach, produced, with the help of all the people we were here to visit. After the jubilation of our salutations subsided, we set off to meet another KH crew member, Yona. Her stunning house, nestled in the rolling hills that ran alongside Portland, was the perfect start to a beautiful hike through the strikingly green rainforest, which lived up to us name by soaking us on our return trip. After a spot of hors d'oeurves, drink and some hot tub action to warm up, we headed out for an Ethopian feast. The food was served family style, atop an enormous grain pancake, which can only be described as an edible sponge.  Without the luxury of dishes or eating utensils, the sponge was used as a means of picking up one's food as well as a means of sustenance. I would love to tell you what I ate that night, but as it was indistinguishable mush, suffice it to say it was extraordinarily delicious.  

After eating too much sponge and just the right amount of the rest, Dan and I headed off to the third leg of our traveling musical experience, the Naked and the Famous. However, living by the seat of our pants, we scalped our tickets and rejoined our friends, both old and new, at a local bar, for some shuffleboard (of course we won) and an assortment of other good times. We left, filled to the brim with drink, for some sleep, for we had an exciting day ahead of us.

Not only was this day our one month anniversary (cue the "awe's"), but Steven M. McFadden was flying out to join us for the second month of this trip. We took a running tour of our hosting neighborhood led by the international ironman Jason Krawczyk and then headed to the airport to pick up the big man. After introducing Steve to the rest of the group and sampling some more of Portland's amazing food at a local Mexican place, our new trifecta of roadtrippers set off to the coast for a bit of exploration. We took a short hike through the rainforest and after crossing a tiny, rickety rope bridge, the trail opened up to this trip's first view of the Pacific at a pristine, secluded, sandy cove, complete with a waterfall flowing out of the forest into the ocean. Steve and I scrambled up the slippery rocks up to the falls, successfully not dying in the process.

We met up with the group and headed out to dinner at a place I boldly chose off restaurant.com - Sweet Basil Thai. I was dropped off to procure a table, while the group went to park and car, so I was the first to experience this establishment.

The group of New Jerseyans made their way up the sidewalk approaching Sean, who had a quizzical look etched on his face. "I think our hostess…might be a dude…"

As a group, we entered the restaurant, our senses flooded with several layers of weird.  Ladyboys serving patrons with a repeating loop of It's Raining Men, I Will Survive and other classics playing on the stereo. Our server came over and after he took our drink order, complete with at least two Thai Me Down's, she proceeded to jump onto a little stage to lip sync and provocatively dance to some show tunes. When he dismounted to take our order, another equally talented performer took over for her on stage, drawing prolonged stares from Steve, who seemed to be suffering a crisis of conscious as he had difficulty determining her original gender. While he sat agape, I excused myself to the restroom, finding a men's room and a "men or women's" room, opting for the former. All jokes and show tunes aside, all the food was fantastic, maintaining Portland's tasty credentials.

Our gracious hosts decided afterwards to introduce us to Ground Kontrol, a bar filled to the rafters with old-fashioned arcade games. We enjoyed man-cans of Pabst Blue Ribbon and played some classics all night. Though hard work, perseverance and a bit of hard cider, Jason cemented his initials into Portland history by setting the high score in Tron. Feeling as though we as a group had nothing left to accomplish, we returned home and slept soundly. 

Portland is renowned for its food cart industry, which pumps out cheap, delicious foods of all kinds. We decided to sample that scene for brunch and yet again, though I feel like a broken record, Portland's food fails to disappoint. After brunch, Zach and Jason took us on a driving tour of the Mount Hood area. We stopped at some breathtaking waterfalls, one of which Jason and I climbed up to get behind the cascading water. Afterwards, we made our way to the Mount Hood area, driving up to a great viewpoint of the summit, which was shrouded in a fog, making it mysteriously beautiful. We finally settled on a  hike through the thick forest on the edge of a peaceful lake.

Well, we thought it was peaceful anyways.

In the middle of hike, the group encountered a rarely sighted, often-discussed creature of lore - the mythical "Seansquatch." Dan was able to get photographic documentation of its existence. I know we have all heard the legends, and many of you might say exasperatedly, "Seansquatch is just Sean after getting lost in the woods for a while and coming back through swampy terrain."

Say what you will, skeptics. True believers know the truth.

So we finished the hike, and after Steve took a magnificent tumble trying to hurdle a rocky hill and Jason took a dip in the arctic lake, we took our leave of the Mount Hood region, rejoining the hustle and bustle of Portland for a nice dinner and television program of the undead nature.

We three musketeers awoke the next morning and headed into the city for two commercial landmarks. Up first was Powell's, an unnaturally large bookstore, where one must be presented a map upon entry to avoid getting lost.

Dan got lost.

After spending an unexpected amount of time and money, the three of us pressed on to Buffalo Exchange, a hip thrift store where we found and purchased such classics as a reversible Transformers hoodie and a beautiful, oversized cowboy hat, apparently made with mouse fur.

We decided to while away the remainder of our pleasant little Sunday watching football at a sports bar. The afternoon was capped off with a touchdown catch by Aaron Hernandez, much needed on several levels, and we departed, ready for the cinematic highlight of our trip.

I have never had the privilege of receiving an invitation to a movie premiere, and while there was less red carpet and paparazzi pestering than I had hoped for, the movie was nothing short of fantastic.

Congratulations to the entire cast and crew of The Kill Hole for a job well done, and best of luck with this project and others in the future.

We were blessed to be invited to join in the post-premiere libations and good cheer afterwards with most of the cast and crew. We enjoyed some good conversation, laughs, and a rousing darts battle between Team Tall and Team Small, before retiring, ready to set northward toward Seattle and our neighbors to the North.

This post has been brought to you by ladyboys, crosswords, and new and old friends alike.

Every time, everyone, everything's full of life

It was nearly dark when we entered into Yellowstone National Park, and the snow had momentarily subsided as we made our way to the campsite. During the drive, we received our first glimpse of Yellowstone's wildlife and geology in the form of a heavily- antlered elk and some foul smelling geysers, respectively.

The snow picked up again shortly after the sun disappeared behind the mountains, leaving us to maneuver the already dark and windy roads in treacherous conditions. When we made it to the campsite, we found it fully booked, so Dan pulled into an open field and parked Appa. We set up the tent in what at that point was just rain, and after smooth-talking some park rangers into letting us stay, we camped our first night for free.

We awoke early the next morning to the most unique alarm clock either of us have ever used -  a herd of nearly 50 bleating bison sauntering along mere feet from our camp on their way to breakfast. It was still raining so we opted for a lie in, sleeping until the same bison came stampeding past our tent on their return journey.

When they had all moved out, we dismantled our camp, and with the sun finally making its way out, we began our day. Agreeing that Sigur Rós was the only soundtrack befitting the majestic views we were sure to see, we cued the music. It did not take long for the views to follow. We drove through a canvas of deep green mountains, some capped with traces of snow, deep valleys covered in a full palette of color, where elk and bison could be seen periodically grazing through the grasses and flowers, rivers raging through the narrow gaps they carved in the mountains all underneath a vividly blue filled with clouds and birds alike. The sun remained out when we arrived at some nearby hot springs, so we opted to wear flip flops, as real astronauts do, to explore this truly alien landscape, with bubbling water and sulfuric fumes rising from the earth. Several types of micro-bacteria survive in the inhospitable conditions, and as their colonies spread, they create a magnificent mosaic of different colors streaking across the rocks.

We climbed to the top, as we did so, we were made to regret our choice in footwear because a sleet storm erupted out of nowhere. By the time we returned to the car, it had calmed into a drizzle, and we continued on through the park, the rain quickly turning to snow, which yielded its way to the snow as we did so.  On our way to the Grand Canyon of Yellowstone, we ran into a spot of traffic, caused by a lone bison , blatantly ignoring the "Slow Traffic Pull Over" signs, meandering down the road, with a line of cars of following him, snapping pictures.

After a fifteen minute drive, filled with what seemed to be every type of weather, we arrived at Artist's Point, an overlook of the canyon, and we made the short hike up, thankfully with the sun out after winning the meteorological battle royal. The view was magical - a 110 foot waterfall tumbling over the side of the canyon into the Yellowstone River, which winded through the painted cliffs of the canyon. It was unreal. We found two more trails that brought us right upon that waterfall and another slightly smaller one, hopping a fence to climb out and peer over the larger falls, mere feet from the cascading waters and certain death.

The sun was beginning to set over the canyon as we reached our next stop - Inspiration Point - and feeling inspired, we set up the tripod and took some video footage of the sun setting behind the cliffs and waterfall.

With the sun down, the rains falling and the temperatures dropping, we decided to go find a campsite. Along the drive, I saw what was unmistakably an enormous bear. He was either standing at the edge of the forest, quickly retreating when he saw me, OR he attacked us in the car, and I was forced to grapple with and eventually subdue him, earning both his respect and friendship, thusly saving our lives.

You decide.

We arrived at the campsite and set up shop in a simply balmy sub-30 degree evening. The temperature made it way down down 22 degrees in the dead of night, leaving our tent covered in ice and our will to live dangling by an icicle-encrusted thread.

After a night of shivering and very intermittent sleep, the sun returned and rejuvenated our spirits. We set out for our last stop, Old Faithful. We had a bit of time to kill before that old chap faithfully erupted, so we hiked through the geological wonderland, teeming with hot springs and geysers. The sulfuric gases might have smelled atrocious, but they were so warm after a night spent well below freezing that we reveled in the acrid mist.

With ten minutes to spare, we nabbed a front row spot for Old Faithful, who dutifully erupted right on schedule, shooting water and gases majestically up into the sky for nearly ten minutes.

With that last big hooray, we took our leave of Yellowstone, quite easily the more beautiful stop thus far. We said goodbye to a few final bison and set off on the 14-hour drive to meet some friends out in Portland.

This post has been brought to you by goldfish, Sigur Rós and good, old Faithful.

Who would've thought that after all something as simple as rock n' roll would save us all?

When we last left you, our three-man wolf pack had been reduced back to two once again. We left the airport, checked into a hotel and lounged for the rest of the day, only breaking our slothfulness to get camping supplies and some much needed Chipotle.

The next night we had tickets to a Frank Turner show. We dined on $35 worth of Indian food for a measly $20, courtesy of Restaurant.com, a delicious deal. The sold out show was in a  little bar with a lively vibe coursing through the crowd. Don't hold his British heritage against him, Frank Turner put on an amazing high energy, passionate performance, with politically charged anthems to passionate ballads, culminating in a epic leap into the small crowd. 

We left the hotel relatively early the next day, after needing another jump start (Yay, procrastination), and after a quick u-turn because I intelligently forgot my cell phone, we were on the road open road through the Rockies once again. This time, however, the mountains were a little less welcoming. We were hit by a huge snow storm as we drove, forcing Dan to guide Appa, slipping and sliding, through a sea of ice, snow, stuck trucks and flipped cars until we reached the Continental Divide, on the other side of which there not a flake of snow.

Weather is weird.

We finally reached Aspen safely, checked into our hostel and headed out to the pool bar with the hope of settling our current stalemate. However, two scratches on the eight ball and a cold walk home later, we were back in the hostel and still tied. We drank a little alcohol (and a little more for Dan), and headed back into town for a Chromeo show, taking in nature as we walked. Luckily, we forgot our tickets back in the room, giving us extra time to enjoy more nature as we walked.

We returned to the bar, tickets in hand and made out way in. We had the munchies from all our walking, so we ordered two burgers, which hit the spot quite spectacularly. The opening act was still playing as we finished eating, so we made an executive decision to take a walk and enjoy some more fresh air. When we returned, Chromeo was ready to take the stage, and Dan, a huge fan of the electronic disco funk duo, quickly made his way into the dancing crowd. They put on an elaborate spectacle of lights and sounds, in a way only a Jew with a doctorate and an Arab song writer can. As they concluded, they thanked everyone and their molly, and were gone.

We woke early the next morning, packed up, received a third jump start, and left Aspen in our dust, destination Jackson Hole, Wyoming, stopping along the way in a  tiny Colorado town to watch the Eagles lose the Patriots beat the Jets, as well as chat up a nine-fingered barfly. We arrived in Jackson Hole late that night, and for safety's sake, we slept in the parking lot of an auto parts store. Appa successfully started in the morning, but she struggled, so we treated her to a new battery for all of her hard work so far on this trip.

With a new battery in the car and breakfast in our bellies, we went and played a round of disc golf on a 10-hole mountainside course, successfully not losing a single disc, a momentous accomplishment for me. I rocked Dan, 55-38, ignoring his claims that the lower number wins.

The Tetons were beckoning to us as we finished up and packed away the discs, so we headed into the nearby national park. It is impossible to miss seeing the three 10,000 foot peaks that give the Grand Tetons National Park its name. The snow covered mounts cut dramatically into the sky, dominating the horizon. We settled on a hike that took us though a graveyard of charred trees left as a memorial to a decades old forest fire. We rejoined the land of the living, walking lakeside through a beautiful forest. We arrived at a 200 foot waterfall not long after, and I quickly began scaling it. When I finally made my way back down to Dan, we climbed the path further up to Inspiration Point, a breathtaking overlook of the entire park.

With a limited amount of time and so much to see, we decided to explore the rest by car. We drove to the top of a nearby 7,500 foot peak that gave some more amazing views of the landscape. The road up to the top of said peak was freshly paved and unsurprisingly steep.

I knew what I had to do.

I unpacked my longboard, dusting it off for some epic downhills. Dan took some pictures and video of me rising, and I was able to get some ride-along footage while I was going downhill. We also took some video of Dan handling Appa around the winding mountain road. Though we received many strange looks from passing park-goers, we had a good time.

The sun was beginning to set on our day with the Grand Tetons, so we drove northward toward Yellowstone, enjoying some final viewpoints along the way. It began to snow as we crossed over into Yellowstone, an ominous sign of things to come…

This post has been brought to you by nature, Tetons and psychedelic rock-and-roll.

I get by with a little help from my friends...

It was a quiet drive southbound through the sleepy and tranquil Wyoming countryside. Not much was going on aside from a few cows grazing here and there and the wind dancing through the endless golden fields of hay. We were chugging along, mindlessly making our way to Colorado, when out of no where, the horizon was suddenly invaded by force the likes of which we had never seen. A particularly rocky chain of mountains sprung up from the Earth in much the same way short people don't. We were still hundreds of miles away from them, but still, they commanded a certain amount of respect. A person can drive alongside any one of the Appalachian mountains and think, "Hey, maybe I'll take Grams on a walk up this hill sometime." With the Rocky Mountains, the thought is something more along the lines of, "I need a nap just looking at that thing." 

As we crossed the state line, we could start to make out snow from last winter lingering on the top of some of the tallest peaks, and while the car's thermostat still read 75 degrees, it could be assumed that we were in for a chilly night. We stopped for one last meal at Panera, before making our way to Rocky Mountain National Park. After an awesome drive through the mountains at sunset, we arrived late enough at the park to sneak in for free. All the campsites were closed though, so we camped out in the car for the sixth straight night, something the shuttle bus driving found incredibly amusing the following morning.

The park ranger recommended making our way out to Sky Lake, a 10 mile hike involving the scaling of a waterfall.  

We opted to maintain a blisteringly fast pace, leaving the elderly and men with children scrapped to their backs in our dust. Our presumably record setting time left us questioning the rockiness of the Rocky Mountains, and then we reached the waterfall climb, which quelled any and all doubts that we had.

After reaching the lake at the top of the falls and enjoying the view, we realized that we still had not reached the Sky Lake. Apparently, 11,000 feet is not close enough to the sky to earn the moniker of Sky Lake. The path to the true lake of the sky cut along a cliffside, and in my opinion, was poorly marked, leaving me no choice but to lead us along a path 50 feet higher and far more treacherous than the ranger approved way. Nevertheless, we reached the top and enjoyed some delicious sandwiches as positive reinforcement. 

With the knowledge that the campsites we already filled, we decided that sleeping in the car would be far more comfortable if we descended about 4,000 feet, so we set off toward Denver. When we hit the outskirts of the city and saw what seemed to be about a day's worth of traffic, we decided to go on a man date and see what turned out to be a delightful rom-com, Crazy Stupid Love. Afterwards, we were deliriously tired, so we searched our surroundings for a secluded parking lot in which to sleep. We thought we were successful.

The officer who was tapping on our window two hours later did not agree.

Our initial resentment toward "the man" for making us pay for a hotel room quickly faded after we both showered and slept in a bed for the first time in six days.  The next morning, Dan expertly cut my hair, and we both made ourselves presentable with another shower and a shave. We arrived in Denver shortly after and met Dan's father, Peter Hagen, who welcomed with open arms into the nicest hotel we will see on this trip. After dropping off our things, we set out to explore Denver for a bit. Dr. Pete took us to his stomping grounds, the Denver Convention Center, so he could pick up his bling, signifying how important he was there. We then grabbed a bite to eat at a local brewery, after which Lord Hagen took his leave, as we stayed behind to watch some football.

We were befriended by a traveling medical supply salesman named Bryan during the games, and after he got a few drinks in him, and us for that matter, we set off on some lively discussions on everything from politics to green technology to him partying with Bob Dylan and describing him as a "dick." He then proceeded to lay down some game and was able to get a beautiful, young local named Ginger to come join us. We passed the time drinking, chatting, making fun of Ginger's Denver Broncos, who were losing spectacularly at the time, and watching Bryan's failed attempts at Ginger to take him Tilted Kilts, the Irish equivalent of Hooters. Some time later, the world renowned Peter Hagen rejoined us, and we said our goodbyes to our new friends and went and dined at an Indian restaurant, which did not sit well with Dan that night, to say the least.

We awoke the next morning, got our swell on at the classy hotel's classy gym, lunched at Panera, went on a mile high run through the city, jacuzzi-ed to wash it all down, and finally met with the often imitated Dr. Hagen and his convention cohorts for a memorable dinner at a vodka bar. I don't remember what i ate, but I certainly remember at least four shots of vodka chased, as those Russians do, with pickles. One tipsy walk home later, we slept warmly a mile high.

The following day we gymed again, lunched at a nice Irish pub for half-price with his majesty Peter Hagen's convention coupons, and then set off to Red Rocks, a natural-formed amphitheater made of, you guessed it, red rock. It was gorgeous, and we can only assume how amazing it must be to see a show there and hear the natural acoustics created by the rocks. Every genre of music has been represented at this theatre through countless famous acts - the Beatles, Diana Ross, Jimmy Buffet, Daft Punk, New Found Glory, Slightly Stoopid, The Beastie Boys and too many more to name. For all you dead heads out there, Grateful Dead is the venue's most prolific group, so kudos.

After stopping to do our laundry and to give Appa a well-deserved bath, we headed out to dinner with the man of steel, Peter Hagen, and his convention cronies, at a South American/Asian fusion restaurant. There was considerably less vodka, but margaritas and wine filled the void; that is, for Dan at least, because while Dan can order drinks without being carded, I, an idiot for left his license back at the hotel, cannot. In addition to denying me my drink, the waitress cancelled my order and instead brought me a peanut butter and jelly sandwich with a juice box to wash it down. Bon appétit.

Dinner wore out our elders, so we parted ways for Dan and I had a big night ahead of us. By pure chance, I picked up a copy of the Onion the previous day while wandering the streets of Denver, and upon leafing through it, I discovered something magical. A local bar had a promo that offered free drinks if your name was on their calendar of October, and as it happened, Daniel and Sean fell on the same day - our last day in Denver.

There may be a god after all.

A night of free Coors has since made me realize that being as cold as the Rockies does not directly correlate with tastiness. 

We reluctantly arose early the next morning, packed the car for three with me placed precariously in the back seat, and set out for Aspen for a guide to trekking across Colorado courtesy of Scoutmaster Hagen. Our first stop was the Garden of the Gods, so named because the land's original owner's intent was the use the painteresque collection of red rocks and colorful plant life as a beer garden, that would be "fit for the Gods."

We continued onward and upward into the Rockies, making our way to Independence Pass, a 12,000 foot high route carving through the top of the mountains. It may have been the lack of available oxygen, but the view at the top is literally breathtaking. When we finally regained our ability to breath, the air was so crisp and refreshing, and there was beauty in every direction, from the old snow from last season lingering on the peaks to the lone trees daring to survive a ways above the main tree line.

When we were adequately frostbitten, as Dan and I had dressed for the 50 degree weather in Denver as opposed to the 30 degree weather up near outer space, we made our descent into Aspen, a lowly 9,000 feet above sea level. Sneaky Pete took us on a tour of the gorgeous campus were he used to work during his summers. The tapestry of colors as the trees turn for autumn only added to the natural beauty of the area. After the tour, we headed into town, found a place to stay, grabbed some dinner, and headed to a pool bar for an epic battle of the cues which ended in a three-way stalemate. The tie was broken, however, later that evening, when I dominated the two of them in the game of Egyptian ratscrew.

The good Reverend Hagen had a flight to catch the following afternoon, so we awoke early with the intention of leaving quickly.

Disaster.

Appa could bring herself to start for us. Our faithful friend for so long was ailing, and all signs pointed to the battery. Luckily, we received a jump and were able to put off the problem, as all great procrastinators do. We made the return journey through the mountains amidst the first snowfall of the season and arrived at Denver International Airport, sad to say goodbye to the irreplaceable Peter Hagen. As he walked into the airport, our minds drifted to a photo montage of all the memories we had made together, presumably set to Vitamin C's Graduation Song.

In all seriousness, a big thank you to the hopefully immortal Mr. Hagen. He would have you all believe that we were doing him a favor by lugging him along with us on our trip, when, in reality, we were lucky to have spent this time with him.  Thanks again.

This entirely too long of a post has been brought to you by Aspen trees, classy hotels and red rocks everywhere.

He said that maybe one day we could race the sun out to the west coast...

When people tell tales of their past roadtrips, their romantic accounts of the beautiful drives don't often include the unpleasant reality that driving due west through America's heartland into the sunset with no mountains, hills, trees, buildings or any bit of civilization to blocks its painful rays is nothing short of uncool. The are plenty of cows, to be sure, but none are nearly tall enough to provide the adequate shading needed to prevent irrevocable damaging one's retinas.

So across South Dakota we drove to the Badlands, losing the use of both our eyes and our cell phones. We reached our destination with the use of a sheet of paper that our ancestors called a "map" and set off to explore the terrible, terrible lands we were now within. The rugged protrusions of crumbing, colorful layers of rock certainly lived up to their name. I wouldn't want to take a ox-drawn wagon through those parts, but a hike was both do-able and beautiful.

After the hike, we continued on to make camp, first passing a herd of bison that were causing several carloads of people to ask the question, "Why did the bison cross the road?", then heading through Prairie Dog village, filled with hundreds of little prairie puppies, some of whom ostensibly had a background in modeling judging by the way they approached the car and struck a pose. 

We set up camp in time to hike up a nearby mountain to watch the sun set behind the rolling hills, and on our walk back down to camp we were astounded to see a bison had apparently laid claim to our tent. We opted to stick to the high ground as he meandered through the camp site, making friendly with the neighbors, before taking the valley to presumably nap. 

Bison seem just listless enough to be a strong proponent of the nap.

After dining on tuna, we thought it best to watch 127 Hours, in order to illustrate how not to lose one's hand when hiking and climbing in areas such as those we found ourselves in. We learned that you should always bring a spare gatorade and knife and to always inform loved ones as to where you will be going.

Dear loved ones, by the time you read this we will already be somewhere else.

By movie's end, the night was upon us in a way that the english language can't fully convey. The milkiness that our galaxy has to offer was laid bare on cloudless sky, utterly devoid of light, save that of the billions of celestial bodies ever shining on. 

Dan snapped some photographs, while I laid in a haze listening to Sigur Ros, staring up at the sky, shattering my previous record of shooting star sightings in mere minutes. 

The following morning, we arose and took a short run on one of the nearby trails through the hills, during which Dan, in a "Rocky" moment of triumph after conquering a particularly sizable hill, failed to notice a bison breakfasting a mere 10 feet away from our course. We opted for a safer route back to camp, creeping through nearby grove of trees to avoid becoming part of his morning meal.

After dismantling our camp, we set off for one last lookout point, praised as the best views in the Badlands. We drove the car up toward the point until we saw a sign warning low clearance vehicles that they might be disemboweled if they continue onward.

So onward we crept.

Dan took the road slowly and carefully, almost immediately regretting his decision, but Appa was brave and true, and carried us as far as she could. We finished the hike on foot, enjoyed the views, threw some rocks, some of which may or may not have hit Dan, and made our way back to the car, descending back towards civilization and another American treasure.

We arrived at Mount Rushmore amid a feeling of great anticipation. Seeing our founding fathers immortalized in stone is enough to make any patriot moisten his or her nether-region. 

Needless to say, we were underwhelmed. 

To be certain, their heads were all wonderfully detailed and beautiful, especially Teddy Roosevelt with his truly glorious 'stache.  We also learned some great stories about their creation, including one about how the monument's designer decided to blow up Jefferson's head, at least partly because it was a bit too close to Washington and was mistaken to be Martha W. Also, Lincoln has an incomplete hand holding his lapel, making him the only one with any appendages. Unfortunately they never finished monument, so instead of four prestigious, half-bodied presidents, Mount Rushmore instead displays four unfinished, floating heads. If that isn't a testament to America's growing epidemic of ADD, I'm not sure what is.

We decided to stay with the theme of oversized, cliffside sculptures of significant individuals, so we headed over to the nearby Crazy Horse memorial. Commissioned by the Lakota tribe, this memorial is large enough to fit the four presidential heads within Crazy Horse's own head. When completed, Crazy Horse will be depicted on his horse pointing to his lands, where, as he puts it, 'my people lay buried.' The story of the memorial's progression is incredibly interesting, and the ultimate goal is for it to be the centerpiece for a Native American school and medical training facility. Luckily, if they stay on their current pace, the project could possibly be completed within the Earth's lifetime. After 50 years worth of labor, excavations, carving and blasting, they have completed only his face. 

To be fair, this undertaking is maddeningly massive and has been funded entirely without any support from the federal government. The family in charge has chosen to keep this a project of the people, rather than that of the government. They must have realized that if the government couldn't finish a tribute to four of its greatest presidents, it would never complete a memorial to one of the people from whom it blatantly stole land.

We bid adieu to Crazy Horse and both look forward to a time when we can check out the completed project. Back to the road again, we made our way to Devil's Tower. 

We got there late at night and camped in the car right at the base of the mammoth formation, getting some photographs of the night sky lighting up the tower. After some late night tuna sandwiches and many winks of sleep less than we needed, the sun was rising over the tower.  We set off on a hike around the base, mingling with the fauna along the way. Dan took some pictures of a deer's backside, and I approached a chipmunk so cordially that he decided to stay put and see what I had to offer. Realizing I had nothing, he took to the trees, and periodically pelted us with acorns during the rest of our walk. I climbed and bouldered over all the rocks surrounding the base of the natural column, despite signs warning of fines and other punishments, and I tried my luck climbing up the tower before realizing I wasn't Spiderman.

Satisfied that we had seen all this satanic column had to offer, we departed, stopping for a buffalo burger, and made our way to Colorado, for the Rockies and the one, the only, Peter Hagan. 

This post has been brought to you by penguins, the letter V and bison droppings.