Kansas, or Missouri, however you want to look at it:

Well, I have yet to ever write a blog entry even though I created this blog pre-Orvieto Study Abroad in the year of 2007. A lot has changed since then, for instance, I am currently sitting in a cubicle in Merriam, Kansas, working as a Customer Service Rep, yet lacking a low pitched, audible voice, this job is proving difficult. I arrived here, well, not quite here, but in Downtown Kansas City, Missouri on September 7, 2010. The four days preceding that, however, are much more notable than the actual arrival date. Brad and I not only packed the car to drive it to our new home destination, we quite literally stuffed it full, substituting the traditional packing method of neatly arranged and precisely labeled boxes with the filling of every nook and cranny with anything at all malleable-- t-shirts, couch cushions, and cat toys could be seen bursting from the seams of the slightly saggy Nissan, Pathfinder. Then to top it off, and not in the figurative way, we strapped a mattress and table to the top of the car with an amalgamation of bright yellow strappy things (trying to get Brad to tell me the technical term-- ope, he doesn't know either) and tarp; naive audacity was the only thing that allowed us to pull out of the drive on Lind Rd. that day.

That first day's drive felt like a tangible mixture of excitement and nerves- nerves because at one point I was quite convinced the newly fixed Pathfinder (at once dubbed "The Death Rattler"), was going to spontaneously combust, simultaneously obliterating any hopes of ever making it to the Mid-West. My fears were quite substantiated, and I will explain: Our first major site-seeing destination was Sedona, Arizona. We stopped on the periphery of the red, rolling, land masses that stretched ahead of our fascinated eyes and filled the tank up with some gas. The car had only been at about half empty, so when the 16 gallon tank filled up to 13 gallons, my rapt attention was warranted. I pulled the nozzle out in what I suspect was the nick of time (and future events of the road trip proved this), and then imagined excess gas leaking into every newly fixed gizmo or gadget hiding in the recesses of the car. Then, if not only to intensify my fears, the car began to wreak of a toxic smell, somewhat reminiscent of gasoline (I also now know that this was a caustic combination of exploded hairspray, tea tree oil, perfume, nail polish remover, etc, all of which were smushed in the process of cramming the car full). We stopped at a small chapel among the red rocks that Brad perused for architectural purposes; I used the visit to say a silent, long winded prayer about how valuable my cargo was, and how I really hoped we-Brad, Ludo, The Death Rattler, and myself- would make it. We did. Thanks little chapel in Sedona. That night Brad navigated us through a tunnel of stars while I half slept with Ludo curled up in my lap until we arrived at the Holiday Inn right next to Canyon De Chelly. Since there was a no pet policy, we swaddled Ludo in a blanket, disguising him as our not so cute hairy black baby.

Canyon de Chelly, unlike The grand Canyon, was uncrowded, unrestricted, and unbelievably beautiful (though the Grand canyon is that last part). But really, who woulda thunk it, that this place, equally as stunning as the other, would have only a handful of other gawking tourists wandering around. I think in the entirity of the day we saw more men carving at rocks, or herding sheep across the street, than people visiting the National monument. This day contains so much more so I will not dawdle, but visit it (period). In that same day just a few hours later, we were crossing into the Ute Mountains of Southwestern Colorado. The Ute Mountains will forever make me think of my good friend Samantha Selby: "I like to Ute, Ute, Ute, Upples, and Bununus". But besides that, this is the part of the story where my theories about the gas tank being broken, in some way, were tested. Let's say the gas tank was bout 1/4 full this time, before re-filling, and after returning from the gas station bathroom ('nuff said) and seeing Brad still standing watching the gas tank fill up abnormally slowly, that was just the gas stations fault, I told him that I thought the gauge was broken and to not exceed 14 gallons because it would overfill the tank equaling who knows what. And know we know what. Basically when a gas tank overflows, gasoline comes spewing out all over the place, stinking up your shoes, and creating a nice sheen on one side of your vehicle. Around mid-afternoon we arrived at Pagosa Springs, and though we thank Cameron Flynn Taylor for the recommendation, we could not have chosen a worse weekend apparently to try to stay in this five hotel town. Labor Day + a Folk Music Festival apparently = a huge ordeal in Pagosa Springs. The only room we could find to stay in would cost us the lovely price of $189. We kept driving instead. The sun started to go down as we made our way into steep, winding mountain passes. Despite hunger, and the gnawing feeling that it can't be good to trap a cat in a car for more than eight hours, we worked our way up until we found the first signs (or a blinking motel sign straight out of a horror film) of a place to stay the night. On a two lane highway surrounded by pitch black night sky, in the midst of Wolf Creek Pass, we paid a man from Alabama 60 bucks to risk our lives for rest. The only reassuring part of the situation was the man's beagle, Gizmo. Didn't really strike as a serial killer's sidekick. The only means of acquiring dinner was a six mile drive to South Fork, the town next door, where I stuffed myself with schnitzel and then drove us home in a food coma- something possibly even more dangerous than drunk driving.

We survived the night and woke up to the sight we had missed driving through the mountain passes in the dark, a sight of dense green trees, topped by clear blue skies. We also realised we couldn't return our keys because the man who ran the hotel had left a sign informing us he was at church. This set the pace and theme for the day: slow and unpredictable. After waiting for more than an hour, we left the keys (with an apology note) in a tin mailbox attached to the rickety shack of an office. We drove through Colorado for the majority of the day, watching mountain passes spread out into the idea of perpetual flatness I thought you could only find in western Kansas. Equipped with bread, turkey, and applesauce from the last grocery store in the last major city we stopped at in Colorado (Colorado Springs), we chugged our way down a two lane highway straight into Kansas, silos, wheat fields, and farms. Our choice of highways, though maybe more scenic, was also a rugged, wildlife filled mess. Really, I almost hit a deer, and due to the excess weight the Pathfinder was carrying, and my delayed reactions, I am quite surprised I didn't. I let Brad drive the rest of the way to motel lodging in Oakley, Kansas.

This brings us to the last day of the road trip, the part where we went across Kansas. Brad and I spent this leg of the road trip memorizing states and capitals, many of which I probably no longer remember, but at some point between Hays and Manhattan I could have aced a fourth grade exam. We ate well that night, having gotten close enough to our final destination to enjoy a Labor day feast with a large portion of Brad's extended family, and though this could have been overwhelming for me being the, up until that point, anonymous girlfriend whisking Brad away to Tucson, Arizona, I was too tired to feel nervous, so instead I ate a lot and enjoyed the tingling sensation of being home. On our way to downtown Kansas City, Missouri it finally started raining. We raced the items from the top of the car inside, which luckily included the mattress...and thus all we would need for the night. We fell asleep on loaner blankets and couch pillows provided by our new roommate, Jeff.