Up in Elk Rapids at the Eric Campbell Design Office. Commandeering some extra space for the upcoming SNOWBOARD magazine design process. Those fuckers are currently venturing north somewhere between Grand Rapids and Traverse City. They left Idaho a couple days back and have been hauling ass east, toward Chicago and up towards Traverse City. Highway to Hell.

They are bring the mag to me, which is awesome. We work well as a team, so, having us all together in one spot is crucial. Mark, Liz, little Sascha, Baker, 2’s and Douglass are will be here to “bang out the next issue of the mag.” Good shit.

Campbell has a great space in downtown Elk Rapids. A loft deal with giant ceilings, rafters, couple of separate offices, fireplace, kitchen and spacious shitter to boot. Lucky guy. He’s staying very busy too, with a ton of design work. Good.

The next bunch of days will be pretty intense. That mag has to be built, and man, we’re gonna slay it.

- - - -

"COMPREHENSIVE" AIN'T EVEN THE WORD TO EXPLAIN P.J. "HOSS" CHMI-EL'S ROAD TRIP DOCUMENTATION METHODS.

Click this master of a link (or else) to see basically everything from our Mississippi River Road adventure. Great shots, great captions. All of it. Swap shit. Great signs. River roads. Main streets. Sketchy hotels.

Spend some time there, you lonely fucks.

I sent my vote for Kerry out to Oregon this morning.

- - - -

Paid the mortgage on the ranch in big city Portland. Big loot to be throwing out west, form so far away.

Zimmerman is enjoying the quiet household, holding down the fort at 2946 NE 67th. Thanks man, much appreciated. So far, he’s turned out to be a good roommate. Then again, I’ve been gone for almost 40 days too, which has added to this harmony between us. Just wait until I get back!

Spent the day workign on projects, paying bills, hanging with the parents, helping out with a little bit of yard work, rounding out the night watching the ballgame with dad.

Big events back here. It's just nice to be home with the family.

- - - -

SOME IMAGES FROM THE "UPPER MIDWEST LEG" HEADING BACK TOWARDS MICHIGAN.

01. "Family man Dimmel with his little angel."
02. "That Mackinaw Bridge: Seven miles long."
03. "Suspension detail."
04. "My third grade class planted this tree in 1980."
05. "Pulling into home."

Did a whole lot of nothing today. Nothing to report other than being gigantically full after hearty meals, well-rested and “glad to be home.”

That couch and I are getting along just fine.

- - - -

Watched some of the election coverage today. Watched Bush give one of his shit-smirked rally speeches. It sickens me to listen to him. Absolutely sickens me. Weak pledges. “More of the same.” Rich getting richer, fear as a control mechanism and slight-of-hand leadership.

I find myself wishing bad things on the guy. I hope for a time when I can believe in our leadership, and not be so ashamed and disgusted.

This race is bumming me out. In the travels I’ve seen way too many Bush/Cheney signs. I wish they signified dignity and honesty. For me, they signify incompetence and big business kickbacks. Plain and simple. I hope they go down in history for what they really are. A "great" legacy of proud titles: Liar, Pawn, War-Monger ("Hey, I'm a war president." Thanks for the reassurance, asshole.) , Convenient Cowboy, Master of the English Language, Town Drunk Rescued By Daddy’s Namesake, Corporate Kickback Beast, Silver Spoon Fortunate Son, Texas Ranger Owner…the list goes on and on.

ABSOLUTELY FUCKED: I read something today about Bush having Saddam’s gun in his oval office. (The gun that was on him when he was captured in the hole.) He proudly shows it to visitors. Fucking shame on him. A toy, for a toy president to wave around. That motherfucker. A game, eh? What was the quote? “Let’s face it, he tired to kill my dad,” is what he said with a smirk. What the fuck? Vendetta? Finishing the job, proud son? Shame on him.

How much longer can this fool wear the crown?

Seeing the signs as I travel, it saddens me. How can people buy into him? Fickle religious stances, war-cry patriots, Soccer Moms Against Terroists in Walmart Parking Lots.

Shame on a nation of sheep who buy into their lies. I did, and I feel burnt. I lost my trust and feel betrayed. How many more lies should be put with?

Enough of this rant. I hope he loses.

- - - -

I have so much hope for the Kerry campaign, as I feel it’s a chance to start over, regain world respect, get our domestic, environmental and global priorities inline and put real leadership on top. Maybe it’s just a pipe dream.

Four more years of that idiot on top scares the shit out of me.

Woke up but 40 miles from the Mackinac Bridge. I was over the bridge by 8am, heading down into the little towns of my childhood. I passed through Petoskey, Charlevoix, Ellsworth and landed in Central Lake. My hometown. My childhood.

I remember our house being beautiful. Dad bought it in rough shape, gutted it, refurbished the place and made it a home. I lived there from five to thirteen. That short eight years seems like a lifetime ago. I have great memories of Christmas mornings, first days of school, neighborhood friends and good times. The fall was especially nice. We had two giant maple trees out front that poured a blanket of leaves down on our front lawn. I remember the smell of them as we jumped in dad’s raked piles. I also remember him yelling at us for jumping in said piles. He’d burn them out in the street.

I passed up my old house this morning and found it very disappointing. Those amazing trees were gone. The beautiful paintjob dad so painstakingly maintained is some sort of yellow siding now. Our front porch that used to wrap around the house has been ripped out and for disjointed additions.

It felt bare and stark. It felt sad. So it goes.

I took a drive around the old neighborhood, up past my elementary school, old hideouts and bike trails. I always try to pass through Central Lake when I can. It seemed so beautiful when I was little.

- - - -

I kept going down through Bellaire, through Alden, down to Williamsburg. Over to Traverse City, through it out to mom and dad’s out in the woods.

Didn’t even unpack. Just headed for the couch.

It's good to be home. Big meals. Mom. Dad. Leah. Dogs. Leaves. Pumpkin ice cream. Calls from Whitney. Clean clothes. That couch. Hot showers. Big bed.

Not too much to report this Saturday. Minneapolis is wet and gloomy. I worked at a local coffee shop on projects, enjoyed a meal with Dimmel and Ryno in St. Paul, geared up and headed out for home back in Traverse City.

Ryno: Thanks for the hospitality and good times, you cocksucker. I’ll be back.

Drove all night, firing out of Minnesota at a healthy, ahead-of-time 5pm. I was across Wisconsin's thick mid-section by about 9pm, heading north along the north shore of Lake Michigan. I was enthralled by Bryson's audiobooks, so those miles added up real good beneath me.

I almost made it to the bridge, pulling off at a little lakeshore reststop for some shut-eye in the back of BIg S. I gotta get a piece of foam for sleeping back there, goddamn. He's a good rig, but his floors are hard.

I drifted off to sleep wondering if I'd awake to a dark, hairy, figure silently peering into my back window down at me as I slept. I'm 31 years old and still wonder about bigfoots and boogeymen and wolf-beasts and shit. Can't escape it, really. Been freaked out by the open night since I was a little shit. Still am, at times.

Fell asleep as the waves crashed on that Lake Michigan shore.

A very wet Minneapolis.

Slept in, got some work done at the wireless Spyhouse coffee shop, stopped in for a quick pitstop at CSA to pick up their latest portfolio book (wow.) and visited MCAD to shoot the shit with professors Santiago, Jan and Pam. Lots of big plans in the works for MCAD acticity. Hmmm. Maybe come back to MCAD in the future and do a week at MCAD hanging with students, showing my work, helping with their projects, etc. A “visiting designer” of sorts. Wow. Could be cool.

Took a couple drives around town, but soured on exploring due to the heavy rains. Worked on projects that evening, rounding out the night with a cold one with Ryno downtown, in the pouring rain. Cats and dogs, cats and dogs.

Woke with cold toes and a cold nose. Those nights get chilly in Eau Claire, Wisconsin. I thawed myself out with the help of Big S’ heater unit, got the fingers working again and got back out on I-94 out to Minneapolis. I came in hot, passing up St. Paul and right into Minne. I cruised to Ryno’s, unloaded some gear and shot the shit a bit catching each other up on all thing pertinent.

Lunch was had at the Ideal Diner. It never changes.

Feels good to be in Minneapolis. I really dig it here. Reminds me of my school days here...as I pass up MCAD and old apartments and records stores and alley shortcuts. I have so many good memories from my time here. I look forward to making more.

It’s chilly, a brisk 50 degrees out. That’s how I like it.

I spent the better part of the day catching up on emails and projects. Turns out Ryno has an apartment complex next to him that offers free wireless to its tenants. I’ve managed to get a connection every couple hours, just long enough to check the email or read the headlines. Love that wireless action, goddamn.

- - - -

My absentee ballot showed up in Michigan, and well, my Kerry vote will be heading back to Oregon soon enough. Every vote counts, let's get that farce out of the White House once and for all.

Woke up at P.J.’s, said a quick goodbye and was on my way. I holed up at a Starbucks on some a very busy Lincoln Avenue and managed to get a ton of work completed. Good times.

- - - -

On the way outta town, I was sure to cruise over to Coudal Partners to shoot the shit with Jim Coudal. Inspiring guy, inspiring words. Nice enough to take an hour out of his day to hear me rant and rave about the last 30 days. Thanks Jim.

- - - -

Pushing out of Chicago got a little stuffy with the northbound traffic going home for the day. Once I hit Elgin, those lanes cleared up and it was smooth sailing all the way up into Wisconsin, as well as across the “Cheese State.”

I made good time, until I pulled off to gas up and thought I’d download an audiobook of the iTunes site. I picked the new Bill Bryson book, “A Short History of Nearly Everything” and began the download. Now, just how long should a 600 page book, unabridged, take to download? I was thinking maybe 15 minutes, and with a fill up, a piss and trip through the munchies section, it would be completed. Well, I guess that TravelAmerica truckstop wasn’t as quick as I had hoped, as the eight section download took about 70 minutes. That’s about 240mb of audio files, or, 18 hours in duration. Yikes. It finally completed and I was on my way, getting lost in the words coming out of my iPod. Bill Bryson took on a big subject this time around: Nearly Everything. My little thinker got a run for it’s money trying to grasp “Big Bang Theory,” “Outer Space and well, everything that makes you crazy trying to grasp it’s enormity” and “Atoms, lots of atoms.” Good stuff. I’m addicted.

I hauled up through Wisconsin until the ol’ see’ers couldn’t take it anymore and pulled off some 180 miles out of Minneapolis. I cleared a space in the back of Big S by transferring good to his cockpit, made a bed of dirty clothes and winter jackets and called it a night. This time around, I left the little “shade” pulled that VW supplies it rigs with, so I had no light invading my space. It was tight, but dark. I slept from 1am-9am. Wow. Tired motherfucker. It was a long day, and man, I need that rest to get me that last little push up to big city Minneapolis.

- - - -

Many thanks to Hoss for a good mission. It was good to share it with ya. Thanks for coming along. Next time we’ll do the Rio Grande River, or Colorado River, or maybe even that Au Sable River in Northern Michigan. Stay strong, brother.

- - - -

Special thanks go to coudal.com for the gracious links.
Special thanks go to Joe "Krals-burg" Kral for the bump on K10K.net.

Waking up in Cape Girardeau, one thing is for certain: I’m tired of staying in shitty places. Hell, I’d rather just sleep in the back of Big S, cuz at least I know his history, and can trust his surfaces. The shithole we stayed in last night had a carpet lovingly stained with "who-the-hell-knows-what." The wall closest to my bed was stained from–we speculate–the bracing of a foot during a moment of heightened intimacy. Hard living.
Of course, the gal we tried to sweet talk into a deal took no mercy on our sorry asses and put us in the saddest of the rooms. My bed smelled of puke. The “non-smoking” room smelled of smoke. The bathroom tub had the most gruesome silicone caulk job I have ever witnessed. AC? Hell no. We had to crack the windows for any offering of fresh air that would enter that death hole.

Now, I’ve stayed many night in a many a questionable establishment.
I’ve battled roaches and flies and silverfish and even a couple inquisitive, rowdy neighbors, but man, I’m done with the “fearing for my life”and being afraid to “touch the carpet without a pair of socks on.” We were in it for the shelter, plain and simple.

It was nice to pull out of the “Town House Inn.”

- - - -

St. Genevieve is a river town that is constantly threatened by river floods. It’s all the setting of Son Volt’s classic “Tear Stained Eye” where Jay starts out with the lyrics, “Walking down main street, getting’ to know the concrete.” I’ve been singing along to that song for over a decade, and to strut along St. Genevieve’s main street made all those lyrics, images and daydreams come full circle. It’s crazy how lyrics can have an effect on you. For me, they remind me of chapters of my life, of new beginnings or fears, or succinct feelings.

“I would meet you anywhere.
The western sun meets the air,
We'll hit the road.
Never looking behind.”

Whoa, the best. Freedom? Leaving? Devotion? Whatever the deal, it’s Farrar’s words that have compelled me to get lost in the Mississippi River countryside on this leg.

At the end of downtown there is a post that illustrates the river levels if the levee wouldn’t have held at different threatening times. In ’93, the water level would have been around 12 feet of water! So goes Farrar’s lyrics go, “St. Genevieve can hold back the water…” to stand there, humming that tune, thinking of this little town underwater…so amazing.
I had to see it, and did. A beautful little downtown in a beautiful little pocket of small town America.

When I left the nest in 1993, our original route out to Oregon had us cruising down along the bottom of Lake Michigan, past Chicago, hooking onto 80 and across Illinois, Iowa and Nebraska. But, if I remember correctly, the Mississippi had swelled so bad, certain sections of 80 were closed down, forcing us to go north through Michigan’s Upper Peninsula, across Wisconsin, beneath Minneapolis to connect with I-90 to take us west. Our inaugural trip west. Became a man on that trip.

- - - -

SCENES FROM THE MISSOURI COUNTRYSIDE:
01. "We followed these signs all the way up."
02. "A beautiful rendering of the word, "Mart."
03. "Beautiful decay."
04. "I'd love to throw a couple balls at this joint."
05. "This way to the DDC, some 2500 miles West by Northwest."

- - - -

Up that Mississippi we went, up to Festus, the home of those Bottle Rockets. We took a cruise through town, select cuts from their epic “24 Hours A Day” album guiding us. I love the Bottle Rockets, and always wondered about Festus, Missouri. I finally got to see it. Man, I have lived.

- - - -

UNCLE TUPELO TOUR: “Hometown, sametown blues. Same old walls, closing in….”

Into the St. Louis vicinity, and east over the Big River over to Belleville, Illinois, the home of Uncle Tupelo. I had to see it. I’ve been listening to Farrar and Tweedy for over a decade, and had to see their hometown just once, to get a feel for where they grew up, the conditions, the landmarks. This was the land that spawned Uncle Tupelo, Son Volt and Wilco. Three of my top ten bands. We passed through Belleville, I sat down for a trim at a little barbershop and then we headed out towards Millstadt, Illinois to see the town Farrar chose for his recording studio called “Jajouka,” after a Moroccan musician town.

Millstadt was what-is-to-be-expected for a rural, farm-country town.
It reminded me of my hometown of Central Lake, but without the trees.
We drove around a bit, looking at warehouses and quiet buildings, wondering, “Is that the one where Farrar records his music?” I’m a fan, and coming here was a bit of a tribute to the tunes that have compelled me for so long. This trip has takenme through Oklahoma City to pay tribute to those Flaming Lips, through Amherst to pay tribute to J Mascis, and now through the greater St. Louis countryside to pay tribute to Farrar and Tweedy. I’m sure Westerberg will cross my mind as I roll around Minneapolis. It always intrigues me, especially in the fall.

Upon some research, it turns ourt Farrar moved his recording headquarters into downtown St. Louis, to cut out 20 minute commute. Now it’s in a section of town called, “Dogtown,” tucked away in some warehouse building.

I would love to meet Farrar. Get a handshake, tell him thanks. Thanks.

- - - -

Coming out of Uncle Tupelo country we crossed over that Mississippi yet again, and did a quick cruise through downtown St. Louis. Upon heated discussion we “made the call” to head north to Chicago. PJ had to get back to work, so we jumped on I-55 north and hauled up to the City of Big Shoulders. PJ was behind the wheel, I was behing the “sawing of logs” snoring. And up we went, getting into Chi-cawgo somewhere around 8pm.

I did a little work, answered some emails, had a quick bite to eat and called it a night. So much adventure, so much time.

I am a thankful man.

Out of Greenville, leaving behind a good wireless connection ("Spare no expense!") and up through Mississippi we climbed.

We’re flying through small town after small town, that is, until a little side street in sleepy, little Rosedale catches our eye. We take a quick right that suddenly turns from quaint to “bombed out,” and fast. At the end of the street are a couple of stark, weathered cinder block buildings. At first glance you’d think they were boarded up, due to the run-down neighborhood and overall dilapidated appearances. But upon closer inspection you notice “Open/Closed” signs and hand-scrawled announcements and warnings.

Juke Joints. Run-down and haggard, but still the lively hangouts for the locals. It was mid-afternoon, so the clubs didn’t look open. Folks lined the streets, having a cold one, shooting the shit. Such a different world.

As we hauled up the river through Mississippi, we were sure to keep Lucinda Williams’ epic “Car Wheels on a Gravel Road” on the player. The rich lyrics made for a great backdrop.

- - - -

Out of Mississippi and into Memphis, Tennessee. It was raining cats and dogs, so we made a quick stop into the Stax Records Museum. The nine dollar admission was a little too rich for our blood so we waited for the rain to pass in the gift shop, thumbing through Little Milton, Staple Singers and Isaac Hayes records. Love those old soul Stax records…heavy stuff.

The rain passed and we did a driving tour of Memphis, enjoying the array of hand-lettered sign masterpieces and Elvis relics. Graceland was passed with a couple nods. I saw it once back in 2001, and well, that was enough. It smelled of sweat and a million devoted followers’ glances.

We did a quick tour of Beale Street, long enough to do a little stocking up at A.Schwab General Store. So many treasures to be found in there. Like stepping back a 100 years.

We decide on meals based on the signs that accompany the establishments. We picked “The Log Cabin” because of this goddamned beauty.

01. "Advance Rubber Stamps, downtown Memphis."
02. "Beauty salon mastery."

- - - -

Up Highway 61 we continued, through Dyersburg, into Kentucky, the sun set, and then we passed into the southernmost point of Illinois, a blip on the map called Cairo, (“Kay-row” is how you say it, for clarification.) an important steamboat port in the nineteenth century.

We rolled along the edge of a whopping thunderstorm, coming into a dark, quiet Cairo. We quickly notice a well-lit downtown section a couple blocks over. We pulled off to check it out, as “passing through the downtown of whatever village/burg/hamlet/town you pass through” is mandatory for a trip like this. We come up to four blocks of sizeable buildings, some three stories high. The strip is lit up and bright, but, “dead.” Nothing is open, nothing is anything. The whole stretch is boarded up, decaying, quiet, dead. It was flooring. These beautiful buildings, a memory. We took a couple passes, hung our heads low and hit the road out of town.

03. "A jewel in the Cairo night."

What happened to Cairo? Three states meet, three different counties. Kentucky, Missouri and Illinois, respectively meet and one would think that sort of geographical convergence would signify a place of commerce and sharing. Did the industry die there? Did interstates kill the downtown? A fascinating, sad little downtown that leaves you with so many questions. You can judge a cities size by the size of the type on the map. Cairo didn’t even get a “bold” weight, whick was surprising considering the size of the downtown and it’s many neighbor hoods stretching out from it.

We made it across the river over to Cape Girardeau, Missouri (“The Cape” as the locals call it.) enjoyed a warm meal and called it a night at the Town House Inn. Nice sign, nice lobby, seemed like a good purchase. The room was another story. A death hole. Ah hell, we’re tough. Let’s give it a shot.

And Missouri, I want the Cards to win. Seeing that Houston three-run-homer in the ninth killed me too.

There is nothing like a good night of rest. The Royal Motel took good care of us. Even our neighbor, "Shirtless Pete" (no photo, as those fickle Romanians are a little unpredictable in the heat of the morning) was hospitable. It was hard to leave, but we had to get moving north.

01. "The Royal Motel."
02. "Room number 20."
03. "Loading up and heading out."
04. "On the way out, Big S sighed with relief."

We pointed Big S north and were on our way. Just like the Route 66 leg, we vowed to "follow" the route along the river as close as possible. Truth be told, this sorta of stubborn commitment doesn't allow for the most efficient travel. We added a lot of time to the mission, all day long, as we snailed up the river on the Louisiana side and over into Mississippi.

The Natchez parkway just north of Vicksburg is absolutely required for all those passing through. PJ made a good call to hit it, and man, we rode along quietly throught the woods and grasslands up towards Greenville. Magnificent. Extraordinarily maintained stretch of highway.

Our trajectory back and forth across the river has treated us to an amazing collection of bridges. We're gonna hit 'em all, as we push north.

- - - -

With joints like this, well, you don't need too much else out here on the road.

- - - -

We made it into Greenville, recounted the day's events over Chinese fare and called it a night at the local Best Western, wirelessly, mind you.

It's always hot in the South, I think. Mobile was good and sweaty today, so we celebrated the heat by hitting a flea market to hunt for some treasures. Pretty colorful assortment of items, some pretty standard, a couple pretty amazing. Scored a couple trinkets and got on the big road down to New Orleans.

On the way down, I made it a point to see the those Gulf Shores, but for just 10 minutes.

- - - -

PJ "Hoss" Chmiel was flying in from Chicago to join me for the mission north alongside the Mississippi River. The sonofabitch touched down a little before 5pm, and we picked him up shortly after.

- - - -

And right downtown we went, right to that French Quarter. It smelled like puke. We walked the entire "chump stretch" of Bourbon Street, taking in the sights, smells and sounds of the evening. Pretty festive action.

01. "Bourbon Street smelled of vomit."
02. "...or maybe it was the Jambalaya."
03. "Festive establishments offering honest product."
04. "Voo-Doo? Voo-Don't."

Veering off Bourbon, we hiked up a couple blocks to see the most amazing–and creepy–homes and apartments. A great setting for a scary movie. It felt odd, and dark, and old, and sinister. New Orleans is old. I thought of Interview With A Vampire upon viewing a big fella dressed in black with a cape and tophat and filed teeth and...and, well, if we woulda spoke with this "creature of the night," it would've been titled something along the lines of, "Interview With A Dickhead." What a piece of work. He was surrounded by wide-eyed tourists, shrieking with each touch from him. Boo!

Lots of meatheads with slurred words and empty sentiments, too.

We saddled up for feast at an indian joint called Tandoori, just off Canal street. A meal fit for kings. We finished our vittles and headed up out into the stick to find a place to crash for the night. We settled on the Royal Motel, gently nestled behind the "Southern Kumfort" Gentleman's Club. Yikes. Cheap sleep, with two rooms even.

31 big ones. Comfortably into my '30s. Yikes. Still feel good, knock on wood. I keep my head up. Big plans for my 31st year, to be revealed at a later date. Thanks to mom and dad for life. Thanks to everyone who make it worth living.

- - - -

Woke up, showered up, checked a little email and headed east across the final chunk of Georgia. I thought the “Dirty South” would be a lot dirtier, but, it’s been a whole lotta “nicely maintained farmland.” Cotton fields, peanut depots, and the occasional chain gang with some very unfortunate laborers dotted the landscape.

Chain gangs. Fuck, I don’t know how to really dig into this one. I’ll say this much, “I felt bad for those guys.” Tough living.

01. "Cotton fields."
02. "Cotton."

- - - -

I made a quick and sobering stop at the Andersonville National Monument, to be surprised by the National P.O.W. Museum. Artifacts, exhibits, quotes and moving footage from P.O.W. nightmares from all the world wars. Pretty heavy stuff. I spent a good couple hours here, and didn’t miss too much. Seeing the footage of the troops arriving home to their families was the hardest to take in. Wow. Imaging spending five years of yer life in a cement box, not allowed to communicate with fellow prisoners, barely nourished…whoa.

Overall, the museum was nicely organized and presented, due to proper Federal funding. After you get blown away by the museum, you head out onto the grounds to take in the Andersonville site. Large numbers of Union troops were lost to the dysentery, weather exposure and infighting. Insanity.

- - - -

Another 30 miles east was Plains, the hometown of Jimmy Carter. Good stuff. Proud to be an American. Simple, honest, forthright. I saw the train depot that served as his campaign headquarters, Billy Carter’s dilapidated gas station and even hiked up to gazed through the fences at the heavily-fortified grounds of Carter’s home. Secret service rigs, surveillance cameras and overgrown brush secure Mr. Carter’s estate. A great stop.

Didn’t Billy Carter get caught pissing in the bushes at the White House? I seem to remember hearing of something along those lines. If so, the best.

- - - -

That evening I crossed over into Alabama and proceed to make good time down to the outskirts of mobile where I caught some z’s in a Pilot truckstop. All and all, a good birthday. I was a little sad to be so far away from home and mom and dad and Whitney, but, I had to get across that Deep South, and that’s what I did.

The halfway point of the Draplindustries Design Co. "50 Days On The Road" Fall 2003 North American Tour was reached as the sun came up this fine Thursday. All downhill from here. Lots of miles to go. So lucky to be out here doing this. The best. Thankful for every safe mile completed. Hopeful for the rest.

So like any good adventurer–at the height of the wind-whipped excitement–we thought we'd take stock of inventory, just to make sure "everything was cool" for the next 25 big ones on the road.

MOBILE COMMAND UNIT GEAR LIST:

01. Big the Passat. 2001 VW Passat GLX V6, "Like New" meats, even.
02. Blankie.
03. Pillow.
04. Apple iBook 867mHz 14" 'puter. Ram maxed out, slow as fuck.
05. 40gb iPod. 6461 songs, and proud of it.
06. Canon Digi-Elph s400.
07. Canon Digi-Elph extra battery.
08. Canon Elan II-E SLR, 28mm-80mm lens.
09. Shitload of Fuji film. All speeds, Reala and Target grade.
10. 1-Shitty pair of sunglasses that do more damage than good.
11. Fender DG10 Acoustic Guitar, gigantically out of tune.
12. Loyal backup, to be called upon if things get ugly.
13. Blessings from my mom, dad, gal and lots of nice people all over.
14. Pocket full of loot.
15. Leatherman all-purpose tool.
16. Four pairs of Saucony Jazz kicks. "Clean feet are happy feet."
17. Beat Down Cabela's jean jacket. Larger-than-average size.
18. Samsung Something-or-other flip phone. Drops calls like a champ.
19. Skil saw carrying case for all pertinent cords.
20. 80gb external hard drive.
21. Gravis shoebox full of DDC promo paraphenilia.
22. Gravis backpack for city/daytrip/"man-tique-ing missions"
23. Couple of dirty mesh-backed ball caps to battle harmful rays.
24. Moleskin journal for client relations/records of broken promises.
25. Tweezers.
26. Big-ass pile of charging apparatus', as well as a briar patch or cords.
27. Carhartt yard jacket for fowl weather.
28. Dirty laundry. Lots of it.
29. Pens, pencils, x-acto blades, a ruler, an eraser.
30. Big lump of twine, in case we have to "tie something down."
31. Credit cards with big limits, just in case.
32. Copy of the U.S. Constitution.
33. Copy of the Declaration of Independence.
34. One worn-to-hell road map. Dog ears/scribbled directions a-plenty.
35. One Apple mouse that more or less sucks.
36. Bottles of cool water.
37. Hygiene maintenance supplies. "Like New."
38. Dust from West Texas.
39. Various memories.
40. A couple of white hairs from dad.
41. Remnant of life-saving provisions; cookies from mom.
42. Socks, underoos, t's, shirts and a pair of 501's.
43. Two Nixon watches. The leather one stinks to high heaven.
44. Little pair of binoculars that don't do much, but look cool.
45. Snot rag.
46. Piss bottle. In case you can't stop due to "Making good time."
47. Various pieces of emphemera/site literature/periodicals.
48. One blue plastic container that serves as a suitcase of sorts.
49. One Aaron James Draplin, fully-clothed.
50. An iron will.

- - - -

The day's highlights include:

01. Peanut fields.
02. Jefferson Davis Memorial...where he was caught, ending the Civil War.
03. Trashy Firework stands.
04. Cool "Deep South" air.

- - - -

Tomorrow:

01. A visit to the birthplace of Jimmy Carter.
02. Into Alabama. "'Bama," as we'll be saying as we haul ass.
03. Andersonville, where the Rebs held 45,000 Union POW's, allowing an unfortunate 11,000 to perish due to starvation, bad water and disease. Yikes.
04. More smooth sailing pver and down toward New Orleans, that "Big Easy."
05. A little deal called a birthday. Snuck up on me. 31 big ones, and many more, you bet!

Had an absolutely wonder-full day with Whitney and her family at their house in Hilton Head, South Carolina. Good people, all across the boards. Cute babies, good dads, lolving mothers, good husbands, sisterly love and good friends with thick, regal "Virginia Gentleman" accents. Harold of the Steel Industry was the best.

Tennis backhands, golf swings, high ceilings, clean sheets, soft water and Whitney absolutely "tearing up the keys" on the family heirloom piano. (She blew me away.)

I slept in good and late, was well-fed, took advantage of showering opportunities, laundered much-needed linens, relaxed, debated light issues along the line "contemporary politics" and "religious belief" and even found time to enjoy a hearty lunch with Whitney's 96-year-old grandmother, "Ga Ga." She was beautiful. I'll never forget that little laugh. Uplifting. Reminded me of Gramma Leo and Gramma Josie.

I was treated to a big supper and a front row seat for the debates and got to hang with Whitney for all of it.

MANY MANY MANY thanks to the Cale family for the warmth and hospitality, and well, the enormous amount of "acceptance." I felt, instantly. I'm a tough customer and can only wonder if another one of me showed up at my place. Yikes.

Thank you.

Now, we had plans to "do" Colonial Williamsburg for the day. That is, until we saw the prices, and the geriatric masses and the felt the heat of the sun and freaked out over "happy slave" images promoting "Colonial Harmony of Yesteryear." Yay, bondage.

So we did what lots of Americans do, we went to Busch Gardens to ride rollercoasters. I nearly loaded my pants a couple times on some of those beasts, and even chickened out a couple times in the face of fear. Whitney held strong and enjoyed almost everything the park offered. We burned a lot of miles and loaded up on a winter's worth of nourishing "theme park grub" to give us energy all day long.

The sun began to set and we were pretty whipped. Busch Gardens definitely gave us a "run for our money." Phew. Organized/calculated death thrills.

We pitter-pattered up to Charlottesville for the night, and promptly sacked out.

The United States National Archives is a “must stop and check it out” sort of deal for all who pass through Washington D.C. Mandatory viewing for all citizens, hell, all humans. I WILL NEVER FORGET looking down at that Declaration of Independence, Constitution and Bill of Rights, behind the glass, the original documents upon which are country was founded, and rest today. Heavy pieces of paper, those are. Gazing down, looking at the founding fathers’ names and the almost surreal/divine quality of those words…feeling thankful and patriotic for the life I have been so lucky to lead, it can be a bit overwhelming. I almost broke into song, or did a cartwheel, or saluted something, or, well, let’s just say it really gets you whipped up and I for one, find myself very proud to be an American, even with all the things that make me sick to my stomach nowadays going on.

The original documents. The best. Mindblowing. Inspiring. Good work.

And coming out of that historic archive, glowing with pride and patriotism, I couldn’t help but look down Pennsylvania Avenue and get fired up–really fired up–at that White House and the buffoon at the wheel. Being so close to the source, it’s almost painful to know that such a shame is calling the shots at the highest level of power. A silver spoon cowboy. Yay.

It made me sick to my stomach, to be so ashamed of our leadership, and so afraid of what might come next with Bush on top. I want to be proud. I want to have faith in my/our America, again. Give it back to us.

D.C. was a powerful stop for me. I hope that fucker gets voted out. I hope hope hope.

- - - -

The Holocaust Musuem was somber, sad and more or less leaves you feeling very empty. Man, the sheer enormity of it all is just too overwhelming to put into words. Never again, I'd hope.

- - - -

After a very busy morning we did manage to get in a good hour at the Museum of Natural History. Lots of stuffed shit, and some big-ass dinosaurs. Love those dinosaurs, always have. Compared to the aging, dilapidated Museum of Natural History in Chicago, the Washington offering comes off as modern, clean and respectful. My favorites were the swordfish skeleton (jeepers!), the brown bear, the living black widows in the insect section, and of course, the 8” bird spider. That is a big spider. Imagine that shit under yer covers. Eight inches in diameter! Take a piece of “letter” paper, make it into a 8.5” x 8.5” square and there you go. Fuck. The thorax was the size of a 8-year-old’s fist. Yikes.

- - - -

After much viewing, we jumped on the expressway and headed due south for Colonial Williamsburg. We hit Richmond a little while later, passed it up quickly and headed down towards Norfolk. We made it to Williamsburg, locked down a Motel 6 and called it a night over a late-nite meal at Friendly’s family restaurant. Harmless eats, harmless. Whitney did some soup and salad, I had a sandwich. All was right in our little road-worn world.

Completely demolished this place this afternoon. Wow.

Too tired to type anything else. Saving all energy for tomorrow assaults on this and this, as well as some quiet time here.

Pushing off outta NYC was quite a challenge.

What I did upon arrival into the beast was, in part due to "being a bit hesitant to guide Big S into the concrete jungle," was meander down to Newark to park at the airport there. It went pretty well: Bypass the city, rip down the turnpike to Newark, park, arrange the gear, gear up and make my way into the city via train, bus, thumb, whatevs.

So here's how it went. Drove in, found the econo parking lot out in B.F.E. section of the airport, parked, grabbed the essential gear, locked him up, caught a shuttle to the airport, caught a train to Manhattan from the airport, caught the 1/9 subway down to 18th and 7th, hiked down to 17th and 7th and found Cameron's pad. Phew.

Now, getting back to Newark was the same process, only in reverse and real early in the morning when New York feels fresh. A bit slow going, but worth it to be free of headaches over parking and traffic and such.

- - - -

I got back out to Newark, secured Big S, paid the fee and was off headed south. I crossed through Jersey real fast, enjoying the beautiful scenery, all the way down to Philly, where I was quick to jump off 95 onto Walnut Street downtown in order to pick up Andy Beach for a summit meeting.

I grabbed Andy from his Urban Outifitter's dayjob (graphic artist behind all the fun type we love so much from those guys) and cruised to South Philly to Pat's Cheesesteak. Over cheesesteak, fries and soda we caught up on a variety of topics ranging from "Real Estate" to "Chicks" to "Graphic Arts" and even a little bit of delving into the "Good Ol' Days at MCAD." I met Andy Beach at MCAD some years ago, in a typography class of all places. Good kid, you bet. Strong in mind, strong in spirit. From Detroit originally, and you always gotta love that.

After our luncheon of steak and cheese, I dropped him off to go make more fun type and headed outta Philly, careful to get a quick glance at Independence Hall and that sacred Liberty Bell. America, the beautiful.

I love Philly. I think of Pete Rose and the Flyers' logo and Ron Jaworkski of the Eagles and the Trocadero and Rocky and Ben Franklin and the Mint and the weird baseball mascot and Pat's cheesesteak and that one time I hung out with Adelizzi from Alaska and how we went wayyyy downtown in order to score some brown heroin for his addicted pal from the safe suburbs. Little turd. He took us in this sketchy neighborhood, left us in the car and ran into this run down tenement to get his little powdery fix. Dumb shit.

Also, I hit up a street vendor and bought five bucks worth of those amazing pretzel's. (Three for a buck, ay-oh.) Provisions for the road ahead. Good shit.

- - - -

On down through Wilmington, a little too late to drop in on House Industries (I have ideas for new fonts!), and on through Baltimore (througt of John Waters' mustache for but a second), and kept going all the way to Washington D.C.

Upon arrival into the nation's capital I jumped on the famed Beltway heading west. Traffic was a real motherbelter, shaving much-needed downtime off the day's haul. Arrgh. I finally got down to the toll road out to Dulles, veered off and secured a hotel for the night in Leesburg, Virginia, and then cruised out to wade through security and more traffic to get Whitney.

She came in around 9:15 in the PM, and man, it was good to see the girl. Missed her. We did a little chow and then called it a night. Tired Draplin, tired Whitney.

- - - -

Tomorrow we head into DC to do some seeing our nation's capital. Real excited.

We’ve been flooded with requests for “Images From The Road.” What? Don’t take our golden word for it? You should. Here’s the deal: We’ve been shooting everything on Fuji Reala print film, with hopes up climbing the ol’ food chain a bit in the image quality dept. Digi is cool and easy and efficient, but man, they more or less only live on a hard drive. And hey, that ain't no way to enjoy the memories after the dust settles.

I want prints, I want negs, I want a big ol’ goddamn book–thick with memories–for those who sit on our couches to enjoy. That’s our goal, and we’re pointing it for glory.

One book for dad, one book for the DDC Archives.

But as always, that little trusty s400 (Rose has the s110, that little, prehistoric bitch) has been in our pocket the whole trip, and yes, we’ve snapped a pretty ugly pile of stuff on it too, as the proceeding offering will serve are proof to such claims.

So we took some time this afternoon, as the Empire State building rests off in the distance out the window, to download, process, polish and upload a collection from our road exploits. Here we go…

(NOTE: Simply click on the link to "pop up" the photo, then click on the photo to close it.)

- - - -

PRE-GAME "GEARING UP"
01. "Cards of business, answering all DDC 2004 Fall Tour questions."
02. "Loading up Big S with all the crucial supplies."

- - - -

DOING WHATEVER IT TAKES TO MAKE IT OUTTA SO-CAL
03. "Gridlock'd Paradise"
04. "The ugliest art director Snowboarder magazine has ever seen: Mark Michaylira."

- - - -

ROUTE 66'ers: THE STARTING OF THE MOTHER ROAD.
05. "Road Warriors."
06. "Santa Monica Pier."
07. "Santa Claus Santa Monica Pier."
08. "They say it ends here: The Roy Rogers Memorial Highway."
09. "We couldn't wait to leave that dark spot behind."
10. "Take a left on Santa Monica and head all the way to Chicago."

- - - -

ROUTE 66'ers: CALIFORNIAN DESERT COUNTRY
11. "The Californ-y Desert."
12. "The Summit Inn on El Cajon Pass."
13. "The old man had his eye on this."
14. "The son had his eye on this. Nice lettering!"
15. "Sketchy office windows on sketchy hotels. Latenight Rialto."
16. "Wigwam for the night."
17. "Wigwam'ers Unite!"
18. "One tired Polack."

- - - -

ROUTE 66'ers: MIDDLE OF NOWHERE, NEW MEXICO
19. "A good place to get loaded in New Mexico."
20. "Dad stocked up on some package liquor for the road..."
21. "...as did many other thirsty patrons. A real oasis."

- - - -

ROUTE 66'ers: ARCH-GAZING IN ST. LOUIS, MISS.
22. "Dad Looking Up."
23. "That big ol' arch; Gateway to the West."

- - - -

A TRIP MILESTONE
24. "The 5000th mile of the DDC Fall 2004 North American Tour."
Crossing over the Quebec/Vermont border.

- - - -

LANCE AND VANESSA: "TRUE LOVE ALWAYS."
25. "A beautiful stretch of land to have a wedding on."
26. "Evan Rose of Viper Photoe, Matrimonial Imagery Services."
27. "The Bride, the Justice, the Lance."
28. "Draplin, caught in moment of complete disgust, or something."
29. "DDC carving prowess: The Relief Technique."
30. "Draplin, in the midst of being mildly-pickled."
31. "Evan Rose, in the midst of being the biggest asshole at the wedding."
32. "The 'Lay of the Land', inside the barn, that is."
33. "Burn, baby, burn."
34. "Evan Rose, no explanation necessary."
35. "Evan Rose burnt a ton of media that night."
36. "Frankie Boy!"

- - - -

LONG MEADOW, MASSHOLE
37. "The heavily-wooded compound of Rhajer and Sarah Cameron."
38. "6 Peachtree Road."
39. "Big S taking a little breather."
40. "Big-ass Legos, all over the place."
41. "Rhajer, some big plastic brute and Sarah."
42. "A dream fullfilled, or, 'snapped together'."
43. "The dirtiest, meanest alley in all of Northampton."

- - - -

AND ON INTO NEW YORK...
44. "Waiting for the train in Newark, that'll take me to NYC."
45. "Newark train accomodations."

- - - -

THINGS WE MISS REAL BAD:
46. "Pretty Whitney."
47. "DDC Sleeping Quarters. Clean sheets too."
48. "DDC Dirty Laundry Div."
49. "DDC Rotations Dept."
50. "Those two grade school chairs Jay Floyd brought over."

Holed up at Cam Barrett's High Rise Movin' On Up, To The Big Time, Big Time Apartment In The Sky-Hi-Hi, Muh-Movin' On Uhhhhhhhhp.

Amazing view look north towards that Empire State building. Majestic.

Did a little walking around, caught up on some projects, rapped out with clients, paid some bills, hung with Cameron and Damien, pounded some more pavement and rounded out the long day watching the Vice-Presidential debates. My, my, how the time flies here in the big city. Sun up and sun down, so fast.

Wrapping up a productive morning at Rhajer Cameron’s wooded compound in Long Meadow, Mass. Rhaj has a great pad. Lots of nooks, crannies, beams, stairs and great water pressure. Rhaj and Sarah better keep the place up, as a "bun is in the oven” and man, that little rugrat is gonna be one lucky little critter. The next time you are in Long Meadow, be sure to stop by and see these kids.

And good luck getting back to the interstate from this death trap. I've budgeted a spare three hours to make my way back through the labyrinth of suburbs and wooded hollows towards ol' Exit 1 on Massachusett's Interstate 91.

- - - -

Caught up on the emails and did what I could to sober up after the weekend event. The day at Rhajer’s has been a good rest, coming off of a lot of “hot air” outta Rose and well, a high level of emotion seeing Lance and Vanessa tie the knot.

About the “Vermont is real shithole…”comment. Now, now, from time to time we get carried away and try to be “funny” or “sarcastic” and well, the old black on yellow Arial fonts just don’t do the delivery justice.

Little joke, actually. Vermont is God’s country, second to that Midwest, when it comes to fall. We all know this. It was beautiful up there, and on the way down, I found myself stopping alongside the road just to sit in the quiet and dig the cool air and glorious surroundings. Really nice country, had a bit of a hard time leaving it. Don’t know if I could make it home up there, but do feel an inexplicable Autumn calling to “be there for a week or so each fall.” That is newly indoctrinated DDC Official Seasonal Policy from here on out. You can bet a winter’s worth of maple syrup on that one, goddamnit.

- - - -

Heading down to that big New York City tonight. Got some business to attend to, some pleasure, some commerce, some confusion, etc. Gonna cut Connecticut in half via I-91, heading down to the shore, where I haul over to the Newark airport, where I’ll secure the rig in a well-lit parking lot for a quick train ride into the big city. That’s the deal. Parking is too hectic in that big town.

Gonna go see Cameron, and hell, Goo’s in town too. Maybe even call up those little Cooley brothers some walking around town. Got some work to do, and hope to get out and kick the town’s ass a little bit too.

- - - -

On the way down last night, I cruised through “J Mascis Country,” also known as Amherst, just to take in a little of the same air the man takes in. Good stuff. Visions of little furry things, stuffed animal cows and bulldogs filled my head as I toured the town listening to select cuts from the Dinosaur Jr catalog. My favorite.

- - - -

Hauling through Springfield, mass. Last night marked the fourth “Springfield” this motherfucker has conquered on this trip.

01. Springfiled, Missourah
02. Springfiled, Illinois
03. Springfield, Vermont
04. Springfield, Massachusetts

- - - -

Off to see Rhajer in a little bit, to get a tour of his workplace: Lego! A lifelong dream. I might just stay and see if they have any openings, y’know, to sweep up (little bricks) after hours. Work my way up through the ranks and secure a coveted spot as a ‘builder’ and well, call it a life.

Many thanks to Rhajer and Sarah for the “Long Meadow of hospitality” they’ve graciously poured out over the last day. Good people.

- - - -

And one more thing, you assholes: "Massachusetts" and "Connecticut" are real motherfuckers to spell, but you know what, we nailed it both times! Yep.

NOTE: All other typos are completely warranted, due to the nature of "Being On The Road." And that's just how it is.

Okay, let’s get something straight: Vermont is a real shithole.

Fall foliage, clean air, nice people, cutesy little eateries and moutain vistas. A wasteland.

- - - -

Lance and Vanessa’s wedding was a real success. Big farm that smelled of cowshit, a scenic Vermont vista to overlook for the sacred vows, a big barn for the reception, a ‘50s band to keep people moving, loose women, happy parents and Evan Rose, who filmed this glorious debacle, was running around like a goddamn Jewish maniac, testing out his “crazy cam” techinique which involves running behind an unsuspecting guest, camera focused on said guest and yelling, to catch their frightened reaction. Giant piece of shit.

Evan had this to say about his performance: “The blueberry pie comes highly recommended.”

Good to see everyone. Let me drop some names: Michaylira, Tevis, Sue “Sewage” Lee, Jared, Chaka, Chaka’s gal Lesley, Dabica, Dabica’s gal Ally, Rhajer Cameron, Rhajer’s gal Sarah, production master Leo, Chuck, Tara, Mike Jager, some bow hunk from Vancouver, and some guy who looked like Ernest Hemingway. Old Man and the Sea!

The wedding was beautiful and the couple, who normally allows Vanessa to “look like a million bucks,” looked like a trillion bucks. Lance managed (MAN-aged) to wrestle that mop of hair into something respectable, much to our surprise.

I ate like a king, drank like a pig, talked a lot of shit, made a lot of promises I won’t keep and generally, had “a good time.”

Thanks and good luck to L+V.

- - - -

I’m outta this dump, headed down toward Rhajer Cameron's heavily-Lego'd compound in Long Meadow, Mass.

Too busy enjoying maple syrup products and L.L.Bean turtlenecks to update this shit-ass weblog.