Home.

Ten days, four hotel rooms (all with curved shower rods, so that was cool), three freeloading stays with family, countless roadside religious icons and porn shops and 3,726 miles (including side trips and driving around places we stopped) after leaving my old home, I'm in my new one.

There are boxes and piles of crap everywhere, but all my clothes are put away and the fridge is stocked with groceries. One of the local weeklies just published its best-of list, so I'm armed with information about how not to look like a tourist.

Yeah, I think I'm gonna like it here.

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That is one giant cross

Catching up after a few days, following Austin, Oklahoma City, and St. Louis – to be sure to commemorate the photo above. One of the many things I've noticed on our trek across this great land of ours (more on this to come): we love our expressions of faith. Mega-churches with billboards that tell the weather, little churches situated next to cornfields, landscapes that make you exclaim "Oh my God!" (Without disrespectful intentions, of course.)



Then you come across something like this. Rick was keen enough to spot the URL http://www.crossusa.org while I was busy gaping open-mouthed and fumbling for my cell phone to take a picture. According to the site, the Cross Foundation, dedicated to building both faith and family on an ecumenical basis, "has completed a 198 foot Cross at the intersection of Interstates 57 & 70 in Effingham, Illinois. This site is intended to serve as a beacon of hope to the 50,000 travelers estimated to pass the site each day. In addition, the Cross Foundation will promote the values of faith and family through other programs." The cross was built in 2001.

I'm all for anything that gives people hope, makes them happy or gives them another reason to participate in the world around them. I'm probably not in the target demographic, but the Cross Foundation sure did get my attention.


One of the other things I've noticed: we sure do like our racy things. Within 10 miles of the giant cross – a giant highway sign for a XXX adult super store.

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Snack globally, eat locally

Since we left L.A., we've been undertaking a snack-food survey, sampling several different kinds of Doritos, some rather tasty wasabi Funyuns and Tom's Bacon & Cheddar Fries. None has been bad, but none has been a revelation either. We've also noticed, with a small measure of disappointment, that what you get at a gas station in Barstow is pretty much what you get at a convenience store in Tulsa.

(Although, I should note that the two best chips we've tasted thus far are regional ones: Tim's Luau BBQ, available mostly out West, and Uncle Ray's Kosher Dill, which are from Detroit and we found in Tulsa. Thes were maybe the best we've had, with visible flecks of dill on the chips and a slightly sour, not-too-salty taste like a good pickle. Plus, there are little stories on each bag.)



When we actually get somewhere, though, we've been doing our best to have food that we can't find everywhere else. Other than a couple of expedient and weather-forced fast-food stops on the second day of the trip, we've done a pretty good job of it so far. The only chain meal we've had since then were subs from Jimmy John's one day in Austin.

But we've also had great tamales from a shop half a block off the highway in Pecos, Texas; great Mexican at Jorge's, chicken-fried steak at Threadgill's (pictured above) and ice cream at Amy's in Austin; fantastic tacos at Benito's in Fort Worth -- thanks to Texas Monthly's "The Greatest Tacos Ever Sold"; and some fine Greek food from Zorba's in OKC.

Thursday night, in The Hill neighborhood of St. Louis, we poked our heads into a couple of delicious-looking Italian restaurants before settling into some great, great tapas at Modesto. Everything we tried was delicious, but the two highlights were a dish of cured tuna with smoky roasted peppers, tomatoes and cucumbers and bacon-wrapped, Cabrales cheese-stuffed dates that were just about perfectly balanced.

We're only a couple stops from home now. The last two days:

Wednesday: 400 miles
Route: Straight up I-35 from Austin to Oklahoma City.
Time: 7 hours and change
Consumed: In addition to some of the stuff mentioned above, we stopped at Robertson's Hams just over the Oklahoma-Texas border. Picked up a little gift for our host for the night (hi Lisa!) and some pretty good, all-natural beef jerky.

Thursday: Just shy of 500 miles
Route: I-44 from OKC to St. Louis.
Time: 8 1/2 hours
Consumed: Those Uncle Ray's chips, a solid BLT and grilled ham & cheese at Hood's Truck Stop in Bois d'Arc, Mo., and whole bunch of samples from a Wisconsin cheese outlet shop in Lebanon, Mo. We also bought some stuff there, and had a few white cheddar curds flavored with garlic and dill. Good food day.

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Bats!

OK, so the photo above is not the best one you'll ever see, even on this blog. But trust me when I tell you that the dark blotches on the underside of the Congress Avenue bridge in Austin are a few of the million-plus Mexican freetail bats that reside there and make nightly pilgrimages out from under the span to search for food.

This image gives you an idea of what we, along with several hundred other people on top of and beneath the bridge, looked at Tuesday night. It wasn't quite as pretty as that, but it was really pretty darn cool.



We might have been better off on top of the bridge, watching the bats come out below us. But we chose the low angle, and a little after 9 p.m., watched as the little creatures began to stream out from their resting places below the bridge. Though they were at times tough to see against an already dark sky, eventually we got ourselves under a streetlamp and looked up to see a constant stream of wings flitting by, turning the air between the lamp and our eyes a hazy brown as they zipped past.

My description, like my picture, doesn't do the sight justice: It really is something to behold, like the transition in an old Batman cartoon come to life. If ever you find yourself in Austin during the summer, it should be high on the to-do list.

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All right, all right, all right

Those of you who know us know that between the two of us, we're probably well into the triple digits in viewing Dazed and Confused. Heck, Lisa even got me a tie-in book as a gift once.

And if you know Dazed and Confused, you will doubtless recognize the sign above as that of Austin's Top Notch, the drive-in where Mike sorts through jalapeno burgers and soggy fries and Wooderson tries to get Cynthia to ditch the two geeks she's in the car with and join him on the way to the party at the moon tower.

Alas, when we arrived there Monday night, it was already closed (although we were stuffed with Mexican food and Amy's ice cream, so maybe that's not such a bad thing). But our time here wouldn't have been complete without a pilgrimage.

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In praise of Jo’s

Anyone who's known me for any length of time (i.e., more than 10 minutes) is aware that I am utterly enamored of Austin, Texas. I am a pretender; I've only been here four times (including now). I've been a pilgrim to South by Southwest – the film festival too. I've had a Texas Monthly subscription for more than seven years. There are Lyndon Johnson White House tapes on my iPod. And occasionally, I dream about Jo's on South Congress Avenue.




I get why people want to keep Austin weird, and agree it's important to take a stand against the hipster doofusication of truly cool neighborhoods. South Congress has changed a good deal even since the first time I came here – some for better, some for worse (unless I'm mistaken, it looks like Just Guns across the street is now a pet store specializing in tropical fish), but it remains, for me anyway, one of those places where you just want to hang out.

Jo's is a coffee stand/shack just up the street from the Austin Motel, across from the Continental Club and near the shop where I just bought my nephew a cowboy guitar. Right now, three umbrellas covered in what looks like hot pink hula skirts shade the sidewalk tables. Sit here long enough at least a good portion of Austin passes by. Don't let the fact that Rachael Ray featured it put you off.


To catch up:

Sunday mileage: About 560
Route: 285 South from Roswell, N.M. to Fort Stockton, Texas, then I-10 East to Austin
Time: About eight hours. The parts of West Texas where the speed limit is 80 ROCK.
Consumed: Some incredible pork and red chile tamales from La Nortena in Pecos, Texas; Wasabi Funyuns (I’d eat these every day, but no one would want me to come near them); another Doritos Collisions flavor combination: zesty taco and chipotle ranch (our verdict: save your money), and a delicious homemade dinner with family in Austin who were kind enough to welcome this interloper. Thank you. Couldn't be more delighted to be here.

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… And then stalked by lightning

Saturday morning we added an additional 200 miles to the trip by going back to the Grand Canyon to see it in daylight. Totally worth it – I get why Bobby and Cindy wanted to get away from their annoying family and wander around by themselves. I am a sucker for all things cheesy about America, but the Grand Canyon really is so superlative that after a while you're just dumbstruck. "Wow." "Cool." "That is one big hole."

Tight on time, we abandoned the original plan to hit the Grand Canyon Skywalk. A bummer, but now we have an excuse to go back. We also had to skip Santa Fe, so no turquoise jewelry or Georgia O'Keeffe reprints for everyone this Christmas, I'm afraid.




Skies were ominous for a good part of Saturday, and as we headed down mile after mile of road toward Albuquerque, we watched the lightning show. Cool from a distance, but heading into that dark sky, oppressive cloud cover and lightning was like riding into Hades. Both Midwesterners, we grew up with storms, but neither of us had ever experienced anything like this. After a massive flash of lightning and instantaneous clap of teeth-rattling thunder right over us at an Albuquerque gas station, there is now security video of me practically ducking and covering.

The storm shook us up a bit, but on a truly dark and deserted road to Roswell that would've made Hank Williams proud, we encountered an incredible night sky with a canopy of stars that practically forced us to pull over to the side of the road to look. My fear of alien abduction or kidnap by escaped convicts kept us in the car, though. Who wants to be a cautionary tale?

Eternal gratitude to the lovely people at the Roswell La Quinta Inn for such a pleasant stay.


Saturday Miles: 710
Route: Flagstaff to the Grand Canyon, through Albuquerque, taking refuge in Roswell.
Time: Door to door, 15 hours, give or take.
Foodstuffs: Del Taco, McDonald's salads (hey, it's green and it was raining), Tim's Luau BBQ potato chips, nacho cheese Bugles.

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Stalked by rainbows...

And jet lag (for me, anyway). Spent our first day of driving making some real headway through Arizona, stopping in Kingman, with its British food shop. Have to wonder how big a market there is for black pudding in Kingman, but who doesn't like a lovely Aero or Flake bar?

Headed through Flagstaff and up to La Gorge Grande. En route, we look up and find… rainbows. At least two, if not more, which stayed with us for a good 10 miles. An omen? A sign of luck? An arrow pointing the way toward a winning lottery ticket?




Now, three days later and after a little shut-eye, it seems far less bizarre and stalker-ish, so perhaps the real lesson of this is that I tend to hallucinate a little bit on the road.

We made it to the Grand Canyon as the light was fading – everything covered by the hazy purple glow of not-quite half light. Extraordinary. Pics to come -- if they come out alright.

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Beginning of a great adventure, Day 1

And we're off. The particulars for Friday, Aug. 3:

Miles: 598.8

Route: Santa Monica to Barstow on the 10 and the 15, then Interstate 40 through Needles, Calif., and Kingman, Ariz., to Flagstaff, with a side trip to the Grand Canyon. Lisa took the sweet picture up above at sunset as we were approaching the canyon.

Time: Door to door, about 12 hours.

Consumed: Lunch: Me -- Double-double, animal style, fries and Dr. Pepper; Lisa -- cheeseburger, animal style, fries and Diet Coke, all at In 'n Out in Barstow. Dinner: Split a surprisingly not-bad pizza and had some salad at We Cook Pizza and Pasta (it's true, you know) just outside Grand Canyon National Park. We also ...

embarked on what we hope will be the first of many snack-food tastings during our journey east. Item No. 1 was Doritos Collisions Hot Wings/Blue Cheese chips. This is a new concept, with two flavors in one bag, and while we didn't dislike either individual flavor or the combo, it won't become a habit.

Blue cheese was the fourth cheese listed in the ingredients for its namesake chip (after mozzarella, cheddar and parmesan), its pungent taste started to show up after the first couple. The hot wings chips weren't as great, tasting sort of generically spicy. We found it best to eat one of each kind at the same time, but we're not sure we'd like a whole bag of either flavor.

Highlight: Neither of us had been to the Grand Canyon before, and we made it there just as the light was fading in the west. Nonetheless, we were both dumbstruck by the enormity and beauty of the place. We're going back in the morning to see it in daylight, and once we have a photo-sharing account up and running you'll see it too.

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Let's light this candle

I've always wanted to be a free spirit – a devil-may-care, hears-only-the-call-of-the-road, get-off-the-motorcycle-without-a-trace-of-helmet-hair kind of girl. Someone who sets out for an adventure not caring that she might be in Belize when the rent money runs out. Who could really live the "it's the journey not the destination" kind of life without sounding like a complete jackass. You know the type: Thelma, Louise, a young Che Guevara and Ewan McGregor all contained in a curvy package that looks good in well-worn leather.

I'm not. I like a certain amount of order alongside what could only be described as semi-controlled chaos. I'm not a big planner, but my need for some kind of control has driven me to obsessively vacuum, purge clothes and trash and rearrange furniture for the past few weeks despite the fact that a) Clean is a relative term and b) Rick's idea of clean probably doesn't extend to washing the shower curtain (by the way, the vacuum motor burned out last night, so we gotta stop at Target during the Ikea run, Rick). It's all part of my not-so-subconcious attempt to anticipate at least part of how this next phase of my life – our lives – will unspool.

As a newbie to the cross-country trip and a believer in the Springsteen-fueled open-road-as-savior, redemption-beneath-this-dirty-hood poem, I'm buying in. In the hopes of not becoming Clark W. Griswold, I will not keep one eye on the clock hoping to beat the estimated drive time on Mapquest. I will embrace road snacks, sample a few of Texas's 63 greatest tacos, decide which state has the worst drivers, and take a step toward satisfying the wanderlust that I sometimes wish I lived by.

Mostly, though, I'm ready to start this adventure. For months Rick and I have been jaunting back and forth across the country, counting days between visits, scouring travel web sites for the best fares, and racking up frequent flyer miles. And for months we've been talking about this trip – this big move. Up to now, time together has meant a few blessed uninterrupted days absent concerns about work, then returning to the place where my job is and my stuff lives, a couple of hours away from most of my friends. This time, when we get back, I'm – we’re – coming home.

Rick's leaving Los Angeles, even for a set duration, is a big deal. Even with the things he says he won't miss, it's a hard place not to love – and it will be tough to be away from his amazing friends. Reading his posts the past couple of days, I realize that I have no tearful goodbyes. Sure, I’ll miss being able to wander around the house wearing embarrassing T-shirts and having unbrushed teeth, and regularly staying at the office until 8 pm. But these are small sacrifices. What I’ve really got is just a hopeful hello. And a promise to come back.

My road songs playlist is assembled; my boarding pass is printed.

In the words of Mercury astronaut Alan Shepard in The Right Stuff (played by Scott Glenn, who incidentally, I'm ashamed to admit, rocks a mesh T-shirt in Urban Cowboy), let's light this candle.

It's time to hit the road.

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