seeksadventure | Entries tagged with travel

Crossposts: https://carlamlee.livejournal.com/1555343.html

I'm headed back to Wiscon! This year, I'll be there from sometime Thursday afternoon through Tuesday morning. Let me know if you'll be there and you want to get together! My email is carlamlee@gmail.com, and email is always the best way to reach me, but if you need my cell number, I'm happy to give that out too. (For Wiscon, but in general, too. If you want to be able to text me, let me know!)

I'm not doing a workshop this year, but I am on two panels.

Friday 230 - 345: The Unglamorous Life: Depression And Creativity: Depression is glamorized in media as this wonderful creative tool that gives artists some kind of insight into the deeper aspects of life. But how does depression work in real life with creative people? Is it a hindrance? A source of inspiration? Or just another tool in the artist's toolbox? M: Meghan Khoury. Kimber Gonzalez, Clara Cecilia Abnet Holden, Ana Hurtado, Carla M Lee

Saturday 230 - 345: Raising Our Voices: Podcasting as a medium has been heralded as the next talk radio, a democratization of social and political discussion space. But most of the well-known and popular speculative fiction podcasts feature and are created by white men. In this panel, we will look at how to promote marginalized voices in this space and how we should critique our listening choices. M: Renay. Rachel S Cordasco, Ellen Kuehnle, Ellen Kuehnle, Carla M Lee

I'm staying at the host hotel again this year (with Robyn Fleming this time) and can't wait to see everyone!

This is actually The End post, but it’s a post full of the good things (and the baddest of the bad things, which means the awesome things) that came about despite all the problems.

+ Dad and I had an excellent visit. It’s been a long time since we had a couple days for just the two of us to hang out together, and it was nice to get to talk about writing and monsters and traveling and his adventures in the army and as a truck driver and during his pilot training, etc.

+ After the brand new replacement start went out after approximately 130 miles, we had to do another rolling start. This time, instead of me pushing it with him driving, he backed his trike up to mine and pushed it that way, until the engine turned over and I popped the clutch. That sort of simple trick driving was AWESOME and made me feel like a complete badass. I want to do it again!

+ After one day of driving northwest, I can officially drive a manual transmission. More than that, I love it; the power of it, the control. I admitted that Dad was right, I really loved it, and he laughed and told me of course I did, I was a control freak, more control while driving is better.

+ On the final leg of the trip home, after the cavalry (one of my sisters and a friend) showed up to tow my trike back (after smoke started pouring out of the engine), I ended up riding as a passenger on Dad’s trike. This allowed me to lean back and watch some of the Perseids. There is nothing better than cool wind in your face and shooting stars overhead.

+ While we were still in Nebraska, I watched the stars from the back of the trike. The first night was cloudy, but the second clear, and it was such a small town, the sky stretched on forever, blue-black and filled with stars. I saw the Milky Way for the first time in ages. The stars stole my breath and I was reminded, again, of how much else is out there, worlds and galaxies and universes. This is why I have a constellation tattooed on my right leg, to remind me there is so much more than just this life.

+ I did manage to make small talk with a number of people, from a nice couple on a Harley who stopped to make sure we were okay when they saw the engine trouble to adorable servers at a pizza restaurant to lots of people interested in the trikes. So being more like my father on the trip, engaging with people, that goal is completed.

+ We made it home safely and today is Friday the 13th, typically a lucky day for me. I’m writing a lot and trying to relax and then I will figure out my next great adventure. Hopefully that one will go better.

It was a dark and stormy night. The rain pelted down hard enough to raise welts, and the lone streetlight crackled and popped, dimming every few seconds. Sparklers darted closer, hidden in the night, only visible when lightning flashed and reflected off their fangs. The werewolfs circled just past the edge of the failing light, their howls high and painful.

Into that dangerous night came Carl the Avenger, stripping wires and making miracles from sparks and flash. The engine gave a throaty roar, driving away the monsters.

(Lie. Sorta. Dad had to stop multiple times to fix wiring on his trike, but it was always in the daylight. The scorching, painful, unbroken sunlight, with air so wet and hot we melted. I have never sweated so much standing still as I did then.)

(This story was Dad’s idea.)

(Sparklers: Dad isn’t a fan of horror or supernatural, but awhile back, one of my brothers and I explained Twilight briefly to him. Ever since, he’s told stories about the sparklers hunting us. Except his sparklers have fangs and actually hunt people.)

—

Northern Missouri is obsessed with weird animal statues. First were the three iron bulls, pretending to gore something on the ground. Second was the wooden pig in a big display box with open sides. Third was the weirdest; I think it was supposed to be a big brown bear, but it really looked like a cross between a wolverine and a transforming werewolf.

I wanted to poke it.

(True. Speaking of wolverines, Dad and I had a discussion about team mascots and how wolverines are terrifying and therefore awesome mascots and something like, say, the cornhuskers strikes fear in the hearts of NO ONE.)

—

No one north of Jefferson City, Missouri believes in shade trees. They’ve chopped them all down, because they fear the Ents will sneak up on them.

(Probably false, but we literally found zero amount of shade any time we stopped.)

—

Motorcyclists wave, except for those riding Harley bikes or Goldwing trikes.

(Mostly true. Though there was one Harley biker who stopped and talked to us for awhile at a gas station; his face was fully covered, so I couldn’t describe him if I had to, but he was really nice. Then there were a trio of Harley bikers who passed us going the same direction we were, just faster, and the third one was cute and gave me a charming grin and wave when he passed. I approve.

Goldwing trikers, though, can be assholes.)

(I don’t view bikers and trikers as one big happy family, but I do love the tradition of acknowledging other bikers and trikers when you pass each other. It’s a fizzy moment of connection.)

(Dad said he saw this old ’57 or so Harley the other day and he literally got down on the ground to get a good look at it. He loves classic Harleys. He was mourning the fact he didn’t have his camera on him, but just as I opened my mouth to remind him he could use his phone, he realized he could have used his phone. Which is really nice.)

—

Dad talks to everyone everywhere.

(True. He can strike up a conversation in approximately half a second and he puts people at ease immediately. One of my goals for this trip is to learn how to do that.)

—

First night out, dead in the water in Nebraska. (Dead in the corn?)

(Sadly, true. We pulled off I-80 to get some gas and decide if we were going to stop for the day or keep riding once the sun set [we rode from before sunrise to just after sunset] and it finally cooled off. Just as we came to a stop, my trike flipped out. Maybe it’s the starter. Maybe it’s the entire engine. ~~This trip may be over the day it began.~~ We only made it 400 miles or so in 16 hours. We should have made twice that. We’re spending the night in this tiny little town, but at least the air conditioner is cold and the motel has wireless.)

(Moment of [painful] hilarity: Dad driving my trike and me trying to push it fast enough to start it. Loaded for a month long trip to Alaska, that’s one damn heavy trike and I’d just spent 16 hours on the road or stopped trying to fix Dad’s trike. HILARITY ENSUED.)

(A storm blew in while we ate dinner, a big ball of clouds just sitting over the cornfields, lightning crackling throughout it. This is a tiny town surrounded by corn. It’s really starting to look like a horror movie. If there was a full moon, I’d expect a werewolf to come bursting through the window any minute now.)

—

So basically, not one single thing has gone right this summer. Good times.

ETA: Dad and I just discussed it and our goal now is to figure out how to get the trike home. The trip is over.

Theme song: I’m gonna hit the highway like a battering ram on my silver black phantom bike. Meat Loaf “Bat Out of Hell”

It’s finally the night before Dad and I are leaving on the Alaska Road Trip. We were originally supposed to leave 1 August, but that got bumped to 8 August when Mom’s health took a nosedive and she spent most of the summer in the hospital. Then we were waiting for one of the insurance cards (we’re still waiting, but we’re going to have the one missing overnighted to us in North Dakota before we cross the border) and Dad found some last minute but much needed repairs to the red trike which had to be done before we can leave.

But at 4 a.m. Tuesday 10 August 2010 we will finally head out. We’ve been planning this road trip since before I went to law school, and it’s a run that Dad’s wanted to make for a long, long time. I’m still sort of in shock that law school is over and my first bar exam is over. I’m hoping that at some point on this road trip, I will feel like I’ve caught up to where my life has gone. I’m also hoping that Dad finally gets to relax. He’s been taking care of Mom nonstop for most of the 2000s and he really needs a break.

Our first big goal is Spearfish, South Dakota to catch part of the Black Hills Trike-In and meet up with some other members of the Brothers of the Third Wheel, a trikers organization. Then we’ll swing by Sturgis because, well, how can we not hit the 70th anniversary? (I never thought I’d be attending Sturgis with my father, but since he’s why I’m a biker in the first place, it’s fitting.)

Then on to Canada.

I’ll be texting Twitter updates along the way marked with ART (Alaska Road Trip, a nice, simple title suggested by my friend Esther when I put out a call for short, catchy titles; she’s right, simple and classic and easily abbreviated is the way to go) and #alaskaroadtrip (though not while I’m driving) and Dad wants to blog at night, so we’ll be doing that, as well. You can follow me on Twitter here: carlamlee.

I have a lot to say about the open road and road trips and driving and using driving to process life events, but I need to grab a nap before we head out, so I’ll save all those thoughts for when we’re in the middle of the wilderness. Hopefully not fending off bears, because I think everyone I know has sent me some article about people getting eaten by bears in Canada and Alaska. I’m starting to think people are taking bets.

Mantra: Do not poke the bear. Do not poke the bear. Do not poke the bear.

This takes on a whole new meaning for my family right now; normally it means don’t pick at Dad when he’s grumpy (he’s frequently grumpy), but now it’s far more literal. After all the articles and warnings, I want to poke a bear.

Do not poke the bear.

Another issue is that officially, I don’t know how to drive a manual transmission. Saturday I had about an hour training on Dad’s trike, and my Honda Shadow is a manual, but shifting is really different on the trike. Why anyone thought it was a good idea to let me drive a manual trike to Alaska, I’m not sure. Here’s hoping I don’t kill it too often when taking off. Once I’m in second, I’m gold, but first is a pain in the butt.

I’ve had some questions about how we’re hauling a month’s worth of supplies on trikes, so here are some pictures Dad snapped after we loaded the trikes tonight.

This is Dad’s trike, Limo. He’s hauling both coolers, obviously, as well as the tents and other camping gear. (We don’t actually plan to camp that much, but want to be prepared.) Dad didn’t build this trike from the ground up, but he’s done a lot of rebuilding on it since he bought it.

This is the trike I’m riding (it actually belongs to my younger brother). It really has no name, but I’ll call it Red for the trip. Even though it actually isn’t red, it’s more purple-red. That’s not the point. In the black trunk on back are my clothes, and I’m carrying all our electronics.

Dad built this one and it’s really pretty awesome.