Cross Country Odyssey - Days 5, 6 and beyond
Okay, so I’ve been here in my new apartment in Seattle for a week now. Sorry I haven’t made any updates in that time, but between all the settling in crap I’ve had to do, and the fact that the last leg of my trip just wasn’t all that exciting, it’s been a bit of a struggle to sit down and hammer out the last chapter of this epic saga for you.
One thing I feel I need to mention before I go on: it occurs to me, a week after I’ve left the state, that I did not see a single statue of Paul Bunyan or Babe the Blue Ox through the entirety of Minnesota. I am retroactively very disappointed about that. Just thought I’d mention it, while it was on my mind.
All right. When last you heard from me, I was stranded in Wall, South Dakota. I feel compelled to defend my masculinity on this point for reasons I can’t quite explain — specifically, my ability to handle snow. On my way out of Wall, I grabbed a local newspaper, which confirmed that the blizzard I’d fled was a nasty one, even by local standards. Again, I don’t know why I feel the need to point this out. For some reason, I just imagine someone somewhere thinking I’m a pussy for not pressing on through the snow. And for some reason, in complete contradiction of my normal programming, this really bothers me.
Anyway. I got underway Tuesday morning from Wall, and found, much to my delight, that I-90 was clear and the sun was taking care of any lingering bits of slush that might hassle me on my way out of the state. I did have one additional stop on the way, and in retrospect I kinda wish I’d just continued on. I speak, of course, of Mount Rushmore.
shouldn’t have to explain why I needed to make this stop, I hope. Any American who’s seen North By Northwest understands — I wanted to visit (as Hitchcock called him) “the man who lived in Lincoln’s nose.” What I did not realize was that Mount Rushmore was a 35 mile detour off my path, which would have been a hassle under normal conditions. In the ridiculous North Pole conditions in which I was traveling, it ended up being a solid 2 to 3 hour diversion. And it wasn’t, I am sad to say, even really worth it.
Because, here’s the thing: there’s nothing to Mount Rushmore. It’s just the fab four American presidents, up there in rock, just as we’ve seen them in a million movies and TV shows. It’s not like some famous places, where there’s cool stuff inside or whatever. The rocky sculptures were really it. And yeah, I guess I’m glad I got that check in the box, but in general I was pretty unimpressed for all the effort it took to get there.
To make up the time, I hauled ass across the rest of South Dakota and into Wyoming. Well, you know those rumors about how there aren’t any speed limits out west? Filthy, filthy lies. And I have a goddamned Wyoming speeding ticket to prove it. The worst part wasn’t that I was going 20 MPH over the limit, the cop told me. The worst part was that he followed me for 2 or 3 miles with his lights on before I finally pulled over. Heh. Oops.
Somehow I still managed to make really good time across the rest of Wyoming and into Montana, without being pulled over again. I stopped in Missoula for the night, which was entirely unimpressive save for the fact that my hotel bed had “Magic Fingers.” Yeah, that’s just how thrilling this leg of the trip was, folks. Seriously. Even the dog was bored.
And here’s the thing: the next day wasn’t any better. True, it was my final day on the road, but before I actually made it to Seattle, I had to weather 8 or so hours of mountains. And when I say “8 or so hours,” I really mean about fourteen years. Because christ there are a lot of mountains in this area of the country. As I rolled down the eightieth or so identical rocky pass, I yelled out to no one in particular “okay, I get it! Mountains! Enough!” And I’m an atheist. I have no idea who I was really saying that to.
An odd thing happened when I crossed the Washington border: the mountains were still there, but they suddenly got a whole lot greener. They were still annoying in much the same way they had been, but now they had grass and trees, and somehow that made things just a little more bearable. Having traveled the breadth of my new home state, I can report with confidence that it is the greenest place I’ve ever been, and it’s actually kind of soothing in a way.
Apart from the mountains, there was really nothing of interest on that last day either. Oh, I passed signs for a town called “George, Washington” (get it?), which made me snicker and wonder if there’s a city elsewhere in the state called “Freddy ‘Boom Boom.’” Yeah, I was pretty desperate for entertainment at this stage.
Fortunately, I made it to the rental office of my new apartment complex in the early afternoon, without further incident. Whomever it is that watches over me when I travel (and this stuff just has to be orchestrated by a conscious mind — there’s no way this is just random) decided that this was just too easy, so naturally I had to hit one more major snag at the very end.
It seems, for some reason, that the people at the rental office, despite assuring me on numerous occasions that everything was fine and waiting for me, forgot some crucial piece of bureaucratic paperwork. Long story short: my new home has really low rent on account of it being income-dependent. Since I have no job and plan to live entirely off my savings, getting in under their requirements should not have been a problem. (What I do once I’ve signed my lease is not their business till I renew the thing in a year.) Only the guy who was supposed to have done all the legwork a month ago apparently didn’t. It actually looked, for a few minutes there, like I might be homeless.
Fortunately, it all got sorted out. I even got $100 off my first month’s rent for the trouble. Finally, I had a place. I was home.
The first order of business was, of course, to secure phone and internet. I managed to get these taken care of within 24 hours, and was almost immediately on the phone to the movers, regarding this whole “$2000 extra for my stuff” nonsense. Unfortunately for me, my indignance was met neither with apologies nor equal indignance. It was met with perhaps the worst thing of all: indifference. “Yep, that’s what we told you,” the useless rep told me in a voice that oozed “meh.” “We were wrong, and it now costs this much.” What’s worse is, the manager gave me exactly the same reaction. There’s nothing worse than working yourself up to a really good anger and getting little more than boredom from the target of your anger.
Nevertheless, my stuff did (eventually) arrive — and somehow the three Mexicans who had taken it had turned into one Russian guy named Igor. (My friend Mark called him an ethnic Transformer.) Igor, for some reason, demanded his $3600 in cash, which seemed a bit sketchy to me. But at this point, I really didn’t care. I was tired of sleeping on the floor and I really really wanted to watch every DVD I owned, simultaneously, for some reason. At least I have the satisfaction of having paid him in $20s. Had I put a little more thought into it, I’d have done it in pennies. Fuckers.
Anyway, so here I am. I’m all unpacked and settled in, and I really do love the new place. It’s like it was designed especially for me and my needs — everything fits perfectly, despite the fact that I brought along a fair amount of unnecessary sentimental crap. I have enough room to move around, and it actually looks like an adult lives here, provided you ignore all the comic book posters in my bedroom.
The neighborhood isn’t as sketchy as I remember it being, and I’m slowly getting to know my way around. I’m within walking (or bicycling) distance of many stores and restaurants, and a really fantastic area of downtown with a lot of interesting shops and stuff is only about a 10 minute drive. I even caught a “select cities” movie the second night I was here (the Beastie Boys’ concert film, Awesome! I Fuckin’ Shot That!). I’m easily impressed, I guess, but it feels really cool to finally live in a “select city.”
Oh, one thing I feel compelled to point out: it does rain a fair amount here, but not all the time. What happens is, it’s usually clear when I get up in the morning (I’ve had sun every morning I’ve taken the dog out for a walk). At some point throughout the day, it sprinkles for a bit. Then it gets sunny again. So yes, in the strictest sense, it does in fact rain every day. But it’s not perpetually rainy. My observations this past week put the rainfall at maybe 10-15% of the entire day. Enough to water the grass, but not enough to be especially depressing or anything.
Also, I’ve seen no one wearing flannel or listening to grunge, and there really aren’t any more coffee shops than in, say, New York city. So shut up already.
So that’s it. “Infinite Midlife Crisis” is over. This b–g will remain here for a time, but I will eventually fold this material into the archives at AAlgar.com. I intend to keep some kind of online journal thing, though I’m not sure just where yet. I have accounts here, at MySpace and at Live Journal, and I also have a lot of unused web space at Mac.com. So I’ll be setting up shop someplace in the near future — wherein I will continue to update you on my new life. I’m anxious to explore my home, and I’ve always enjoyed sharing my travel experiences with the web, so I’m sure there’ll be plenty of Seattle excursions on the coming months.
Thanks to everyone for your support in this endeavor. I actually made it. Can you believe it?