Stories West
Wilson said “in your journey west, you must describe these mythical lakelands to me. You must narrate your adventure as a grand and mysterious quest, for that is so. May the winds be at your back across the hills and grasslands. Follow the way stones.” I did not do this exactly, perhaps, but it did give me great things to think about on my drive. And what I ended up doing was write a not-so-epic tale of my journey that I then sent to Wilson so that he could turn it into something more magical and quest-like. This first part is my story and this is (almost) exactly what I sent to that wonderful man, all fantasy references are either to a Song of Ice and Fire or Memory, Sorrow and Thorn or maybe Lord of the Rings or Neverending Story
Journey West
Monday morning I drove out of the valley. I think I left my heart at the treehouse, to keep Patrick company - Goon is nestled around it right now, keeping it warm. There were a few tears, but I saved those for the privacy of the car. And then I got to the end of camp road, got a message from Cathy, and turned around and went back so that I could turn in my timesheet before leaving. So the second exit was a little less dramatic on my part.
The only thing of note about my drive through NH is that the ONLY time on this whole trip that I got mixed up in my directions was in Meredith, when I missed the turn onto 104 and only realized it when I was passing funspot. But this was a quick fix. In Keene, the radio station that came in best was Christian rock. So I was listening to a song about the God of Angel Armies as I crossed the border. (Look it up on youtube, I think if you just type in “angel armies” it will come up, then you can more thoroughly imagine this scene)
The road through Vermont runs for a while by a stream that cuts through steep hillsides. The stream wound its way along to my left, while on my right craggy cliffs rose up, with 50 ft pines above, reaching out over the road. This may have been the edge of the shire, because those cliffs were the perfect places for hobbits to hide from black riders. The shire stretched almost all the way across the state, until the mountains opened up and Bennington sprang out of nowhere. Did you know that Bennington has an obelisk? I believe it may commemorate the Battle of Bennington, and it does pose a striking portrait - it punches up from the hillsides, gray stone contrasting with the darker mountains behind it. It was a good thing there was not a lot of traffic at this point, because I did look at the obelisk more than I should have, but then I crossed over into New York.
NY was the Riverlands. Brown fields, forest, dotted with small farms and holdfasts. I spent a lot of time imagining Arya riding frantically on horseback beside me, while I tried to protect her, and get her safely back to her family. Then I got to Troy, where the road went up and down steep hills, but also included red lights, which was great in my manual car, but I did not stall once. I am proud of this. Then I got to the NY thruway, and it was very stressful merging through various lanes that appeared out of nowhere, while signs to the road I needed only came up at the last second, but miraculously I did not crash into anyone. I tried to take the EZ pass off of the car, so I could pay the toll in cash and get a receipt. But the machine was too strong, too smart and it knew I was hiding that EZ pass and it read it anyway. The nice man at the tollbooth told me that if I wanted to pass through and not have it read, I needed to sit on it. My directions told me that I was going 272 miles on this road. I was still in the riverlands though, only now I got to fully appreciate the sheer size of the riverlands. No wonder it took Arya so long to get anywhere. Farms spread across gentle rolling hills, old farms with empty silos, clearly pillaged by roving armies, grain stolen to feed their horses. I was on guard for broken men.
The great thing about I-90 through NY is that each rest stop has free wifi. So I was able to sit in comfort and enjoy some dunkin donuts and peruse the internets at my leisure. This was around when I figured out how to work the ipod fm device that Rachel lent me and could finally switch away from the local Christian rock station. It does seem to be a fact of nature that no matter where you are, the Christian rock station will come in clearly.
Night fell and I spoke with Matt about his encounter with Megan Mullaly and he told me that he has a major surprise for me, and then he told me that he can only reveal this surprise in-person, so I will not know what it is for a month. He would not even give me a hint. I passed by Buffalo in darkness, I was only 20 miles from the border, but I couldn’t read my directions any more, and the straight expanse of I-90 had drained all my energy. Not even hot and spicy cheez-its could keep me going. I found an inn (called the “Microtel”) and a man who could not read my driver’s license gave me a card key that he said not to store near credit cards or a cell phone. My room was small, with various bits of pink furniture and too many mirrors (the whole wall behind the bed was a mirror, and there was another big mirror on the opposite wall, making infinite Jamies every time I looked in any of them). I ate cheez-its and milanos and an orange for dinner and it was all delicious. Then I wrote a story that you will never read (sorry, it’s too embarrassing). It turned out to be a long story and I was up too late, but that’s okay because I could not turn off my mind.
Morning brought me to a Tim Horton’s at the very edge of the United States, because a sour cream glazed donut and iced mocha cappuccino are the perfect way to keep you awake when you have had too little sleep. Let’s talk about the Canadian border for a moment. Because it is a big river at this entry point, so big that there are islands in the middle of it. So imagine soaring high bridges, with two lanes, and quickly moving semi-trucks surrounding you. I wanted to look out to either side, but I knew if I did I would definitely die. There were several of these death-bridges and they were all terrifying, but I suppose you can expect no less from Lord Frey (if this is the crossing, the Twins are the Tim Hortons that flank the road on both sides of the river). Ontario had friendly people at their welcome center who told me what the roads ahead of me would be like and where I could buy the most wunderbars. Ontario also had lots of wineries, and a meadery(!), and they advertise their museums and other cultural institutions in large signs with friendly lettering at each town you come to. There were also power lines, large transformers, and other power related structures, and I think all electricity comes from Canada. It must. I briefly passed the shores of Lake Ontario (the water was a shade of blue that should have been in the Caribbean) and buried in the sand is what looks like a rusting metal pirate ship. I passed by several underpasses that had graffiti that I think was meant to be messages for you, one said “be happy” in large black block letters and the other, in the same handwriting and style said “do you even lift?”. When I read that last one I cackled so loudly that I made myself laugh at my laugh. For many miles I went behind a truck called “Great Tiger” with a sassy painted tiger tail curving along its back end.
A cold, slow rain was falling and I passed many farms, with brown fields (probably just put to the torch by Lannister armies, and there were even low clouds all across the sky that looked like smoke) and I passed one spot that was definitely the Wran - a marshy wet grassland, perfect for poling your flatboat, though it was a little cold for the Wran, so maybe it was a Wran touched by the wintery influence of Ineluki, storm king. I passed one lake filled with broken trees, where Artax had probably just sunk below the water. I also stopped at a rest stop and bought a lot of wunderbars to send to the interns. I nested the wunderbars among the birthday snakes in my back seat, so that they could have a proper honor guard.
Crossing back into the US, the border guard on the US side was much less friendly than his Canadian counterpart, though the bridges were less terrifying. In Michigan, I think I found the edge of the Aldheorte, where the farmlands of Erkenland touch the ancient trees. Where there were trees, there was snow, and this was the first real snow I had seen since Vermont. It was like the forest was holding on to the true winter with its roots.
The road to camp winds by the shore of a long frozen lake, past a quaint corner store, and many many seasonal homes. There I found a warm building and hugs and then some pizza. And then when I went back out to the car, I noticed that my muffler was hanging down and it had probably been detached for the whole trip.
Journey West
Monday morning I drove out of the valley. I think I left my heart at the treehouse, to keep Patrick company - Goon is nestled around it right now, keeping it warm. There were a few tears, but I saved those for the privacy of the car. And then I got to the end of camp road, got a message from Cathy, and turned around and went back so that I could turn in my timesheet before leaving. So the second exit was a little less dramatic on my part.
The only thing of note about my drive through NH is that the ONLY time on this whole trip that I got mixed up in my directions was in Meredith, when I missed the turn onto 104 and only realized it when I was passing funspot. But this was a quick fix. In Keene, the radio station that came in best was Christian rock. So I was listening to a song about the God of Angel Armies as I crossed the border. (Look it up on youtube, I think if you just type in “angel armies” it will come up, then you can more thoroughly imagine this scene)
The road through Vermont runs for a while by a stream that cuts through steep hillsides. The stream wound its way along to my left, while on my right craggy cliffs rose up, with 50 ft pines above, reaching out over the road. This may have been the edge of the shire, because those cliffs were the perfect places for hobbits to hide from black riders. The shire stretched almost all the way across the state, until the mountains opened up and Bennington sprang out of nowhere. Did you know that Bennington has an obelisk? I believe it may commemorate the Battle of Bennington, and it does pose a striking portrait - it punches up from the hillsides, gray stone contrasting with the darker mountains behind it. It was a good thing there was not a lot of traffic at this point, because I did look at the obelisk more than I should have, but then I crossed over into New York.
NY was the Riverlands. Brown fields, forest, dotted with small farms and holdfasts. I spent a lot of time imagining Arya riding frantically on horseback beside me, while I tried to protect her, and get her safely back to her family. Then I got to Troy, where the road went up and down steep hills, but also included red lights, which was great in my manual car, but I did not stall once. I am proud of this. Then I got to the NY thruway, and it was very stressful merging through various lanes that appeared out of nowhere, while signs to the road I needed only came up at the last second, but miraculously I did not crash into anyone. I tried to take the EZ pass off of the car, so I could pay the toll in cash and get a receipt. But the machine was too strong, too smart and it knew I was hiding that EZ pass and it read it anyway. The nice man at the tollbooth told me that if I wanted to pass through and not have it read, I needed to sit on it. My directions told me that I was going 272 miles on this road. I was still in the riverlands though, only now I got to fully appreciate the sheer size of the riverlands. No wonder it took Arya so long to get anywhere. Farms spread across gentle rolling hills, old farms with empty silos, clearly pillaged by roving armies, grain stolen to feed their horses. I was on guard for broken men.
The great thing about I-90 through NY is that each rest stop has free wifi. So I was able to sit in comfort and enjoy some dunkin donuts and peruse the internets at my leisure. This was around when I figured out how to work the ipod fm device that Rachel lent me and could finally switch away from the local Christian rock station. It does seem to be a fact of nature that no matter where you are, the Christian rock station will come in clearly.
Night fell and I spoke with Matt about his encounter with Megan Mullaly and he told me that he has a major surprise for me, and then he told me that he can only reveal this surprise in-person, so I will not know what it is for a month. He would not even give me a hint. I passed by Buffalo in darkness, I was only 20 miles from the border, but I couldn’t read my directions any more, and the straight expanse of I-90 had drained all my energy. Not even hot and spicy cheez-its could keep me going. I found an inn (called the “Microtel”) and a man who could not read my driver’s license gave me a card key that he said not to store near credit cards or a cell phone. My room was small, with various bits of pink furniture and too many mirrors (the whole wall behind the bed was a mirror, and there was another big mirror on the opposite wall, making infinite Jamies every time I looked in any of them). I ate cheez-its and milanos and an orange for dinner and it was all delicious. Then I wrote a story that you will never read (sorry, it’s too embarrassing). It turned out to be a long story and I was up too late, but that’s okay because I could not turn off my mind.
Morning brought me to a Tim Horton’s at the very edge of the United States, because a sour cream glazed donut and iced mocha cappuccino are the perfect way to keep you awake when you have had too little sleep. Let’s talk about the Canadian border for a moment. Because it is a big river at this entry point, so big that there are islands in the middle of it. So imagine soaring high bridges, with two lanes, and quickly moving semi-trucks surrounding you. I wanted to look out to either side, but I knew if I did I would definitely die. There were several of these death-bridges and they were all terrifying, but I suppose you can expect no less from Lord Frey (if this is the crossing, the Twins are the Tim Hortons that flank the road on both sides of the river). Ontario had friendly people at their welcome center who told me what the roads ahead of me would be like and where I could buy the most wunderbars. Ontario also had lots of wineries, and a meadery(!), and they advertise their museums and other cultural institutions in large signs with friendly lettering at each town you come to. There were also power lines, large transformers, and other power related structures, and I think all electricity comes from Canada. It must. I briefly passed the shores of Lake Ontario (the water was a shade of blue that should have been in the Caribbean) and buried in the sand is what looks like a rusting metal pirate ship. I passed by several underpasses that had graffiti that I think was meant to be messages for you, one said “be happy” in large black block letters and the other, in the same handwriting and style said “do you even lift?”. When I read that last one I cackled so loudly that I made myself laugh at my laugh. For many miles I went behind a truck called “Great Tiger” with a sassy painted tiger tail curving along its back end.
A cold, slow rain was falling and I passed many farms, with brown fields (probably just put to the torch by Lannister armies, and there were even low clouds all across the sky that looked like smoke) and I passed one spot that was definitely the Wran - a marshy wet grassland, perfect for poling your flatboat, though it was a little cold for the Wran, so maybe it was a Wran touched by the wintery influence of Ineluki, storm king. I passed one lake filled with broken trees, where Artax had probably just sunk below the water. I also stopped at a rest stop and bought a lot of wunderbars to send to the interns. I nested the wunderbars among the birthday snakes in my back seat, so that they could have a proper honor guard.
Crossing back into the US, the border guard on the US side was much less friendly than his Canadian counterpart, though the bridges were less terrifying. In Michigan, I think I found the edge of the Aldheorte, where the farmlands of Erkenland touch the ancient trees. Where there were trees, there was snow, and this was the first real snow I had seen since Vermont. It was like the forest was holding on to the true winter with its roots.
The road to camp winds by the shore of a long frozen lake, past a quaint corner store, and many many seasonal homes. There I found a warm building and hugs and then some pizza. And then when I went back out to the car, I noticed that my muffler was hanging down and it had probably been detached for the whole trip.