August 23, 2011

Tuesday began with a short bus ride down to 34th street to visit the Empire State Building. I knew it was on 5th Avenue and 34th street, but when we first got off the bus we were just standing there looking around saying to ourselves, “Where'd the Empire State Building Go?” I think what thew us off was the Walgreen's that occupies the first story. I guess I just didn't expect a regular store to be in such a famous building. Clearly I forgot the first rule of Manhattan: anything is possible with enough money.

On top of the world!

That rule also applies to going up to the Empire State Building observatory. Either it's the most expensive elevator in the world, or they're really just trying to see how much money they can get tourists to pay. One thing is for certain: they sure have a corner on the market. Earlier we had decided that it didn't matter what it cost, we would do the things we wanted to do so we got on line, paid our thirty-something bucks each and then got on another line to wait for the elevator. I didn't notice it last time I went up (when I was ten), but the entire time you are on your way up, all the windows are frosted on the bottom, as if to prevent you from stealing a view before you reach the observatory. Fortunately the view did not disappoint and made all the waiting worth it. I think Amelia was a little bummed that all the other people crowding the deck made it a little less romantic than the scene from Sleepless in Seattle, but we still had a great time.

After we rode the elevator back down to the ground we set off to find the 2nd Avenue Deli for some authentic New York Jewish food. Unbeknownst to me, New York Jewish food comes with authentic New York prices. Sixteen bucks for a corned beef sandwich, and even more if you want any of the delicious looking sides to go with it. Instead we ended up getting felafel from a halal street vender at four dollars each. On a whim I asked for them to go, so we strolled up fifth avenue looking for a nice spot to eat lunch when I realized we were at the New York Central Public Library. Lunch was delicious, not in the least because we were looking up at the architecture as we ate.

The afternoon continued with a very nice but very busy walk up fifth avenue until we reached Rockefeller Center. Ever the fans of the TV show “30 Rock”, we were taking pictures in front of the building when I got a very strange text message from my aunt Terri. She asked me if I felt the earthquake.  We hadn’t felt anything, but suddenly there were people in suits in the street, milling about.  They had apparently felt the shaking in their buildings and gone out onto the street to wait for it to end.  

Amelia admiring the poster for the show.

Later that night we got fancied up as best we could and again left the apartment to walk back to the Hirschfeld theater to see Daniel Radcliffe and “How to Succeed in Business Without Really Trying” and it was worth every penny.  The writing was funny, Daniel Radcliffe was wonderful (but very short), and the sets were amazing.  Both Amelia and I had a wonderful time, and I felt a little pang of sorrow that I wouldn’t be able to see another Broadway show for quite some time.

After the show we joined a swiftly growing crowd of mainly (girls and) women outside the stage door to hopefully get an autograph from Daniel, but I don’t think we realized just how popular it was going to be.  We were several rows back and unfortunately Daniel Radcliffe only stopped and signed 4-5 autographs before getting into a waiting black car.  It was a little disappointing, but nothing could have shaken the happy feelings we felt that night.  I still don’t think I could ever live in Manhattan, but I definitely witnessed the magic of the “Big Apple.”

Manhattan

 Time's Square at night.

August 22, 2011

We were only in Manhattan for two days but we did everything. Our trip began with a ride into Penn Station on the Long Island Railroad. The station was on her way, so my Aunt Terri dropped us off, we each paid our six bucks and boarded the train. From Penn Station we rode the escalator up to the street and got our first taste of the Big Apple. For those of you who have never been there, it's hard to describe, but the feeling is something of being in a concrete forest. All around you are tall buildings, some hundreds of feet high, stretching towards the sky. The buildings are so tall and there are so many that most of the day the streets are shaded. And then there's the noise. Yellow cabs honk as they weave in and out of j-walking pedestrians. Other cars crowd the streets so much that sometimes nothing moves even when the light turns green. All the sidewalks are at least ten feet wide and are full of a diverse mix of people. There's everyone from business-types in their crisp suits and leather shoes to teenagers in saggy pants and Vans. One thing that everyone in Manhattan has in common though is they know where they're going and they're in a hurry to get there.

Penn Station is on 33rd Street and 8th Avenue and my aunt and uncle live on 66th street, so we started walking north. A quick side lesson on Manhattan navigation (because even though I've been there a handful of times, everyone already assumed I knew): streets go east-west and avenues go north-south. First avenue is on the east side of the island and the avenues go up as you walk west. Same with streets: numbers get bigger as you walk north. Now you too can navigate the Big Apple! Anyway, we arrived a couple hours before my aunt and uncle were going to be in the city, so to pass the time we strolled up 8th avenue and then part of the way through Central Park before turning west to their beautiful apartment on West End Avenue.

We had only walked a few blocks when a city bus passed with a giant picture of Daniel Radcliffe's face advertising some sort of show. Now I'm not sure what it is about him, but girls go ape-shit for Daniel and when Amelia saw his face it wasn't much different. Fortunately the bus was moving so it wasn't too long before his smiling face was out of sight and we could continue walking. But then, not ten blocks later, it happened again only this time Daniel's face was on a building. The building was the Hirschfeld theater and the poster was for a show called “How to Succeed in Business Without Really Trying” starring Daniel Radcliffe. So in we went and even though we swore we weren't going to see a broadway show, how many chances does one have to see Harry Potter live on stage? A large chunk of change later we walked out with 12th row seats in the center section for the next day's show. We finished our walk in a kind of daze as the realization that we were in New York City, The New York City where things actually happen, dawned on us.

The rest of Monday was taken up with the Museum of Natural History, or as I've started calling it, the Museum of Natural Taxidermy for the thousands of specimens we saw. Even without the taxidermy though, that place would be overwhelming. You could spend most of a day in each room about the peoples of different parts of the world. And then there's the whole gem collection which is at least another afternoon. Because we didn't get there until the early afternoon, we did the lightning version of the museum, drifting from massive exhibit to massive exhibit until the museum closed. After we squeezed the very last minute out of the museum we reluctantly exited and walked back to my aunt Susan and uncle Irv's place. That night we talked with them down to 45th street through Lincoln Center and Times Square to their favorite pizza place, John's Pizzeria (“no slices”). The food was delicious and it was a great way to end our first day in The City.

August 18, 2011

USS Constitution.

 To begin our first full day of really visiting Boston, Carol, Amelia's aunt, arranged for us to take a Boston Harbor cruise. So, in what would become routine, we got up early, walked down the road to the T station and hopped on the train into the Boston to meet Carol and Dave (Amelia's dad). We loaded onto the boat from Long Wharf, which didn't look especially long, and sailed out as the tour guide began talking about the harbor. As far as tours ago I was pretty impressed. The guide really knew his stuff and had enough humor to pass the time from island to island. For those of you familiar with the harbor, we left Long Wharf and sailed right. We followed the harbor for quite a-ways, eventually getting as far out as the old garbage dump and Spectacle Island (which looks like a pair of glasses) before turning left and heading back towards the airport. The highlights of the trip would have to be the great views of the Boston skyline as well as seeing the USS Constitution. According to the guide, the Constitution is the oldest continuously operating naval ship in the fleet. I don't remember what year it was commissioned, but for those to whom it really matters, I'm sure Wikipedia can help. Anyway, the neat thing we learned about the ship was that in order to remain an active ship, it has to sail at least 1 nautical mile per year, so every July 4^th they take her out into the harbor, sail her around and then head back.

Old North Church.

When we got back to the wharf after the tour, Carol decided to call it a day, so it was just myself, Amelia and Dave who continued our day of being tourists. If you're ever in Boston, I highly recommend walking the Freedom Trail through the middle of the city. (And if you live in Boston and haven't walked it, shame on you: next weekend, go downtown and spend a few hours walking around.) While we didn't start at the beginning of the trail, it was still a great and sort of surreal experience. In the middle of this modern city full of tall skyscrapers we were able to walk from one Revolutionary War era site to the next, each nestled in between the tall buildings. For us the trail started at the Old North Church where Paul Revere arranged to have either one or two candles hung depending on where the redcoats were going (“one if by land, two if by sea”) because at the time, the fifty-sixty foot steeple used to be the tallest building around. From there we followed the line of red bricks along the sidewalk to places like Paul Revere's house, the Old State House and several other buildings of historic significance. We even walked through the Granary Burial Grounds where many Revolutionary era people are buried including Paul Revere and Samuel Adams' graves. A nearby tour guide pointed out that from the bar across the street you could enjoy a cold Sam Adams while looking at a cold (dead) Sam Adams. To Amelia's despair, I really wasn't in the mood for beer so we didn't stop. (Sorry honey, maybe next time.)

Amelia and Dave at the Democrat Donkey.

The next night we went out and met Sang, a friend of mine from Yosemite last year (see much earlier blogs). He goes to Harvard and he worked over the summer in Boston, so we met up with him just outside a T station in who-knows-where and followed him around town for the night. Sang is Korean, so naturally when he asked us where we wanted to go, we told him to take us to a good Korean restaurant. And boy did he follow through. We ended up at this little place in Alston that was absolutely fantastic. The three of us split this giant spicy stew full of all kinds of good stuff. It had meat, tofu, vegetables and more. I asked Sang about the broth, which was red and very spicy (but in a good way), and he told me that it was red pepper soup cooked in the traditional way which means boiled for most of a day.

After dinner we hopped back on a bus and went near where Sang lived to a bar he really liked. Maybe it's because I've only been to trashy campus bars, but I could tell we were in a classy place because when we walked in the bartender came over to us and poured us all glasses of water. Then I saw the drink menu. It was a two-sided menu – one side was all whiskey and the other side had everything else. Sang ordered some fancy 12-year old whiskey, Amelia and I both got less classy mixed drinks. We hung out drinking, talking and people-watching late into the night and just had a blast. Meeting up with old friends is always a great experience and always worth the time.   

August 17, 2011

After the oppressive relaxation of Maine and the automobile touring of Rochester and Syracuse, Boston was a welcome change.  My aunt and uncle live less than a mile from a T stop, so we rode the T nearly every day into and out of Boston.  For those of you not familiar, if the Portland MAX train and the NY Subway had a baby, it would be the Boston T.  In downtown Boston, all the train stops are underground, but as you get further away from the center the T pops up onto the surface and becomes much more a light rail experience.  As much as I complained about the forty minute ride into and out of the city each day, it was much better than trying to drive through Boston.

Speaking of driving, our first full day back in Boston started with another pleasant drive out to Maynard to retrieve my motorcycle from Duncan’s Beemers.  As we were approaching the shop, I looked at Amelia and in all seriousness told her she should expect to be at the shop for a minimum of twenty minutes.  Despite the hours we spent there the first time, I was hoping we could arrive, Duncan could tell me everything he did, we could pay and then leave.  Boy was I wrong.

We arrived to find the bike sitting outside, all back together which was very nice, and after we said hello, Duncan showed me around the bike pointing out what he did.  He replaced my leaking engine seals, changed my oil, inspected the clutch, replaced some bad bearings and he even had his welder fix a rattle in my exhaust pipe.  Needless to say I was impressed by his thorough work but also a little worried about the price tag.  After we finished walking around the bike I asked, but it turned out Duncan hadn’t looked up the prices for a few parts so we had to wait another ten minutes while he tried to find the right numbers.  At this point we had been at the shop for over a half hour.

Finally, after what seemed like an awful long time, Duncan found the parts and gave me the bad news: just over one thousand dollars.  More than I was quoted, but they also fixed much more than we initially talked about too, so overall I felt pretty okay about the situation.  I gave him my card and I was just about to suit up when Duncan remembered he heard a rattle when he test rode my bike.  Before I knew it, he was on the ground looking around the front of my bike trying to find anything loose while I was awkwardly standing by trying to figure out the best way to tell him it was fine and I just wanted to go. After some poking and prodding, Duncan declared that there was a missing fairing screw and off he went into the depths of his shop looking for a replacement, which took another five minutes to find.  With a new screw installed, I was finally able to suit up and go, an hour and a half after we arrived.  

Normally taking forever at the mechanic would have been fine, but we still had plans to go into Boston.  Amelia and I rode the T into town and met Carol and Dave at Harvard to see the Harvard Natural History Museum.  According to Carol, we just absolutely had to see their collection of glass flowers, beautifully hand crafted with the original intention of being used as teaching models.

Now I appreciate dedication, but there comes a point beyond which continuing is pure madness.  The Harvard glass flower collection defines that end of the scale.  These two brothers, before the age of photos, wanted students to be able to study exotic plants all year round, so they created glass replicas as well as enlarged glass models of important flower parts for that purpose.  Tediously hand crafted, the two men spent nearly forty years creating several hundred exquisitely detailed specimens, each of which was meticulously hand painted using a technique that has since been lost.  Honestly, until I saw one of the flowers that had broken, I didn’t believe that they were glass.  They looked either real or like very good plastic replicas.

In addition to the glass flowers, Amelia in the mineral room was like a kid in a candy store.  The room was exactly what you’d expect: a big room filled with rocks and minerals of the every shape and color organized by chemical structure.  I’ll admit to not being the biggest geology buff, but some of the samples they had were pretty cool.  The four foot tall amethyst geode and the cases full of cut gemstones specifically come to mind.  I was also particularly fond of the minerals that glowed different colors under UV light.  We probably spent an hour in that room, most of which was following Amelia and she cheerfully flitted from one specimen to the next with a look of great happiness on her face.

Finally, no traditional museum would be complete without an uncomfortably large selection of taxidermy, and Harvard’s museum is no exception.  They had several rooms full of large stuffed mammals as well as many birds and even a fair collection of skeletons.  For both Amelia and myself, our general response to the stuffed animals was that things are bigger in real life than they seem on TV.  In particular, even though I’ve seen them at the zoo, hippos are absolutely massive creatures.  Tigers, moose and buffalo are also much bigger in person than one would expect.  I appreciate taxidermy’s role in educating, but there is still no way around the fact that most of it is pretty creepy.

August 16, 2011

August 16, 2011

The day after returning to Boston, Marc, my aunt Carol, and I all took a plane and met up with my dad in Rochester, New York. Marc went to the University of Rochester his freshman year of college, and my dad graduated from there in 1972. Seeing the school was one of our reasons for going to upstate New York, but another reason was to see Syracuse, where my dad and aunt grew up.

After Dad picked us up from the airport we all went to Letchworth State Park, which is known as the Grand Canyon of the East. The park was long and skinny, so we just took the road that goes all the way through it. We saw beautiful waterfalls, large forests, and a giant chair that my dad and I took turns sitting in. Giant chairs are fun, and if you don't believe me ask any other University of Oregon student. The park was pretty, but Marc and I were jaded after seeing Niagara Falls, so we didn't appreciate it as much as we could have.

Dad in a giant chair

The next day was our only full day in Rochester/Syracuse so it was very busy. First we went to the house where Susan B. Anthony lived. We got to see the room where she got arrested for voting, which was very cool for me. After seeing the house I am now inspired and want to read a biography about her. Near her house is a small park with a statue of Susan B. having lunch with Fredrick Douglass. Next, we went to the George Eastman house. Eastman started Kodak, so he was super rich an had an unnecessarily lavish home. He was such a perfectionist that he hired librarians to organize his collection of books, and hired an organ player to play for him every morning at 7:15 to wake him up. It was fun to learn the little quirks about his house, but what was more fun was that part of his home was converted into a photography museum. Their special exhibit was on the photographs taken by Norman Rockwell that he used to paint his pieces. The exhibit showed every photograph Rockwell used adding up to the final painting. That exhibit was probably one of the best I have ever seen. It was fun having an exhibit that allowed us to see Rockwell's creative process in a visually interesting way.

Me and Susan

After the museum we ran through the torrential downpour and piled into the car to head for Syracuse. My dad's family lived in Syracuse because my grandfather was an organic chemistry professor for the University of Syracuse for ______ years (insert large number). They lived in two different houses in the area, and instead of just driving by I convinced my dad to let me get out and ask the current owners if we could go inside. The owners of both houses were really happy to have them see the inside. My dad and Carol seemed really happy to see the houses again, and told us all kind of old stories they remembered.

First House

Second house

One story I am deciding to share with the world is about my dad when he was 3. Apparently at some point their cousin came to visit for a while and stayed with my aunt in her upstairs bedroom. My aunt told me that my father was enraptured with their cousin (her being 17 and very pretty), so every morning of her visit he would sit on the bottom step of the staircase and patiently wait for her to come downstairs. Because of our visit I have now walked on those steps, and am happier for it.

Chemistry building at University of Syracuse

After seeing the houses and a few of their old schools, my dad dropped us off for dinner while he visited with an old friend from high school. The three of us ate at a Friday's, and quickly learned about 2 for 1 cocktails. We also remembered that none of us were driving, so mojitos all around!

Library at U of R

The next morning we went back to the University of Rochester to see some of the buildings that were closed during the weekend. We went inside the library and I saw the beautiful reading rooms that may have been the reason Marc went there. We also went to Wilson Commons, which is their version of the EMU at the University of Oregon. On one side of this building is the library, and on the other side is a statue that was erected with the intention that it would always look at the library. See the dilemma? The U of R certainly did, so they designed Wilson Commons to have a giant glass arboretum so that the statue could actually still see the library. Tradition is crazy stuff.

All four of us then took a plane back to Boston, which is where a whole other set of adventures happened. Keep Reading!

 -Amelia

August 12, 2011

August 12, 2011

OK, I am going to try to sum up our whole visit to Maine in one blog post.

One of the horrible things about Maine is that everything somehow moves half the speed of normal life. I have no explanation for this phenomenon other than the fact that Maine is very relaxing and absolutely beautiful. This photo was taken in Marc's Grandparent's backyard (literally). It is very easy to let time slip away when you are looking at something as beautiful as this. Marc's Grandfather, Jack, told me that every single sunset on the water is beautiful and completely different, like a snowflake. From what I saw, that is absolutely true.

Despite all the natural beauty surrounding their house, Marc, Phil (Marc's brother), and I wanted to make sure we got out of the house at least once a day. One of our more adventurous days was when we went sailing with their family friend, Ken. I had never been on a sail boat before, and when Ken heard this at Charlotte (Marc's Grandmother) and Jack's birthday party, he was appalled, and insisted we had to go out sailing with him. Ken owns a boat that he told us was about 39 feet long. The first hour or so of our outing on the boat can pretty much be summed up by this picture. The sun was out, and I was lounging on the front of the boat with a soda. Once the wind came, it was a different story. Marc and Phil were instructed by Ken to switch the sails all over the place and we finally got the large sail up. I will take this time to point out that comments on this blog containing proper nautical terms will not be accepted. Anyway, when the wind got really strong, the boat tilted so much that it looked like it was going to tip over. It didn't, of course, but I was not about to believe these three experienced sailors' reassurances when the water was an inch away from my feet on deck. I don't have any pictures of this because I was too busy scurrying to the opposite side of the boat. The day before, my mom told me to not be scared and just to have fun, which I then remembered and executed. We all ended up having a blast, and I am glad I did it.

Yesterday (our last day in Maine) was also very memorable. In the morning, Marc, Phil, and I went to Acadia National Park, which is beautiful. Charlotte and Jack let us use a CD they own which is an audio tour of the park. It was nice to be able to park in front of a beautiful landscape while listening to a history of the area. Spoiler alert: if a landscape is pretty, it was carved by glaciers. That is my professional diagnosis. The only downside to the park this particular day was that it was very crowded, so we were not able to get into certain parts of the park. After we left, we decided to play miniature golf at a place called Pirate's Cove in Bar Harbor, Maine. For the record, the natives pronounce Bar Harbor like 'Ba'aba,' which is pretty funny. Pirate's Cove was the coolest miniature golf place I had ever been to, because everything was so carefully themed and decorated with pirate stuff. Every hole had a sign with a different fact about Blackbeard, which now makes me want to read more about him. One fun fact is that he had over 14 wives.

When we got back to the house that evening, a traditional Maine lobster dinner was waiting for us. Jack said if you buy lobster from a lobsterman in Maine, the price is only about $5 per pound. Each of us got our own 1.5 pound lobster for dinner, and then spent the meal not talking very much because we were so enraptured with the food. Afterwords, Charlotte and I made blueberry muffins with the blueberries we picked earlier in the week, which Marc says are a must-eat when he visits his grandparents. The muffins turned out perfect, and if any Wassermans are interested, I have a clean copy of the recipe.

All and all we had a wonderful time in Maine. I loved getting to visit with Marc's grandparents, spending time in their beautiful home, and seeing all the cute little towns that are somehow so far apart. We all had a great relaxing time. Maine was a great vacation from our vacation.

Safe Travels,

Amelia

August 7, 2011

The Birthday Party: downpour, hamburgers and everyone I have ever met in Maine all under one roof.

When I awoke that morning I found Yale, Sue, Karen and Amy already hard at work in the kitchen throwing together dishes in a frenzy of activity. Amelia had foolishly gotten up a little earlier and had already been conscripted into service, so to avoid the same fate I volunteered to assemble a new charcoal grill outside. It was as I was sitting on a cooler out front mulling over the box of tiny pieces and pictures that were supposed to be a grill when it started to rain. At first it was just a sprinkle and so, in good Oregonian fashion, I ignored it. A few spatters on the instructions didn't really matter because they're single-use anyway, but the rain kept getting harder. By the time the pages of the booklet were starting to become very soggy, Philip (who had also joined me outside to escape food duty) and I reluctantly carried the pieces into the garage to finish assembly.

Eventually I did manage to put the poorly made Chinese grill together despite the manufacturer's best efforts otherwise, but by this point the rain was coming down steadily. Not only that but the first of the cars had begun to arrive. With around thirty people coming to the party we had already decided the driveway wasn't going to cut it, so as people arrived I was directing them out into the side-yard (really just a big grassy field next to the house). The first few cars I just pointed out where they should park, but after the first old man came into the house completely drenched I felt so bad that I borrowed an umbrella and began walking it out to people as they parked their cars. It was kind of fun and made me feel a little like a valet.

The birthday kids.

Despite the bad weather, the party was still a great success. There were burgers, hot dogs, green salad, potato salad, chips, dips, cookies (ask Amy Thompson about her Ritz cracker cookies) and two very lovely carrot cakes. After everyone had eaten their fill (and more), everyone gathered in the dining room and sang happy birthday for my grandma Charlotte and my grandpa Jack. One cake had an “8” on it and the other a “0”. In addition each cake had a star-shaped candle, according to my uncle Yale, to represent the next decade. It was a lovely gesture in what was entirely a wonderful affair. I do fear that I may be eating leftover hamburgers and hummus for the rest of the week though as there was enough food for fifty.

Blueberries and Antiques

August 6, 2011

High bush blueberries.

Once when I was like ten I was up in Maine with Phil we all went wild blueberry picking. Except they don't call it picking, they call it blueberry raking, which is an accurate description. Wild blueberries are tiny little berries that grow on tiny little bushes and the only way to pick them without losing your mind is to use a special rake that you run through the whole plant. After a couple hours of crouching and bending we ended up with containers full of equal parts twigs and berries. Needless to say, we didn't go raking for blueberries again any time soon.

In what I imagine was an attempt to remedy this obvious flaw of nature, some very clever person came up with the idea of high bush blueberries. Either that or my grandparents had some furniture re-upholstered and befriended the couple who have the business before realizing that they also have over 50 high-bush blueberry bushes. For those of you who are not familiar, high bush blueberries are a cultivated variety that solves both essential problems with the wild berries. First the plants, rather than growing on the ground, grow upright and are 4-5 feet tall. Second, the fruits, rather than being little edible blueberries, are nearly the size of grapes. In less than an hour myself, Amelia, Phil, my aunt, Sue, and my uncle, Yale, (along with help from Henry and Jayla) were able to fill more than 10 quarts full of delicious, juicy berries.

The whole crew picking some berries.

Besides blueberries, another Maine staple are its numerous antique shops. It seems like every town has at least a few, each stuffed full of an eclectic collection of china, furniture and just about everything else you could imagine a person would want. As a kid I used to think they were great, but as I get older, more and more of the items seem either grossly overpriced or absolutely worthless. This is especially true of a gigantic old chicken barn turned antique shop called, not surprisingly, The Chicken Barn. I used to find all sorts of goodies that I simply had to have, but besides their great book collection, this time around not much else caught my interest. It's still fun to go and look, but the things I like I can't afford and the things I can I don’t like. I think the problem is I don't really have a need. If I needed a piece of furniture, and antique shop would be a great place to look, but since I don't need anything, nothing looked that good.

August 5, 2011

We arrived in Boston around eleven o'clock Wednesday night tired and wet. Fortunately my aunt and uncle were still awake to let us in. I still don't know exactly how far we went that day, but it must have been close to 450 miles. I never expected to do Niagara Falls to Boston in one day, but with the weather the way it was, the thought of being warm and dry that night kept us going. I'm a little disappointed we didn't get to see the Adirondacks, but at the same time I'm also kind of proud of our mileage. To all those thousands milers out there, yeah, I know you can go farther than us, so please just let me have this moment.

As for the bike, we dropped it off the next day at Duncan's Beemers in Maynard. The leak really hadn't gotten any worse in the couple thousand miles since I discovered it, but I still feel better getting it fixed before we head back into the wilderness that is the Great Plains. Since Philip had arrived in Boston by this point, both he and Amelia tagged along behind me in a car the ten miles or so to the shop to give me a ride back.

The shop itself was a small blue building just off the road. Though there wasn't actually a sign on the street, I figured I was at the right place when I saw the six or eight old Beemers parked in front. On the side of the building behind what used to be a store front but had been reclaimed for parts storage was an open garage door. I parked the bike, pulled off my helmet and walked up to the door where I saw a middle aged man with a large gray beard standing in the doorway.

“Hello,” I said in his direction to no response. I could now see the man was holding a cloth and very methodically polishing an old chrome gas cap.

“Just a minute,” he replied slowly, not really to me or even in my direction.

After another minute he put down the gas cap and stuck out a greasy hand, “Hi, I'm Dun-can,” he said in a sort of slow, methodical monotone. I introduced myself, my motorcycle and my problem until a look of recognition came across his face. I took him around my bike, showed him the oil leak and then recounted every other little thing I could think off the top of my head. That probably took a half hour or so. Where the other two hours at the shop went I'm not really sure. I started discussing transmissions and he showed us the innards of one that was apart. Phil asked about how to disassemble some pieces of the R90 and so we looked at a similar bike. Next thing I knew though, it was four o'clock in the afternoon and we were still at the shop. Despite my disbelief at the time we spent at the shop, I was thinking about it, and I've decided that I'd rather have my bike serviced by someone who cares as much as Duncan than from someone in a hurry.

Fortunately we still made it home in time for dinner which we ate over at Karen and Betsy's house. Philip, Amelia and I all decided to go up to Maine the next day with Karen to help her with the kids. Henry and Jayla are good kids, but together they are trouble. It's always, “Mom, Jayla hit me,” or “Mommy, Henry's being mean to me,” and the result is someone ends up screaming. Anyway, we decided to ride along in Karen's car, if nothing else, to help provide entertainment while Karen drives.

August 3, 2011

We are now in Boston, which explains how awesome we are. If you need a recap, we were in Michigan two days ago. I stole the computer away from Marc, which means I get to write about Niagara Falls.

Before that, however, I should tell you about our great trek to a campsite in the middle of nowhere. Our goal two nights ago was to get into Sudbury, Ontario, but the closest campsite was twelve miles west of it. Our atlas (which has not led us astray until now) showed us a short road leading to this provincial park. What we got instead was a winding twelve-mile roller-coaster piece of crap road leading to a very expensive campsite. We ended up paying $36 just to pass out. I kind of snapped at the guy taking our money, but he said that all Ontario provincial parks are at least this price. I am sure it is a nice place to go for a week with your family, but it is too much to pay for a campsite that doesn't have a hot tub.

The next day we went into Niagara Falls, Ontario, and stayed with a really nice family (with an adorable dog) we found in the BMW anonymous book. When we arrived, they had a whole barbeque dinner ready and invited us to join them. A widely known fact about my partner and I is that we will never turn down free food. Dinner was wonderful, and afterward they offered to drive us to the Falls on their way to their daughter's soccer game. A short note about their house is that it reminded me of Portland. It was one of those houses that looks like every aspect of it was a different art project. The dad is an engineer, which would explain all the cool play structures in the backyard built out of recycled materials. I want to build cool stuff like that for my kids someday. Anyway, we arrived at the Falls right around sunset, and everything was stunning. At night they shine giant colored or white lights onto the Falls, and all of the water glows. While I was trying to have a nice romantic moment with my man, my man was jumping from railing to railing trying to find a flat spot for his camera so he could take a good picture. He got his picture, but I didn't get my romantic moment.

This is not entirely Marc's fault, though. While Niagara falls is a majestic and natural wonder, the area surrounding it is a loud, flashing tourist trap. Walking back to the family's house (a long distance in the wrong direction) we saw endless arcades, wax museums, restaurants, bars, gift shops, hotels, and street performers. I will mention that at this point it was eleven o'clock at night, and everything was still open. I found it easier to get around in Las Vegas than in this area near Niagara Falls. Looking back at our photos, I realized we do not have any pictures of all the attractions, and I assume it is because Marc and I were so shocked and appalled by all of it. If you make a child choose between going to an arcade and watching water fall, which do you think they will pick? This is a good opportunity to plug the book Last Child in the Woods. It is very good.

What I was looking forward too the most was going on the Maid of the Mist, but we didn't do that. The only way to get to and from the Falls was to walk, and the next morning when we were going to take the boat ride, there was a torrential downpour. I know that a lot of you are going to say that we should have gone anyway, but then I would like to ask you when the last time you spent two hours in the rain was. It would not have been fun, and that is what I am sticking to. And besides, the chances of Jim Halpert marrying me while I was on board would be very small. If you do not get that reference, it is OK; it just means you are classier than I am. Long story short, we took the bridge back into America, and drove all day in the rain to get to Boston. Next we need to talk about Marc's relatives, which will take a whole other post.

So long for now,

Amelia

August 1, 2011

The BMW anonymous book has once again paid off. Last night we stayed with a woman in Marquette, Michigan. Marquette is in the Upper Peninsula (the UP) of Michigan on the shore of Lake Superior. We arrived late to the house, but got so caught up by the energy that our home-stay put out that we went on a tour with her of the whole town. We went right down to the beach, and it was absolutely beautiful. The water was extremely clear and comfortably warm. Then we went on a long walk along the shore through a wooded area while she excitedly told us everything a tourist in the area would want to know. She showed us where people can go kayaking, hiking, cliff jumping, and boating. The area up here seems like a playground in the summertime. Minor detail: winter lasts nine months here and it randomly snows in August.

The town of Marquette itself is quite a marvel. Not a single store building was out of business. Somehow we found the only small town in America that didn't have sad and pathetic parts (I am glaring at you, South Dakota). I really wish we could stay longer, but someday in the future this might be a nice place to get a summer home. In an alternate universe where Marc and I have lots of money, we will have summer homes in many places, and you are more then welcome to vacation with us. Downtown Marquette reminds me of 23^rd street in Portland; full of hip stores, restaurants, and bars. Many different people occupy this town, but what they all have in common is that they love winter. They have to. Marquette, according to the woman we stayed with, has the only natural luge course in the United States. They have many other winter sports, and many winter Olympic trials are held here.

I just wanted to mention briefly that some of you BMW riders may know the woman we stayed with. She is a very cool German woman, and she rides a beautiful old motorcycle that she calls “Old Blue.” (Marc says it's an R80/7 without the fairing.) I have a happy fantasy of running into all the BMW people we have stayed with at a future rally, and telling them how our trip turned out.

Our next destination is Sudburry, Ontario. Why are we going back into Canada? Seeing Niagara Falls from the Canadian side might be fun, and its a more direct route to Boston, where we are going to drop off the bike to get it fixed.

Happy Trails,

Amelia

August 1, 2011

It seems like the majority of the time on the motorcycle I had been either bored or scared, but today was different. Last night we stayed with a very nice German woman who lives in Marquette, Michigan. After the wonderful tour of the town and the lakefront, she asked us about our plans for the next day. Not being familiar with the area we naturally didn't really have any. Despite declaring the merits of navigating without a map, our host pulled one out and began showing us a little road running along the coast. The map indicated gravel, but according to her it had just been paved, so the next day we headed that direction. After a stop at the Lake Superior National Lakeshore (where I bought an awesome knots book) and a coffee break at a diner with, according to Amelia, a disturbing amount of taxidermy, we were off down the unmarked road.

The road started off pretty poor actually, with the usual assortment of potholes and tar snakes slithering across the slow meandering corners, but that all changed. A few miles past the diner the pavement suddenly changed. Gone were the bumps, gone were potholes and there was not a tar snake in sight. I found all my aches fading away as the bike and I became one. Without glancing at the speedometer I knew how fast we were going. Drift to the outside and gently roll off, downshift, look through the corner, roll on... Outside, inside, outside. Man, machine and asphalt all working together in harmony. I can only describe it as a feeling of meditation mixed with flying. A feeling of freedom and absolute awareness of everything around me.

As long as I'm talking about the bike, I should probably update everyone on the situation. Since first discovering the leak we've covered another 2000 miles and so far there has been no change. It's still dripping oil, but the clutch feels fine. I've talked to a few more people, all of whom have said pretty much that if it's a small leak it could drip for a long time before causing any problems. I also have narrowed it down to three possible shops to do the work. Two dealers in New Hampshire and one independent shop in Boston. I also have three estimates: $1200 and $900 respectively for the NH dealers and $4-600 for the independent shop in Boston (well, Maynard). Needless to say, I think I'll be taking the bike in to Maynard. As a note to my father: you're probably right that I could ride the bike back with the leak, but with another 6000 miles to go on the trip I'd rather not take the risk. It's better for both our peace of mind if we just get it fixed soon.

Friday July 29, 2011

Since we had such great luck finding people to stay with from the BMW Anonymous book, we decided to find more people to stay with in Glendive, Montana. Glendive is near the border between Montana and North Dakota, and is the largest city in the area, but don't tell the people who live there that we drove through the town almost without noticing. We stayed with a nice couple who own a small farm of about six sections. For those of you know don't know, one section is 640 acres.

Not long after we arrived, the husband took us on a long tour of his property which was great because neither Marc nor myself had ever really been on a farm before. There are many things you learn from being on a farm even for so little time. For instance, did you know one cow will eat 3 whole acres of grass in one month? The couple told us that in order to make good money selling cows you have to own at least 200, and they are in the field eight months out of the year. Do the math and you'll realize how much acreage that requires. As we were driving through the fields, the farmer told us about the difficulties of raising cows. I was taught that feeding corn to cows was horrible, which it is, but if you want to have many cows and not have any of them starve in the winter it is almost a necessity. I am an environmental studies minor, and as a result I have studied a lot about corn production in the United States and the decline of the family farm. While it's good to study articles from the safety of my dorm, it is also important to get out to a real farm and hear a real farmer's stories of selling corn for ethanol and not-so-good pinto beans to Mexico for refrying. I think all city folk should take some time away from their herbal teas and tour a farm. Don't get me wrong: I also love herbal tea.

The next morning we woke up at 5:00am in Glendive on a mission to pass through the Dakotas as fast as possible. Even though we had never been there we suspected the Dakotas were not going to be for us. For the most part we were correct, and here's why:

Highest point in North Dakota: 3,300 feet

Highest point in Oregon: 11,239 feet

Number of Pro-Life Billboards in South Dakota: 25 (and those are only the ones we saw)

Number of Pro-Life Billboards in Oregon: I have never seen one

Largest city in South Dakota: Sioux Falls with 160,000 people

Largest city in Oregon: Portland with 584,000 people

I recognize that every state has its own flavor, but I didn't like the taste of the Dakotas. This photo represents everything we saw while driving through. We saw the sky, grass, road, hay bails...and the occasional eye-rolling billboard. We decided it was best for our readers if we did not include photos of the billboards.

We did, however, manage to find the only pretty thing in South Dakota. If you happen to be in that state, Mina Lake just off of highway 12 is a cute little place we camped at when we just couldn't drive anymore. The cost of the campground was a little steep, but the campsite was pretty, and it was warm enough that we could go swimming in a lake for the first time on our trip.

I now write to you from St. Paul, Minnesota where we drove to after staying at Mina lake. Our friend Elliot just graduated from Macalester college and owns a house in this city, so we will be staying with him and having adventures for the next two days.

Enjoy the sun,

Amelia

July 28, 2011



...Oops, sorry we forgot you, Glacier.


So, in all the fuss about the oil leak and our sudden change of plans (heading south to Missoula instead of going across the north) we forgot to talk about one of the most beautiful places in the world: Glacier National Park.  For those who haven’t been, I highly recommend it and even for those who have, another trip couldn't hurt.  Even if all you do is drive on Going to the Sun Road it is still a worthwhile trip.  

A civil engineering marvel, Going to the Sun Road winds its way along the side of the mountains, in many spots with only a stone guardrail between asphalt and the valley floor thousands of feet below.  The designers of the road wanted it to really blend in with the mountains, and I think they achieved their goal, using local rocks for retaining walls and choosing a twisty, winding path up and over Logan Pass.  Unfortunately the road takes quite a beating in the winter and as we rode through about half its length was gravel waiting for new pavement, but even that couldn’t detract from the beauty.


We came over Logan Pass around dinner time (stupid time zone cost us an hour), stopped at the visitor center and discovered that all the campgrounds in the park were full, so we continued out and ended up staying at a KOA campground only about a mile from the entrance.  I’ll be honest, the KOA (Kampgrounds of America) campground was a very odd experience for us both.  While we had a nice little tent site where we set up camp in a clump of trees, not too far away was a pool, hot tub, showers and even a convenience store.  When you add these amenities and the row after row of tightly packed RV’s all together, the KOA felt more like a resort than a campground.  I couldn’t help but wonder: is this really how people go camping these days?  Maybe I’m old fashioned, but camping means no hot tub.


In an effort to find cheaper camping (and somewhere less noisy as well), we packed all our things the next morning and headed back into the park.  Basically, at this point we completely lucked out.  At 10:30 that morning when we reentered, all the campgrounds in the park were open, so we quickly made our way to St. Mary campground to snatch a nicer spot for the night.  We ended up in a very nice wooded sight with a wooded tent area and a nice big picnic table that I would say ranks only second behind Lac Le Jeune in terms of campsites.

To make the best use of our short stay in Glacier we decided to do a ranger-led hike.  The long hike I did last time I was in Glacier was still closed due to snow, so we instead picked the combination hike/boat tour of St. Mary Lake and St. Mary Falls.  In my opinion, we made a good choice because as we sailed across the very pretty glacial lake, the captain gave us a tour and history lesson of Glacier National Park.  When we docked about forty minutes later farther up the lake we followed Ranger Lee about a mile and a half along a very pretty trail to St. Mary Falls.  

Again, to Glacier, sorry we forgot to write about you.  We didn’t forget your beauty and we never will.

Tuesday, July 26

Writing from "Who-knows" Montana. (Actually US-12 at Deadman's Basin Reservoir.)

Yesterday was an emotional roller coaster for me. It all started Sunday night at the very pretty St. Mary campground in Glacier. We had just finished up with dinner and while Amelia started to calculate our expenses for the week I went to check on my bike. I didn't really expect much: the tires had been holding air well, the brake fluid was brand new and Dad topped off my coolant before we left. As I was checking the bike, I noticed that the oil level seemed to be a lower than I remembered, and so, just for the hell of it I pulled the bottom cowling off of the oil pan to look for leaks. Honestly I was expecting that I didn't tighten the drain plug properly or something since I changed my own oil last time, but instead I found oil farther back, seeming to be coming out of a hole in the bottom of the transmission housing.

Not really sure what a leak from behind the engine meant but in need of an oil change anyway, we altered course and spent Monday back tracking over the mountains and then due south to get the leak looked at by the only shop in Montana in Missoula. The moment the guy at the service desk looked at the bike he diagnosed the problem as a rear main engine seal failure. That is, the seal between the engine and the transmission was starting to fail and so engine oil was leaking out the back of the engine. While the actual oil loss was not that much, it has the potential to get all over the clutch and cause it to slip. So that was the bad news of the day. The worse news was that the repair will cost $1200, maybe more and the worst news of the day was that the shop told me they couldn't do it for at least 2 weeks.

Because we were already there, I had them change my oil, and as the shop closed up for the night I rolled my bike back out into the parking lot and just kind of plopped down, feeling kind of lost and overwhelmed at the cost of the maintenance that it would need. We were originally going to camp near the town of Lolo, but instead we pulled out the BMW Anonymous book and Amelia started calling people while I started calling motorcycle shops. For those who don't know, the Anonymous book simply has lists of phone numbers by city and codes for things like camping, spare room and work space. Like the saint she is, Amelia started calling numbers in the Missoula section and even though the first four or five came up no, she just kept trying. Soon she reached someone who said we could stay with them for the night and off we went. Little did we know we were about to meet the nicest people in Montana.

Not only did this wonderful couple let us stay in their basement, they also treated us to ice cream, let us take showers, use their washing machine and even helped us with route planning. This couple, complete strangers just a few hours earlier, took us in like we were family they had known for years. After the kind of day that makes you want to abandon all hope, they were truly a godsend. We will always remember their kindness and I only hope we have the chance to pass it on to another BMW rider in need.

As for the bike, there's really nothing to do but keep riding. Several different people have told me that there is no way to know how long I have before the oil fouls my clutch, only that it will happen eventually. Right now we are about 275 miles from Missoula camped at a primitive campsite on Deadman Basin Reservoir just off of US 12. The bike still purrs along like always, and for a while today I even forgot that anything was wrong, but then I remembered, it's only a matter of time. I only hope the clutch holds out until we reach civilization again.

-Marc