South Dakota & the History that Precedes it

After hundreds of miles of old school plywood billboards, South Dakota’s stretch of I-90 greeted us with places of note.

The Badlands
Mt. Rushmore
The Sacred Black Hills
Waldrug
The Little Bighorn Battlefield

When we left for our trip we didn’t really know what was on our route, due to all around hasty decisions. Upon seeing the historic landmark (brown) signs for the Little Bighorn Battlefield, I, Thing 2/Doris Deadbones, decided that I had to go. After writing several papers in High School and relentlessly pouring over as many sources as there are grains of sand, I simply had to see it. I just could not resist. As we pulled off I-90 and accelerated up the hill I saw a booth, a Native American man in a park Ranger uniform, and a $10 per vehicle charge. But I still had to go. I could see the tall cement memorials from the car so, slightly hesitantly I handed over $10 of my $25 spending money for the whole trip.







First we made our way over to the US Soldier cemetery. The sweltering prairie day and bright sunlight made the headstones blindingly white next to the manicured green grass and cloudless blue sky. Walking through endless rows reading “Unknown US Soldier” and coming across officers of all ranks decorated with American flags and flowers was a fantasy experience of mine. Two 35mm camera’s in hand (one black and white film, one color) I gulped it all down as best I could. Acknowledging hundreds of long ago heroes, remembered there, on a sweaty mid July day.





We then hopped back in the car and drove up the hill, parked illegally with a small group of motorcycles, and not so small SUV’s and found what I was really looking for; the gravestone of General George Armstrong Custer. There, fenced off behind chest high iron bars was the General’s grave. Surrounded by a slew of Little Bighorn Indian warriors. “As it should be…” I thought to myself while listening to the rattlesnakes make known their presence and protecting their territory. Opposite the iron gates across a small walkway a massive cement poured memorial to General Custer has been built, positioned so the man himself may look upon it, gaze in reverie and observe his own greatness and those under his command.



Visiting the Little Bighorn Battlefield was an opportunity for me to solidify all my past research and to make something that had been just story, real and tangible.

It was worth every cent of my $10.

Snapshots

OREGON:

Thing 1: Windmills! I want one for pet!
Thing 2: Farms of harnessed natural POWER!

WASHINGTON:
Thing 1: Red, red sunset a near disastrous brush with an empty gas tank.
Thing 2: The first night is upon us; red sky at night sailors delight. We are going to die in LIND!

IDAHO:
Thing 1: I slept through most of Idaho (thank God) but woke up just in time to see the most adorable, picturesque town. Too bad it was dark. No adventuring for us.
Thing 2: Not much to tell. It’s Idaho…

MONTANA:


1: Montana was friendly, Missoula was cute, and it ain’t called big sky country for nothin’.
2: The most amazing air I have ever had the privilege of filling my lungs with. My soon to be home. The calling only got stronger.

WYOMING:

1: For some reason, the pink, dry, rolling hills of Wyoming were so indescribably beautiful for me. Bring on the cowboys, home on the range!
2: Rolling landscape with four legged friends to keep me awake.

SOUTH DAKOTA:


1: Sunrise, the exact place where General Custer effin’ DIED, the Black Hills, the Badlands in the distance, gave way to so much flatness.
WALDRUG
2: Soiled history; Little Bighorn Battlefield. A place where people live to merely exist and survive.

IOWA/NEBRASKA:

1: “Ladies and gentlemen, I give you CORN!” The first skyscrapers I saw since Portland.
2: Oh my God Corn. And all sorts of smells. Omaha, the first real life city.

MISSOURI:


1: Gentle and green, only deciduous trees. St. Louis was big and beautiful. Missouri, I think you can count on me for another visit.
2: It’s really hot, and what is this? Humidity? Master St. Louis freeway system? Check.

ILLINOIS:

1: Weird in Cahokia, old and ancient with housing developments next door. I will go to Chicago next time, and try to avoid the rest.
2: Cahokia; uhhhh ok…(more on that later). Sleeping in “the ghetto” really? Twice over the Mississippi.

KENTUCKY:
1: After Illinois, before Tennessee.
2: I don’t remember Kentucky.

TENNESSEE:






1: Destination! Excitement! And then Dollywood and “Vegas for tots”, the smoky mountains and a HOUSE with SHOWERS. And then the Sweet Boys in Sweetwaer, where it was magical and there were lightning bugs and lightning storms.
2: Hot. Blissful. Everything I wanted. 14 golden lab PUPPIES. (more on TN later)

ARKANSAS:
1: Arkan-Wha? I remember Memphis, which isn’t even in the state.
2: Little Rock Nine
1: Oh yeah. Little Rock. I DO remember Arkansas!

OKLAHOMA:

1: I want you to take me out in the surrey with the friiiiinge on top!
2: Stormy. Blanket blinding rain.

TEXAS:

1: Flat, “biggest” cross in North America, cloud shadows all across the land. Yee-haw.
2: Oh god, the cross. Seriously swanky rest stops.

NEW MEXICO:


1: EPIC is the only word to fully describe the flat, juniper strewn land, red cliff faces jutting out of the land into the stormy sheets of rain and electricity.
2: I saw it all in photographs. Astonishing. Red. Epic. Thunder and lightning storms were leading, following, and consuming us.

ARIZONA:



1: Red. Canyon-y. Warm. Hot. Almost to The Biggest Hole You’ve Ever Seen, but 3 dollars a day and an addiction to coffee prevented it. It was pretty.
2: Not seeing the Grand Canyon. I don’t even want to talk about how fucking inconceivable it is that it costs $25 to look at a hole.

UTAH:
1: Saw TWO dummy cops behind the wheel of two separate cop cars, just chillin’, controlling traffic and the unruly public with their stiff, plastic, dummy selves. V strange.
2: Those dummy cops were so weird and creepy. A new tape adapter, bag full of bird feathers, and a dollar bill found nearby.

NEVADA:
1: Sweltering hot, not quite too hot, 108 degrees and dry. VEGAS BABY. Overstimulation that I would like to experience when I am of age for a week, never to return.
2: Oh please no, don’t remind me.

CALIFORNIA:



1: I left my heart and half of my money in San Francisco, spent wonderful time with my wonderful family who I adore more than ever. It will not be so long before I go back.
2: San Francisco; you were lovely as always. Shelley’s it was great to meet to rest of you at long last, and to see GREG again. Bolinas and they Lag house, you were too good to me.

ORagain:

1: I have driven the drive from Eugene to Portland countless times, and it really doesn’t take very long. This time? It took what seemed to be 6 hours. There’s no place like home, but there’s also no place like the continent we live on.
2: Agreed. That drive turned me crazy for what felt like hours. Oregon is beautiful. I really do love it here.

Waiting is agony

We have been waiting to leave on an epic road trip for about a week now. It all rests on if we get this damn car sold. Because none of us (going with a third friend) have the money to pay for gas on our own we are using the money we get from selling a family car. Sad, weird, awkward, annoying situation? We are aware. The problem with waiting and being unsure of when to leave seems to diminish some of the excitement and spontaneity. Well to be honest, a lot of it. We have to be back by the 5th of August and therefore each day we don’t leave, our trip gets shorter and shorter and we have to keep cutting out stops and states and pretty soon it will be to Tennessee and back with nothing along the way. Which is fine, but still not at all what was supposed happen and as much as it can be denied, disappointing.
When you’re waiting for something to happen there always seems to be this need to place blame on someone. Even when there is absolutely nothing we can do to make it happen, it is always someone else’s fault. They didn’t call this person at the right time, or they didn’t hang the flyers up in the right place. There is always blame flying around waiting for a new victim.
The truth is, it isn’t really any of our fault. We tore up craigslist, hung hella flyers, and facebook knows of nothing of us but what we are trying to sell. The problem isn’t with our marketing skills, the problem is with the market. It sucks. And trying to blame each other doesn’t help make people want to spend money. But what are we going to do? Wait. And try harder.

If you know anyone who wants to spend some money on a great little car, show them this.

Fireworks are the shit!

There is something about the 4th of July. America’s independence. I’m not especially patriotic (Well, one of us isn’t particularly patriotic. The other is still somewhat surprised when tears well up in her eyes at the sight of crisp red stripes coupled with white stars on a navy background snapping in a high wind on a particularly beautiful day, even if that banner has been flown at terrible times; just ask the Indians). I recognize all the insane things this country does to dominate everyone we can, but I really do love where I live. It’s not like I don’t want to live anywhere else but on the 4th of July I often realize how exponentially lucky I am to be where I am and live the privileged lifestyle I do.
When people gather on bridges, in parking lots, and on the streets with a common interest of setting shit on fire, there is a certain element of camaraderie that can’t be ignored. When we all come together to celebrate, strangers quickly become acquaintances, and immediately we have something in common. Setting shit on fire and chanting ridiculously on a bus “USA! USA! USA!” That kind of excitement is contagious and people smile and start up conversations with complete strangers, it seems to make themselves feel less like they are being foolish all on there own.

But perhaps it isn’t foolish. Perhaps this ability to find comfort in a strangers laugh is just what we need to remind each of us that we are all human, together. That companionship and acceptance is longed for by all, whether we like to admit it or not, it is there. No matter how independent we try to teach ourselves to be, no matter how hard we try to close ourselves off to outsiders, as humans, we each desire a certain level of interaction. It’s the way we were built, designed, made, created; it’s in our genetics to crave company in some form or another. So when it comes to celebrating, as a nation we become friendly, outgoing, laughing at ourselves for no reason at all. And even if you don’t approve, it becomes somewhat of a task to remove yourself when everyone on your block is burning fuses and boundaries, and even the anarchists are getting drunk.

just to make me less nervous?

We created this blog about a week ago and have yet to write anything. It’s kind of this weird intimidating thing…like we aren’t doing anything cool enough to blog about or aren’t really bored enough to blog?
We are house sitting on Belmont and loving it. A nice morning walk to STUMPTOWN to people watch and caffeinate after a long weird night in a warehouse full of art, music, friends, acquaintances and strangers; followed by an afternoon walk home. Curiously, on our way home we were confronted with an awesome find swiftly followed by and awesome buy.

So that was nice.

It is disgustingly hot here in PDX and one of us wants nothing to do with it and the other is completely in love with it. Two peas in pod? Yeah not so much….
Fireworks are coming up and excitement is brewing.