“Adventures of Captain Jones and Skipper Steslow” : The Record of Their Cross Country Trip started the 15^th of August in the 2005^th year of our Lord from Sacramento, CA headed toward Buffalo, NY in hopes of Captain Jones receiving the same cultural training Samuel L. Clemens received more than one hundred and twenty years ago. (A true and faithful facsimile of their account)

Those undertaking this strenuous journey:
--Stinky Steslow, Skipper and co-pilot (Kristen or Krit)
--Jonesy, Captain E. (Ellie or Kim)

15 Aug 05:

We left a little after 8am between going to the store and Starbucks. Miraculously, everything from the TV to the books (I only took 3 copies of Huck Finn) and three suitcases fit in the car. Krit decided to fly into Sacramento 14 August, a Sunday. We packed and left the next morning with a full car and good music. Woohoo!

            And lots of Dr. Pepper(which is a must to which Kristen adds: “Especially when we’ll have our burping contest in the middle of the country”).

            This log reports that the weather was fair—mid 80s but cloudy and sprinkling after Winnemuca, NV.

Driving Log:

Capt J: Sacto, CA to Wendevor, NV~510 miles-ish

Skipper: Wendevor until ?
 

Visits:

Steslow, Ron. Reno, NV. His place.

Hartley, Michele Aunt. Winnemuca, NV. Subway.

We have finally left NV and I’m letting Krit drive.

            And yes, I am hyperventiliing.

We are in Mountain Standard time now.

Ron gave us some CDs to listen to: 8 mile and Tenacious D. He improves upon later acquaintance.

2 states down. 9 to go.

“Woohoo!”: Kristen. (who also claims that the salt flats look like snow) The captain does not know how to adjust the clock on the car radio.

Kristen decided we should have a theme song upon entering each state—a song to celebrate the state and our arrival into it (lucky for that state, eh?).

Xrossing Border songs:

CA into NV: Simple Plan—emo because the desert is so dry—it sucks out all of our emotional moisture; or it bores us to death. “God must hate me, cursed for all eternity! God must hate me, maybe you should pray for me….Fucking hell! I wanna go home!”
 

NV to UT: Five Iron Frenzy “Far Away.” Christian Rock. No need for explanation.

Outside of Wendevor, Krit “accidentally” knocked the ice chest over Ellie, covering her in cold water.

Accident, my ass.

Tennis ball sculpture in the salt flats—wtf?
 

16 Aug 2005 Tuesday:
 

I, the Skipper, took over the helm yesterday @~Wendevor (nowhere), NV, and navigated good ol’Martin (the car) safely through to Rock Springs, WY where we followed the sage advice of Kim Goza : sleep in a Wal-Mart parking lot. Not to be outdone by Goza’s ingenuity, the Skiper shifted around many back seat boxes as possible, leaving the Captain the whole front seat and forsaking all common proportions of breathing space to bed area for my back seat loft. Six hours and a dented box of cooking utensils later, we re-grouped at a Flying J, purchased the Captain her first-ever McDonald’s breakfast and set off for the great state of Nebraska. Since the night shift will once again be mine, I plan on sleeping through the rest of Montana I mean Wyoming (is there a difference?).

            A couple of thoughts before signing off—Captain Jones is going for the seasoned traveler look, as she has just, for the 3^rd time, spilled coffer on her jeans. Yes, the same pair of jeans, folks. Hence, my impromptu ice-chest falls of yesterday afternoon (there is a method to this madness).

            Also, at some point in the salt flats, the Captain and I made a secret agreement which we will carry to our graves. I blame the agreement on a combination of the Mormon air and one too many sips of a Rock Star. Signing off,

                                                            Skipper.

Captain’s Log

            Earthdate 16 August 2005

            1749 hours

            Central time

            Nowhere, Nebraska.

Crossing State Lines Music:

UT to WY: Kenny Chesney “She thinks my tractor’s sexy” and Garth Brooks “Rodeo.” For the Cowboy state, duh.
 

WY to NE: The Pixies “Where is My Mind?” which is what Nebraska will have you asking.

Quote of the Day: “Nebraska is not a real state. It’s the absence of a state.”—Kim Evans

It seems that the Skipper will provide the mirthful commentary while I, the Captain, will provide a faithful narrative of our trip. To sell one day for a million dollars.

MWHAHAHAHHAHA!!!

 Oh. See what Nebraska is already doing to my mind?

Utah: In Utah, Krit and I talked a lot about Jesus. It must have been something in the air.

Oh right.

Mormonism.

In Utah, there were also signs which said: Fatigued Drivers with a circle in the middle with the slash through it like in the no smoking signs. Utah has something against fatigued drivers.

In order to put me to sleep, the Skipper played John Mayer for which she will be punished. When, where and how to be determined. I took the helm in Rock Springs after a night sleeping in a Wal Mart parking lot. The Skipper slept this morning and afternoon as I drove through Wyoming whose point of interest was a tree growing through some rocks.

            Rain throughout the day until Laramie. Re: NE and WY: We killed thousands of Native Americans for these states—WHY?!?!??!

Lots of Construction. I had my first Sonic burger which wasn’t too bad. And true to fashion, I got pickles and mayo on my jeans.

Steslow keeps in her p.js.

Nebraska—what to say that Evans didn’t say?

The sky is the same. It feels like a movie backdrop. See? An absence of a state. Singing off---Jones

17 August 05—Wednesday:

Wednesday is a long word to write at 7:30 in the morning. OK, it’s actually almost 9:30 but we’ve lost 2 hours over the past 2 days, and I still feel their presence with me. Losing the first hour wasn’t so bad, since we lost it in Utah and gained more discussion topics than boredom could combat. And the salt flats were quite charming. I’d trade an hour for salt flats at dusk anyday.

            But the 2^nd hour we lost—that one hit hard. Nebraska took an hour from us and gave nothing in return. Less than nothing, really. Nebraska was sort of like a vacuum that sucked all traces of hope, love, or happiness from our souls. The only thing impervious to the soul sucking was the cow stench and I’d much rather NE had kept that for itself.

            Needless to say, the Captain and I put out several distress calls to family and friends. My mother, farm raised as she is, said the smell of cows was quite nice. “Yummy,” I believe she said. The SOS to Deb was far more successful and her charming conversation had us feeling nearly human in no time.

            After having all happiness sucked from us, we really weren’t up for another sleep in good ol’ Martin, so we splurged on a Super 8 complete with Cable TV and a shower. Feeling and smelling much better, we’re pointed toward Iowa and will be leaving Omaha and the whole of Nebraska quite soon, as long as this morning traffic lets up sometime.

            We’ll be greeting Iowa with the Beatles “I’m so tired,” which fit much better when the impression was that we’d be crossing the border late last night. But as Iowa marks the end of Nebraska, the song had to be either a victory chant or “I’m so tired” (now that I’ve beaten this giant thoughtless cow of a state). Let me tell you, beating mindless cows can take the life right out of you. But cow defeated, it’s stepping aside and letting us leave. On to Iowa, the birth state of my father. I’ve no witty retort for this fact. I’m still a bit worried about the cow-Nebraska metaphor. I think I’ll blame it on the empty soul.

Skipper

A post-script:

            The fact that Iowa is the birth place of Elijah Wood has just occurred to me. No wait, it occurred to the Captain, who shared this fascinating fact with me. Okay, let’s slow this down a bit. I’m supposed to be the freak for liking Elijah Wood but SHE knows his birth state? Hmmm…..

The Captain: I read it in freaking “Premiere” magazine! I just remember useless stuff! My mind is like a sponge!! (all mushy and full of holes!)

Still August 17^th

Still Corn Fields

This is your lovely Captain speaking.

And my god the tollways! Who came up with this stuff?

            The constant driving is finally getting to me and my Skipper. We bicker and fight, are constantly fatigued and thirsty.

            Tension is overwhelming and tempers are on the edge.

Okay, maybe not that bad. But I did cause Krit to swear—hehehe. J

Iowa into IL: The Chicago Soundtrack; Broadway 1999.

Perfect, ne?

Still August 17^th (does this day ever end?!)

Location: Nowhere, Indiana

            In other news, Martin covered one whole state and 100 miles of another on 1 tank of gas—go Martin!! (to which the Skipper replies: yeah, but their small states).

Currently, we are listening to some CD this guy made for Krit filled with Megadeath and Iron Maiden. Is that true love or what?

IL to ID music: “Rock N Roll Pt.2” by Gary Glitter. Because ID is home to the Hoosiers! And this is a sport stadium song.

We’ve entered the tiny states—a godsend after Nebraska. The Skipper has done most of the driving today. Hmph. It’s weird being the passenger in one’s own car. Let’s see: today’s events include calling Kim and driving through corn fields. We’ve stopped at the Mississippi River so Krit could take a few pics for her dad. And I waded in it. I’m now officially on the other side (and why does that feel like something? I hear Jim in my head).

            The landscape has gotten progressively greener, a relief from the deserts and static landscape of the West (i.e, Nebraska). Impressions of Chicago: lost of people and construction.

            Not much else to report except:

            To go to Boston or not? We are a mere 600 miles from Buffalo. It’s a financial question. Amt I willing to spend more money to see Deb?

            It’d be a real adventures but expensive. And we could see the Gozas. However, I did save up quite a bit this summer. Hmmm.

(The following are directions which I obtained from Tim Tomasik, librarian, and Debbra Mungo, neighbor in order to go to Cape Cod IF we decided to go)

Gozas:

(508) 896-XXXX

-à 18^th: Brewster Ladies’ Library: 2 pm

1822 Main St, Brewster, MA 02631

Route 6A

Exit 10 –rte 124 north

To route 6A

L to Library

To Massachuesetts:

825 miles

80 east

1-90 east---564.5 miles

R on 1-87S toward NY=14.5 miles

Exit 21 onto NY state thruway east. Becomes Mass Turnpike 123 miles

Exit 11a to 1-495s toward Cape Cod—58 miles

1-495 à Rte 25 east

Exit #2 Us 6 onto local road toward Sagamor Boar (?) 0.7 miles

(despite these confusing directions, we did not get lost.)

18 August 05. Thursday

Nickerson Campground. Near Brewster, Mass. On the other side of the country!!

Repeat—other side!!On the very peninsula of Cape Cod!

Too many exclamation points there.

First: We are with the Gozas—yes the Gozas. Camping with them by their generosity—I haven’t gone camping in hella days but the skipper is an old hand. I guess I should start with the facts and move into the story—wait. What?

Okay so Indiana:

            “Let’s go see the Gozas.”—me

            “Okay! We’ll drive all night!”—Krit

191/2 hours later, we arrived in MA, passing Buffalo. Yep, that’s right. Driving past our supposed destination. Further down into Mass and into Cape Cod where we saw the last 10 minutes of the Act!vated Storytellers’ show—The Emperor’s New Clothes. Hehehe.

Facts:

Skipper drove from the Mississippi River to just outside of Buffalo (that’s right; all night. The Captain took some Tylenol PM and passed out)

Captain drove from Buffalo to Brewster, Mass.

Line songs:

Ohio: “Wishing and Waiting” by Jack Johnson, our hero. Because you are wishing and waiting to be somewhere else.

Penn: something? John Mayer “Home Life.” The Skipper says there is a story to this but she doesn’t remember.

NY: “Newsies Soundtrack”—duh!

Mass: Boston’s “More than a Feeling” because Boston is the capital of Mass.

Saturday, August 20^th, 2005:

The journey ends.

            After camping with the Gozas (and staying up until 1 am talking with Zephyr (And shooed into our separate tents finally by his mother)), we went bike riding on the cape. It was lovely—at points woody and calm, and others marsh-y (huh? Is that even a word?!) and leaving the taste of salt on your lips.

            We then left the Gozas (sadly, I must say. Every time I see them, my attachment grows stronger. (it could be the aversion to grad school though (nah, it’s them))) and ventured northwest to Boston, passing streets named after characters from Moby Dick!!! Yay!! The skipper documented while I theorized—hehe.

            Then came Boston, a ridiculous town I must say. We got a bit lost (okay, lost for an hour and then some but hey—who’s counting?). Finally, we arrived at Deb’s and to her loving arms and welcome face. We spent the night in her cutie studio apartment—little and filled with clothing and books with a door that opened into another man’s closet. (enter crude joke here) It felt lived in and loved.

            We ate pizza with mad sauce and watched “Fat Actress”—well, Deb and Krit did. I fell asleep, as per usual. This morning we sadly departed from our beloved Deb, with promises to see each other soon. This cemented the move into Buffalo for me. I mean, I’m on the east side with Deb but without her in a sense—without anyone really. The drive back to Buffalo was long-ish and tiring.

            We stopped to eat at Max’s by the airport. To send Krit properly off, we hate Beef on weck (a local delicacy) and Krit took a box of buffalo wings on the plane with her.

            As we were saying good bye, I started to cry—alone in a big city that is not “my” city. Hell, it’s not even my coast.

            Damn.

            As I was saying good bye, Z called and said he was going to see “Red Eye.” Argh. Bastard (which is not true because I know both of his parents. Oh well. Adjective is still being applied (or is it a predicate nominative)).    

            After getting a bit lost in Buffalo, I arrived—solo and co-pilotless—at Monte’s house. Listening to 8 Mile for a spirit booster. He is everything Kim said and more. Such a mix of high and low class.

            I feel lucky.

            Especially after seeing the cute little apartment with plenty of book space. And a porch. Oh my.

            Still—alone in a different city that I don’t even begin to know how to navigate.

            “Philosophy is a leaky boat which must be repaired at sea.”—Wittgenstein.

            Here’s hoping I know how to fix a boat while it’s sinking.

Signing off—Ellison Jones, PI

So I leased an apartment today. 17 xs 17 for 440 a month, Includig utilities! Buffalo rocks! Actually, the Evans rocks b/c she hooked me up but again, nothing new there. The Evans usually rocks.

And I'll be in Hawai'i at her weddiung soon. What does one do in Hawai'i? What does one wear to a wedding? Oh my.

I feel.....uninformed and frightened. Nothing new there.