The Tour de Nord America
"When you have no destination, any road will get you there"
"When you have no destination, any road will get you there"
Preface
In the summer of 1988 Kevin Halvorsen and myself found ourselves in
interesting positions in our lives, or crossroads. Kevin had graduated from
Rutgers University the summer before, and I had just completed my undergrad
degree from Stockton State College the proceeding May. Who we were or what
we were about to do was nothing new, and had been done before by many a
duo I’m sure. Only the decade, the names, and the model of Volkswagen had
changed.
I met young Gordo in the summer of 1974 as we joined the ranks of the young
cap league superstars called the Dodgers in an Eatontown, New Jersey
baseball league. He was a year ahead of me in sports, but we were both in the
same grade. Same cap league team, opponents in little league (a Steer and a
Smokeater), passers by in Memorial Junior High, and finally ending up in the
same social group called the “soccer jocks” in Monmouth Regional High
School. Neither of us really played soccer, go figure.
Both off to New Jersey Colleges in 1983, where we kept in touch during the
school year, and plowed through beer after beer in the summertime.
1987 found Gord a management graduate and he took a job running a restaurant
called the Mooring in Point Pleasant. The ex-class president didn’t really dig
the work, but he worked hard as he always did, and made the best of it.
1988 was the year I finished up college, after respectfully completing every
college guy’s plan, the five-year program. I was delayed by a semester in
England, and one in Washington DC, which all sounds very impressive I guess.
The reality of the situation was, I could always look busy even when I had no
idea what is was that I was doing.
By July of 1988, I was preparing to enroll in a flight school in Tulsa, Oklahoma
early the next year. I was going to become a commercial pilot and had never
been more excited in my life. This left me with no job come September, and no
responsibility. Kevin had always been responsible.
With my desire to keep busy with nothing to do, and Kev's desire to be more
like his really cool brother Brett, Kev quit his job. He purchased a sweet VW
Scirocco. We gathered addresses nationwide of acquaintances from
throughout the years. We fueled up, packed the Spam, and lots of tissues. It
was time to look for America (roll the Crosby, Stills, and Nash stuff now).
This is a record of some pretty good memories from our lives. Like a home
movie, it is sure to bore the pants off the casual reader. Sorry dudes.
Editors Note: Keep in mind verbatim journal reproduction was written by a 22
year old American male. The words 'cruise, cool, and beer' are incredibly
overused.
Part One
September 6, 1988
The Journey Begins
Things got off on a real positive note as Gord was a half-hour late, no problem.
The next thing that happened was that Gordo’s tape deck decided to either play
at 98 or 5, so needless to say- no tapes all afternoon. I navigated us up the
Parkway to Rt. 287, to the Merritt Parkway in Connecticut. This was a fun road
to cruise on. After a brief stop in New Canaan (home of one David Letterman),
we continued on to East Hartford to see a friend of Kev’s.
She wasn’t home, so we preceded on the Springfield, Massachusetts- home of
Western New England College, and Christian Olsen. After an unsuccessful
attempt to find a tape head cleaner, Olsen at his apartment, and the Basketball
Hall of Fame (it’s a hoax!), we plotted our course for Concord, Massachusetts.
This turned out to be a real BIG mistake, because it wasn’t the correct
Concord. Apparently, every state north of New York has a town called fucking
Concord. Luckily for us, we noticed our mishap and compromised on a
destination that would give us easy access to one or more sleeping areas.
At Newton, Massachusetts we (well actually “I”) called Dan Boisvert, alias ‘the
beef”, and ex-roommate of one Al “the walk” Walker, and a fellow Washington
DC intern with me. He was home, we got directions and headed southeast to
Abington, Massachusetts. “Beef” met us at a nearby gas station, and we were
at his very colonial place in no time. We consumed much beverage over the
next two hours, made a video segment, which promises to be, well, interesting,
and hit Boston for an introduction of “what happens in Bean Town at night”.
Bean town wasn’t exactly happnin' on the Tuesday evening, so after a beer at
the Boston Beach Club, and one more at Harvard Square (full of intellectuals I’
m sure), we went back to “Beef’s” at warp nine, and concluded the day’s
festivities.
Note: This entry written on Rt. 93 North, pardon the sloppiness.
P.S.- The compass working nicely.
September 7, 1988
What Happened to 97?
We didn’t get out of “Beef’s” until noon, and then proceeded into Boston for the
day. Considering the fact that we hit major traffic on the way, it’s amazing that
we were only ten minutes late getting to the Commonwealth Brewing Company
(where they make their own beer!). After one home made brew-ha-ha we
walked around and had lunch in the delightful Fanuil Hall. While eating, this dog
(Brandy) that was sitting next to me would have been the smile of the day.
That however was won by the girl she was with, who if I may say, was BUENO!
We left “Beef” and walked around some more before taking the “T” to Fenway
Park. Once there we snuck in and video taped a segment starring “the piece”
(oops, spelled TPEES). Satisfied with our felony, we returned to the car and I
called Bob Witek in Concord, NEW HAMPSHIRE.
We then navigated ourselves to Pigeon Cove, Massachusetts (upper New
England), where we found a cool place to eat P&J’s and throw rocks.
Afterwards, we headed NW to Concord, which brought up through all kinds of
“rabbit roads”. The term “rabbit road” is derived from the way said roads are
marked on a map. These roads are deemed, thin as a hair-hah! One such RR
that we were on, vanished into thin air (RR 97).
Once in Concord, we called Bob and headed over for a night of beers and Bob’
s, as well as a place called Tio Juanas. There we drank many gifts, and had a
good time. Concord is a clean Red Bank sort of town we have decided. What a
terrible sentence.
Note: Bretzger’s TPEES continues to be a highlight in this excursion.
September 8, 1988
Citco Lives
The day began on a sour note as I backed Kev’s car (Jones) into one of Bob’s
roommates’ girlfriends’ car in the driveway and Kev followed suit by hitting
someone’s car in the street as we left. No damage, no foul, and we merrily
went on our way. After some donuts and coffee, we plotted course for South
Royalton, Vermont, home of the Vermont Law School and Charles Murphey.
Charles was a good friend of Mike Borneo’s, and he, like most of the people in
this story, was not expecting us. The drive up Rt. 89 was really nice. It was
also set at a brisk pace as we averaged close to seventy-five MPH all the way
up. South Royalton is the size of Wolcott Park in Eatontown, New Jersey.
South Royalton could also be described as “quaint”. I believe I had a friend
also who was enrolled at this school (Mark Kerrigan, Monmouth Park associate),
and the whole thing kinda reminded me of “The Waltons”. We arrived and
immediately began asking everyone if they knew who Chuck was. Not
surprising of a town the size of a good backyard, they all did. We found Chuck
in a classroom, and then kicked around by the river next to the school and
waited for Charles to get out of school. We then ate lunch at J&L’s Pizza shop,
made a video segment, and split.
Our new destination was the White Mountains of New Hampshire, and then on
to Monson, Maine. The White Mountains were really cool, and we stopped at
Silver Cascade to view a dandy of a waterfall. This is the first time I almost
experienced definite injury and possible death. As we climbed this thing, I
found I had no traction with my NB’s, and my center of gravity equally sucked.
This caused instant alert and much dismay. I finally made it down and we
continued on to Maine, where I immediately stopped the car and did a few push-
ups, as Kev relieved his organ in the bush.
Gordo took over the high speed pursuit from there, and we rolled along
Interstate 2 to Mexico, New York, where I called in my football picks for the
week, and also where we purchased ham and cheese chow. At the University
of Maine, Farmingham, we built our food and had a pretty good time being
idiots. We then continued towards our destination (Monson), and this took
about an hour and a half because we got lost- ah let’s make that redirected.
Then it took another half-hour to find the dam youth hostel.
As soon as we arrived at the creepy looking hostel, a white kitten charged into
Jones. Good sign? At any rate, we got ourselves arranged in the old church
and played an uncompleted ping pong match that I am protesting, before
calling it a night.
Note: I wanted to see a Moose or Bison but had to settle for five cats, one dog,
and one raccoon. Better luck next time.
P.S.- Arcadia is a good vacation spot that we missed. Next time.
September 9, 1988
Moose Alert and the Big Shakedown
Woke up early and got the hell out of the Old Church in the early morning fog.
Today’s destination was Quebec, Ontario. We ate breakfast at this severely
American ice cream/restaurant, then headed out on to what we thought was Rt.
615, but it was actually a private road full of logging trucks that ended at Baxter
Park. This was right after Kokojo, Maine, population three (no shit, the sign said
“3”). Kokojo wasn’t really happening on this day, but it did have a nice lake, so
we stayed and threw rocks while we re-directed ourselves.
After finding the correct course, we headed north to Canada, where we were
searched and almost seized. Apparently we looked like drug runners, so we
had to drive into this garage. The border Canuck explained to us if we had any
drugs to fess em’ up, and they’d give us a break. We told the guy to search
away and that we didn’t have any narcotics. He must have believed us,
because he just looked at us, then let us go, eh.
From there it was about an hour drive to Quebec. Once there we stopped and
got a map, exchanged some GB’s (greenbacks) and found Park de Champs,
where we built P&J’s. From there we decided to set up camp forty-five
minutes east, and then check out some “chutes” (Canadian for waterfalls and
valleys).
The campground was closed (0-1), we attempted to set up the tent elsewhere,
and found out that the poles to the tent were still in New Jersey (0-2). The new
plan after unsuccessfully finding a cheap motel (0-3) was to drink all night, nap
in the car, and drive to Ed Kelly’s early the next morning. We did (1-4).
We sucked down a twelve of Molsen in the car and then hit a few bars outside
the walls of Quebec City. Fun. Shmoe Kev was smashed. We decided to walk
around inside the walls and check the place out. It was really cool and this one
park overlooks the river at about a mile above the planet. THEN we got lost and
this took a while to get out of (map was drawn). Finally we found our way, got
the car, parked it, and crashed.
Note- Gotta go back to Quebec someday. It is so beautiful and listening to the
natives do that French thing is outstanding.
September 10, 1988
Hello Pink Man!
This journal writing isn’t coming together as easily as anticipated. No more real
long, dull entries, just the facts and the odd stuff. THE FACTS: Woke up in car
at 7:45 am and drove to Ed’s. Kev slept pretty much the whole way and the trip
to Plattsburgh, New York took about three and half-hours. At Ed’s, saw Owen
(newest Kelly product) and Maureen (Mrs. Ed) and went around base before
going to Whiteface Mountain, Lake Placid (home of 1980 Winter Olympics).
Real, real up there.
Came back and visited Ausable Chasm, a real cool waterfall/staircase like rock
formation. Rented two movies, had dinner, and hurled back some cold ones.
Peace (not tpees).
September 11, 1988
Jets 23 Cleveland 3
** On another smaller note- Kelly wins on a dirty TD… JUST THE FACTS: Ate
breakfasts after Donovan licked my toes this morning (you guessed it, the Kelly
pooch) and went back to Lake Placid. There we rode the lift to the top and back
down. Went to the most dangerous bobsled in the world and walked down it,
drove by the ski jump whatdoyacall, ate a snack at the arches, and came home
to watch the Jets wup the Browns 23-3.
Dinner was great and of course the hospitality ridiculous. Afterwards we had
the Kelly vs. White knee football game, which I lost due to a real cheap TD in
overtime.
September 12, 1988
Boats and the Bummer
FACT: Owen’s face was the first thing I saw today. Then Kev, Ed, and I rented
a boat and had a blast. The boat guy gave us instructions that included a map
of where and where not to go. We went way out of bounds, once we were
underway. Prior to being “underway” however, Ed decided that he would
initially drive the boast. He was boasting about how he was an expert boater.
He proceeded to immediately drive the boat into another boat as we left dock.
He didn’t drive again for a while.
We explored all kinds of islands in the giant waterway between New York and
Vermont. We explored and named several of them. The law of the island was
that whoever made it to the highest point of any said island got to name it. One
Halvorsen, one White Island, a third Kelly island for a brief period of time,
however Ed had not reached the apex, and in a dash to do so lost our
navigational device into the lake, of which Halv spotted from the top of the
island. Word.
We floated freely for a while and decided to break another rule by navigating a
river (a big no-no by the supplied rules of the boat- eh, phooey). What a blast!
On the way through I fell off the front of the boat as Gordo gunned the throttle
and broke the camera. It wasn’t anything serious but may be a pain in the ass
to fix. Oh well. Then, after Ed and Kev pull us (me) out of the six-inch water at
the mouth of the river, Ed almost sinks us by letting go of the steering device
while in a serious turn like a dork, in some very choppy surf.
We came home (I call it home like I live there), went to eat pizza, hit the mall,
and watched Monday Night Football.
Note: 1. This pen sucks. 2. Niagara Falls in the morning -> big drive -> big
cash.
September 13, 1988
Eight Hour Drive, Two Pages, One State
After a great weekend at Ed and Maureen’s we said adios and hit that dusty trial
again. Toda’s destination was Niagara Falls, which was some four hundred
miles from Plattsburgh. The drive took a lone, I’m talkin’ lone time, mostly
because we didn’t exactly take the fastest way there. We took the fun way.
Past Lake Placid (for the third time), down Rt. 3, to Rt. 87, to Rt. 91, and then
north to Lake Ontario to Kendall, New York. We bought food and ate dinner at
Lakeside State Park. At around 8:00 p.m. we hit Niagara and found the hostel.
We checked in, got settled, and walked to the falls and around town before
turning in for the night.
Note: This falls thing is way out of hand- what happened?
Another Note: Budget will now be $20 bucks a day.
Next time: Cooperstown, New York and the baseball Hall of Fame.
September 14, 1988
Man vs. Death
Okay, okay, I know I mentioned the act of dying, to die, and death on occasion,
but this is way, way out of hand. More on that later. We got up, showered, and
walked to the falls by 10:00 am. Next, we ate donuts and coffee on our side,
before walking to the Geological Museum. There we learned a lot about the
falls and the idiots/champions who have challenged its magnitude. The fee
was only fifty cents and worth every penny.
Since it was still early, we decided to walk along this path to the whirlpool,
some mile to a mile and a half downstream. This sounded great but ended up
turning into a nightmare.
I spotted this cliff thing that led down to another trail. We took it. We paid
dearly. For a while it was okay, mostly packed gravel and rock, but then it got
steep and the path vanished.
Now here’s the deal- we wanted to push on because we had reason to believe
we could get out of this thing. However, after awhile, every step turned into a
risk, as slate and porous shale dislodged and slid to depths far below that I
cared not to tumble. A few times we contemplated aborting mission, but after
some serious thought, pushed on. When the whirlpool (the giant dead end of
the river that swirls around and sucks all life down 170 feet), became visible
and no exit in sight, we came close to “singing for help” (Super Dave Osborn
reference)- but some spray paint far below gave us the idea that something
good was to come. It was! We found part of a path, then a cable, and finally a
break in the cliff and lifted ourselves out. The two-hour journey was over.
Whew! I was pretty sure that one of us (and hopefully not me) was going to
slide on all that loose shit right into the river. Once in the river, downstream to
the vortex thing, and right to the bottom. Again, whew!
We washed the blood, sweat, and dirt off our exhausted selves, walked back to
the falls and took the “Maid of the Mist” boat into, yes I said into the falls.
Totally fucking awesome ($5.25 plus fifty cents to get onto the bridge), and we
got pretty wet too. When the boat docked, we rested and then walked over the
rainbow bridge to Canada, where we kicked around before exiting back to the
good ol’ US of A (which costs ten cents, no biggie).
For the time being, our new destination was Radio Shack, to purchase repair
products and accessories for our video camera. Then back to the Niagara
hostel, where we dumped, filled our ice tea jug, and spit for Michigan via
Canada.
We drove west along Interstate 3 until about midnight. We stopped at John E.
Pearce Park along Lake Erie. This was THE darkest and scariest place on earth,
but considering how the rest of our day had been- no problem (hopefully the
bears will eat Kev first).
Note: Where’s my mother?? I called all night and got no answer. I suspect
gambling again!
Note #2: The US side of the falls was much nicer than the Canadian side I
thought. Their side is real Seaside like. Ours is more like a park.
Note #3: The falls only operates at 50% of its total potential as the US and
Canada borrows water for hydropower. At night, only 25% flows over because
more power is harnessed that way. Pretty cool. It must have been super-intense
at 100%. The whole falls scene is really impressive.
September 15, 1988
Michigan and Sea Shells
Happy to report that we lived through our second Canadian car/hotel night.
Lake Erie is a lot nicer in the morning then at night. We drove west until we got
to the last McDonalds (also known as the arches) in the nation. There we ate
breakfast and used the hell out of the bathroom facilities, before heading west
again past Detroit.
Our next destination was University of Eastern Michigan in Ypsalanti. I wanted
to say hello to Bob Cabello and check out the Alpha Sigma Phi house there. We
did not find either one, but did managed to see some shit hot mammas, just
what we needed as far as energy to move onward to Ann Arbor, Michigan.
This was one happnin’ spot. We found the Kappa Sigma house and stopped in
to say hello. We then cruised around town a little while, and left shortly after
seeing more impressive life forms. Ann Arbor and the U of M were very cool,
however it is not quite the same without Keith Jackson ("whooooooah Nelly!").
The next couple of hours were travel time straight up the gut of Michigan.
Around 6:30 p.m. we stopped at the world's largest collection of seashells. Oh
boy, this was very exciting. There we saw a giant clam (which was slightly
larger than the clams Gordo has been hockin’ out all trip), which was advertised
as “the man killing clam”. Yeah, those clams have been known to jump right
out at you.
We crossed the Mackinac Bridge, got $17.60 worth of gas (got took way
downtown there- $1.59 a gallon plus a free car wash- big deal!), ate P&J’s,
continued on to get stuck in some sand at a cool sunset, and ended up at 10:20
p.m. at a motel. At the motel Gordo purchased a room (a.k.a. the buyer), while I
ducked out of sight and slimed in later (a.k.a. the dodger). Good deal for twenty-
three bucks and some change. Sleepin'.
Note: It would have been cool to see Bob and The Alpha Sig houses of EMU, U
of M, and even NMU in Marquette, but it was not to be.
In the summer of 1988 Kevin Halvorsen and myself found ourselves in
interesting positions in our lives, or crossroads. Kevin had graduated from
Rutgers University the summer before, and I had just completed my undergrad
degree from Stockton State College the proceeding May. Who we were or what
we were about to do was nothing new, and had been done before by many a
duo I’m sure. Only the decade, the names, and the model of Volkswagen had
changed.
I met young Gordo in the summer of 1974 as we joined the ranks of the young
cap league superstars called the Dodgers in an Eatontown, New Jersey
baseball league. He was a year ahead of me in sports, but we were both in the
same grade. Same cap league team, opponents in little league (a Steer and a
Smokeater), passers by in Memorial Junior High, and finally ending up in the
same social group called the “soccer jocks” in Monmouth Regional High
School. Neither of us really played soccer, go figure.
Both off to New Jersey Colleges in 1983, where we kept in touch during the
school year, and plowed through beer after beer in the summertime.
1987 found Gord a management graduate and he took a job running a restaurant
called the Mooring in Point Pleasant. The ex-class president didn’t really dig
the work, but he worked hard as he always did, and made the best of it.
1988 was the year I finished up college, after respectfully completing every
college guy’s plan, the five-year program. I was delayed by a semester in
England, and one in Washington DC, which all sounds very impressive I guess.
The reality of the situation was, I could always look busy even when I had no
idea what is was that I was doing.
By July of 1988, I was preparing to enroll in a flight school in Tulsa, Oklahoma
early the next year. I was going to become a commercial pilot and had never
been more excited in my life. This left me with no job come September, and no
responsibility. Kevin had always been responsible.
With my desire to keep busy with nothing to do, and Kev's desire to be more
like his really cool brother Brett, Kev quit his job. He purchased a sweet VW
Scirocco. We gathered addresses nationwide of acquaintances from
throughout the years. We fueled up, packed the Spam, and lots of tissues. It
was time to look for America (roll the Crosby, Stills, and Nash stuff now).
This is a record of some pretty good memories from our lives. Like a home
movie, it is sure to bore the pants off the casual reader. Sorry dudes.
Editors Note: Keep in mind verbatim journal reproduction was written by a 22
year old American male. The words 'cruise, cool, and beer' are incredibly
overused.
Part One
September 6, 1988
The Journey Begins
Things got off on a real positive note as Gord was a half-hour late, no problem.
The next thing that happened was that Gordo’s tape deck decided to either play
at 98 or 5, so needless to say- no tapes all afternoon. I navigated us up the
Parkway to Rt. 287, to the Merritt Parkway in Connecticut. This was a fun road
to cruise on. After a brief stop in New Canaan (home of one David Letterman),
we continued on to East Hartford to see a friend of Kev’s.
She wasn’t home, so we preceded on the Springfield, Massachusetts- home of
Western New England College, and Christian Olsen. After an unsuccessful
attempt to find a tape head cleaner, Olsen at his apartment, and the Basketball
Hall of Fame (it’s a hoax!), we plotted our course for Concord, Massachusetts.
This turned out to be a real BIG mistake, because it wasn’t the correct
Concord. Apparently, every state north of New York has a town called fucking
Concord. Luckily for us, we noticed our mishap and compromised on a
destination that would give us easy access to one or more sleeping areas.
At Newton, Massachusetts we (well actually “I”) called Dan Boisvert, alias ‘the
beef”, and ex-roommate of one Al “the walk” Walker, and a fellow Washington
DC intern with me. He was home, we got directions and headed southeast to
Abington, Massachusetts. “Beef” met us at a nearby gas station, and we were
at his very colonial place in no time. We consumed much beverage over the
next two hours, made a video segment, which promises to be, well, interesting,
and hit Boston for an introduction of “what happens in Bean Town at night”.
Bean town wasn’t exactly happnin' on the Tuesday evening, so after a beer at
the Boston Beach Club, and one more at Harvard Square (full of intellectuals I’
m sure), we went back to “Beef’s” at warp nine, and concluded the day’s
festivities.
Note: This entry written on Rt. 93 North, pardon the sloppiness.
P.S.- The compass working nicely.
September 7, 1988
What Happened to 97?
We didn’t get out of “Beef’s” until noon, and then proceeded into Boston for the
day. Considering the fact that we hit major traffic on the way, it’s amazing that
we were only ten minutes late getting to the Commonwealth Brewing Company
(where they make their own beer!). After one home made brew-ha-ha we
walked around and had lunch in the delightful Fanuil Hall. While eating, this dog
(Brandy) that was sitting next to me would have been the smile of the day.
That however was won by the girl she was with, who if I may say, was BUENO!
We left “Beef” and walked around some more before taking the “T” to Fenway
Park. Once there we snuck in and video taped a segment starring “the piece”
(oops, spelled TPEES). Satisfied with our felony, we returned to the car and I
called Bob Witek in Concord, NEW HAMPSHIRE.
We then navigated ourselves to Pigeon Cove, Massachusetts (upper New
England), where we found a cool place to eat P&J’s and throw rocks.
Afterwards, we headed NW to Concord, which brought up through all kinds of
“rabbit roads”. The term “rabbit road” is derived from the way said roads are
marked on a map. These roads are deemed, thin as a hair-hah! One such RR
that we were on, vanished into thin air (RR 97).
Once in Concord, we called Bob and headed over for a night of beers and Bob’
s, as well as a place called Tio Juanas. There we drank many gifts, and had a
good time. Concord is a clean Red Bank sort of town we have decided. What a
terrible sentence.
Note: Bretzger’s TPEES continues to be a highlight in this excursion.
September 8, 1988
Citco Lives
The day began on a sour note as I backed Kev’s car (Jones) into one of Bob’s
roommates’ girlfriends’ car in the driveway and Kev followed suit by hitting
someone’s car in the street as we left. No damage, no foul, and we merrily
went on our way. After some donuts and coffee, we plotted course for South
Royalton, Vermont, home of the Vermont Law School and Charles Murphey.
Charles was a good friend of Mike Borneo’s, and he, like most of the people in
this story, was not expecting us. The drive up Rt. 89 was really nice. It was
also set at a brisk pace as we averaged close to seventy-five MPH all the way
up. South Royalton is the size of Wolcott Park in Eatontown, New Jersey.
South Royalton could also be described as “quaint”. I believe I had a friend
also who was enrolled at this school (Mark Kerrigan, Monmouth Park associate),
and the whole thing kinda reminded me of “The Waltons”. We arrived and
immediately began asking everyone if they knew who Chuck was. Not
surprising of a town the size of a good backyard, they all did. We found Chuck
in a classroom, and then kicked around by the river next to the school and
waited for Charles to get out of school. We then ate lunch at J&L’s Pizza shop,
made a video segment, and split.
Our new destination was the White Mountains of New Hampshire, and then on
to Monson, Maine. The White Mountains were really cool, and we stopped at
Silver Cascade to view a dandy of a waterfall. This is the first time I almost
experienced definite injury and possible death. As we climbed this thing, I
found I had no traction with my NB’s, and my center of gravity equally sucked.
This caused instant alert and much dismay. I finally made it down and we
continued on to Maine, where I immediately stopped the car and did a few push-
ups, as Kev relieved his organ in the bush.
Gordo took over the high speed pursuit from there, and we rolled along
Interstate 2 to Mexico, New York, where I called in my football picks for the
week, and also where we purchased ham and cheese chow. At the University
of Maine, Farmingham, we built our food and had a pretty good time being
idiots. We then continued towards our destination (Monson), and this took
about an hour and a half because we got lost- ah let’s make that redirected.
Then it took another half-hour to find the dam youth hostel.
As soon as we arrived at the creepy looking hostel, a white kitten charged into
Jones. Good sign? At any rate, we got ourselves arranged in the old church
and played an uncompleted ping pong match that I am protesting, before
calling it a night.
Note: I wanted to see a Moose or Bison but had to settle for five cats, one dog,
and one raccoon. Better luck next time.
P.S.- Arcadia is a good vacation spot that we missed. Next time.
September 9, 1988
Moose Alert and the Big Shakedown
Woke up early and got the hell out of the Old Church in the early morning fog.
Today’s destination was Quebec, Ontario. We ate breakfast at this severely
American ice cream/restaurant, then headed out on to what we thought was Rt.
615, but it was actually a private road full of logging trucks that ended at Baxter
Park. This was right after Kokojo, Maine, population three (no shit, the sign said
“3”). Kokojo wasn’t really happening on this day, but it did have a nice lake, so
we stayed and threw rocks while we re-directed ourselves.
After finding the correct course, we headed north to Canada, where we were
searched and almost seized. Apparently we looked like drug runners, so we
had to drive into this garage. The border Canuck explained to us if we had any
drugs to fess em’ up, and they’d give us a break. We told the guy to search
away and that we didn’t have any narcotics. He must have believed us,
because he just looked at us, then let us go, eh.
From there it was about an hour drive to Quebec. Once there we stopped and
got a map, exchanged some GB’s (greenbacks) and found Park de Champs,
where we built P&J’s. From there we decided to set up camp forty-five
minutes east, and then check out some “chutes” (Canadian for waterfalls and
valleys).
The campground was closed (0-1), we attempted to set up the tent elsewhere,
and found out that the poles to the tent were still in New Jersey (0-2). The new
plan after unsuccessfully finding a cheap motel (0-3) was to drink all night, nap
in the car, and drive to Ed Kelly’s early the next morning. We did (1-4).
We sucked down a twelve of Molsen in the car and then hit a few bars outside
the walls of Quebec City. Fun. Shmoe Kev was smashed. We decided to walk
around inside the walls and check the place out. It was really cool and this one
park overlooks the river at about a mile above the planet. THEN we got lost and
this took a while to get out of (map was drawn). Finally we found our way, got
the car, parked it, and crashed.
Note- Gotta go back to Quebec someday. It is so beautiful and listening to the
natives do that French thing is outstanding.
September 10, 1988
Hello Pink Man!
This journal writing isn’t coming together as easily as anticipated. No more real
long, dull entries, just the facts and the odd stuff. THE FACTS: Woke up in car
at 7:45 am and drove to Ed’s. Kev slept pretty much the whole way and the trip
to Plattsburgh, New York took about three and half-hours. At Ed’s, saw Owen
(newest Kelly product) and Maureen (Mrs. Ed) and went around base before
going to Whiteface Mountain, Lake Placid (home of 1980 Winter Olympics).
Real, real up there.
Came back and visited Ausable Chasm, a real cool waterfall/staircase like rock
formation. Rented two movies, had dinner, and hurled back some cold ones.
Peace (not tpees).
September 11, 1988
Jets 23 Cleveland 3
** On another smaller note- Kelly wins on a dirty TD… JUST THE FACTS: Ate
breakfasts after Donovan licked my toes this morning (you guessed it, the Kelly
pooch) and went back to Lake Placid. There we rode the lift to the top and back
down. Went to the most dangerous bobsled in the world and walked down it,
drove by the ski jump whatdoyacall, ate a snack at the arches, and came home
to watch the Jets wup the Browns 23-3.
Dinner was great and of course the hospitality ridiculous. Afterwards we had
the Kelly vs. White knee football game, which I lost due to a real cheap TD in
overtime.
September 12, 1988
Boats and the Bummer
FACT: Owen’s face was the first thing I saw today. Then Kev, Ed, and I rented
a boat and had a blast. The boat guy gave us instructions that included a map
of where and where not to go. We went way out of bounds, once we were
underway. Prior to being “underway” however, Ed decided that he would
initially drive the boast. He was boasting about how he was an expert boater.
He proceeded to immediately drive the boat into another boat as we left dock.
He didn’t drive again for a while.
We explored all kinds of islands in the giant waterway between New York and
Vermont. We explored and named several of them. The law of the island was
that whoever made it to the highest point of any said island got to name it. One
Halvorsen, one White Island, a third Kelly island for a brief period of time,
however Ed had not reached the apex, and in a dash to do so lost our
navigational device into the lake, of which Halv spotted from the top of the
island. Word.
We floated freely for a while and decided to break another rule by navigating a
river (a big no-no by the supplied rules of the boat- eh, phooey). What a blast!
On the way through I fell off the front of the boat as Gordo gunned the throttle
and broke the camera. It wasn’t anything serious but may be a pain in the ass
to fix. Oh well. Then, after Ed and Kev pull us (me) out of the six-inch water at
the mouth of the river, Ed almost sinks us by letting go of the steering device
while in a serious turn like a dork, in some very choppy surf.
We came home (I call it home like I live there), went to eat pizza, hit the mall,
and watched Monday Night Football.
Note: 1. This pen sucks. 2. Niagara Falls in the morning -> big drive -> big
cash.
September 13, 1988
Eight Hour Drive, Two Pages, One State
After a great weekend at Ed and Maureen’s we said adios and hit that dusty trial
again. Toda’s destination was Niagara Falls, which was some four hundred
miles from Plattsburgh. The drive took a lone, I’m talkin’ lone time, mostly
because we didn’t exactly take the fastest way there. We took the fun way.
Past Lake Placid (for the third time), down Rt. 3, to Rt. 87, to Rt. 91, and then
north to Lake Ontario to Kendall, New York. We bought food and ate dinner at
Lakeside State Park. At around 8:00 p.m. we hit Niagara and found the hostel.
We checked in, got settled, and walked to the falls and around town before
turning in for the night.
Note: This falls thing is way out of hand- what happened?
Another Note: Budget will now be $20 bucks a day.
Next time: Cooperstown, New York and the baseball Hall of Fame.
September 14, 1988
Man vs. Death
Okay, okay, I know I mentioned the act of dying, to die, and death on occasion,
but this is way, way out of hand. More on that later. We got up, showered, and
walked to the falls by 10:00 am. Next, we ate donuts and coffee on our side,
before walking to the Geological Museum. There we learned a lot about the
falls and the idiots/champions who have challenged its magnitude. The fee
was only fifty cents and worth every penny.
Since it was still early, we decided to walk along this path to the whirlpool,
some mile to a mile and a half downstream. This sounded great but ended up
turning into a nightmare.
I spotted this cliff thing that led down to another trail. We took it. We paid
dearly. For a while it was okay, mostly packed gravel and rock, but then it got
steep and the path vanished.
Now here’s the deal- we wanted to push on because we had reason to believe
we could get out of this thing. However, after awhile, every step turned into a
risk, as slate and porous shale dislodged and slid to depths far below that I
cared not to tumble. A few times we contemplated aborting mission, but after
some serious thought, pushed on. When the whirlpool (the giant dead end of
the river that swirls around and sucks all life down 170 feet), became visible
and no exit in sight, we came close to “singing for help” (Super Dave Osborn
reference)- but some spray paint far below gave us the idea that something
good was to come. It was! We found part of a path, then a cable, and finally a
break in the cliff and lifted ourselves out. The two-hour journey was over.
Whew! I was pretty sure that one of us (and hopefully not me) was going to
slide on all that loose shit right into the river. Once in the river, downstream to
the vortex thing, and right to the bottom. Again, whew!
We washed the blood, sweat, and dirt off our exhausted selves, walked back to
the falls and took the “Maid of the Mist” boat into, yes I said into the falls.
Totally fucking awesome ($5.25 plus fifty cents to get onto the bridge), and we
got pretty wet too. When the boat docked, we rested and then walked over the
rainbow bridge to Canada, where we kicked around before exiting back to the
good ol’ US of A (which costs ten cents, no biggie).
For the time being, our new destination was Radio Shack, to purchase repair
products and accessories for our video camera. Then back to the Niagara
hostel, where we dumped, filled our ice tea jug, and spit for Michigan via
Canada.
We drove west along Interstate 3 until about midnight. We stopped at John E.
Pearce Park along Lake Erie. This was THE darkest and scariest place on earth,
but considering how the rest of our day had been- no problem (hopefully the
bears will eat Kev first).
Note: Where’s my mother?? I called all night and got no answer. I suspect
gambling again!
Note #2: The US side of the falls was much nicer than the Canadian side I
thought. Their side is real Seaside like. Ours is more like a park.
Note #3: The falls only operates at 50% of its total potential as the US and
Canada borrows water for hydropower. At night, only 25% flows over because
more power is harnessed that way. Pretty cool. It must have been super-intense
at 100%. The whole falls scene is really impressive.
September 15, 1988
Michigan and Sea Shells
Happy to report that we lived through our second Canadian car/hotel night.
Lake Erie is a lot nicer in the morning then at night. We drove west until we got
to the last McDonalds (also known as the arches) in the nation. There we ate
breakfast and used the hell out of the bathroom facilities, before heading west
again past Detroit.
Our next destination was University of Eastern Michigan in Ypsalanti. I wanted
to say hello to Bob Cabello and check out the Alpha Sigma Phi house there. We
did not find either one, but did managed to see some shit hot mammas, just
what we needed as far as energy to move onward to Ann Arbor, Michigan.
This was one happnin’ spot. We found the Kappa Sigma house and stopped in
to say hello. We then cruised around town a little while, and left shortly after
seeing more impressive life forms. Ann Arbor and the U of M were very cool,
however it is not quite the same without Keith Jackson ("whooooooah Nelly!").
The next couple of hours were travel time straight up the gut of Michigan.
Around 6:30 p.m. we stopped at the world's largest collection of seashells. Oh
boy, this was very exciting. There we saw a giant clam (which was slightly
larger than the clams Gordo has been hockin’ out all trip), which was advertised
as “the man killing clam”. Yeah, those clams have been known to jump right
out at you.
We crossed the Mackinac Bridge, got $17.60 worth of gas (got took way
downtown there- $1.59 a gallon plus a free car wash- big deal!), ate P&J’s,
continued on to get stuck in some sand at a cool sunset, and ended up at 10:20
p.m. at a motel. At the motel Gordo purchased a room (a.k.a. the buyer), while I
ducked out of sight and slimed in later (a.k.a. the dodger). Good deal for twenty-
three bucks and some change. Sleepin'.
Note: It would have been cool to see Bob and The Alpha Sig houses of EMU, U
of M, and even NMU in Marquette, but it was not to be.
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