Posted by: tlnemethy | June 4, 2013

At The Mouth of the Mississippi

0602131429aIf the ravens of Alaska were the spirits of Sitkan ancestors then the loons of Bemidji must represent the same. I have never heard loons so hauntingly when there is no other sound to accompany them. A vivid symphony of lilting tones and conversation-esque flutings between the numerous loons in the area; I have never come across such a poignant and natural sound in the dead of night than these. Many of my fellow workers find the sounds to be disorienting, and many find the noises creepy in nature, but I find solace in the comfort of a duplicity in emotions.

The nights are darker than I’ve seen in a very long time. I’ve stumbled from my bunkhouse in the middle of the night expecting to find my path illuminated by streetlights or even a distant glow of civilization, but here you find your way in the dark or you must bring your own light.

I think I wandered in search of my own Thoreau or Kerouac existence, but no matter how many places I’ve seen or how many people I’ve met, the solitude had never been less enticing. Here, I find the solitude to be appealing in its woodsy embrace. The cabins are rustic and my bed frame squeaks unbearably with the slightest of movements but committing myself to a summer of being closer to roots, in more ways than one, is enthralling.

The one thing I’m not too fond of is the overbearing populus of winged hellions, name mosquitoes. A0315131601bpparently this year is one for the books because they’ve never seen them this voracious or annoying. I was wearing mesh shoes and I looked down to see about thirty sucking away right through the mesh. It was disturbing to say the least. Seeing the welts that appeared on some of my coworkers from the UK is extremely impressive. Apparently as well as chipmunks, the UK does not breed any form of mosquitoes.

Also, the picture of the windmill was taken in Iowa, not Bemidji. My time has been extremely limited since I’ve been here to scout cool shots. Yeah, I can totally understand that expression on your face. Something akin to Mr. Bigglesworth there?

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Posted by: tlnemethy | June 1, 2013

Red Sky at Morning

So, I completed the second leg of my journey for work, and now I only have one leg left before I’m camping the summer away with a bunch of kidlets. I’m actually really stoked about working with kids since I haven’t gotten that chance very often.

Driving through Wisconsin to get to Iowa was nerve-wracking, as the morning I left it was detailed in the weather report that there were going to be severe thunder storms and possible tornadoes pretty much my entire route. I don’t love tornadoes. In fact, Twister is probably still my favorite terror-inducing film of all time. We all know there’s nothing scarier than real life.

The radio kept cutting out while I was driving and pretty much every five minutes a new broadcast spouting counties under tornado watches would crackle through. Tornado watches. Not tornado warnings. Watch means look out, warning is just a blasé oh you might have a bit of thunder and the conditions could possibly result in a tornado type announcement.

That’s another thing. I know the city or town I’m driving through, but never the county. So every time a new announcement cropped up I’m just looking in the rear-view for a huge funnel cloud to swoop down right on top of poor little Squirtle. She’s a good car, but I don’t think a convertible top is meant for battling raging tornado winds.

I ran through this huge dark spot when I was about midway through Wisconsin. I was watching it out my car window and thinking to myself that I’d never hit it because the GPS was taking me the opposite direction. Wrong. GPS wants you to hit inclement weather. Luckily for me, very few people were on the roads and the torrential downpour only lasted ten or so minutes. The wipers were going full speed ahead and I still couldn’t see any lines on the highway, so I just tried to stay in the middle of the entire west-bound highway.

After that dark patch, I only hit rain in small spurts but always with a relatively light sky ahead of me. Finally moving into Iowan terrain, I noticed the “highway” was only a country road that ran at decently high speeds through farmland. One thing I noticed about those roads though, was that every so often you’d come across a red splat on the road. At first I thought it was the death site of some poor creature that ventured too far from the woodlands, but then I saw it more and more often, leading me to believe that instead of some gruesome death reminder it was more likely some type of patchwork for the road.

The jury’s still out on the real explanation though.

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Posted by: tlnemethy | May 28, 2013

Swerve

I drove approximately a thousand miles from New Hampshire to Michigan as I started my road trip to Minnesota for work. Now, for someone who 1. doesn’t drive highways 2. avoids driving in unfamiliar areas and 3. has limited directional capacity that was a big step. Especially when you consider the fact that I did the trip on my own.

In preparation, I stockpiled a pile of car maintenance tools like Fix a Flat and basic handyman tools like star wrenches and a jack just in case I needed to fix something on the road. I also helped rotate my tires and change the oil (remember that article) so I’ve pretty much exponentially increased my knowledge base of automotive.

Anyways, I left at 1am and drove to New York before I felt like I was getting dangerously sleepy. There, I pulled off by a rest station and McDonald’s and reclined awkwardly in my Squirtle before falling into a fitful sleep complete with slack jaw. I woke to laughing children ogling my fly-catching skills about two hours later. Seriously one of the better moments of my sleeping being watched.

There were literally no cars on the road because it was such a gross, miserable commute in the rain. Even at the McDonald’s I walked right to the counter where the guy was looking decidedly bored and watched as he made my oatmeal. It seemed to be something he relished doing with the amount of time he spent lovingly stirring in the fruit.

By the time I made it to Ohio I had run over a small woodland creature. I’m thinking it was a woodchuck that crept onto the highway, right in front of my left tire. I, thinking it would about kill me to squish a tiny creature, swerved to the right so the critter was between both my tires. My relief was overshadowed when I heard the tell-tale thump of said small furry creature hitting my bumper. Of course, I should never look in the rear-view mirror if I hit something because it was just too traumatic.

To my overwhelming joy though, I looked back to see that little bugger wandering, though somewhat dazed, off the side of the highway and hopefully to the safety of the woods. My optimism is hoping that he didn’t just crawl into the woods to die. Fingers crossed.

With about four hours to go in my 18 hour day, I started to notice that my left arm was getting cooked in the sunshine.  It’s nice to know that my permanently pale body can actually tan again, but I kinda wish that driving resulted in a nice even suntan rather than a Harvey Dent esque burn.

Thursday I leave for the next leg of my journey. Only about ten hours drive this time, so here’s to baking another layer of tan onto that bicep.

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