The following is a piece of my catalog of travels from the great state of Virginia to the great state of California, up the coast to Washington (also great), and then back east, back home. Nothing in this account has been embellished and/or fabricated. It all really and truly happened. For real. Seriously. I would not lie to you.

Thursday, June 15, 2006
CALIFORNIA

CALIFORNIA REST IN PEACE
SIMULTANEOUS RELEASE
CALIFORNIA SHOW YOUR TEETH
SHE'S MY PRIESTESS I'M YOUR PRIEST
         - Red Hot Chili Peppers

Fire and Brimstone and Lava
We left Reno in the morning and headed up Route 89 to Lassen Volcanic National Park. I've never seen a volcano before. Have you?

We were over 10,000 feet above sea level and the temperature dropped dramatically at the top. I never thought I'd see snow in California in June, but that's exactly what we saw. And there was a lot of it. Probably about four feet on the side of the road at one point. Kinda weird.

Dan has a thing about heights. He didn't want to drive to the top so I left him on the side of the road and kept going. Ha!

At the top, I didn't stay long. Just long enough to have some dude take my picture, look around, inhale the mountain air, and smile.

After picking Dan up, we drove back down and stopped to check out the sulfur springs. It stank like rotten eggs. P.U.! Gross! Still cool though.

Redwoods National Forest
Wow wow wow wow wow! We arrived at the Redwoods National Forest around 7:00 p.m. The sun was going down and we had been rushing to get there in order to absorb the precious few minutes of daylight that were left. As Dan drove down the virtually deserted road through the forest, I was staring up through the sunroof. I couldn't take my eyes off the top of the trees. This was because I could barely see them!

We stopped in a small parking lot that was announcing "The Big Tree". We got out and walked into the woods and came upon it. Calling this marvel of nature "The Big Tree" does not do it justice. 340 feet tall, with a 27 foot diameter. I was in awe. The sign said that the tree was "circa 1500 years old"! And not only that, but the sign looked faded and aged itself. So I deduced that "The Big Tree" was really circa 1,530 years old. Boo yah!

What a tree, man. Seriously. If you're ever in Northern California, you have to check this thing out! I'll be angry at you if you don't. Go see "The Big Tree". Go! And while you're there, you can walk down any number of paths through the forest and breathe the trees' air. It's incredible.

Next stop ... Washington.

It was on this day 66 years ago that Bugs Bunny was born unto the world. On July 27, 1940, he starred in his very first animated short film entitled A Wild Hare. For months, directors and artists at Warner Bros. studios were experimenting with the idea of a somewhat inept hunter pursuing a wascally wabbit. The hunter, of course, evolved into Elmer Fudd. Just one of many characters to come who, while battling a crippling speech impediment, fell under the cunning superiority of Bugs Bunny's shenanigans.

Gosh, that long-eared, carrot-chomping, smart-aleck slapstick fuzzball was brilliant!

There was only one time I remember Bugs ever losing. That was when he became trapped in the Abominable Snowman's wristwatch. His arms were extended as watch hands and they ticked through the seconds. But even then, he was optimistic!

"Ehhh, it's a living."

I love you Bugs. Come back. And leave Michael Jordan and Shaq at home when you do.

Happy Birthday.

The following is a piece of my catalog of travels from the great state of Virginia to the great state of California, up the coast to Washington (also great), and then back east, back home. Nothing in this account has been embellished and/or fabricated. It all really and truly happened. For real. Seriously. I would not lie to you.

Tuesday, June 13, 2006
UTAH

Salt Lake City
How is it that a lake can be made of salt? I probably should have asked someone while we were there. Argh. I'll have to research that when I get back. For now, it remains a mystery.* And I kind of like it like that.

Dan's in the Air Force. Have I mentioned that already? When he was in EOD (Explosive Ordnance Disposal) school, he met this dude named Andrew. When we got to Salt Like City, Andrew took us out to dinner and then showed us the sights. Well, one sight anyway: the Mecca of Mormon Faith, the Church of Latter Day Saints, the Salt Lake Temple.

(I'm not going to get into religion here, if you're looking for God, you'll have to go elsewhere. I'm just cataloging what I saw. Disclaimer over.)

The grounds upon which the temple sits encompass about five city blocks. The temple lives up to its name. It is a palace fit for a king, or, more appropriately for a God. It is about twice the size of New York City's St. Patrick's Cathedral.

An angel made of solid gold stands atop the palace, poised and ready to blow her golden bugle when Jesus Christ returns. According to the Mormon faith, He will, and He will walk right through the gates of the temple. And the horn will alert all of Salt Lake City of his return. Make of it what you will. Believe what you will. To each his own.

All religion aside, the temple itself is very beautiful. It's image reflects in a pool of water outside the palace gate. Lit up at night, it is very peaceful. I enjoyed the aesthetics of it all immensely.

*According to Wikipedia: "The Great Salt Lake is endorheic (has no outlet besides evaporation), and therefore has very high salinity, far saltier than the ocean. The three major feeder rivers deposit around 1.1 million tons of minerals in the lake each year, and the balance of evaporated water is mineral-free, concentrating the lake further. Because of its unusually high salt concentration, most people can easily float in the lake due to natural buoyancy as a result of the higher density of the water, particularly in the saltier north arm (Gunnison Bay) of the lake."

Reno
What happens in Reno stays in Reno. Oh wait, that's Vegas. Um. Reno was cool.

Next stop ... Cali-for-ni-a!!!

Today is Ernest Hemingway's birthday. Born in Oak Park, Ill. in 1899, he is best known for his books A Farewell to Arms, The Sun Also Rises, and The Old Man and the Sea.

What is less known is that he started his writing career in 1917 after graduating from high school. His first job was as a reporter for the Kansas City Star. Although his time at the newspaper was short (he enlisted in the Red Cross during WWI and subsequently moved to Europe), he learned some important lessons while working in the news business: the importance of "short sentences, short paragraphs, active verbs, authenticity, compression, clarity and immediacy."

Of this time in his life, Hemingway said: "Those were the best rules I ever learned for the business of writing. I've never forgotten them."

After World War I, Hemingway returned to the U.S. and decided that he wanted to continue his work as a journalist. In 1921, he accepted a position as the Paris correspondent for the Toronto Star.

"[In Paris], he rented himself a room in a hotel, and every morning, after breakfast, he would walk to his writing room and work. But instead of writing stories, he just tried to write what he called "true sentences." He said, "I would stand and look out over the roofs of Paris and think, 'Do not worry. You have always written before and you will write now. All you have to do is write one true sentence. Write the truest sentence that you know.'"

Between January and April 1922, Hemingway had composed only six sentences that he was proud of. One of those sentences read, "I have stood on the crowded back platform of a seven o'clock ... bus as it lurched along the wet lamp-lit street while men who were going home to supper never looked up from their newspapers as we passed Notre Dame gray and dripping in the rain."." [Read more at Writer's Almanac]

I have heard many anecdotes about Hemingway--about how he wrote an average of 500 to 1,000 words a day during most of his lifetime, about the time he spent in Paris, Africa, Key West, and Cuba, about his turbulent relationships and personal life. This, however, was my first time hearing this particular one.

On Ernest Hemingway's birthday, I think I'll try to write one true sentence ... who knows, it may prove to be the beginning of my next short story or (dare I say it?) ... ummm... book!

Happy Birthday EH.

"A word is not a crystal, transparent and unchanged, it is the skin of a living thought and may vary greatly in color and content according to the circumstances and the time in which it is used."
   -Oliver Wendell Holmes, Jr. (1841-1935)

I'm almost tempted just to leave that sitting there without comment. In fact, that's exactly what I'm going to do.

Feel free to comment, though, by all means.

Word.

The following is a piece of my catalog of travels from the great state of Virginia to the great state of California, up the coast to Washington (also great), and then back east, back home. Nothing in this account has been embellished and/or fabricated. It all really and truly happened. For real. Seriously. I would not lie to you.

Monday, June 12, 2006 (cont.)
COLORADO

Knife's Edge
We crossed the Colorado border in the early afternoon. We drove up and up and up to the Rocky Mountains. On the long road to the top there were many little shops. We stopped at one that was a Native American store. The owner was very friendly and told us how he has owned the store for 35 years. He lives in the middle of nowhere and loves it. "Why would I want to go anywhere else?" He asked. We didn't have an answer for him.

I've never owned a pocketknife in my life. My father swears by them. My brother seems to buy a new one every few months. It's a man thing, I suppose. With a knife in your pocket, you can do anything: cut rope, whittle a stick down to cook food over a fire or stab a fish in the wild--a handy pocketknife can protect you against a bear ... or, at least, make you feel like you're making a good effort to survive while you perish under his massive claws. Yeah, it's a man thing, and I never really wanted one.

Something about being out here on the open road though, something about the whole "back to nature" thing, made me buy a pocketknife from this kind gentleman in the Native American store on the side of the long road up to the Rocky Mountains.

I picked out the perfect knife. It has a Native American on a horse in the wilderness looking up to the moon. It's silver, it's sharp, it's authentic ... wait ... it was made in China?? Yes, that's right, my first pocketknife was made in China. I didn't notice til it was too late. It's quite a buzzkill, to say the very least. But I'm still very excited about it, and I'm going to go cut me up a mean piece of rope.

The Rockies
What can you say about the Rocky Mountains? We stopped on the road to the top many times. We walked along short paths and stared out at the great majesty of the snow peaked mountaintops. I sat on the stones and watched the birds soar below me. They dove and swirled and landed lightly on tree branches while the cold wind rustled their feathers and whistled in my ears. There were many other travelers among us but the scene was as still and peaceful as it is meant to be. We saw quite a few muskrat and even shared the mountain air with some elk! I don't want to say too much about it though. Each individual has to experience some things for themselves. Not only that, but it is hard to say what goes through your mind while you're sitting on a ledge, staring out, down, and up. To be honest, not much does. There's a lot of "Wow" going on inside you. That just about covers it. Some places in this world are too good for words.

Tuesday, June 14, 2006
Fulford
Dan went on a cross-country trip six years ago. At one point on his trip, he found himself in this back-woods village called Fulford, Colorado. He arrived at night and it scared him half to death. I've been hearing creepy stories of this place ever since. So of course, I had to see what all the fuss was about.

We got off the highway and drove about 20 miles on a back road just to get to this place. The back road eventually turned into a dirt road and the dirt road turned into the woods. "We're not getting out of here alive, are we?"

"Nope."

The cabins weren't terribly frightening. In any other setting, they would probably seem like a cozy getaway from the bustle of city life. I didn't really see what the big deal was. Except for the fact that there was not one human being in town. Gulp.

We drove slow. We had to. The road was more rock than dirt. We came to the end of the road through "town" almost immediately after we came to the beginning of it. So much for Fulford. What was the big deal?

We drove a little more and came to a point in the road where we could either go left or straight. We went left. And for the next 2 and a half hours we cursed our decision.

To call it a road would be to insult roads everywhere. No car should ever go down this horrid, burped-up piece of land. And from the looks of it, no car had in quite some time, if ever. Jagged rocks jutted up from everywhere. Mud caked mounds rose up from the earth and soiled the car with filth. We bottomed out more times than we could count. The metal frame underneath the car begged for mercy. As we passed numerous bones in the road, we simultaneously prayed they were not human and for our own lives. This had to be the worst of it. Right? Wrong.

"Um. Is that a tree in the road?"

At this point in the adventure, I got out of the car and lifted this gigantic and extremely heavy tree branch up off the ground and over my head so Dan could drive under it. Meanwhile the bugs are biting my bulging neck, my legs are shaking under the weight, and all the time I'm thinking, Dear God, what are we doing?

It went on like this for about another hour. I got out of the car many times to direct Dan around the impossible stones. One time, he got stuck in the mud and I had to push the car while he floored it in reverse and kicked mud up on my legs. I was beginning to think we would die out there. It was truly that awful. If the middle of nowhere has an address, it is Fulford.

At long last we came to a clearing up ahead. With the sunlight peeking through the trees, I prematurely rejoiced. The car was stuck again.

Frustrated to no end, sweaty, angry, and terrified, I ran out to the clearing. The Colorado mountains loomed off to the left, mocking me. I stared straight ahead at the devil's path we would have to traverse. It cut through the field and went straight back into the woods. It was over. Even if we could get over that last muddy hump, who knows what would lie ahead?

I walked dejected back to the car to make my report to Dan, who, by his own right, was ready to set the world on fire. It was then that we made the decision we should have made long ago.

"We’d better turn around."

Back up the long, beaten trail that no tires should ever tread. Back through the unforgiving muck and scraping over the sinister, razor edged stones. When we got to the tree in the path, I tried to lift it again. I could not. I was spent. Physically, emotionally, and in every way possible. It felt like it weighed at least 100 pounds more than it did before (when it felt like a ton). Fulford was not going to let us leave.

Luckily, Dan was able to lift the beast's trunk as I drove under. He dropped it hard on the ground and we continued on our ill-begotten journey.

In the end, we survived. I don't know how, but we did. We somehow escaped that living nightmare and came out all the stronger for it. ... I think.

However, there is a less rational part of me that thinks we're still back there, stuck in the devil's mud of Fulford, living in some kind of sick and twisted purgatory from which we will never escape. If this is the case, please refrain from coming to look for us. Save yourselves. We are done for, deep in the bowels of Fulford.

If anyone out there has ever been to Fulford, please do comment and tell a happy story of the place. Alleviate my fears.

Next stop ... Utah.

HELLO, PIPSQUEAK!!

I'M GONNA CRUSH YOU LIKE THE LITTLE, ROTTEN GRAPE THAT YOU ARE! I'M GONNA TAKE YOU BY THE ARM AND SPIN YOU AROUND THE RING UNTIL I GET DIZZY! AND THEN I'M GONNA LET GO AND WATCH AS YOU GO FLYING INTO THE STANDS! I'M GONNA HURT YOU SO BAD, YOUR DISTANT THIRD COUSIN IS GONNA FEEL IT AND SAY "OWEEE!!!" ... THAT'S WHAT'S COMIN' TO YA! THAT'S WHAT'S ON THE WAY! ... Right after I finish reading this delightful book by Jane Austen.

What?

Are you into wrestling? Do the letters W, W, and E, mean more to you than Wild West Earmuffs? Well if so, you'll be excited to hear that World Wrestling Entertainment is dishing out more than the usual beatings this summer. They're giving away free posters of your favorite wrestling superstars and all you have to do is read a book and write about it a little! It doesn't get much better than that!

To get your free poster, simply write a book review of any length (but put in a little more effort than Hulk Hogan does when opening jars of pickles) and fill out this form. Mail it off to the WWE and in no time at all, you'll have your very own, authentic wrestling posters in your mailbox!

Everything should be this easy.

The following post was written by Starre Vartan. Starre is one of the editors on Current Events magazine here at Weekly Reader and this is her first time blogging for Word ... but certainly not her last.

A.S. Byatt is a writer who really knows how to spin a yarn. In her short story collection from 2005, The Little Black Book of Stories, Byatt explores the world of dark fairy tales. Fanciful stories are not just for little kids anymore. They are a much overlooked genre of their own, like science fiction or mystery. Historically, fairy tales were meant to be cautionary or moral tales, not necessarily bedtime stories.

Like the original tales of the Brothers Grimm and the color fairy books (The Red Fairy Book, The Violet Fairy Book), the stories in the Little Black Book of Stories are not cute or necessarily pleasant, though some do have happy endings. Instead these stories are crafted with an eye towards understanding humanity through creative prose and a step-outside-of-normal unreality.

Why not try your hand at writing a fairy tale? Like Byatt, you can set your tale in the present day, or you could try a more traditional setting from the past. You can even write a futuristic fairy tale, like several of Margaret Atwood's novels.   

E.B. White's birthday is today. You know E.B. White, don't you? Come on! You read Charlotte's Web, right? Well, he wrote it. And you knew that. I know you did. Good job.

Well, you may be surprised to know that E.B. also co-wrote The Elements of Style with William Strunk Jr. This is a very tiny book but it is filled with some of the most explosive grammar advice this side of the Mississip! Seriously, if you thought grammar was fun before, just wait until you pick up this gem of a book! It will knock your socks off! I say this as a person who has had his socks knocked off before. It's a long story about a fire-breathing dragon and an evil sorcerer with a weird obsession with feet. I won't bore you with the details here. We're talkin' about grammar, baby! Yah! Bring it! And do you know what else? This book can fit in your back pocket! You can read it on the train! At the movies! Even swimming in the ocean or climbing Mount Everest! No more making excuses for skipping that trip to Mars this year! You've got The Elements of Style to make the journey all the more exciting!

The New York Times says, "Buy it, study it, enjoy it. It's as timeless as a book can be in our age of volubility."

What's volubility? I don't know! Let's look it up!

vol·u·ble  

1. Marked by a ready flow of speech; fluent.

Awesome! Yah! I knew that! I think. Maybe a long time ago. Maybe now? I don't know! Woo hoo! The point is that yes, we do live in an "age of volubility." Everyone uses big words and sharp sounding syllables. Listen up! Get a vocabulary! Work it! Yah!

Hey, I have a joke for you. What's the differerence between "regardless" and "irregardless"? Give up? About the same as the difference between "can't" and "cannot". Ah ha! Ahh ha! Ha ha ha ha ha ha! Oh! Somebody stop me! Seriously, regard the irregardless on page 50 of William Strunk Jr. and E.B. White's masterpiece grammar phenomenon, The Elements of Style.

Be the first on your block to own The Elements of Style. Impress all your friends with nonrestrictive modifiers and auxillary verbs! Is some bully stealing your lunch money every day? Shove a sentence fragment in his face and then don't tell him why what you've said was grammatically wrong! It'll drive him nuts! Observe:

"Hey bully! Because muscle mattered slightly!"

"Huh?"

"Yah Yah Yah! Take that, you embodiment of future insecurities!"

Buy this book! Buy this book! Buy this book! Buy this book!

One more thing, here is a beautiful quote from E.B. White. He proclaimed it one time when he wasn't personifying barnyard animals or partying up the grammar world:

"All I hope to say in books, all that I ever hope to say, is that I love the world."

Word.

Are you traveling this summer? Here's a nifty tip to keep the writer within you churning out ideas: send yourself a postcard each day!

I went to Europe for the first time this summer, and every day for the two weeks I was there, I sent a postcard to my address back home. The thought of writing an entire journal entry each day seemed too time-consuming with all the sight-seeing and and traveling I was doing, but I still wanted to remember every minute of my trip. Writing a postcard every day was the perfect solution. It was like a daily journal of my experiences, and because a postcard is so small, I was easily able to find five minutes to fill one up each day. I wrote down funny stories, snippets of dialogue, story ideas, descriptions of places or people I saw ... goldmines for future writing! And I chose pictures of places I had visited, so each postcard has an added bonus of being a visual reminder of my trip as well. 

A twist on this idea is if you are traveling and staying in touch with friends or family via e-mail, send the e-mail to your address, as well. That way, when you arrive back home, you will have an inbox full of "diary entries" in the form of letters back home. 

So you see, a vacation away from home doesn't have to be a vacation away from your writing life! :)

The following is a piece of my catalog of travels from the great state of Virginia to the great state of California, up the coast to Washington (also great), and then back east, back home. Nothing in this account has been embellished and/or fabricated. It all really and truly happened. For real. Seriously. I would not lie to you.

Sunday, June 11, 2006 (cont.)
MISSOURI

Gateway
Yay! We stopped for something cool! In St. Louis, we went to the Gateway Arch. Did you know you can go up into this thing? Well you can, and we did.

We went up the north side of the arch in a tram that was really a cable car but looked like a space pod. There was very little room inside and I hit my head on the roof going in. Three minutes later, we were at the top. And I hit my head coming out. Brilliant.

At the top of the arch, we had a pretty good view of St. Louis (and also a little vertigo). The wall slants up so you can lean forward on it. When you put all your weight on top of it and look straight down, you feel as if the whole thing is going to crumble right underneath you and ... "Ahhhhhhhhhhh! I regret nothinnnnnngggggg!!!!" Yeah well, that didn't really happen.

So we hung out at the top for a little while and took our silly pictures and then headed down in the south side tram. I hit my head getting in and out of the car again. Dan laughed. It wasn't funny.

Down below the arch, we sat down and looked out onto the river as ferryboats and large barges passed by. Down by the dock, they were playing Louis Armstrong's "What a Wonderful World" over the loudspeakers. And I finally started to feel that we were out here, seeing the country. Ohhhh yeahhhh.

Mark Twain Caverns
Argh! If I have learned nothing so far on this cross country trip, I have learned this: you have to pay attention. We saw a sign for Mark Twain Caverns and I nearly jumped out of my seat. Out of all the caverns we passed (and trust me, there have been a lot of them), this was the one I had to see. Perhaps I would catch a glimpse of The Celebrated Jumping Frog of Calaveras County or maybe see Huck pulling a fast one over an unsuspecting riverboat captain. I don't know how likely that would be in a cave, but the possibility was certainly there more than it would be in, let's say, Shenandoah Caverns. Alas, we missed the exit. In fact, I didn't even know which exit it was. By the time I finally dug out the map of Missouri and found the caverns, we were 20 miles past it. And, being on a schedule, we could not turn around. Sigh. If nothing else, at least I learned my lesson. My eyes are peeled now--to coin a nasty phrase.

Sidenote: Did you know that Mark Twain is not Mark Twain's real name? It's actually Samuel Clemens. The real question is, why did Mr. Clemens write under the pseudonym? Can you figure it out?

We drove north through Iowa for 15 minutes and then west into Nebraska. That is all.

Nebraska is all right, man. We stayed in Lincoln last night and we've been driving through a lot of farmland all morning. We've passed about 14,000 cows and 1 donkey. Everything is very green here. Houses on Route 80 are few and far between, and that's an understatement. This is farm country, baby! This is where your food comes from. Thank a farmer.

Friends and Strangers
Anyone out there from Friend, Nebraska? Drop us a line. Tell us what life is like. Are there any jerks in Friend? Do you run them out on a rail? I'm guessing if there are, you don't. That wouldn't be very friendly. Hey, maybe we can make a pen pal connection between Friend, Nebraska and Low Moor, West Virginia.

"Thank you, whoever you are. I've always relied on the kindness of strangers." That's the final line from A Streetcar Named Desire by Tennessee Williams. I don't know why I thought of it just now except that a friend is just a stranger you haven't met. No wait, scratch that, reverse it. It's a fantastic play. If it's not at a theater near you anytime soon, you should really buy the book. And then, after you've read it, you should definitely check out the classic movie adaptation starring Vivien Leigh and Marlon Brando in their prime. Streetcar takes place in New Orleans though and has nothing at all to do with Nebraska. I'm all over the map today. See you in Colorado.

Next stop ... well, no big surprise here, it's Colorado. Duh.

We received a very good essay the other day from a 5th grader named Quin Cullen. Hey Quin, are you out there? Dude, the email address you left us was incomplete. Please send an email to word@weeklyreader.com and give us your information.

Thank you.

- Poem by Catie Bargerstock, Age 12

Just thought I might take a moment to say
something to make it a brighter day
it's not a big word, not a big thing
it's not very catchy like ding-a-ling-ling
it's not very jazzy
it's not very snazzy
I'll now tell you the word I've been trying to spell
that word I've been meaning to tell
Hi! That's the word I wanted to say
Hi, and remember to have a nice day!!

 The Star Spangled Banner
     - Francis Scott Key

Oh! thus be it ever, when freemen shall stand
Between their loved home and the war's desolation!
Blest with victory and peace, may the heav'n rescued land
Praise the Power that hath made and preserved us a nation.
Then conquer we must, when our cause it is just,
And this be our motto: "In God is our trust."
And the star-spangled banner in triumph shall wave
O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave!

Happy Fourth!

The following is a piece of my catalog of travels from the great state of Virginia to the great state of California, up the coast to Washington (also great), and then back east, back home. Nothing in this account has been embellished and/or fabricated. It all really and truly happened. For real. Seriously. I would not lie to you.

Saturday, June 10, 2006 (cont.)
KENTUCKY

"You haven't written about Kentucky yet."
"Yeah well, nothing's happened in Kentucky yet."

The Simpsons
Bry studies the map of Kentucky for 15 minutes or so until ...

"Whoa. There's a Shelbyville, Kentucky! You know, like in The Simpsons? Shelbyville is the town right next to Springfield."
"Oh yeah." Dan replied unenthusiastically.
"Wait! Holy cow! Shelbyville, Kentucky is right next to Simpsonville!"
"Really?" Dan replied with just a bit more enthusiasm.
"Yeah! Wow. ... Wow man. ... I'm kind of in shock right now."
"I wonder if that's where The Simpsons are from?"
"Nah, that’d be too obvious. ... But still. I dunno. I’m in shock."
"Mm hmm."
"I think I’m in a little bit of shock."
"Take it easy.”

Welcome to the Horse Capital of the World
I have always enjoyed being welcomed by states. In this case, it was a mural of horses on a water tower. Personally, I think Arabia probably has more horses than Kentucky, but Kentucky's got the whole Derby thing and they're very proud of it. So I won't split hairs.

Sunday, June 11, 2006
INDIANA

The Happiest Place on Earth ... No wait, That's Disneyworld
We entered Indiana last night around 9:00. We drove another 100 miles or so, making our total for the day over 700 miles! We called it a "champ day". 700 miles is a lot of miles. It's like driving from New York City to Boston and then turning around and driving back to New York and then turning around and driving back to Boston and then, that's right, driving back to New York again. Wow.

In Indiana, we rubbed our road-weary eyes, turned our clock back an hour, and got off the highway at (are you ready for this?) "Santa Claus". Yup, Santa Claus, Indiana is an actual town and it's like the North Pole exploded and reformed all over the place! It's great!

We drove up to Santa's Lodge and inquired about a room. Too expensive. Of course. We really have to ration our spending, we can't afford luxuries such as a room in Christmas Heaven. Oh well. At least we got to ooh and ahh in the lobby at the smiling plastic Santa Clauses and Mrs. Santa Clauses and reindeer and presents and choo choo trains and colored lights. This is still June, right?

Also in town was "Holiday World". It looked pretty cool but again, we’re saving up for the zoos and amusement parks of the great West. Now if you’re thinking we’re just passing everything by, well, you're right, for now. We really do intend to do stuff. No foolin'.

ILLINOIS
We drove straight through Illinois. It seemed nice.