Sleep Well, Tiny Dancer

Perhpas ordering the extra meat on her Turkey Supreme was a bad idea. Here's Lauren feeling the effects of the trytophan somewhere east of Indianapolis. Suddenly alone and growing increasingly weary, I was forced to turn to a make-shift sock puppet in order to entertain myself. All's well that ends well.

There's Nothing Wrong With Ohio...

With West Virginia in our rearview mirror, Lauren and I stopped for a bite to eat somewhere near Dayton, Ohio. While I gassed up the car and allowed myself three celery sticks, Lauren took the opportunity to kick off her quest to eat every possible combination of Subway ingredients during the course of our 3-day oddessy.

Despite a mouth full of lunch meat and some strange cheese/bread amalgamation, I was able to make out Lauren saying she loves and misses you all.

Gang Wars and Good Eatin'

Lauren and I have just passed through lovely Lancaster, PA, birthplace of disgraced cyclist Floyd Landis. We're four hours into our trip, and this was our first stop to fuel our tank, both literally and figuratively. We didn't stay long, as I'm told the turf wars between the Amish and the Mennonites can turn ugly at a moments notice in these parts, and we wouldn't be the first innocent tourists to get caught in a hail of pitchforks.

Lauren, determined to turn the corner from the nutritional train wreck we've experienced the past few weeks, is pictured here enjoying a soft pretzel for breakfast. I encouraged her to order it, as rumor has it residents of Aspen with greater than 11% body fat are eligible for handicap parking spaces.

Goodbye

Well, only a couple of hours of sleep separate Lauren and I from the start of our trip. Today was a tough day; as was to be expected. We'll miss you all, and we truly hope you come and stay with us. Just don't borrow my toothbrush. Or eat all our UnCrustables. Or stay too long. You know, when you think about it, maybe it's better if you just stay in a hotel. There's some really affordable options just outside of town.

I kid of course. We'll be in touch throughout the trip. In the meantime, hows about a little sendoff music?

The Garden State...Tribute

As someone who has spent significant amounts of time in different parts of the country (Vermont, Colorado, Oregon…), I can tell you with absolute certainty that as far as states go, New Jersey is the nation's whipping boy. Between the insufferable "What Exit?" jokes, the degrading "armpit of America" designation, and the endless references to a certain TV family as a complete and accurate representation of life in the Garden State, it's pretty clear that the rest of the U.S. -- while unwilling to agree on anything else --has found a common ground in their willingness to have a good chuckle at the expense of our home state.

Now, Lord knows I've taken my own shots at NJ from time to time, but like the big brother that pounds on his sibling, I can get away with it. And it’s not just because I grew up here. It’s because I, unlike those that poke fun from afar, know that while New Jersey may have its flaws, it's also capable of providing days like today.

Cloudless skies providing a canopy for miles of soft-sand beach. A light on-shore breeze cooling what would be insufferable heat just miles away. And to top it all of, an ocean filled with just-the-right-temperature water rolling out endless opportunity for rite-of-passage moments like the one you see above.

So let the rest of the country make their ever-so-clever mobster/hair spray/Bon Jovi jokes. They’ll never know about places like Long Beach Island and days like today. And maybe that’s for the best.

Rescued

Never a big Tetris guy myself, I spent the better part of last night tortured with visions of wasting away my final beach weekend of the season endlessly packing and repacking a 6-by-12 U-Haul in search of that one magical fit; time much better spent frolicking in the Atlantic with my buddies, I'm sure you'd agree.

Luckily, at the last possible moment, I was saved by an angel. An angel armed with Bluetooth technology, but an angel nonetheless. His name is David Wylie, and aside from being one ripped 44-year old, he's also a big wheel at Bohren's Moving Company.

David, made aware of our plight by Lauren's sister, Christine, called me on my cell phone while I was waiting in line at the scenic U-Haul Drop-Off location in Trenton. I was immediately impressed with David's mastery of the English language and the fact that he never threatened me with physical harm; two qualities which instantly made him a tremendous upgrade over our prior movers. David convinced me that he could move our stuff for a reasonable price, and after stopping by the apartment and providing a formal estimate, I agreed.

So long story short, Lauren and I are once again on track for a seamless move. A little more expensive sure, but at least now we don't have to worry about screaming down Vail Pass at 80mph with 3,000 pounds of school supplies and Old Navy winter-wear threatening to crush us with one wrong tap of the brakes. Which is always nice.

Glasnost No More

Apparently, those members of the old Soviet Union who embraced Gorbachev's ideas of openness and lively debate during the 80's are not the same comrades that have come to dominate America's home-moving industry.

Lauren and I were informed by our movers today, just 24 hours before our scheduled pick-up, that -- despite having no such clause in our "contract" and having never come up in prior discussions about the move -- we would have to pay 60% of our total moving cost tomorrow. In cash. No check, no cashiers check, no Diners Club. Just cash. Oh, and cash would be required upon their arrival in Aspen. I made an attempt to argue, but my objections were met with all the sympathy one would expect from the Soviet stereotype. Despite the broken English, I was able to get the gist of the dispatchers message, which went something like this: "If you ever want to see your sh*t again, you'll pay us, and it'll be cash." Nice fellow.

This, coupled with the fact that Lauren's friend who had used their services just days ago had already been 1) told that her $1600 estimate was really a $3200 charge AFTER the truck was loaded; 2) reduced to tears when she called to ask if she could pay with a check; and 3) repeatedly hung up on, was enought to send me to the internet. A couple of minutes and several horror stories about the company later, I had worked up the nerve to bravely allow my father to call up and fire them.

As I would hate to undo all the US -Russia goodwill that came out of Rocky IV, I won't name the offending company. Plus, they know where I live. So it's U-Haul time for us, which means Lauren's 20-year old, 300 pound couch might have to find a new home. Sad story.