The goal? Los Angeles

High-rise Atlanta shimmered in the thick Southern summer. The Bank of America skyscraper’s pinnacle reflected in the lakes of Piedmont Park. And picnickers thumped to crunk and country, as I signed the title on my new (used) Acura. I was moving to Los Angeles, and my first car in almost five years would take me on my first road trip in as long.

I bid farewell to the ATL with a visit to a few of my favorite places: The Martin Luther King National Historic Site (Javaology, next door, has Altanta’s best coffee); The Cyclorama, a bizarre monument to the Battle of Atlanta; and finally a superb Southern feast at legendary Mary Mac’s Tea Room. And a long sigh.

Once rush hour dissolved, I hit I-75, wistfully declining to see Rock City, but allowing a quick stop in historic downtown Chattanooga, Tennessee, where I savored a cup of Greyfriar’s Coffee while meandered past the famed Tennessee Aquarium and a most unusual riverfront walk commemorating the Trail of Tears.

After hitting the local fireworks superstore it was north to my hometown, the once-secret nuclear city of Oak Ridge, where tourists can choose between atomic trivia at the American Museum of Science and Energy or enjoy banjos and replica moonshine stills at nearby Museum of Appalachia.

Uncle Hubert in Virginia

Next on the agenda was Ripplemead, Virginia, home to my great Aunt Doris and Uncle Hubert, who at 92 years old still maintains a fine garden not far from Mountain Lake Hotel (of Dirty Dancing fame). Although I-81 would have been quicker, head north through the Appalachians on impossibly scenic Blue Ridge Parkway, which becomes campsite-lined Skyline Drive entering slender Shenandoah National Park

More relatives awaited Syracuse, New York, and after dinner at divine Dinosaur Barbeque, we caught a great game between the Syracuse Chiefs and Charlotte Knights, handily won by the local heroes 7-2. A Canadian flag flew over the proceedings because the Chiefs, it was explained, are a farm team for the Toronto Blue Jays. “You’ll love Toronto,” said the father of two tiny fans. “It’s the most cosmopolitan city in the world.”

Over the Border

Rounding Lake Ontario, I flew through the kitsch of Niagara Falls USA, crossed the border at the Peace Bridge, and hitting Queen Elizabeth Way to Toronto, where my old roommate from Costa Rica was living. “So how do people celebrate Canada Day, anyway?” I asked my friend Colin.

“Oh, nothing special, just family getting together, maybe a barbecue, some fireworks.” I had those.

We toured his city of ethnic neighborhoods and iconic head shops, finally ending up at the CN Tower, at 1815ft still the world’s tallest free-standing structure (in your face, Dubai!), bathed in tastefully patriotic red and white floodlights for the holiday. A bored-looking teenage girl swathed in strict Muslim garb waved me onto the final elevator ascending to the Skypod, the highest artificial overlook in the world. Oh, Canada.

Paige at Pinery Park in Ontario, Canada. Photo by Colin Plant

We headed west into wilder Ontario, stopping into the predictably quaint Village of Elora, for a simple dinner at Elora Mill, overlooking a cascading waterfall and 80ft Elora Gorge. After a night on the shores of Lake Huron, in beautiful, B&B-packed Bayfield, we spent Canada Day exploring the forests and windswept sand dunes of Pinery Provincial Park. The evening concluded with fireworks, including a sputtering desert-cami tank that rather failed to shock and awe. The next morning, I swam in chilly Lake Huron, which did both.

The American Heartland

Clearing customs and skirting Detroit, I sped across the barely-tamed Michigan landscape, stopping only to hear the fabled “singing sand” at Indiana Dunes National Lakeshore. My goal was Iowa City, where I would camp with my cousins on their 60-acre Yum Yum Farm, contemplating the price of corn (high) and worth of the wild prairie (even higher). They took me north to Decorah, Iowa, where Seed Savers Exchange collects heirloom plants from around the world to cultivate in Iowa’s preternaturally rich soil. Iowa’s legendary folksinger Greg Brown, was throwing his annual benefit concert for the exchange, and brought down a starry night over that precious ark in style.

We returned along the Great River Road, which follows the mighty Mississippi. A hike through hilly Effigy Mounds National Monument proved those baby tees reading, “Not everything in Iowa is flat,” then stopped at the oldest restaurant / bar in Iowa, Breitbach’s Country Dining, with classic Iowa cuisine made from scratch.

I set out at 3am for the longest driving day of my trip: Interstate 80, west through the relentless biofuel corn fields of Iowa, Nebraska and finally Wyoming, where I crashed in the cozy cowboy capital of Cheyenne. I was so glad, the next day, to see the Rockies rise the high, dusty plain.

Into the Wild

Thanks to incorrect storm warnings, I was able to score a campsite inside popular Rocky Mountains National Park, where sunset fell fast over my Alpine bliss. The next morning I hiked up to Flattop Mountain, joining a silent contingent of backpackers who watched the promised deluge roll late but powerful into the valley below. Stunning. My car complained quietly as I traversed the high-altitude park, but we’d both get some rest at Hot Sulphur Springs Resort & Spa, with 24 natural hot springs (including one with a waterfall!) nestled in the chaparral just west of the park – and walking distance from a handful of cheaper hotels.

I exited Colorado at no great speed, stopping for a stroll (and free citywide wifi!) in famed Vail, and arriving at Utah’s Arches National Park just in time to pitch my tent on adjacent BLM land. A spectacular sunset through the North and South Windows was just a tease for the morning’s hike, through the searing spires and fragile natural bridges of the Devil’s Garden – watch out for falling arches!

Finally, I arrived at Utah’s Bryce Canyon, via scenic Utah Highway 12, a lonely road traversing at least a dozen protected areas. This would be my last hike before Los Angeles, so I chose to descend into the rose-hued hoodoos of Fairlyland – incidentally, the only major trail accessible from outside the fee gate, free but priceless.

And emerging from this tinted kaleidoscope of natural beauty, I began my final flight across the baking desert sands, with one eye on the hot, hazy asphalt and the other on the temperature gauge. I wound through the fiercely striated, undulating raw sandstone of Zion Canyon, passed the fragile pressboard mirage of Las Vegas, and arrived after dark, not in Los Angeles proper, but just east, where a friend was waiting.

I knew that I had to complete the drive, however, even if it meant procrastinating from unpacking everything. This was my mission. “What is the major cross street, anyway?” I asked.

“Whittier Boulevard.”

How could I resist? I jumped onto the most famous thoroughfare in Los Angeles (well, East Los Angeles, anyway), cruised under the iconic archway and crossed the Los Angeles River, entering the glass-and-steel canyons of my new home.

–Paige Penland

This entry was posted on Wednesday, July 25th, 2007 at 4:35 pm and is filed under Destinations, USA, Canada, Mexico. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.

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