We Realize We Are Navin

Sedalia, MO - Monday, May 27th, 2013

I think it is inevitable that when you go on a three month road trip for the first time you are going to overpack. You may convince yourself that you will not. You may pack 30 shirts, look at the pile, then cut it down to 20, but at the end of the day you still packed 20 shirts. And only needed 10.

The problem is that you are so used to having all your possessions at hand that you have no concept of what you will need. And since you no longer have any income you cannot just buy it as you go.

Will it be really cold somewhere? (Packs heavy coat.) Hot enough to swim? (Packs bathing suit.) Mild with a cool breeze? (Packs light jacket and long pants.)

And it’s not just clothes. What about reading? (Box of books.) Writing? (Bag of notebooks.) Snacking? (Basket of crackers and nuts.) Learning a musical instrument? (Guitar we cannot play.) (Not joking.)

Where we might have taken this opportunity to simplify our life and learn to do without, we have instead taken a Steve Martin in The Jerk approach. The result is that every room we stay in looks like a baggage claim malfunctioned into it.

Because the one thing we forgot to pack is space.

The Angels, They Keep Appearing

Kansas City, MO - Saturday, May 25, 2013 continued

Driving to the convention this morning in the 7 o'clock hour, we had seen a number of police cars coiled to pounce. Since it was overcast and raining slightly, Jacob turned on the headlights. One flaw of our Hyundai Elantra, it does not beep if you leave the headlights on when you park.

So when we get in the car to take a rest from the book signing carousel, the key turns in ominous silence. No spark or sputter. Nothing.

There are so few car problems we can actually solve ourselves, Jacob is almost excited to know what to do. He pops the trunk, lifts the floor and scoops our jumper cables out of the wheel well where we put them for exactly this moment. We just need to find another car, but we are in the edge row of a crowded parking lot at a busy hotel. This shouldn't be hard.

The man at the front desk tells Jacob he isn't legally able to offer assistance, in case something goes wrong. "You'll just have to ask around."

Back in the parking lot, the first person Jacob asks says he can't because he is leaving and needs to get somewhere.

The second person says he is arriving and needs to get inside.

The third is a young couple and they look at the cable like it's a welding torch and say, "We don't know how to do that."

"It's okay," Jacob tells them, "I know how. I just need another car."

They back away awkwardly. "We're sorry."

Charlie Brown music plays in Jacob's head as he trudges back to our car-shaped paperweight. "Can you maybe walk with me," he asks Leighann. "I don't think they believe I have a wife. I think they think I am trying to mug them."

At Leighann's suggestion, we go inside to the Con registration desk and tell our story. A man with sun-leathered skin and a baseball cap gets up with a sigh. "I ran a tow service for ten years. Take me to her." As we walk to the door he says, "You can call a tow truck to jump a car, but they'll charge you $50 or more. It's highway robbery. I made good money." And then, "Where are you parked? I'm that white van up the hill."

We look. His van is parked next to our car.

When he has us in power again, he advises us to drive for thirty minutes to charge the battery up. As he turns to leave Jacob stops him, pocket-fishes for a second, then gives him the rest of our star stickers.

First In, Last Out

Kansas City, MO - Saturday, May 25, 2013

At various points in our life together, we have pitched the proverbial tent in service of a timed event. We've arrived three hours early for doorbuster sales. We've stood for five hours in a wind tunnel in the Rocky Mountains to see the first North American screening of "The Descent" [Jacob turns to Leighann, kisses her cheek and says, "I love you, dear"]. Our feeling is, if you go to great lengths to be there for something, you should make sure you get a good seat / place in line / television.

We don't know how early to arrive for George R.R. Martin's only book signing at ConQuesT 44. It is set for 11am, and Jacob starts the bidding at "7." Leighann is game, but the lady at registration yesterday had confided that the signing was never really announced, it was added to the schedule of events like an easter egg. "So you won't need to get here early or anything." We gave her a star for her helpfulness, but her advice goes completely against our instinct. It is only enough to convince us of a long snooze, and we anxiously arrive at the Holiday Inn a mere three hours early.

To find only one couple ahead of us. 

I guess if a woman with a shark on her head gives you advice, you should take it.

Being there early does allow us to people-watch as the convention comes to life and a healthy line forms behind us. By the time Mr. Martin appears the line is weaving in and out of a panel hall and around the corner toward the expo. And we're in the front of it.

Every fan at every George R. R. Martin book signing has probably the same thought in their head. "You should not be signing books right now. I mean, you can sign MINE, but then stop immediately. And get back to writing. Please." The last part may betray desperation, the hurrying whine of a kid who is afraid the ice cream truck will drive away before their parent hands over a dollar. I am sure some people even communicate this feeling, and I can't imagine the mixed emotions you feel as an author when fans clutch your books and all but mutter "Precious..." I mean, you've done something right, but still.

The actual receiving of a signature is over quickly. Martin has his scrawl down to a complex flick of the wrist, but as we turn to leave he notices Leighann's t-shirt. 

"What does your shirt say?" he asks.

"It says Zelda is the Girl," she replies.

"I don't know what that's from," he says, but his assistant jumps in at the same time, "It's true! And that's awesome!" She says this in an apparently native, Badger-from-Firefly British accent. What a perfect assistant.

Posted signs warned that Martin would not pose for photos and that he would only autograph two books per person. We brought five, one of them for a friend. Jacob puts one of his own aside in case we don't get to go through twice, but as we walk back out into the convention hallway Leighann insists we check the line before getting lunch. Sure enough, the line is noticeably smaller, and we hop in back of it. 

The man in front of us is hauling large bags of books on each arm. 

"What'd you bring?" he asks. 

"First Editions of A Storm of Swords, A Dance With Dragons, and Dreamsongs I & II," Jacob says. 

"You don't have a first edition A Feast For Crows?"

"Nope."

His hand dips into one of his bags. "Do you want one for $20?"

He is offering us a book that sold for $28.00 when it was new eight years ago, and can go for three times that when signed, which it is about to be.

"Um, absolutely?" 

Money and book change hands and he says, "Cool. Saves me a trip through line, and now I can pay for lunch."

We shuffle forward as the line moves. Then he asks, "Do you have a first edition A Game of Thrones?"

"No," Jacob says, looking toward his bag.

"Good luck!" he offers solemnly.

We eat at the hotel restaurant, then on a hunch check back at the signing room. The line is gone. George is not.

City of the Peculiar

Kansas City, MO - Friday, May 24, 2013

We have heard Kansas City described as "City of Fountains" and as "City of Boardwalks." We are not sure we would call it either without being told. City of Irony maybe, it being in Missouri. There are a lot of fountains though.

The Holiday Inn where ConQuesT 44 is being held is 15 stories tall and houses an indoor water park. Well, mostly indoor.

Inside, we find the registration desk and retrieve our driver's licenses, ready to show them. A woman with a shark on her head asks our names and looks through a stack of envelopes until she finds our badges, not even glancing at our IDs. These things draw a pretty trustworthy crowd, it seems.

One feature that sets a nice tone: our badges come with a packet of star stickers like you get on your homework in first grade. There are instructions to give these to any Con volunteer who is particularly helpful. Nifty.

Now that we're official, we take a moment to wander through the expo, two convention halls full of fantastic art and wares. 

A man wearing a top hat and a kilt tries to sell us knives. Somehow sensing Leighann's nail polish collection, he reaches past rows of normal metal blades to a knife with a sparkly rainbow sheen. He flicks it open with a snap of his wrist, and closes it almost as quickly. "You try," he says, handing Leigh the blade. "I'll just cut myself," she warns. 

"That's part of the fun," he says, reaching for a broadsword.

Another booth is selling animal skeleton art, and we see a woman walk by wearing a cloak with a skeletal bird on one shoulder. We're dimly aware of certain niche fashions, such as steampunk, renaissance garb, and particular character cosplay, but we missed the memo on skeletons.

There are many books. Some are classic genre titles. At least one is an established sci-fi author signing as he sells. Many are self-published, and there is an "off" quality to these, something in the art and materials that gives the game away. We speculate even bad books from major publishers go through a process that elevates their on-shelf presence, making them seem official. Real. But where some self-published books may even be superior to their traditional brethren, sadly many of their covers resemble student-made posters for a community college play.

We do not have sufficient funds to discover the hidden gems. We vow to someday have a fund for nothing but.

No Klingons yet, but we are definitely not in Kansas anymore.

Beginning Our Trip With Magic

Lenexa, Kansas - Friday, May 24, 2013

Last year a friend introduced us to a book called The Name of the Wind, by Patrick Rothfuss. It is a fantasy novel that is both academic and full of adventure, more mature than Harry Potter but less graphic than A Song of Ice and Fire. In short, a great read for anyone who enjoys fiction with a touch of magic. As a bonus, it is the first in a trilogy, the second of which, The Wise Man's Fear, is already available (and which Jacob likes even better).

When we were first planning our Great American Road Trip, Jacob idly checked Rothfuss' blog to see where he would be making appearances, in case we were traveling anywhere near. He saw that Rothfuss was set to be a Guest of Honor at the ConQuesT 44 fantasy/science fiction/mystery convention in Kansas City, MO the weekend of Memorial Day. Tickets were only $30, and the timing fit, so we decided to kick off our tour of the country by attending a low-budget geek-fest. With any luck, we said, we would get to see someone dressed as a Klingon.

While we still had income, Jacob managed to find a reasonably affordable first edition copy of The Name of the Wind in very good/fine condition, and bought it to get it signed. (For reference, pristine first editions go for up to $500, and if they are signed they are listed up to $1,000, so this was quite a collector's coup.)

Then last month, Patrick Rothfuss announced he would be coming to Little Rock in early May. He has apparently been a fan for years of Heifer International and its worldwide efforts in poverty stricken countries. When his first novel was published in 2007 and enjoyed immediate success and insane collect-ability, Rothfuss started Worldbuilders, a non-profit that brokers the sale of books and book-related merchandise to raise money for Heifer. It was his way to give back and to stay grounded in the wake of his growing popularity, and as of this year it has raised over a million dollars. His appearance in May marked his first visit to Heifer headquarters in Little Rock, and while there he did a reading and signing for fans in this part of the country. More than 300 people showed up, some of them having driven from neighboring states, two of them including us.

Now here we are heading to Kansas City. We've met Patrick Rothfuss, gotten our first editions signed, and two weeks later we're about to go to the convention we bought tickets for so we could meet Patrick Rothfuss and get our first editions signed. 

Don't really need to go now, except to look for Klingons.

However...

A few months ago Jacob was looking at the appearances section of another writer he loves, George R. R. Martin, the author of A Game of Thrones (and the other books in the Song of Ice and Fire series). Martin's website was listing ConQuesT 44 as an upcoming appearance, but the conference page itself said nothing about him being there. 

Jacob e-mailed ConQuesT for clarification. 

"Oh yes, George will be here," was the reply. "He'll be doing a signing and some panels. Schedule should be up in early May." Apparently 'George' has been attending ConQuesT for years, it being the oldest Con in the midwest, but with the explosion of popularity from HBO's Game of Thrones television show, an adaptation of Martin's novels, ConQuesT is downplaying his involvement to keep crowds to a manageable number.

So George R.R. Martin will be here but not many people know about it. 

That works just fine for us.

Divine Intervention

Fayetteville, AR - Thursday, May 23, 2013

The special Norman Rockwell exhibit is closing this weekend at Crystal Bridges Museum of American Art. On the one hand, we're driving right by there anyway on our way to Kansas City. On the other hand, our weekly budget just lost about two decimals and since this is a special exhibit there IS an admission fee. But we're off to see America, and a gallery of Rockwell originals is five miles and 24 bucks away. Sold.

Friends and family have warned us to expect crowds. These are in evidence before we even park: it's 1:00pm on a Thursday and the overflow lot is, well, overflowing. We have to park about as close to the entrance as possible and hoof it across the grounds.

The lobby is a sea of people, within which are two lines, one for tickets to the Rockwell exhibit, and a longer one stretching around the corner to the exhibit itself. Jacob hops into the former, and Leighann goes looking for a restroom. 

As he stands in line, with people all around him, an elderly man singles Jacob out. 

Man: Are you in line for tickets to the Norman Rockwell exhibit? 

Jacob:  Yes. 

Man: How many are in your party?

Jacob: Just my wife and I.

Man: And are you buying tickets for 1:30?

Jacob looks at his watch and sees that it is 1:20. "Yes," he says, backing into a plan. "That is what we are planning."

The man flips two tickets from a stack in his hand. "I've got extras if you want them," and holds them out.

When Leighann returns she sees Jacob's giddy smile, reserved for great beer and the unexpected kindness of strangers, and he tells her what happened.

The gallery is awesome. Norman Rockwell's paintings capture something photographs cannot, an idea (and ideal) of America that is heart-warming and haunting. Looking at his work, Jacob feels nostalgic for times he never lived through.

When we wander back out, we make one last pit stop before our hike back to the car. As Leighann approaches the restroom door an elderly lady walks slowly up behind her. Leighann holds the door and the lady says, "Thank you! Everywhere I go, angels appear and help." 

We can relate.

 

No State Lines Yet

Little Rock, AR - Wednesday, May 22, 2013 continued

We cross the Arkansas River away from Little Rock under a gorgeous sky. There are just enough clouds to make lacework shadows and bring the gold out in the green of the trees. The capitol dome glows under a single sunbeam, like there should be a manger there and wise men. It has the magic feeling of twilight but it is not even noon.

On the drive up to Fayetteville the beautiful sky widens over the Ozark mountains. We pass the exit for the Aux Arc scenic byway, and it occurs to Jacob that "Ozark" is a butchery of French even worse than our pronunciation of "Petit Jean."

We stay with Jacob's cousin Nathan in Fayetteville. He's in school at the U of A, and has a bachelor pad to make any young intellectual jealous, complete with shelves of great books and a loft bedroom / study. He feeds us calzones and we talk into the night.

Jacob Claims the Odd Days

Little Rock, AR - Wednesday May 22, 2013

A day rested with good weather above and before us, we are finally able to set out. But first we have to get this...

                 ...into this...

We are careful to take pictures of each layer as we go, in case it behaves like an unfolded map when we try to load it down the line. Almost everything makes the cut except a box of bottled water (but Leighann is a Bobble fiend so we will not lack for purified refreshment), and we slam the doors on the havoc and bid Jacob's mother goodbye. Her parting advice: "Remember to take turns being right. If it's your day, then you are right, and the other must wait 'til tomorrow."

At midnight Jacob tells Leighann that he'll take the odd days. Since it is the 23rd, she cannot object.

(Note From Lei: I explained to Jacob that this system can only work if he doesn't invoke it too often. He said that could be true tomorrow.)

A Tone Is Set

Little Rock, AR - Monday, May 20, 2013

How did this trip sneak up on us?! We've known for six months that we wanted to start our Great American Road Trip the week before Memorial Day. We bought tickets to a fantasy Con in Kansas City, Missouri, and booked a marathon for Jacob to run a couple of weeks later in Ann Arbor, Michigan. This was not a surprise.

Except somehow it is. Time doesn't always pass quickly when you're at work, but working makes the weeks blur together. Our trip was this positive thought somewhere out in the future. Then without warning it is THE DAY BEFORE WE LEAVE. Everything packed? Nope. Ready to leave town for three months? We don't know! Like so many other things.

But okay, we think, let's do this. One final push of running errands, packing bags, saying goodbyes. We have furniture to take to Goodwill, and Jacob's mom offers the use of their van. We've also been housesitting for some friends, and need to take the keys to the neighbors. Except...

When we get in the van, Jacob takes the wad of various keys that Leighann hands him, selects the van key, and sets the others down in a little space on the front console. Do you see the problem with this plan? 

Our later memory is probably lying, but we recall a sucking noise as our friends' house keys vanish down the little hole in the console. It looks large in the picture, but the hole isn't much bigger than a quarter. There's a screw just below it that blocks anything from going too far, so there is no way for a set of keys to get in there. Except these keys find a way not just into the hole, but down down down, into the recesses of hidden machinery, behind wires and casing, into a tomb of plastic and metal.

Our first strategy is an attack with the bezoar of car key dilemmas: the coat hanger. It takes some hard looking to locate a traditional one suitable for making into a hook, but we finally do, and we twist and bend and ply it. Several sweaty minutes later we have only succeeded in getting the coat hanger stuck.

At this point we just laugh, as we picture an increasing assortment of tools sticking out of the hole at odd angles. We aren't quite licked yet, but after an hour and a half of pushing, pulling, and attempted disassembling, we have only freed the coat hanger. No keys.

It is too late to get our errands done. There is no way we'll be ready to leave by tomorrow. Just perfect, Jacob thinks. Let's set the tone for this trip with freak accidents and disrupted plans.

At about this time we start hearing reports of the storms in Oklahoma, and their projected path into NW Arkansas. And we realize we do not need to leave tomorrow. Should not, in fact. Then we hear about the destruction the storms cause, and the tragic loss of life. Our own problems, well, what problems?

We promise each other we will not jump to conclusions about mishaps on this trip. 

There will be no wrong turns, only unexpected destinations.

Driving the Length of the Telescope

From Jacob:

To our family and friends: thank you for your interest, love, support, and prayers. (To the random blog surfer who has somehow found this page: hello!)

As most of you know, my wife and I met ten years ago at the Arkansas Repertory Theatre. Our friendship was written on the pages of backstage camaraderie, enhanced by a love of stories well told, and made permanent by the ability to laugh at the same morons, often ourselves.

Along with a rich and adventurous life together, something less lovely developed over the next decade. Though we got married, worked on movies, traveled the country, and went to Disney World half a dozen times, we felt a quiet, desperate emptiness growing inside. My perspective is tiny but I sensed a few things happening.

One was a loss of rhythm between us. My job at Cafe Bossa Nova was perhaps the best of my life, working for and with amazing people, but it required being on my feet for hours at a time, and I came home physically drained though full of stories. Leighann took an office job that found her getting up early, sitting in a cubicle all day, then coming home emotionally drained but ready to move, make, and do. It was almost funny how perfectly positioned we were for disconnection.

A bigger issue was a loss of hope. When we met she was working at a theatre professionally and I was nurturing plans to become a filmmaker. Some successes and failures later, we were waiting tables and punching an office clock, respectively, and felt less certain than ever what exactly we wanted to do with our lives.

Call it a third-of-life crisis. (Or probably don't.)

We needed to find each other again (and maybe find ourselves) and the first step seemed a change of vocation. We checked help wanted ads and websites. We brainstormed and daydreamed. We put our dilemma before some of you and were asked questions like, "If money were no object, what is the one thing you would do?" We didn't even know that.

Except...

Whenever we got in the car and drove, it felt right. We felt like we should keep going until we ran out of road. Like we should drive until we found an ocean, didn't matter which one. 

We felt.

It turns out we'd been saving for a trip to Europe. I remember talking about this at the beginning of our marriage and then it had slipped into some closet in the back of my mind, where I keep cousins' birthdays and thank you notes I mean to write. Leighann's complex partitioning system kept the Europe fund out of my sight, and I didn't realize how much we put into it over the years. A testament to her financial discipline: more than I ever saved before meeting her.

The thing about Europe is that it's really expensive to fly there. And the dollar is weaker than the Euro. And we know very few people.

We looked at a map of the USA, and did some calculations on how much gas we could buy with the cost of European airfare. I checked and doubled-checked the number. It had to be wrong.

Twenty-Thousand Miles...

So instead of flying abroad we put new tires on the car and plotted a flexible driving course around North America. 

We are at the beginning of a new chapter, a journey beyond expectations, there and maybe back again. We don't know what we want to do, or what we're meant to do. But we know that we love automobile rides. And each other.

We'll keep you posted.