Road Trip

Frankly, I’ve done quite enough writing recently. Twenty-four thousand words in twelve days is no joke. But duty calls; someone has to document the journey westward. I’m running on minimal sleep and recovering from a month long dissertation slog, a day of packing and a day of driving. Nonetheless, duty calls. (Hello reader, I’m currently editing this piece. It’s late September, now, and I have just got my grade back for said dissertation. Ninety percent. I am really that guy. Anyway).

Marshall, Alfie, and myself left my house today, the 17th of August, at 11.30 and arrived at 11.45. Eliah was late, as he tends to be. This wouldn’t have been a problem had he not been cyber-profiled. By this, I mean that he wasn’t allowed to check in online like the rest of us, presumably because he was born in Karachi. We waited in the check-in queue for circa 30 minutes, chewing the fat, shooting the shit etc., then breezed through security fairly quickly. Marshall was stopped for trying to bring two lighters through customs, rather than for the other reason, which shows you how well run Manchester airport is. I bought a pack of crazy sour skittles to help with the pressure in my ears, though they were disappointingly tame. Neither crazy, nor all that sour. As you can tell, I don’t have much to report at this point, and I assure you, dear reader, things will heat up promptly. At the moment, however, I’m a shell of a man, and very grumpy. A dissertation will do that.

We’re all sat apart from one another, which I’m sure is breaking our hearts. I tried to connect with Marshall via bluetooth chess, but I realised I was in the wrong seat and got moved to the very front. This meant that I couldn’t lift my screen up until after take-off. When I did, it was broken, so I’m not best pleased. There’s also an incredibly rotund gentleman sat next to me, and he absolutely reeks; so much so that I’ve had to cover a nostril thus far. I’m really not best pleased. I have a beer now, though, which should help, and I’m so absolutely shattered that I might be able to sleep. We shall see. The fella next to me is watching Lilo and Stitch, which I’d usually respect, since it’s a top five Disney film, but he’s so big and portly it somehow feels questionable. Like an old man drinking a fruit shoot. He’s only twenty-something, I imagine, but he smells old. It’s really bad, I can’t even lie. He’s also eaten two chocolate bars within 30 minutes of getting on the plane and asked for two ginger beers from the hostess. Man, I’m hating a lot, maybe I’ll cut all of this when I post it (I did not). It does feel emphatically American, though. Oh my god, oh my god, they won’t let me move seats and my tv doesn’t work. God I’m so mad.

I got moved 😈. And I got a free beer 😈. God is good. Life is good. And I’m right next to the bathroom. God loves his true believers. I’m watching the film they made about the guy from Fortnite. The story and dialogue are quite terrible, but the action is some of the best I’ve seen, as expected.

We’ve landed and Eliah has already been racially profiled again. This is really nuts. Myself, Marshall, and Alfie got through no problem, but they have to verify Eliah’s passport. I do wonder why. Obviously I knew this country was racist, but I think after this trip the reality of it will really hit me. He must feel awful right now, poor guy. It was a young black border force lady, so it’s not even like it was some crusty bitter old white cunt either. This country is really mad. Great, they made Eliah cry. What a horrible shit cunt airport.

Alfie just asked if any of us have slept with a girl who likes bees and brings a bee hive into the bedroom and slathers us with honey and does bee stuff.

So that was an excerpt of conversation from our walk home last night. On arrival at Jake’s, we said our hellos, dumped our stuff, grabbed a sandwich, and headed for Lower East Side Manhattan. As a side note, you would not believe the size of things in this country. The sandwiches we got were the size of my head, and they didn’t offer anything smaller. It’s pure insanity.

*Marshall sucks his fingers sussily on the subway.*

Anyway, we headed to the Lower East Side via the subway, which really isn’t as bad as people make out, though that might be because Jake lives in a fairly nice area of Brooklyn, and we didn’t see the Upper East Side of Manhattan, which I believe is vastly more busy. The Lower West Side is fantastic, though. There are bright lights absolutely everywhere, and the streets are brimming with young, gorgeous people in cool outfits, and there’s a [REDACTED] shop every 20 metres. I would get absolutely nothing done if I lived here, which makes sense given that Jake seems to have gotten absolutely nothing done all summer. I envy him deeply.

So, we were heading to the LES to meet Marshall’s aunt and uncle, who have lived in New York for 20 years. They were waiting for us in this obscenely cool dive bar called The Magician. It had red neon lights and fairly cheap drinks for New York standards. Marshall’s aunt and uncle bought us the first round. We hadn’t planned to stay all that late, but Jake’s sister Sofia took quite a while to arrive, and Davis took even longer. I think we all realised quite how terribly we’d missed Slayvis and his silly one liners. We spent around 3 hours there, in the end, and the combination of exhaustion and a fair bit of booze, including a Long Island to start, meant that we were substantially pissed by the end. I’d hoped we could explore town a little more and maybe speak to some cool young people, but we aren’t very cool, and we were very tired. Sofia could not remember who either Eliah or I were, but I hope she remembers us now. Anyway, Marshall’s aunt and uncle told us a few stories about how crazy it is to live in this city, and it doesn’t surprise me in the slightest. This place is surreal, so intensely dystopian but also somehow charming. Adverts on absolutely everything, concrete every direction you turn (Alfie decided he doesn’t like New York because there are too many walls), but at the same time, everyone is bat shit, balls to the wall, and seems to be having a great time. It’s also the birthplace of hip hop, so I owe it that. Also, it’s where basically every super hero ever comes from, and I completely get that. It would not surprise me very much if I saw Spiderman perched on some scaffolding chewing the fat with a construction worker.

But yeah, we stayed there late, then headed home around midnight via the subway, which, once again, was fairly tame. When we got back, though, Jake realised he’d forgotten his keys. I believe Sofia flipped at him, and he got an Uber over to where she was staying the night so he could borrow hers. About 10 minutes after leaving, the four of us were lying down in the hallway, prepared to wait an hour, and Jake suggested we try the door just in case. He had indeed left it unlocked, and the keys were inside. We then all collapsed in air conditioned delight, because, by the way, it’s fucking scorching in New York.

Side note, I’m updating this on the bus from New York to Philly, and there’s an American and a Brit (from fucking Leeds, mind you) sat behind myself and Marshall having to most braindead, jarring conversation I’ve heard in my life. Seeing more of the city is fantastic, though.

But back to the narrative. In the morning, we went to the roof terrace to admire the view of the city, which is incredibly impressive, before the gang went to grab a snack and I showered. Jake was fairly slow in getting ready, so we were waiting a while to go for lunch, but I’d had a coffee so I was chilling. Also, Jake had a mini heart attack last night, like an actual one, so we couldn’t blame him all that much. Once he’d finally sorted himself out, we went for brunch at this incredible Mexican place, for what was, naturally, the best Mexican food I’d ever had. Americans are adamant that Mexican food in the UK sucks, and I’m not inclined to disagree. It also makes sense, as I think I’ve seen about ten South American people in England, and two of them are Lucas and his mum.

So, after brunch we packed our stuff up and rushed to the bus station, as the others really like to dawdle at crucial times. This includes Jake, who is joining us on the bus to Marshall’s to stay with us for a few days. Anyway, we made it, and now I’m being tortured by these insufferable cunts. They’re talking about the comparison between baseball and rounders, American football and rugby, etc. “Rugby players are no joke!” Says the stupid yanky. “Oh yeah I know a few, they don’t mess about” says the Leeds fucker. I hate Leeds so much. I’m drowning them out with Wu-Tang, now. Delightful.

Some of the shit I’ve seen advertised is just ridiculous. I just saw a truck that said “tropical cheese services” on the side. How could cheese possibly be tropical? What is a cheese service?

Beyond that, we saw some really mad shit. The sheer scale of this country is incredible. There are factories the size of a British town decorating the sides of the highways, and vast marshy expanses between them. I’ve never even seen a marsh before. All I can think when I see them is that there must be an obscene number of snapping turtles in there, and when I think that all I can think about is them biting off my penis.

We can get nice food anywhere; we can only get Wendy’s here.- Me.

That was something I said on the way to a farmers market that seemed to crack Marshall up. I’m writing this now on the way back from the market, which was run by Amish people, who are incredibly novel.

We arrived at Marshall’s house around 4.45 after driving through Philly. Marshall’s Dad picked us up in the centre, and I found a lot of joy in filming various tourist spots in the city whilst playing the Sunny theme song. Anyway, we were greeted on arrival by a very excited dog, Sophie, who is a gorgeous Labrador/Australian Shepherd cross, along with Marshall’s mum and sister, who are lovely. Marshall’s mum, Ann, brought out some snacks and told us to get changed and hop in the pool, which Marshall failed to mention they had, so we did that. We spent well over an hour shooting hoops in said pool, air balling over and over whilst Marshall’s Dad, David, dunked on us. Marshall’s grandparents walked over after a while, as they live in a converted stable esque situation across the road. After swimming for a while, we all headed inside for a chilli dinner that Ann had prepared, which we enjoyed with homemade mango margaritas. Marshall’s family love to talk politics and history, and they’re all very intelligent, including his younger sister. Oh, by the way, Marshall’s house is absolutely colossal, like mansion sized, and the interior is gorgeous. It seems as though the houses in his neighbourhood, many of which are equally big, cost around 1 million dollars, which would get you a normal sized house in Altrincham. I’m metronoming between wanting to live here, earn six figures as a lecturer and live in a huge house in the forest with a shiny car, and being disgusted by absolutely everything I’m seeing. Currently it’s the first one.

Later in the evening, Davis arrived from Connecticut having finished work around 6. He rocked up in a very formal outfit that juxtaposed nicely with our tank tops and swimming trunks. Ann made us a delightful Texan chilli, so we tucked into that, along with a few Modelos, a frankly insurmountable combination. It’s always Modelo time.

After dinner, we went for a brief constitutional (walk) to a nearby playground. It was dark by this point, so I decided to rock my insect repellent fit. It is rather silly. Again, my writing skills are fairly poor, as I’m quite shattered, so I apologise for that. The park was cool though, I haven’t been on a swing in years, and it brought me a lot of peace. The gang decided to make up haikus whilst frolicking around the playground, so I sat on the climbing frame and listened to them for most of the time. It felt strange, as I’m generally trying to dominate every conversation I’m in, and everyone else seemed to notice my silence, but the eepy sleepy tired meant my brain could not conjure up a sentence for the life of me.

When we got home I changed into a less silly outfit, then joined everyone downstairs for cigars by the fire. David asked me about my dissertation and I managed to get the main ideas across. I even talked about some ideas I had that didn’t make it into my essay, which was cool. I don’t really remember what else we talked about, partly because I’m an egomaniac and partly because it was two days ago now. I’m updating this in the car having set off for the road trip. I will now spend the next hour or so recounting what we’ve been up to at Marshall’s house.

On Saturday morning we got up fairly early so that we could eat breakfast at an Amish market called Booths corner. This is the market I mentioned earlier. Marshall, Eliah, Jake, Davis, and myself hopped in the minivan, but Alfie, the pure madman, drove Ann in the Coles’ Hyundai Tiberon, a neat little nipper of a sports car; vaguely Mazda-esque. Miraculously, we all arrived safely and headed into the market. Let me tell you, this place was wild, and I’m not kidding. The first thing I saw was a fucking katana shop, complete with pepper spray, stun guns and a collection of pocket knives, including one with a confederate flag and another with Arkham Knight Harley Quinn. Fantastic stuff. Next to that, there was a vintage coin shop, where Eliah bought a golden 1000 Trump dollar note, which I believe is legal tender across the country. Next to that, there was a donut store. That was essentially the general pattern of the market: weapons, vintage (clothes, video games, toys, comics etc) and food stalls. Myself and Jake were wearing fairly fruity outfits and felt deeply safe and secure at all times whilst traipsing around this middle American farmers’ market. But whatever, I was kind of asking for it. After exploring for a while, Ann insisted on buying us all soft pretzels and other salty baked goods. Anyone that knows me knows I run salty, so this was effectively heaven for me. The pretzel was incredible, and I paired it with a buffalo chicken and blue cheese bake, which was fairly sexual. We followed this up with donuts for dessert. They were alright, though Marshall insists they’re usually better. After that, we knocked about for a while longer, bought 100 dollars’ worth of beef jerky, examined the absurd number of specific kinds of butter and Marshall bought a cool Zippo lighter. Then we headed back home.

Despite eating enough calories for the whole day, I was a tad hungry when we got back, so I suggested we head into Philly to get those fabled cheesesteaks. Everyone seemed down, so I offered to drive us in order to learn the ropes. It was a bit of a pain, because obviously I’ve not driven on that side of the road before, but the main problem was that the others were being obscenely loud and distracting because they’re tactless fools. Marshall sat in the front and gave me directions, and I asked him to play the Sunny theme tune as I drove past the Eagles stadium. Serious bucket list stuff. I drove us right into the centre, then swapped with Marshall who found a parking space by one of the city’s most famous steakhouses, called Pat’s. Pat’s is opposite the other most famous steakhouse in the city: Gino’s. They’re rivals, and lovers, I imagine. We went for Pat’s purely because it looked like we’d get served quicker, and I must say it did not disappoint. I got a cheesesteak with provolone, caramelised onions, and relish, along with my first ever root beer. Both were awesome, if a little expensive. Post-cheesesteak, Marshall took us further into the centre so that we could visit the famous Rocky steps. I was rather excited, as I love Rocky, but on our arrival I was met with a truly awful sight: blue beetle. Fucking blue beetle was being advertised on the steps. Evidently the Philadelphia art museum has recognised that no one that comes to visit the Rocky steps pays them any money to do so, and they’ve decided to capitalise on them somehow. They’ve done so by selling their soul. Rocky didn’t stand for this, he stood for thinly veiled white supremacy and Cold War exceptionalism.

On that bleak disappointment, we drove home and went for a refreshing dip. That evening, our pal Simon was driving down from his college to visit, and Marshall’s childhood crush and on again off again flame was to stopping by on her way home from work. When they arrived, we were frolicking around like madmen in the pool, so we had to get serious for a second in order to seem cool and impressive. I think it worked very well. Simon is a great chap, intelligent, charming, and friendly, while Ava, Marshall’s flame, is strikingly pretty, very friendly, but somewhat uninteresting, if I’m honest. I don’t say that in a mean way, it’s only that she’s a very standard American white girly, which, if generally inoffensive, also isn’t particularly captivating of one’s attention. She, like Eliza (Marshall’s sister), generally hung around Jake, fag-hag style, as he’s very good at playing the gbf role. He insists that he doesn’t like it, but I don’t buy it for a second. It comes naturally to him, and as much as I’m sure he’s frustrated by being pigeon holed in the “gurrrrrrl” category, it must be incredibly comfortable and familiar. My recollection of that night is quite shaky, as we all drank a lot and talked a lot of shit about a lot of nonsense. All I can say conclusively is that the barbecue ribs and potato salad that Ann made were delicious, Simon has been tracking seismic activity in icebergs, and we went for a late night swim. Davis also admitted that he had tried extra hard to make a good impression on me, as I was Eliah’s friend from home coming to shake things up. It’s a strange thought, but of course it makes sense, as I felt the very same way. Oh, Jake also seems to think that his sister is gay, which also makes sense, as she doesn’t seem to have fallen in love with me yet. An impossibility, otherwise. Oh, one final thing: Marshall, Alfie, Eliah, and I climbed onto the roof to hang out for a while. ‘Twas a nice moment.

The next morning we all woke up with steaming hangovers and headed downstairs for bread, butter and huckleberry jam. Prior to this, I was not aware that huckleberry was not simply Twain’s protagonist. It’s really good, though. Marshall bumped bits with Ava the night before. Apparently it wasn’t all that great, but she’s mega hot, so he didn’t complain much. She left pretty early that morning, which was ideal. Side note: Marshall thinks the fact I’m doing 21st century travel writing is “sick as cool.” After breakfast, we started rooting through the basement for camping shit, but got distracted by Marshall’s grandad’s old hunting gear, which was sick as cool. He had super vintage Dickies overalls, which I immediately put on. I look like a massive hick wearing them, but they’re so incredibly cool, and I plan to live in them as much as I can. He also had a camo shiesty, both blood and crip bandanas, and a camo hunting hat. We are completely stacked with cool shit now. We are also stacked with camping equipment.

Having brought all that stuff upstairs, I suggested we go to a Wawa for lunch. Wawa is this major grocery store chain in the tristate area (Pennsylvania, New York, and New Jersey), which is immensely popular. There’s even a Wawa university in Philly. Wawa is effectively a better 7/11; it sells standard convenience store stuff, along with freshly made paninis, burritos, hoagies, slurpees, frozen coffee and various other things that rot your teeth horrendously. I’ve been desperate for a proper slushie since the sugar tax in the UK ruined all the fun by turning them sugar free. Wawa did not disappoint. This shit was bright blue, sweeter than you can imagine, and fucking huge. I slurped it down like a big, greedy yank, and gobbled up my pulled pork hoagie when I came up for breath. I do think I’d get fat as shit if I lived here, but then again, I very rarely eat out or buy snacks at home, so maybe I’d be ok. I may have to move here to find out.

When we got back, we decided to go and play baseball and American football at the local park. I’d never played before, so I was worried I’d miss most of my shots. Boy was I wrong. Baseball seems to come naturally to me. I hit near enough every shot and got some serious distance on it. I also hit Marshall once. It has left a pretty hefty bruise, and I feel bad, but he really shouldn’t have been stood there in the first place. Marshall took over batting after me, and Simon bowled for him. Simon was pretty bad, so I don’t actually know if Marshall was as bad at batting as he seemed, but he certainly hit vastly fewer balls than me. By the way, the sound it makes when the ball connects with the metal bat is fantastic. It really scratches an itch in the brain. When you aren’t batting, baseball is mainly just standing around, which I didn’t fancy, so I decided I’d teach Eliza how to pass a rugby ball. Of course, we used an American football, but they’re similar enough that it didn’t matter all that much. She picked it up fairly quickly, and it was very satisfying to see her improve based on my suggestions. It brought me back to high school sport, which I thought I hated, but evidently my memories are fonder than that in actuality. Honestly, I think I miss sport quite a lot, as I’ve not done any in four years. Maybe I’ll pick it up when I get home, Lucas seems keen to anyway.

It was obscenely hot, however, and I was drenched in sweat by the end of the hour or so we spent out there. When we got home, Jake, Davis and Simon had to leave almost immediately, but they decided they’d cool off in the pool first, rather than sweating on the drive back to their respective destinations. We dope, exchanged wet hugs, and said our goodbyes. It was fairly sad, as it’s genuinely one of the last times I’ll see Jake and David for an extended period of time unless they move to the UK or I move to the US, both of which aren’t very likely. It’s sad to see Simon go as well, though I don’t know the guy all that well, so I had bigger things to worry about.

Anyway, they left around 6 and we played around a little while longer, then headed inside for dinner. Ann made us Xuahocan Molé, which is a kind of cocoa chilli. I’m not crazy about the chocolate and savoury combo, but this was yummy. We had to lay off the booze this time, as we still hadn’t bought any food or toiletries for the trip. We also hadn’t loaded the minivan with our stuff, so we had plenty to do. Marshall drove us to the local supermarket, called Giant, which is kind of the Tesco equivalent. It was gigantic and primarily sold junk food and cheese. Of course this provided me with the opportunity to recreate one of my favourite scenes of all time. And what about this? At this point, given only the four of us were left, the road trip was beginning to feel incredibly real, and we were incredibly giddy. It took us about an hour to get through our fairly short shopping list, because we were pointing silly stuff out to each other and then laughing. They sell vanilla *artificially flavoured* wafers, which isn’t that strange, except for the fact that those words are put in huge bold letters on the front of the package, as if that’s the selling point. We also bought a fuck load of kombucha, including one bottle of “ancient mushroom elixr.” It was immensely disappointing.

On our way out of the shop, we enjoyed a cigarette sat on top of the car and kind of marinated in the anticipatory enjoyment of what were about to embark on. It was quite brilliant.

This morning, we woke up around 9, re-loaded the car, and scarfed down some breakfast as Ann delivered a presentation about the different ways we might die. There didn’t seem to be an educational aspect to it as there was no mention of how to avoid these threats, she only told us that they existed and might be the end of us. After that, we said bye to everybody and jumped in the car. Marshall took first drive and I started updating this. Our goal today has been to drive for around 12 hours, as the areas we’ve passed through are effectively endless expenses of forest for hundreds of miles. That’s really the most striking thing about America: it’s unthinkably huge to a Brit. You could walk 10 minutes into the forest by a highway and you’d be irreparably lost. You could quite easily say the spot of land you’re stood on has never been stood on before by a human being. It’s honestly a little distracting, but the roads are huge and the car is incredibly smooth to drive, so it’s no problem.

We stopped off briefly for petrol, and then again for lunch, which was Popeye’s chicken. The chicken those fuckers sell is colossal. A breast is the size of a human head. It’s really alarming, actually. Not enough that I wouldn’t eat it, but close. At Popeye’s I swapped with Marshall and ended up driving for around 4 hours whilst the others slept. We’ve powered through Pennsylvania, West Virginia (of course, we listened to Country Roads) and most of Ohio (of course, we listened to Swag like Ohio) thus far today.

Whoever drives chooses the music for the most part, which meant we had four hours of country with Marshall, bedroom pop with me and we’re currently two hours into pussy cunt-cunt girl rap and baby Keem under Alfie’s reign. Hence the below.

*Alfie listening to Thicc by Gloss Up*

Marshall: Alfie, who are you bro?

Alfie: Still figuring it out.

Alfie is now singing ‘Area codes’ by Kali, which goes: ‘I got hoes, in different area codes.’ It’s immensely amusing.

There is a man in a red pickup truck driving next to us that has confederate flag snake eyes hanging from his rear view mirror. I’d very much like to flip him off, but I’m mindful of the fact that he most likely would shoot us. This is something we’ll have to bear in mind throughout our trip. We cannot aggravate anyone, as they will simply murder us.

We kept going for the rest of the day and ended up driving for over 12 hours. Very little happened, and there was very little to see as the Midwest consists almost entirely of corn. Nonetheless, we made very impressive progress, ending up in Illinois— 4 states, and around 1000 miles from where we started. By the end of the drive, I had drifted off in the back seat, and I woke up to us pulling into a motel. We unpacked the car in the unbearable, insect-filled humidity, then headed inside to the AC as quickly as possible. I collapsed as soon as my head touched the pillow.

The next morning, this morning, I showered and we all went for our complimentary breakfast, which primarily involved us gawking at how unhealthy the food offered at motels is, which isn’t massively surprising. We also held a conference on what to do tomorrow, as we may now have time to hit Colorado because of the progress we made yesterday. I think we may now go to Medicine Bow via Kansas and then Boulder, which should be cool. I’d like to see Kansas because my Mum loves the wizard of Oz so much. We shall see, however.

*“Arch that thang like where I’m from.”- Smino*

After breakfast, I drove us into St Louis exclusively playing Smino since he’s from there and doesn’t let anyone forget that. Man I love that guy. The city itself is fairly impressive— definitely the biggest we’ve seen since Philly— and hugely historically significant, as we learnt at the museum of Westward expansion. Due to its position at the intersection of the US’ two largest rivers, the Mississippi and Missouri, it was the known as the gateway to the West and was the location where most settler expeditions set off from. The museum was quite interesting, and a welcome break from the heat. It’s underground, and sits beneath the St Louis arch, which is 400 odd foot monument to expansion. Obscenely American. We rode a tram up to the top for a view of the city. Nothing to write home about, primarily because, again, there’s fuck all in the Midwest.

After the arch, we were all famished so we headed to a place called Imo’s pizza, which is a St Louis based thin crust pizza chain. More specifically, we went to the one in the neighbourhood that David lived in as a child. The pizza was wham, really good stuff. I got one absolutely loaded with meat and washed it down with a locally produced root beer. I love this stuff. Really I do. I even kept the bottle cap, as I think it’s pretty cool. Post pizza, we did a little tour of the major locations from David’s childhood then got back on the road. We’re planning to blast onto Kansas City, Missouri and then stop for barbecue and booze. Should be a treat.

I think post-punk might be the silliest genre I’ve ever heard. I really ought to like it, I mean, I don’t very much like Britain, I love complaining and I like substance abuse, all of which are pretty central to the genre. I think the problem is that it’s a self-defeating genre. The artists complain about Britain whilst being the epitome of Britishness. I also can’t get over how idiotic the song writing often is. It’s so frequently just a cockney man narrating an insanely depressing day in a monotonous accent, occasionally saying something crude for a cheap laugh. It feels like what British music sounds like to non-British people. I say this because it’s been playing in the car for an hour and it’s driving me insane.

*I WAKE UP IN THE MORNING AND I SLAP MY BITCH WIFE…*
*PARKLIFE.*

I’ve never seen a sunset like this. It’s Caribbean sea-blue on top, but a striking orange bleeds into it from the horizon line, with some rays penetrating further into the ocean than others. The sun was a glowing molten ball before it descended below the line of trees. Myself and Eliah are sat in the back seats, and the view is so gorgeous that we’ve had to recline across two seats each in order to lie back. I really understand why a Missourian farmer with the privilege of seeing this every evening after a day of tending to limitless fields of corn would have no desire to change a single thing about their lifestyle. This is enough to explain rural conservatism. Eliah added that anyone privileged with seeing this every night would have little choice but to believe in God. Marshall pointed out that that thought is effectively transcendentalism. Yes, but it’s also rural conservatism. Whitman really got a lot right.

I wrote that as we drove on past Kansas city having stopped for some barbecue from the best barbecue place in the world (according to Anthony bourdain). It wasn’t actually that good, and all of this junk food is making me feel a little sick now. The restaurant, Joe’s Kansas City Bar-b-cue, was cool, though. It was in a petrol station, for starters, and it’s most popular meal was called the Z man. I’d check it out if you’re nearby, but honestly homemade stuff is vastly better.

It’s now 9.25 pm and I’m hoping to get a go driving in a sec, as I’m bored, and Marshall has been driving for a while, which means we’re listening to Alfie’s music, and I don’t like it. Currently it’s that God awful Elton John remix, Cold Heart.

I ended up driving for around an hour in the dark. This meant I could listen to my night drive playlist, which I curated last night. It includes Travis, Ecco2k and Bwent, among others; perfect for never-ending, pitch black highways. We pulled in at a motel in Lincoln, Nebraska, which is the same as every other Midwestern town, in that it sucks dick. The driving tired me out, so once again my head hit the pillow immediately, though I must say I was more reluctant this time, as the Best Western motel was significantly more grimy that the Quality inn that had hosted us the night before. The night shift guy even sent us to the wrong room, a curiously stinky single bed with a sofa. Marshall quickly rectified this, but the confusion was too much for Alfie, who insisted on taking a [REDACTED] break, unaware that Nebraska is one of only 4 states in which it is completely illegal. Oh well, nothing came of it, beyond Marshall telling him off a little.

This morning, we headed downstairs for breakfast, which was even worse than yesterday’s. They offered tiny bagels, shitty bread, worse coffee, and no water. We didn’t linger long, and we’re on the road again now, heading towards Wyoming. We’re planning to camp for the first time tonight, but that depends on how accommodating the staff at our Medicine Bow campsite are.

Like the entirety of the Midwest, there is absolutely nothing to document beyond corn, red barns, and huge grain silos. Thus, I think I’ll take a moment now to note what everyone has been wearing so far. That way, my dear reader, you might have a better image of what these extensive car journeys have looked like. For the most part, Marshall has been in the driver’s seat (on the left hand side, of course), dressed in his new purple and khaki walking trainers, blue or pink shorts, a red tank top, either adorned with the Budweiser logo or the words “Trucker Pride.” He has coloured each letter of pride in a different colour, making the top immensely ironic, and brilliant, in my opinion. It made me unreasonably happy to see. He’s also opted to wear the red bandana tied around his head in order to keep his hair out of his eyes. It makes for a very red outfit, on the whole. I tend to wear shorts, either navy, beige, or khaki, with a black or white vest top, my silly tiny glasses and either my blue Lacoste cap or a khaki bucket hat. I’ve worn my beige air maxes in built up areas, but I’ll be switching to a pair of goretex walking boots once we get into the mountains. Alfie has rocked a pair of soft purple shorts, various T-shirts and often my purple corduroy bucket hat, with a pair of Dad sandals. Eliah has dressed similarly, with similar shorts, various T-shirts, though often his snoopy shirt instead, and a similar bucket hat. The car is dressed primarily with bags, the two paddle boards and their paddles, and two large coolers. Gauche sits on the dashboard, guiding our voyage.

Not to be overly (overly)
Dramatic
I just think it's best
'Cause you can't miss what you forget
So, let's just pretend
Everything and anything
Between you and me
*Was never meant*
*Was never meant*

Today, we have driven so far and scaled so high into the mountains that the temperature has dropped from the late thirties to the early twenties. We are 8000 feet above sea level.

We just saw antelope. I’ve never seen antelope before. God damn.

I lied yesterday. Or rather today has proven me wrong. The sunset tonight is beyond anything I could have imagined. We’re driving past Elk Mountain in Medicine Bow, and clouds have gathered around the peak of the mountain as the sun is setting. They’ve formed a bright pink circle set against the same orange-blue sky as last night. I don’t really have the words to describe it. It only makes me sad that we’ve fucked the world to such an extent that we’ve had to drive thousands of miles to see this. Nonetheless, it’s beyond worth it. I could really move here.

I shit you not, reader, as we approached the campsite, I saw a vaguely boggy area and declared: “wow, a bog, we’re really in moose territory now,” to which nature responded by having a moose walk immediately out of the forest and on front of our car. This fucker was huge, oh my. Alfie got some pictures, which anyone is welcome to see, but frankly I’m still in shock. This has made clear to me that we’re genuinely in the wilderness. Bears, deer, and moose abound.

The previous paragraphs were impromptu notes I took throughout the day of particularly remarkable things. Now I’d better paint a picture of what the rest of the day looked like. So, we set off early after the dreadful breakfast spread and drove through Nebraska’s endless cornfields until we needed to refuel. It was at this point that we encountered a major obstacle: the entire guard at the front of the car had come loose and been dragging across the ground for a mile or so. This meant that we had to spend around an hour Top-Gearing it. This entailed pushing the guard back into place, duck taping the fuck out of it, driving to a Walmart and then replacing all of the screws that had fallen off with zip ties. Thankfully, it’s still in place at the time of writing this (the morning after), so I’d say that we (primarily Alfie and Marshall, with Eliah serving as an infinite duct tape glitch) did a fairly good job, especially considering the sketchy terrain we’ve been driving on– but I’ll get to that shortly.

Having fixed the car, I took over driving from Marshall, and it was during this stint that we began to see some quite mind blowing changes in terrain. I’ve said that the Midwest consists entirely of corn, but Nebraska is only half Midwest, the rest is cowboy territory. Cornfields change quite rapidly into expansive plains and ranches. The grass turns yellowish, and the terrain becomes almost entirely flat as far as the eye can see. You’ve never seen this much land, nor this much sky. Only myself and Eliah were awake for this portion of the journey, which is shame as it’s genuinely awesome. But what came next was vastly more impressive. The Great Plains are suddenly littered with rocky outcroppings and hills covered by huge pine forests. You begin to clime rapidly in altitude as you approach the foothills of the Rocky Mountains. These hills are themselves mountains, bigger than anything you’d see in England, but Marshall insists they’re nothing to the Rockys. In any case, the climb was striking; I could feel the pressure in my ears and the temperature dropped 20 degrees Fahrenheit in around two hours. Our climb ended in Laremie, Wyoming, the biggest town we’ve seen since Kansas City and the home of the University of Wyoming. This place had money, that was fairly obvious, and was occupied by students, the families of ranch owners, natives who have chosen (and I say chosen very tentatively) to live Western-style lives, and I imagine a few regular tradespeople. We stopped in the biggest Walmart I’ve seen in my entire life because we needed food to cook at the campsite. This Walmart was in a stunning location, sat in valley surrounded by the aforementioned foothills, so we gasped at that for a while. Despite only buying some veg and booze, it took us around an hour as we kept losing each other. There’s also a huge gun store in there, naturally.

*There are chickmucks everywhere. No joke. I wish I coud remember his name.*

^Another side note. Anyway, after Walmart, Marshall took over driving, as we were about to do some off-roading and he’s the only one of us with experience off-roading in this beast of a van. The terrain started to get really wild at this point, and this was when we saw the antelope. About ten minutes into the drive, however, we realised we’d forgotten to get petrol and were fairly low. That meant we had to go to the only petrol station for miles, which was once again in the most stunning location you could imagine. It was one of those very classic sixties stations, bright red with a tall tower and sign next to it. It reminded me of the one you visit right at the beginning of Fallout 4; if only we had our very own Dogmeat to join us on our wanderings. This station sat near the base of Elk Mountain, the one I described earlier, and we set off from the station past said mountain.

*The type of guy who likes to roam around.*

This drive produced the sights I mentioned above, including that mind blowing sunset and our encounter with Mr moose. It wasn’t all that unbelievable given that we camped as far away from civilisation as I’ve ever been in my life. There was no one on the site apart from us, and we were in the middle of a forest. It was dark by this point, so Marshall and I chopped up some fire wood and provided a light source for Eliah and Alfie to put the tent up. Once everything was ready, we sat down by the fire, cracked open the first beers of the road trip, and cooked ourselves some veg and beans, a real cowboy’s dinner. We chased this down with some s’mores. Despite all of us genuinely fearing for our lives (a sign on the table warned of the threat of bears), I felt a kind of peace that I haven’t felt in a long time. Out there you’re absolutely alone, with no responsibility to anyone but yourself and the people around you. I think I could do this for a long time. The Walden Pond idea is ever more appealing to me.

The night in the tent wasn’t the most comfortable, but it was certainly manageable. I think I got the worst end of the stick, as the dew from the side of the tent soaked me and made me a little chilly. Like I say though, it was alright.

In the morning, Marshall and I drove to where we could get service so that he could book our campsite in Glacier. We were accompanied on this mission by a number of very sweet cows from the nearby ranch, and interrupted by two giant crane like birds that flew ahead of us and squawked like pterodactyls. The mission was successful, and we headed back to camp to find the fire out, the tent down, but no Eliah and Alfie, which was concerning. Marshall and I armed ourselves with a baseball bat and hatchet respectively, but it turned out they’d just gone to the river to wash the dishes. Not much else interesting happened this morning; we broke camp and set off for Grand Teton.

I’m updating this on the drive, during which we have so far seen two pronghorns– the fastest land mammal in North America– and a beautiful sparrow hawk. Hopefully there’s more to come.

All I have to update this with is the fact that we drove in the complete wrong direction for an hour, so that’s great. Good thing we’re a day ahead of schedule, otherwise we’d be a little fucked.

I just fell asleep for maybe an hour and woke up in a native reservation area, which I thought would be one of the few places where the native lifestyle had persisted, but apparently that’s not the case. According to Marshall, all the native Americans left have entirely integrated into the dominant culture. A native reservation is simply a place under the jurisdiction of native tribes, but the population isn’t even majority native. It’s really quite bleak.

We finally hit the Rockys and man they’re no joke. These things are obscenely huge and seem even bigger given that they curl around a massive plateau. We climbed up into them for around an hour, and when they finally peaked up from behind the immense pine forest, all of us were speechless but for the occasional “wow.” This place is really wild. During this ascent, we drove through the Bridger-Teton national forest and into Grand Teton National park, named after the Teton mountain range. I’m not sure which mountain is Grand Teton itself, as there is one giant, fat mountain that stands on its own, and another, slightly smaller but somehow more impressive mountain flanked by three other mountains, all of which are sharp, jagged and curve to the left (there’s a joke in there somewhere).

We’ve now made it through grand Teton national park and into Jackson, a town made lucratively rich by its proximity to an airport and some of the world’s best and most extreme ski resorts. It’s a little tacky, honestly, but we have to pass through here to get to our campsite, so whatever. I would like to come back here for a drink, though, both because we’ve not been to a bar yet and because I desperately need to talk to a woman.

We just asked the host of our campsite if there are grizzlies around, and this man responded: “Nah she ain’t been around for about two weeks.” This guy knows the bear personally. Fuck off.

I’m currently taking a fairly leisurely dump at our campsite, which has both indoor toilets and running water: huge win. To get here, we had to drive up the side of a pretty large hill on some very questionable terrain, but man it was worth it. The site overlooks the National elk reserve, a huge, 25-thousand acre plot of land, home to, you guessed it, elk, among other standard wild western creatures such as antelope, moose, beavers, grizzly bears (the ones that will happily kill a human), and even wolves. The likelihood of seeing any of these creatures is very low, but the guy who runs the site suggested that a friendly fox often swings by to say hello, so I’m excited for that. We set up camp very quickly, then cracked on with dinner, which will be burgers. I cut onions while Alfie [REDACTED] and Marshall and Eliah collected firewood. The wood they collected was rotten, so myself and Alfie set out to correct their heinous mistake. Now I’m taking the aforementioned dump, and flies are harassing me, so I’d better get back to camp before one bites my balls.

It’s the next morning, and I’m taking another dump now. That doesn’t come as much of a surprise as I finally managed to enjoy coffee in our camp this morning after being in too much of a rush for the past few days. This coffee came as part of what was without a doubt the greatest European breakfast anyone in history has ever enjoyed. The gang and I moved our deck chairs about 10 metres from the tent to a place with a view of the Tetons, ate cereal, drank warm beverages, and smoked cigarettes. The view was like something you’d see on the side of a water bottle, and it was accompanied by the light and sporadic chirping of creepy crawlers. Oh, and just to top things off, a bald eagle cut across the skyline over the Tetons. I think it may have been one of the best moments of my entire life thus far, so I’m glad we spent five minutes taking dozens of photographs to prove how great it was to everyone unfortunate enough to not be as cool as us.

Picking up from where I left off yesterday, I left the bathroom and walked back to camp. By this time, the burgers were ready and the fire was crackling away. I topped my burger with caramelised onions, avocado, cheese, and barbecue sauce and let me tell you this thing was glorious. Paired with a beer and a fireside location, I’d be hard pressed to think of a more satisfying dinner.

After that, we enjoyed our first [REDACTED] under the stars, but it turns out they’re fairly difficult to make and to enjoy, so we swapped it out for the [REDACTED] towards the end. All of us got positively blasted, to my knowledge, which heightened our hearing to the point that Eliah noticed a fox skittering around in the pitch darkness behind him. Evidently this was the fox that the guy had mentioned earlier, so it was a nice little full circle moment. It also reassured us that no grizzlies were about, as foxes can smell them and certainly would not come to visit us if *she* was knocking about.

Having said goodbye to the fox, we retreated into the tent to fall asleep under the stars. The view was pretty stunning, but because we were only a few hundred metres from Jackson, we couldn’t see the whole Milky Way as we’d hoped. Maybe we’ll see it tonight.

This morning we packed up the camp, enjoyed the aforementioned breakfast, then set off. We’re now sat in the car on our way to Jenny lake, the apparent centre piece of grand Teton, which leads to a number of major trails and sits at the bottom of the Tetons. We’re all very excited.

We’ve just hiked for two hours around Jenny lake, our first hike of the trip. We did it shirtless and in swimming trunks, which meant we were shot a number of curious looks, but it was so hot that I didn’t care. Clearly the people walking with backpacks, coats and hiking sticks are the fools; just because you paid all that money for the gear doesn’t mean it makes sense to use it. Anyway, the hike was lovely and we saw two more moose on the trip. We are very lucky boys indeed. The hike ended at Hidden Falls waterfall, which we followed signs for all the way up a hill. Or rather, myself and Alfie did, while Eliah and Marshall took the wrong path because they’re goof balls. That meant only Alfie and I got a great selfie in front of the falls. The others are a pair of chumps. The walk down obviously went quicker, and we finished it with a dip in the lake. It was pretty cold, given that it’s a glacial lake, but so immensely refreshing, especially given that we haven’t showered in days.

We’re now back in the car, driving to our next site with bison sausages and beer to enjoy later. What a delight.

Ok, it’s now 7.11 pm the next day, and we’ve been driving around Yellowstone for hours. Last night was a tad sombre and disappointing, as we were extremely tired from all the exercise and sad because, once again, clouds covered our view of the Milky Way. We arrived at our site a few hours before sunset and spent ages collecting firewood on the beach (the site was by a lake). Afterwards, we roasted the sausages over the fire and smoked cigars, as I tried to convince Alfie of the value of film studies. The conversation was almost entirely between the two of us, so I decided to rope Marshall in by making an offhand comment disparaging philosophy. Of course I didn’t believe what I said, but I knew that it would lead him to defend the value of philosophy and join the conversation. I played him like a fiddle. Again, we were insanely tired, so we went to sleep mad about the lack of stars, as rain beat down on the tent.

This morning we woke up around 9, ate breakfast, packed up camp and drove around 30 minutes to our next site, which is by Lewis Lake, near the south entrance to Yellowstone. On arrival, we set up as quickly as possible then hopped back in the car to explore. Admittedly, the first hour or so was a tad dull, as the South West consists mainly of trees; very few plains, wildlife, geysers or canyons, the things the park is known for. We stopped to grab groceries for tonight, were the victims of daylight robbery, then moved onto the cool stuff.

As I say, our exploration started from the South West, and beyond Old Faithful, the huge geyser that erupts every few hours, and which we plan to see tomorrow, there isn’t a great deal to see in this part of the park. We had some sporadic bison sightings, which were of course fantastic, but they’re inevitable in Yellowstone. It was only as we travelled further north that things started to increase in insanity. We saw our first hot spring, obviously the result of the super volcano beneath the park, around 20 minutes into the drive. These things are a stunning mix of crystal blue and orange-yellow, billowing steam and leading deep underground. When you peer into them, you see just how far they go, and, because I’m a boy, this meant I had to throw rocks in there because I’m a boy. The springs all lead into nearby rivers, so, because we’re boys, we all felt the need to stray off the designated path in order to check how hot the streams that lead from the springs are. The answer: quite. In finding this answer, Eliah accidentally stepped in a boggy patch next to the river whilst wearing sandals, so his foot has been muddy all day. A small price to pay for touching cool warm water.

As we powered on, the springs became more frequent, but we didn’t have time to stop at any, since we were in a rush to pick up some groceries that we forgot from the next “town.” I say “town,” because Yellowstone’s towns are a collection of three buildings: a ranger’s station, a general store, and a gift shop. There’s next to no settled human life in the park. Anyway, we skipped a few hot springs, choosing to stop only at Beryl spring, the hottest in the park. This spring isn’t quite as popular as some of the others, allowing us to attempt something we’ve been planning all year: swimming next to a hot spring. Swimming in a hot spring would boil you in seconds, but swimming in the nearby river, heated by the hot spring, is very pleasant. As I say, we took our chance here, hopping the “Do not cross” barrier, changing into swimmies, and wading into the river. Unfortunately, it was only hot at the very point where the spring flowed into the river, which was barely ankle deep, but it was nice, nonetheless. The main things we got from this little pit stop were a collection of gorgeous aquamarine crystals that Alfie scavenged from next to the spring, and the joy of watching Marshall try to acid wash his jeans in the hot spring. This did not work. Oh, I almost forgot to mention, the hot springs reek of sulphur, the same smell as rotten eggs. Fortunately, Marshall’s jeans do not smell like this.

After this silly endeavour, we moved onto the Yellowstone Grand Canyon, not to be confused with the actual Grand Canyon. This Canyon is a deep cut in a mountain of stone, yellow stone, for that matter. At the north end, a waterfall spews into the river dividing the two cliff-faces. It’s a major tourist spot, and it’s no surprise, as it is one of the most genuinely awe inspiring places I’ve visited in my life. There are designated viewing platforms, but I noticed a desire path cutting through the trees onto a precarious natural ledge on one of the cliff-faces. It was actually a fairly irresponsible thing to do, as the ledge was covered in loose rocks and we were all fairly light headed from the day’s action, but, man, the view was really something.

To top it all off, this spot is incredibly dry from being at the top of a sun bleached cliff, which meant there was plenty of firewood lying around. When you’re in the camping mindset, firewood becomes gold dust, especially in places like Yellowstone where the campsites have been picked to the bone. So, we all grabbed as much as we could, and loaded it into the car for later.

Quick note, and also spoiler alert: we watched old faithful erupt today, but we spent the whole build up distracted by a couple in front of us. The girl was wearing sweat pants, but hear me out, we weren’t being creeps. The issue was that the guy was rubbing his hand up and down her arse crack over and over. He was stroking that shit in front of everyone, sensually sliding his hand down her crack in full view of everyone watching. Not on.

Anyway, after the Grand Canyon, we moved onto an area called the mud volcano. This area has a number of cool, disparate geothermal features. The first was called Dragon’s Mouth Spring, a cave-like hole in the rock that constantly spewed boiling hot water into a small basin. Because the flow is horizontal, unlike most of the springs, it’s water appears to come in aggressive waves from the cave. It also made a constant, low rumbling noise. These two features of course account for its name. The next feature was the eponymous mud volcano, a pool of scalding hot liquid clay, bubbling away and exuding an awful smell. After that was the Black Dragon Cauldron, a huge pool of dark boiling water. This feature apparently came into existence in 1948 by exploding violently, ripping trees out by the roots, and sending them flying. It’s not so violent today and is honestly carried by how cool the name is. There were various other pots of super-heated liquid, but I didn’t record their names, so these three will have to do.

By this point, we were quite tired, and we had decided we’d get up at 5.30 the next morning, watch the sunrise at lake Yellowstone and drive to Lamar Valley, the area most conducive to seeing creatures. So, we decided to head back to camp, eat dinner and get an early night. Dinner was two sausages each and a gigantic pot of beans cooked over a fire we made using the Grand Canyon wood. In the end, we realised we had been a tad overzealous in our collection, as we stayed up until midnight burning it all. We tried to sleep at midnight, but a number of things got in the way. First, the fire would sporadically start up again due to the immense heat of the embers, which meant I had to go outside and put it out twice. Second, certain people that happen to fall asleep first also happen to snore incredibly loudly, and my AirPods weren’t charged enough to last the whole night. Finally, animals were sniffing around the tent all night. Alfie insisted they weren’t, but I’m dead certain I heard noise a good few times. I think I was right, because the next morning we found out that someone had left the bear locker, full of our food and rubbish, open overnight.

As you might imagine, then, when we woke up at 5.30, we were all somewhat sleepy. We broke camp as quickly as possible, then bombed it to Lamar Valley to find some creatures. But first, we enjoyed some fire baked potatoes, courtesy of Alfie, as we tried to watch the sunrise over the lake. Cloud cover tried its very best to make this impossible. Afterwards, we stopped for petrol, so I decided to hit an incredibly devious lick. I filled 4 cups with hot water and some sugar and milk from the petrol station, then stirred our own coffee and tea into them. The girl working the counter chased me out of the shop to ask if I was going to pay for my coffee, but I hit her with the “Oh, I only got water,” leaving her flustered and apologetic. Eminently satisfying.

Lamar Valley is unthinkably big; it’d take you a day to walk across it. Of course, we drove through it, down the winding roads of the mountainside and into the cavernous valley. From the vantage point of the hill, I tried my best to scan the landscape using my binoculars, but to little avail. There were a few bison and a ground squirrel. Down in the valley we had a little more luck, as, along with the innumerable herds of bison (including some tan-coloured babies), we saw two coyotes. That couldn’t really make up for the fact that we saw neither bears nor wolves, but at least we tried. I mean, I certainly tried, as I made Marshall stop the car three times so that I could check out some vaguely bear-like objects, which generally turned out to be tree stumps. I felt a little like the boy-who-cried-bear, but whatever, it would’ve been worth it if they had been bears. They weren’t, though.

Around halfway through the valley, Marshall asked to take a break from driving, evidently struggling on barely 5 hours of sleep. Alfie took us to Mammoth hot springs, which Marshall had declared the coolest thing in the park. It’s also the most built up area, as all the rangers and employees live there, and it’s home to the historic Yellowstone fort. All of this rendered my expectations high. On the drive over, Marshall and Eliah slept, whilst I stayed awake to make sure Alfie didn’t do the same. When we arrived, they were both dazed, though hardly more than myself and Alfie, who were very close to crashing. Mammoth is a large web of numerous springs that require a fair bit of walking to see. To our shattered party, this didn’t sound particularly appetising, especially since it was uphill. However, it ended up waking us up a little, and we managed to scale the slope without too much effort. When we reached the highest point overlooking the springs, we heard a crash of thunder nearby, and the cumulonimbus above us started to empty its contents on our heads. Everyone knows that a point of high elevation isn’t the ideal place to be during a thunderstorm, but we were committed at this point, so we kept going. We walked along the top of a large mineral deposit above one of the springs, realised it probably couldn’t hold our weight, took some cool pictures, then moved on. After this, we started to descend the hill to get a closer look at some of the springs. I have to say, I was quite intensely disappointed by what we saw, as all but one of the springs seems to have dried up. The one that remains moist was pretty neat; it was a series of tiered, crystallised, orange pools, with water trickling from the highest to lower ones (as it tends to). Nonetheless, the whole area was pretty dead, in all honestly, and only the thunderstorm provided entertainment.

Marshall took over driving as we left, because the stormy conditions were a little much for myself or Alfie. This meant that I could gawk out of my window at lightning bolts striking the nearby mountain. I think this was the first time I’ve seen a lightning bolt since I was 9, so you can imagine I was pretty impressed. To see a storm like that in such a breathtaking landscape was quite the privilege.

From Mammoth, we set off to the Old Faithful Inn, the hotel that Marshall’s Grandad very kindly paid for us to stay the night in. Around 30 minutes into the drive, Marshall asked me to swap in for him. This was an incredibly dangerous idea. Not only had I not driven on Yellowstone’s, windy, densely populated roads, not only was I on five hours of disturbed sleep, we were also sat in the middle of a thunderstorm. Anyway, I gave it a crack, and despite nearly falling asleep at the wheel, I managed the 45-ish minute drive well enough, thanks in part to Alfie and Eliah staying up with me.

Once we arrived at the Inn, Marshall went to check in, while I booked us in for dinner. When I asked to book, the lady told me they’d just had a cancellation, so they’d be able to squeeze us in, suggesting that if I hadn’t asked at that moment, we’d have been shit out of luck and starving. Instead, we were booked in to eat real food for the first time in days. I walked back over to Marshall and was greeted with the bleak news that our room wouldn’t be ready for another hour, so we couldn’t do what we were all so desperate to do. Our solution was to kill the time with a drink in the bar, then go and watch the Old Faithful Geyser erupt. I ordered a pint of overpriced lager, but stole the glass, adorned with a drawing of the Grand Canyon, to make myself feel better.

Then we walked over to the Geyser, which is a thirty second walk from the Inn. A huge crowd had formed when we arrived, evidently keen to secure a good spot to watch the eruption. Given that it’s a giant hole in the earth that spouts water dozens of feet into the air, I would argue that there is no good or bad place to watch it, but you know how tourists are. Anyway, we stood there for around 15 minutes, being edged over and over by the intermittent bubbling of the geyser, which usually precipitates an eruption. As I have said, we spent the majority of this time spectating the aggressive PDA in front of us. When it did finally erupt, it kept going for around 30 seconds, getting progressively more violent, before receding into a mere puff of steam. It’s not exactly life changing, but when you consider that this hole has done that every two hours for at least as long as people have known it existed, it’s pretty incredible.

After this, we headed to our now open room so that we could change for dinner. I wore my beige corduroy shorts and blue knitted polo. Dinner cost 40 dollars but was an unlimited buffet with a constant stream of ice cold water served to our table. After exclusively eating poor quality, gas stove-cooked meals and sandwiches, and constantly clamouring to find a source of potable water for days, I think I would’ve paid significantly more. The food wasn’t mind blowingly good or anything, but the fact that it was well prepared, and there was a lot of it, meant I couldn’t possibly complain. Alfie, could, however, as he didn’t much like the spread. Nonetheless, he, like the rest of us, ate an ungodly amount of it. Feeling celebratory, we ordered an overpriced cocktail each, and shoved desert into the minimal amount of space left in our contracted stomachs.

We decided it’d be best to aid digestion by walking around Old Faithful one more time, then went back to the Inn. I’ll take a minute now to describe the Old Faithful Inn, which is impressive in and of itself. It’s a five storey hotel built entirely out of logs, bent and shaped god-knows-how into winding staircases, furniture, and a grand fire place. It’s genuinely a shame that we were all so tired, as it would’ve been cool to explore, but alas, we were limited to our room. Our room was very cool though; it was in the part of the hotel that has been there since it was first made, so it was very old-timey. We had no bathroom in our room; instead there was a well-maintained communal bathroom one door down. This meant that me, Eliah, and Marshall went for a delightful three man shower expedition once we got back to our room. I swear the bathroom was geared towards homoeroticism. In fact, I’m certain all bathrooms in the US are. The stalls only go up to your shoulders, and there’s a large crack between the door and frame that you can easily see into. Things got even gayer once Marshall realised the body wash bottle in his stall was broken, so I had to constantly hand him globs of body wash. He’d reach his hand over to my stall, and I’d slide my hand, covered in suspiciously milky fluid, over his. Thankfully, the absurdity of it all overshadowed any potential discomfort. We’re all friends here.

Once we were back at the room, we fell asleep almost immediately, savouring the joys of a real bed and a fan to drone out any snoring. And yet, somehow I still couldn’t sleep through, as I woke up in the middle of the night feeling extremely nauseated. I managed to fight it off and fall asleep fairly quickly afterwards, but the disruption wasn’t welcome. I still haven’t had a single undisturbed night of sleep in the month of August. I owe my life and sanity to caffeine.

I’m writing this in the car, with an extra-large cup of extra-caffeinated coffee, as Alfie drives us through the yellow, expansive plains of Montana. This place is really impressive; you’ve never seen so much open space. We’ve been driving through the same valley for around an hour, flanked by mountains a few miles to the left and right. People do seem to live here, but you could drive for five minutes without seeing a house, as they’re all dramatically far apart from one another. It’s the type of place in which you’d have to drive for an hour to pick up groceries. The landscape is in dire need of a strip mall and multi storey car park, in my opinion.

We got nine glorious hours of sleep last night, woke up at 8.30, then set off. We stopped by grand prismatic spring, the most picturesque spring in Yellowstone. It’s a stunning mix of aquamarine water and yellow-orange banks, but unfortunately I only know this from pictures, as it was cloaked by a thick fog due to the early hour in which we visited.

Since then, we’ve been pressing onto Glacier. I think the tiredness is getting to everyone, and the inevitable clashes are simmering beneath the surface of many of our interactions. I always knew this was coming, but it’s still a pain. Hopefully Glacier’s beauty will distract us sufficiently, but if we argue, we argue— these things happen. I’m simply trying my best not to let myself get wound up, because there’s really no problem. I’d hate to let my frustration and exhaustion get the better of me and say something I don’t mean. It’s nearly my turn to drive, so I’ll be able to play my music for the first time in a while. Hopefully that’ll get me all zen and woo-sa. We shall see.

We stopped for lunch in Helena, Montana, at a place called Steve’s café. I’m adding this in retrospectively because it was fantastic and deserves recognition, but since I didn’t note it down at the time, I can’t remember exactly what I had. No, I tell a lie, I had a Reuben, a corned beef sandwich with sauerkraut and cheese. I cannot recommend it highly enough.

Anyway, my zen driving worked for a good while. Eliah climbed up front with me and mixed his songs with mine. He introduced me to Fiona Apple, who I now love, and Midwest Emo, which I now love. Also, I thought Yellowstone, with its volcanic geysers and hot springs, would be the most otherworldly terrain we’d experience, but man I was wrong. It’s certainly more subtle, but Big Sky Montana is without a doubt the most mesmerising landscape I’ve ever encountered. My portion of the drive was through this area, which is effectively a gigantic valley left by retreating glaciers. And by gigantic, I mean thousands of square miles of nearly entirely flat, yellow grassland. The name “Big Sky” derives from this fact, as the horizon is so low that the sky stretches further than you could imagine. This is combined with the fact that, in the summer, the land is incredibly arid, meaning that there are next to no clouds. There are so few clouds that at first we thought we were driving into a thunderstorm or a fog so thick it engulfed the skyline. Seriously mad stuff.

However, things turned south when we drove through another Indian reservation. Again, the area was vastly poorer than the surrounding area, and is dominated by casinos. As sad as this is, this wasn’t the problem I’m alluding to. Our discussion of the reservation sparked the problem, as we got onto the topic of reparations, nationalism, and colonialism. I won’t go into detail, but I said something uncalled for to Marshall, and it understandably upset him. After a silent final five minutes of our drive to the camp, he went for a drive to clear his head after dropping us at the site. When he came back, I apologised sincerely and chalked it up to tiredness and frustration. I knew it was going to happen, but I’m still mad at myself for letting it. I think it was mainly because I spent a good portion of my drive turning over some quite heavy personal things in my head and felt on the verge of tears for a while. Not an excuse, of course, but an explanation.

After this, spirits seemed to raise, even in spite of the fact that we learned that we can’t paddle board on the nearby lake as the watercraft inspector is absent. We decided we’d go for a swim and drink beers instead, but yet another obstacle cropped up. We left our food out on the table, as we thought it only had to be locked up at night, and a park ranger (with a handgun, mind you), came by to tell us off. He took all of our IDs and gave us a formal warning. I’m just glad he didn’t notice the [REDACTED] we’re carrying. Anyway, things could have gone much worse, and he even gave us some useful information, most notably that there are a fuck load of bears around here. Jinkies, jeepers, zoinks.

Side note, I updated this on the toilet, as is my standard practice, and noticed that there are a numbers of things scrawled on the toilet roll dispenser. Naturally, I’ve decided to commiserate my dear friend Benny Harvey next time nature calls.

On my return to camp, I found the others had walked to the nearby lake to skim stones. I joined in for a few minutes, before we all decided it was time to swim. It was around 8 pm at this point, and the sun had fallen behind the mountain in front of our camp, so it was beginning to get bitterly cold. The water looked incredible, though, with a stunning gradient of grey to green to crystal blue, so we had no choice. The lake turned from ankle deep to 3 metres or so in around 1 metre, which made it possible to dive headfirst from the shore. I opted to do that, rather than slowly wade in. It was cold, but not bitterly so, and the striking view of the mountains and pinkish sky distracted me from the temperature. Nonetheless, for fear of hypothermia, we got out fairly quickly and attempted to dry off with our soaking wet towels. As much as it wasn’t ideal, I wasn’t really all that cold, so myself and Eliah simply went back to skimming stones, only wet and shirtless now.

Another side note, we opted for Coors light as our beer of choice for Glacier, as the can famously declares it to be as cold as the Rockys. The can even has a picture of a mountain which turns from grey to blue when it reaches said Rocky-like temperature. Unfortunately, our ice filled cooler was not quite so cold. The beers were good, anyway.

So, we continued to skim stones, but now we edged round the shore of the lake towards a beaver dam on the other side. When we got there, Mr beaver began swimming laps of the lake, so we watched him for a while, hoping he’d come say hi. When he didn’t approach us, we got bored and left beaver town to go prepare dinner.

I boiled a pot of water and added pasta, then left the rest to Alfie. We cracked open a few more Coors and lit a pair of cigars. I think this might have excited Alfie a little too much, as he forgot to fully drain the pot, then added the sauce to the watery pasta. He was very apologetic and rectified his mistake by attempting to boil off the rest of the water and adding more sauce. It wasn’t perfect, but it did the trick, and the four of us attacked the giant pot of watery penne al vodka, trying our very best not to drop any for fear of attracting bears.

I decided I’d sleep with my AirPods in that night, as I knew any noises outside would terrify me. They died around 4 hours in, though, so my sleep ended up just as disturbed as usual.

We woke up at 8.45-ish, then enjoyed the luxury of not having to break camp, as we’re staying here two nights in a row for the first time. I set up a washing line to dry our towels, boiled a pot of water for coffee, and changed into a long sleeve t-shirt for the first time since I arrived here, because Glacier’s elevation is even higher than Yellowstone, making it fairly chilly in the mornings.

“Nope, Marshall, over the trough.”

The above situation came at the end of a series of fairly unfortunate events that I now intend to recount, as Marshall drives us away from Glacier National Park a day prematurely.

Yesterday morning, after breakfast, we set off for Going-to-the-Sun Road, Glacier’s famous scenic drive through the mountains.

Wait, I’ve missed a fairly crucial piece of information, one that might help you all understand how I was, and in many ways still am, feeling. I woke up to a missed call from my ex-girlfriend, who I have been pining over since we broke up. We haven’t spoken since then, but I’d planned to send her a postcard from the states asking to meet up when I’m home, so her call was ideal in many ways. Nonetheless, I was completely shaken, and I mean both emotionally and physically. I realised a few hours later that she’d also text me, and once I saw this, the gents helped me to draft a response. We’ve agreed to talk when I’m home, so the situation has been temporarily resolved, but I thought it was key to mention this, as it dictated my mood for most of the day, leaving me anxious and nauseated.

Anyway, Marshall brought us to the entrance of GTTSR, and we discovered that there is a fee to drive on it before 3 pm. It was only 3 dollars, but an unwelcome surprise in any case. The road itself was stunning, winding through towering mountains peppered with glaciers and glacial waterfalls leading to rivers running between said mountains. The mountains themselves were equally glorious, as many have gaping holes in the centre, like pitted avocados.

Halfway through the drive, we stopped at a place called Logan Pass trailhead. Logan pass is a steep hike through the mountains, past a glacier, and up to an overlook with a view of the aptly named Hidden lake. The gents and I sun-creamed up, stripped down to shorts, and hiked through the pass. This wasn’t without difficultly, as the elevation makes the air painfully thin, and the sun was beating down heavily on us. I also seem to have forgotten to put cream on my face, as it’s now sun blushed. It was a lovely hike, however, and we were accompanied by countless Colombian Ground Squirrels and Least Chipmunks (I don’t really know why these ones were called that, but my best guess is that one must’ve stolen Lewis and or Clark’s dinner one time).

After the walk, we continued cruising along the road, though at a snail’s pace this time, as we got stuck behind a whimsical, open-topped, red tour bus. Practically a corpse wagon, said Marshall, clearly incensed by road rage of at the bus full of geriatric tourists. Once past this wagon, we picked up a bit of speed and powered on to the nearest town, having worked up a voracious appetite on our hike. The restaurant at this town was closed, so we moved onto the next. This is where the problems really began.

The road between these towns was gravel, and uncomfortably bumpy. Nothing this old beast can’t manage, we thought, given our success on the road to our camp in Grand Teton. We arrived at the next town to find a quaint, family owned restaurant, which we easily found a table at, while Marshall parked up. The menu seemed nice enough, and it wasn’t ludicrously expensive; so far, so good.

Marshall returned from parking around 10 minutes later, which was itself a little suspicious. He asked if we’d ordered yet, I said we hadn’t, and he said that was great because we needed to watch a 15 minute educational video on the dangers of back-country camping in order to get our permit to camp at our next site.

I haven’t mentioned this yet, but there was a major change of plans earlier in the trip relating to today. Today is the 30th of August (I’m recounting the 29th right now), and we’d initially planned to drop [REDACTED] in glacier yesterday, then bomb it across the country as quickly as we could to Wisconsin today so that we could see my dream concert, Trippie Redd and Lucki. However, we realised that tonight there is supposed to be a blue super moon, the next of which is in 15 years, so we decided to skip out on the concert so that we could drop [REDACTED] under the super moon in glacier. Yesterday we received the incredible news that our concert had been cancelled, and we would now receive full refunds, making the plan even more appetising. On top of this, we planned to walk up to an extremely secluded camp site around an hour from our original site, where we’d be in the cradle of a mountain, with a lake to ourselves, nobody around, and an entirely unobstructed view of the moon. Had things gone this way, I think it might’ve been the most incredible night of our lives. However, as you might have guessed, that plan has not quite materialised.

Back to the narrative, though. So, we headed to the back country permit station to watch the video. The person running the station was a cute, twenty something midwestern girl that was evidently crushing hard on our dear Marshall, who, from his overt flirting, appeared to be crushing equally as much. She was very sweet and might have eased any worries we had about back country camping, had the video not been designed precisely to terrify you. I won’t go into detail, but it has a section telling what to do if a bear “starts eating you.” It’s safe to say that this left us fairly nervous, especially given we planned to take [REDACTED before facing the possibility of being consumed.

And yet, I think we would’ve gone through with the plan if not for the information she gave us at the conclusion of the video. Marshall mentioned our hopes of seeing the moon, and she told us that a thunderstorm was forecast today (the 30th), and that two inches of rain were supposed to fall in the space of 48 hours. The situation: if we followed through with our plan, we’d be in the middle of nowhere, drowned with rain, facing hypothermia, unable to swim in the lake, and unable to see the super moon that we’d moved mountains (in both senses) to see. Oh, and we’d probably be eaten by bears.

At this point, we were fairly dejected, and decided we’d mull it over as we ate the lunch we’d been waiting for. Marshall said he’d quickly nip back to the car to grab the road atlas so we could decide on a new place to camp, somewhere away from the storm with good visibility of the moon. The rest of us went back to the restaurant and discussed our disappointment until Marshall returned, rocking an ironic grin and a handful of car insurance papers.

He told us we had a flat tyre, in the middle of glacier, a day long walk from camp and too late in the evening to get it repaired. This was the real kicker. We finally ordered our food, then Marshall left to find somewhere with free Wi-Fi and service so he could call someone to tow us to a nearby town where we could get the tyres replaced. Now, it’s important to clarify that we aren’t idiots, if we only had to change a tyre we would’ve been fine, but our trusty Toyota sienna is all-wheel drive, which means if one tyre bursts, they all have to be replaced.

We’re in the South Dakota Badlands. It’s night but the super moon means we can still see. There isn’t a cloud in the sky, which is decidedly big. A bunch of coyotes started howling at the moon. We’re [REDACTED] as fuck, I can see the entire canopy of the universe, and the guys have just fucked off to see a horse. This is mad. Oh and they’ve got bison here too, they seem to get about nowadays.

The morning after, we’re drinking coffee, as Marshall recollects his conversation with the horse people. He asked if the full moon had obscured the stars out here the night before, to which she responded by asking her husband: “Randy, do we always got a full moon out here.” I do love Americans. Also, the campsite is full of prairie dogs and bison shit.

Right, I’m getting quite drastically behind, now. This has been happening on my recent holidays; I get tired towards the end and unmotivated to finish my writing. I’m determined this time, though. Let’s go then. By the way, the above paragraphs were from this morning, two days after the tyre bursting incident, so there’s still plenty to recall.

So, the tyre popped, we ate our dinner, and we considered plans. Our stuff was miles away at camp, as we’d intended to stay another night there, and a storm was forecast overnight. That was our first issue. We hadn’t waterproofed the tent as the weather had been glorious all day, so when the rain came, our stuff, including passports, international driving permits and other important shite was at risk of soaking. I hatched two plans. The first was to sweet talk some nearby honeys into giving us a lift back to camp so that we could protect our things, then deal with the issue in the morning. I think this would’ve worked, because I back myself tremendously, but in the end it proved unnecessary, as my second plan sorted the issue. I approached a park ranger and asked him to radio to his colleague in Two Medicine Campground, who we were well acquainted with, and ask him to put our tarp over our tent. The ranger agreed to help and told us not to worry. Fantastic.

The second issue remained unresolved, however, until Marshall returned from his mission bearing the good news that in an hour and a half we were going to be towed from Glacier to a nearby town called Kalispell. There, we’d be dropped by a mechanic and our car would be fixed either that night (unlikely) or the next morning. Obviously it wasn’t ideal, but at least it was a solution. Marshall scoffed his dinner as a reward for all his hard work.

I suggested we all go for a dip in nearby Lake MacDonald since it’s stunning and we’d never have the chance to do it in the future. After some persuasion, the gang agreed to join me. Being in somewhat of a rush wasn’t ideal; neither was our lack of towels. Nonetheless, swimming in the clear, blue water, surrounded by towering glacial peaks is the real deal. Returning to my earlier metaphor, it feels like swimming in the water Evian wants you to think you’re drinking.

We returned to the wounded car, dried ourselves to the best of our ability, then waited for the tow truck. This thing was huge, I mean it has to be to deal with American cars as inflated as they are. The four of us climbed into the cabin with our trucker, who Marshall said sounded like a swell guy over the phone. He wasn’t wrong in the slightest, this man was a godsend: hilarious, kind, apparently quite intelligent and full of local knowledge. He offered recommendations of things to do in Kalispell and a debrief on the town’s post covid financial boom, spurred on by mass migration from the cities inflating property prices to a level inaccessible to the town’s long-term residents. Also, as the thunderstorm began to set in and purple-blue lightning forked across the grey skyline, he recounted an apparently famous saying: “if you don’t like the weather in Montana, just wait fifteen minutes and it’ll change.” Not only did this man educate and entertain us, he also doctored the receipt for the tow to say that we had two flat tyres, that way the insurance company couldn’t insist that we should’ve had a spare tyre etc. What a truly swell guy.

On arrival, we discovered that the garage was closed, as expected, and resolved to stay in a motel overnight. The cheapest one was conveniently located across the road from the mechanic, so we checked in there. Our driver had given us a recommendation for a nearby saloon-themed bar with sawdust on the floor, swinging doors and pizza. Naturally, we decided to drink away our sorrows in the cowboy bar. The saloon, called Moose’s, offered giant pitchers of craft beer and the aforementioned pizzas, so we split a few of those whilst talking complete shite. We played drinking games and never have I ever, likely irritating everyone in the bar by losing it constantly at one another’s unhinged admissions. I feel I know them on a much deeper level, now: Eliah is less insane than I thought, Marshall is full of genuinely murderous rage, and Alfie is as much of a sexual deviant as myself.

My memory of the night’s specifics isn’t all that clear, as we got quite bladderred. All I can say is that the bar was obscenely cool– it’s saloon aesthetic was accompanied by vintage posters, neon bar signs, stuffed heads, and pen-knife etched messages on every inch of exposed wood– and that we had a splendid time. Making the most of a shit situation is so rewarding, and it provided us with a great bonding moment. Sleeping on a real bed helped too. Overall, the two catastrophic issues resulted in a spontaneous night that I’m sure will stick with me for life.

We slept pretty well that night, but we had to be up semi early to collect the repaired car. Marshall got up earlier than all of us so that he could pay for the repair etc., which I was deeply appreciative of him for. Once he came back, Marshall, Eliah and I went out to grab breakfast, while Alfie had a shower. We went to a little bakery in Kalispell, which is quite a gentrified area now, and Marshall recommended biscuits and gravy. In the US, “biscuit” refers to a kind of soft scone, and these biscuits are generally used in savoury dishes. I tried them, and they were nice enough, but honestly it’s nothing special, and the gravy is really odd. It’s not brown, first of all, so I hesitate to call it gravy. It’s a creamy, grey sludge, filled with bits of sausages. Honestly, I’m not a fan, and I envied Eliah’s simple breakfast sandwich. The huckleberry bear claw I bought, however, was sensational, and the coffee wasn’t too shabby either.

The car was ready by 11, so we headed back to the garage, picked it up, packed our motel things and headed back through Glacier to our campsite in the pouring rain. We had decided the previous day that staying another day, in the middle of a storm, was pointless, and that it’d be better to push on and [REDACTED] another day instead. So, we rushed back to camp, packed up our belongings, which the Ranger’s kindness had kept relatively dry, and got back into the car as quickly as we could.

Now we find ourselves at the moment I lost track of the narrative: Alfie’s demand that Marshall eat over the trough. We thought it best to eat what food we had left for lunch, then set off as quickly as we could. Of course, the rain meant we had to eat in the car, and so Alfie’s imperative was uttered for the sake of hygiene. I hope that all makes sense now.

The plan that day was to get as far East as we could in order to escape the storm, and do some laundry in the meantime, as we’d run out of clothes. I suggested we do laundry in Helena, since we’d loved Steve’s so much. I drove us, while Marshall took a well-deserved nap. All I remember about the drive is that it was fairly stressful as a number of lunatics had taken to the roads that day.

The laundromat, like most of Helena, was charming. It had little arcade machines, benches to hang out, and fun art adorning the walls. We dumped our rancid clothes, then went to grab food at a nearby Mexican place. One thing that I appreciated on the walk was the frequency of pride flags dotted around. I know it’s only a small thing, but these things often give me hope, especially in the Wild West. I ordered a burrito and alcoholic ginger beer. At this moment, I finally realised how much I’d been missing by eating my burritos without guac and sour cream thus far. I’ve learnt a lot of things on this trip.

That night, we stayed at the only campsite vaguely on our way and jetted off the next morning as promptly as possible in the direction of the South Dakota Badlands and the Little Bighorn river. We decided we’d listen to a podcast to switch things up, and Marshall suggested we listen to one on the battle of Little Bighorn, a hugely significant event in the so called Indian Wars. The battle, also known as Custer’s Last Stand, was fought between the US Army, under Colonel Custer, and a large native alliance, under Crazy Horse and Sitting Bull. The US Army had been attempting to sack a village that was refusing to be relocated onto reservations, but the leaders made a number of catastrophic tactical errors, and the natives massacred them. It’s all very cheery stuff, so I was curious to see the spot where it happened.

On arrival, I placed my fingers on my forehead in the shape of an L and jeered at the innumerable graves of American soldiers, then ironically suggested we play Taps, the song they play at military funerals in the US. Marshall jumped at this idea, and insisted we listen to it, but Alfie and I refused. This upset Marshall a fair bit, as he felt we had no right to stop him, and that we were overstepping, but we explained that since I’d suggested it as a joke, and neither of us cared about the song, it’d feel incredibly disingenuous and disrespectful to play it. Marshall made the point that we were being disrespectful anyway, which is fair as I did tell a bunch of dead soldiers that they took an L, but we all recognise that respecting the dead is a bit silly anyway. This conflict led us to a fairly long discussion on patriotism, as Marshall tried to explain why he was patriotic, and why he had reacted negatively to our mocking of American patriotism, and our constant focus on how fucked up American history is. All of his points were fair, and we admitted that we’d probably be defensive of Britain too. “It’s like your family,” Alfie suggested, “you can make fun of them as much as you want, but if anyone else does you lose it.” Anyway, big up Crazy Horse, he sounds like one of the coldest guys of all time.

The conversation on patriotism obviously ignited our appetite for intelligent conversation, and a good portion of the rest of the journey was taken up by a long discussion on politics, philosophy, Utopianism, and biology. Our conclusion: not really sure, we’re going to keep complaining though. This conversation was briefly punctuated by a break to eat the rest of our sandwich food, again over a trough. The meat hadn’t been refrigerated very well, instead it’d been in a vaguely cool cooler inside the bear locker at camp. It didn’t taste or smell great, and it made Eliah sick, but it was food, so we move.

In the evening we stopped for our first McDonalds of the trip. It’s genuinely uncanny how similar it is to British McDonalds, and I know that makes sense, but man, the buns, meat, décor, everything is near identical. I obviously got a sprite because of the memes, but it was nothing crazy, just a yummy sugary delight. In the meantime, one of the most striking, crimson sunsets I’ve ever seen bled across the sky behind the fine establishment. Why is it that the best sunsets always hit you in a Sainsbury’s carpark, or something of that ilk.

It was pitch black a few minutes after leaving Maccies, so Marshall took over driving. We still hadn’t reached the Badlands, so we couldn’t actually see them as we drove into our campsite. I’d better mention that the whole reason Crazy Horse’s alliance has refused to leave the land was because the Badlands and their Black Hills are a sacred site for the native populations. Of course, I couldn’t see why when we arrived. Or I suppose that’s a bit of a lie, because even though the moon wasn’t full, it’s still just as close to the earth as it was yesterday, making it super bright. So bright. In fact, that we didn’t really need torches to set up camp, and we could see the mass of tents around us. The site was rated the best in South Dakota and is entirely free, so it’s no surprise it’s popular. It’s also full of bison and prairie dogs, adding to its appeal. It’s effectively a large patch of grass in the middle of some very low hills. This, along with the hugeness and clarity of the sky, gave the effect of being in a sort of snow globe, or maybe a planetarium. It’s really a shame that the brightness of the moon is blocking out the Milky Way, but this was cool anyway.

As we set up camp, a girl’s voice from a tent a few metres from us asked: “are you guys alright?”

“Yes… Would you like us to keep it down?” Alfie responded. They giggled a little.

“Cool… where are you from?” They— there were two girls— continued.

“The UK, we’re on a road trip.” We said.

“Oh, we’re on a road trip too,” they said, trailing off.

“Bout high as shit,” Eliah whispered to us, commenting on the inebriated awkwardness of our camp mates.

At this point, I’ve caught up with the note I took last night, along with the one I took this morning regarding Marshall’s conversation with the horse people. So, I’ll pick up from there, though we really haven’t done a great deal since. We enjoyed our coffee, having been woken up at 6.30 by the annoying girls, who seemed to be watching the sunrise. We packed our shit then set off, avoiding the bison strolling causally through camp (only a few yards from us). I drove us out and admired the beauty of the black hills meanwhile. The Badlands are a hilly area of the Great Plains; huge, yellow, grassy open space. The black hills poke out from within these plains, the only thing of any height for miles. They’re strange geological formations that almost look like candy corn sticking up from the ground. I noted that, had I been a Native American, I’d most likely revere them as sacred too.

Around 30 minutes into the drive we stopped at town called Wall, famous for its roadside attraction, Wall Drug. I can’t describe Wall Drug in simple terms, it’s eclectic and strange. I don’t know what to make of it.

This says a lot:

In his 1989 book, The Lost Continent, Bill Bryson wrote, “It’s an awful place, one of the world’s worst tourist traps, but I loved it and I won't have a word said against it.”

I think this quote, from its Wikipedia page, describes it well. Wall Drug started out as a drugstore in the town of Wall, and somehow sprawled into one of America’s first malls. Beyond that, Wall Drug is nothing, it’s a void. Wall Drug is Wall Drug because it’s Wall Drug. It has a lucratively successful gift shop that sells Wall Drug merchandise that people use to proclaim they’ve visited Wall Drug. Why have they visited Wall Drug? Because the merchandise they’ve just bought seems to suggest that that is the be all and end of all existence. Wall Drug sells gifts based on Bigfoot and the Jackalope, two cryptids based in the area, along with fossils to appeal to the area’s palaeontological significance and hick-y cowboy trinkets and traditional Native stuff to appeal to the Wild West crowd. They also have a fairly tasty café. I’d recommend the hot cakes, which are pancakes, even if Marshall insists they’re different. For all I’ve said about Wall Drug, I did buy a Jackalope postcard, a jar of huckleberry preserve and a little magnifying glass to start fires. Marshall bought a sword. I won’t have a word said against it either.

After Wall Drug, the day consisted entirely of driving, broken up by a visit to Wall Drug’s first cousin once removed: Walmart. Walmart Worthington, Minnesota, was not ready for our arrival. We were quite hungry, and decided we’d buy lunch and some snacks. Eliah and Alfie were tasked with getting the snacks, and they mistakenly left myself and Marshall to decide on lunch. Lunch was a rotisserie chicken, a wedge of Brie, a large loaf of soft bread and some garlic butter. We took all of this outside to the car park, and constructed it into grotesque sandwiches with our hands, then picked the carcass clean. The others were a little ashamed, but myself and Marshall revelled in it.

After this, the drive continued on through Minnesota, and I spent the whole time updating this. It’s been fucking arduous, but I’m determined to finish. We’re currently sat at a campsite in Iowa, which is densely populated by RVs and families in tents. I much prefer lonely campsites, even when the threat of bears lingers. We’re drinking and smoking cigarettes whilst eating crisps for dinner. Life is pretty good. Tomorrow we’re supposed to be driving 4 hours to Chicago, then another 8 beyond that to a motel so that we can shower and get our shit together before we [REDACTED} in the Blue Ridge mountains of West Virginia. My only concern is that the lost colony of Roanoke disappeared only a day’s walk, or a two hour drive from our campsite. Let’s hope the butcher doesn’t come for us.

This morning we woke up at 7 am, packed up and hit the road immediately, racing as quickly as we could to Chicago. I slept for most of the drive, as I’m really quite shattered, then woke up to enjoy a deep dish pizza at Lou Malnati’s, a famous chain in the city. I honestly expected to hate it, I mean deep dish is such an aberration of classic Italian pizza; it’s effectively a pie. It’s really quite tasty though. Two slices filled me up, because each had an inch of cheese, tomato sauce and dense sausage meat, all of which was appropriately salty, and loaded with garlic. I couldn’t eat it more than once a month, but it certainly exceeded my expectations. We’ve moved on now, and we’re driving down Lake Shore Drive, a road running along the coast of Lake Michigan. Ideally we’d be listening to Chief Keef, but Marshall limited us to three songs, and we’ve used them up already. Marshall wants us to swim in Michigan, which I’m fairly happy to do, though I do worry about timing, given that we’re 11 hours from our next campsite and want to drive as little as possible tomorrow. Swimming does sound nice, though.

We didn’t end up swimming, as we’re very pressed for time. Alfie is driving now, and we’ve been listening to my favourite podcast, The Rest is History. I recommended it to the guys and they seem to really like it. Big win.

Ok so something quite incredible just happened. We’re back in Ohio, unfortunately, and we briefly stopped for dinner. Dinner was Cincinnati style chilli, which is spaghetti with chilli, covered in a few inches of grated cheese. It was really quite awful, so if anyone finds themselves in Ohio, avoid this at all costs. That wasn’t the incredible occurrence, however. After dinner, it was my turn to drive. It was pitch black, everyone was asleep, and I was listening to shoe gaze, bombing it down the highway. About an hour into my drive, I noticed a police officer had pulled someone over to the right. “Chump,” I thought, as I drove past them, obeying the speed limit. However, around 15 seconds later I noticed the blue lights following me, and I realised I might have suffered from a brief lapse of judgement. I pulled over, and the officer approached the car. I rolled the window down, and he barked:

“Show me your license and registration. How much have you had to drink? How many of you have been drinking?”

The fellas began to wake up at this point, and I replied: “Nothing, officer.”

“Then is there any reason you nearly killed me by driving past me in the right lane?”

“Oh, I’m sorry, I’m from the UK. I didn’t realise that was a law here.”

I gave him my UK license and my international driving permit. He suggested that international driving permits aren’t valid in Ohio, which is of course false, but I wasn’t inclined to argue with him. He then asked me to step out of the car and prove my sobriety by following a pen with my eyes. Satisfied, he let me go back to the car, but insisted that Marshall drive instead. Again, we weren’t inclined to argue. Nonetheless, he wrote me a ticket, and I now have a court date in Ohio. I can avoid this by paying a fine, which I’m as yet unsure of. If it’s over 100 dollars I will not be paying it, and they’ll no doubt put out a warrant for my arrest in Ohio. All that will mean is that I can’t return to Ohio, which I’m completely fine with.

Marshall is now driving us to a motel, where we can finally shower. At said motel, I collapsed very quickly into sleep, then woke up earlier than everyone the next morning in order to groom myself. I shaved my beard, brushed my teeth, washed my hair (no shampoo, still) and changed clothes. I feel like a new man. The rest of the morning we spent driving to our campsite in the Blue Ridge Mountains, stopping only for gas and food for the day. I did the entirety of the drive, which was mostly standard, until we turned off the highway into the back woods of Virginia. I’ve never seen country roads quite like them; they’re so shaded that it was dark in the middle of the day, so winding that 35 was my absolute limit, and so narrow that I had to bring the car to a crawl whenever I passed someone. They’re beautiful though, the epitome of cool rally road.

We have now arrived and the others are putting up the tent whilst I take a dump. You see, I have no desire to shit on [REDACTED], and the coffee I just drank to fend off my caffeine withdrawals has made sure that this won’t be an issue, flushing me out entirely. I am so immensely excited. All of us are. Alfie is bouncing off the metaphorical walls. Our site is 30 seconds from a lakeside beach, the sun is out, and the forest is dense. Marshall and I have finally made it to the fabled forest. I’d better squeeze hard so I don’t hold us up.

Paddling in a giant clay bowl, mucking around, getting sludgy, watching the eagles and the stars. We watched the sun turn to the sunset turn to the Milky Way. I can die happy now.

That’s all I have to say about our day, as I feel explaining it in detail might take away from the memory a little. It really was incredible, though. Also, Marshall has convinced me that living on a sail boat is the best thing he can do with his life. Good for him. (Editor’s note: that’s exactly what Big Boat wants him to think).

After that day, we bombed it back to Marshall’s house, where we ate some home cooked food and crashed hard. I slept 12 hours last night. Now we’re doing the general maintenance we need to do to end the road trip. We sorted things with the mechanics regarding the front bumper falling off, and we’ve made the necessary preparations to pay my Ohioan ticket. We just ate at Shake Shack, and we’re about to crack on with dinner. Everyone is in fairly good spirits, but I feel that the reality of returning to reality is beginning to set in. These things are inevitable, though.

I’m taking what is likely my last dump in the United States for a good while, so I think I’ll finish off my account. Picking up where I left off, we made dinner for Marshall’s family, which Alfie decided ought to be Cornish pasties so that the Coles could put their new brown sauce to good use. Of course, I don’t like pastry, so this wasn’t ideal for me, but I was fast asleep when the decision was made so I can’t necessarily complain. We bought the ingredients at a nearby Trader Joe’s, effectively America’s Waitrose, then grabbed lunch at a Shake Shack. Shake Shack sauce is a real treat, and their shakes are predictably great. After this, we started on dinner. I decided I’d make oven chips, as I’m no baker and have no interest in making the complicated filling of a pasty. Marshall made mushy peas. Everyone seemed to enjoy the food, and it felt nice to give them something back after they’ve given us so much for the past few weeks. That night we boozed fairly hard, then went out to the park to {REDACTED]. I collapsed pretty quickly when we got home.

The next day, we had to deal with the car. The outside was as caked with mud as you would expect after driving 6000 miles through national parks and dirt roads, and the inside was as grotty as you’d expect after four twenty somethings lived in it for two weeks. First, though, I made us all pancakes, as we’d bought a box of Bisquick to have on the road but never got round to it. I have to say, they turned out pretty well. The cleaning went smoothly too, and we rewarded ourselves with the hot dogs we’d bought for the night we [REDACTED] but had been unable to cook due to our lack of fire. In the evening we cooked dinner again. Well, I say we cooked dinner, but really Eliah cooked it with some help from Alfie, whilst Marshall made guac and I entertained his grandma. Dinner was a fantastic butter chicken, so fantastic that Marshall’s tremendously white family devoured it. For desert, Ann made us the same blackberry cobbler that Marshall made for me a few months back. It’s served with an incredible orange and brandy sauce, and man, this thing is a delight. Again, I was tremendously pissed by the end of the night, but I fought the buzz off so I could pack my bag ready for the next morning.

It's now the next morning, and we’ve breezed through security at JFK. We now face a two hour wait until we board, followed by the 6 hour overnight flight. Everyone else is dreading their return to university, but I’m returning home to unemployment. What a great feeling.

Nothing of any note happened on the plane, and we were all so dazed by sleep deprivation that I doubt any of us could recall details if we tried. All I know is that the four of us finally parted ways outside of Manchester airport around 8 am on the 8th of September, nearly overcome with emotion. I love those three fellas, and I hope we’ll be talking about this trip for the duration of the beautiful and lifelong friendships that Marshall prophesied on my first day at St Andrews. As always, roll on Road Trip 2 baby.

Courmayeur - Ski Trip

Barbados [Unfinished]