Vegas: The family wheels

upon a time, when I was still just a wee young little version of the human I am today, I lived in my grandpa's house with a few other family members. It was the hub of the relatives, and every holiday season the extended branches would return to the root and have a massive feast together. It was a large family, so there were many different personalities that could lead to arguments over dinner, but for the most part, it was a jovial and merry time... but after my great old grandpa passed on after an extended battle with illness, the siblings devolved into in-fighting and drifted apart with the years. The family house was sold, grandpa's car driven off to another state, and life went on. Given that I spent many of my formative years living in his house, I was quite close to my grandfather and losing him hurt pretty badly. Sure, I was adopted into the family, and always kind of felt a bit like an outsider (I was the only one in the family with both brown hair and brown eyes, so I was the brunette sheep of the clan) but grandpa? He never let that be the case for long. When my parents would fight, he'd let me take shelter in his room and offer me a cream soda from his private stash, and ensure I got a gift at Christmas. He helped me purchase the car I still have to this day. When it came to my education, he was my biggest champion and encouraged me to get good grades and push to learn more. Life isn't perfect, and neither was he, but he left a strong impression on me as a kid and I credit him for inspiring me to achieve some of the more difficult things I've managed in my life. 

Somewhere down the road, quite literally, my grandpa's car found it's way back to me. Unfortunately, after being driven off by my Uncle (who had, at the time, decried me too irresponsible for the vehicle), things had taken a dire turn for the worse. We were given the car for free, which was exceptionally nice of my aunt to do after sinking her own money into trying to get the car operational again, but we quickly found that she was still inoperable. We made it less than a full block before plumes of steam were wafting out from under the hood, and the transmission completely failed to react. I've no clue what exactly happened to the poor old girl, but she had hardly any miles on her. The Volvo I had prior to my grandpa's passing, however, is nearing 200,000 miles on her original transmission and only recently had her first issues, so I'm pleased to know my uncle's appraisal of my vehicular responsibility was incorrect and the judgment misplaced. 

So these photos serve as a bit of a time capsule. My grandfather drove me to eat chicken fried steak for breakfast in this car when I was just an adolescent, and while it hurt to see it go, we couldn't afford to fix the extent of issues she'd developed. We sold her to a mechanic, so hopefully she's been rebuilt and is on the road again, but I'll always have these photos to preserve the memory. 

Thanks for everything, grandpa. 💖

💙

XOXO,

NAU

Vegas: Firefighters

What do you do when your engine catches fire?!

Well, ideally, you find a safe place to pull over and call the emergency services... In this case, that's what the unfortunate driver of this flaming vehicle had to do. While, thankfully, I've never personally experienced my engine bursting into flames, I have had to deal with it overheating on the regular thanks to Las Vegas's supremely unforgiving summer temperatures. While it's not as hot as the surface of the sun, or Death Valley (doesn't the name say it all, though?), it's hot enough to do some real damage when it's peak summer temperatures out. Given that most vehicles on the road these days are combustion engines, there's a lot of flammable liquids under high pressure and a lot of room for things to go wrong. The car involved here was probably not going to be salvageable to drive due to the extent of the damages, but at least it didn't escalate into a larger fire. Never underestimate the threat of a well-fed fire, or the danger of any fire, really. Las Vegas is a desert and the environment extremely dry, so it doesn't take much of a spark to ignite an inferno.

I don't know about you, but I'm definitely grateful for the firefighters and other emergency personnel that put their lives on the line to save ours. It's not always a glamorous job- sometimes the Las Vegas Fire Department has to roll out to extinguish a flaming shopping cart, or to help someone who's fallen at a casino after over-indulging in the free booze offered throughout the gaming areas to anyone playing. And emergencies can happen at any time of day, too- so there's no rest for the weary. They might stop to grab a quick bite to eat and before their food is ready be called out again, leaving behind their meal and their money. Like I said, I'm grateful for the work they do. I don't know that I'm cut out for it, but my maternal grandpa was an EMT later in life after being inspired by those who saved his life during a heart attack, so I guess he instilled that appreciation into me young. 

Seeing them in action is a good reminder of the service they provide our communities!

Oregon: Morning in Merril

After another night curled up in our vehicles, this time the two of us shivering a little in my Volvo, we unfurled ourselves in the warming sunlight to a bright, fresh new morning in Merrill, Oregon. Mount Hood glistened in the distance, and the bright green leaves were practically glowing in the early morning dew. We couldn't help but explore the area and scope out a nearby grassy field full of mushrooms! I know, mushrooms might not be that big of a deal to most people, after all, they're generally harbingers of rot and decay, right? But for us, they're absolutely fascinating! I've long been intrigued by mushrooms and the field of mycology, but the desert isn't exactly an environment prone to fostering a plethora of fungal varietals.  We found several different fungi popping up in the field, but we're not educated enough to identify them in the wild like that, plus the sheer variety and volume of fungal forms makes it a daunting task even for the well-educated shroom-hunter. 

After whetting our curiosity in the field, and growing more awkwardly uncomfortable as we gained the awareness that we may have been exploring in an actively watched school field, we headed back to the vehicles. Antho ended up making friends with a woman who, quite literally, popped up out of the bushes while he was taking photos. When a local patrol officer rolled into the same parking lot, our mystery friend laughed and greeted him, informing us that there were only two cops for the entire town, and this one was Brian. Our single serving friendly eagerly told us we needed to swing on down to Medford to take advantage of some of those legendary cheap weed deals that legal weed had brought to Oregon before venturing off. As enticing as that offer was, we were more concerned with making it from Southern Oregon to North-Western Washington, ideally before the day was done. That meant a lot of roads to cover yet! I made a quick jaunt to the local market, where I encountered our mysterious friend enthusiastically discussing pregnancy (and a failing bladder caused by pregnancy) with a very-far-along and visably uncomfortable shop-girl, as I paid for our brunches and coffee. 

Freshly stretched, caffeinated, with snacks and rodents packed and ready, we started to hit the road. Started to, anyway. I didn't make it far at all- literally a block or two at most- before I had to call it and pull over. Despite taking my old grumpy girl to a shop in Vegas and throwing more than $600 at repairs, they hadn't actually addressed the transmission problems (refusal to reverse, on-going leak, etc) I had specifically taken her in for. Given her leak, and the fact the shop had happily informed me "she was just low on fluids", we figured the best option was to check her levels, top her off, and try her out. Since we ended up pulling over in a residential neighborhood, we had to park in front of a home... We were quite surprised when within moments of killing our engines a slight young woman popped out of the house nearest us to inquire if we were alright and ask if we needed help. After talking, we learned her name was Diana, and Diana was such a sweetheart! She called up her roommate, who coincidentally works on big trucks, to see if he could help us any but he was still several hours away yet. We thanked her for her concern, and politely declined her offers to feed us, not wanting to be any trouble. I had transmission fluid I'd picked up at one of our previous stops in Reno, but given how quickly I'd needed it after leaving Vegas, I made sure to make it a priority to get more as soon as we hit Eugene, just to be safe. 

Olliver, my co-pilot, was only bothered by the intensity of the sunlight infiltrating his cage, interrupting his nap. Once we had poured a bunch of fluid back into my thirsty old girl, checked her levels again, and let her run for a minute, we tentatively decided to go for it. We'd made it this far, after all, so why quit now? We were on the final leg of our cross-country run, and if we could make it to Seattle we'd be home. Home at last.  

And wouldn't you know it... it worked. Freshly hydrated, Svetty roared back onto the road with all the fury of a Valkyrie.  Onward and upward!

To Valhalla!!!!