Aili MacDonald with Crab
Waimanalo Beach
Waimanalo, O'ahu, Hawai'i

Besides the typical 80 degree weather, Christmas in Hawai'i isn't so dissimilar from the mainland. We have a traditional Christmas lunch with the relatives after opening gifts in the morning. As is custom, I am always the latest to rise, and my family patiently waits for me to roll into the living room before opening gifts. The highlight of this year's presents was a new pair of cargo pants from my sister to replace my "uniform" which had accompanied across 35 states this year.

After a leisurely lunch, it's off to the beach. You have snow, we have sand. You have cold, we have warmth. You have ice, we have surf. See, not so different at all.

My Sister
The Contemporary Museum of Hawai'i
Honolulu, Hawai'i

Back home in Hawai'i for the holidays with the family, and my sister insisted that we go up to the Contemporary Museum to look at some prints for our mom, but more importantly to try to take a picture for her belated holiday cards. This particular installation is composed of a ton of branches from some native plants (i.e. guava), and although I don't if she'll select this particular photo, it's my favorite.

The Last Supper
Pizza Hut
Washington, PA

I left New York on August 4. I've traveled nearly 18,000 miles. I've seen 35 states. I've gotten one speeding ticket.

My windshield needs to be replaced. I need new glasses. I have to go get my teeth cleaned at the dentist.

I've eaten more fast food and beef jerky than I care to admit.

My lower back is a mess.

I've listened to the John Mayer CD more times than most teen-aged girls, and many more times than a heterosexual male should.

I basically wore the same clothes the whole time (t-shirt and cargo pants).

I took my photo at Pizza Hut with the camera that's attached to my laptop.

Now it's time to rest until the weather warms up again.

And then the last 13 states will be mine...

Hope Train Station
Birthplace of Bill Clinton
Hope, AR

A modest house sits next to the train tracks in Hope, Arkansas where Billy Blythe grew up. Billy's father, William Blythe II was killed when he was thrown from a car into a ditch while Billy's mom was seven months pregnant. Billy's mother subsequently married Roger Clinton, and young Billy Blythe eventually took his step-father's name and became William Jefferson Clinton III.

Without a husband, Virginia Blythe and Bill were forced to live with Virginia's parents, Eldrige and Edith. Virginia went off to nursing school in Shreveport, LA, so Bill was raised in the early years by his grandparents. Clinton's grandfather ran a small store in the racially segregated town, and was one of the first to offer credit to the black population. Seeing his grandfather interacting with the blacks during a time when segragation and racism were alive and well in the South allegedly gave Clinton an true affinity for the black community.

The home is now joined by a visitor's center that is filled with memorabilia from the Clinton years, and the town is also adorned with likenesses of Clinton, although "likeness" is a generous term given the disimilarity to the former President. And despite all the indiscretions of the former President, the people of Hope seem to be proud of their little piece of history.

My Broken Windshield
Caruthersville, MO

The average piece of windshield is composed of two pieces of glasses that sandwich a piece of polyvinyl butyral, giving the glass over 1000psi of tensile strength. So really, breaking a windshield takes a tremendous amount of force. But a semi kicking up a small rock flying at a vehicle traveling 80mph (er, 65 mph) could very well do the trick, and in the past week, I've somehow managed to crack my windshield twice.

The first was a small crack in the lower left that managed to grow about 1/2" per day until I got to the auto-glass shop in Oklahoma City. The technician told me tht the crack was much too large to repair and the windshield would have to be replaced. But, he noted, the strength of the windshield was not compromised because the laminate was still in position.

Then today, a rock flew at my car creating a loud pop sound, and suddenly a nickel-sized crack appeared in the middle right. Ah, the perils of traveling on the highway. Fortunately, I have a comprehensive, zero-deductible policy for such an occasion.

Incidentally, I-55N from Little Rock to the MO border is the fastest stretch of highway I've traveled on, with vehicles easily averaging 90mph with no cops in sight.

Donkeys for Sale
Rosedale St.
Hostton, LA

There isn't much going on in upstate Lousiana besides gambling. Shreveport, like many states, circumvents the law restricting land-based casinos by permanently attaching a ferry boat to the Harrah's hotel downtown. This makes for a three-story, extremely long and narrow casino. But even on a Monday night, patrons could be seen in a filled casino losing money at every turn (I couldn't possibly be talking about myself, now could I?).

You can tell the authenticity of a southern BBQ joint by the number of trucks in the parking lot. The number of camoflage hats is also a dead giveaway. I was probably a bit out of place at Padnuh's BBQ with my bright orange Patagonia raincoat, but no one minded, as everyone was engrossed in their BBQ. I did a repeat of Houston by ordering brisquet and sausage, and sadly, the Shreveport-version wasn't as good, but it was still smokey as hell. I will pretend for a moment that the pain in my heart hasn't been caused by the massive quantities of red meat I've consumed on this trip.

I headed off towards Arkansas, and had the opportunity to drive the two-lane "highway" through upstate Louisiana in search of a postcard for my sister. And it soon became apparent that there isn't much noteworthy in these parts, just a lot of empty towns with derelict one-story structures, and lots of people selling junk on the roadside. But should you ever need to buy a donkey or some worms, you'd best do yourself a favor and head down Rosedale St. in Hostton. I can only surmise that the worms were for sale based on inference. But then again...

Road Kill
Radio Station Rd & LA84
Mansfield, LA

Like the ubiquity of the Golden Arches around the roadsides of the US, you can't escape the foul sight of road kill. Dogs, cats, deer, elk, rabbits, wolves, they are all represented as flattened, two-dimensional representations of their former selves. And I can't help but wonder about the circumstances of the hit and runs that I've encountered. I can understand hitting a stray cat on the side of the road, but when you see a dog splayed out on the freeway, I speculate about the idiot who allowed their dog to jump out of their car, or maybe the back of their truck. Dogs might be man's best friend, but we certainly aren't their best friends.

Running into roadside stands selling fruit, vegetables or flowers is fairly common from Maine to California. So I wasn't so surprised to see the familiar white tent that so many vendors use while driving through Cleveland, TX. But I was puzzled as I rounded the corner and saw "WORDS" in bright red. A few seconds later, the signed revealed itself, and I was still utterly confused because it read "SWORDS." Why anyone would need to pick up a sword on the side of the road is beyond me. I should have stopped to ask.

Gulf of Mexico
Galveston, TX

The beauty of traveling to new places is crushing old preconceptions. I had a notion that Texas was a very homogeneous place with little culture and a lot of bullshit Texas-size pride. And sure, Texans have a lot of pride in their state and their history, but Houston is an interesting place. Very large asian and middle eastern populations co-exist with the caucasian and hispanic populations, so much so that I saw signs in multiple languages beyond just English and Spanish. Then there is the culture. Houston boasts a very vibrant museum scene, and Menil Collection is one of the larger museums, and one that I had never even heard of before.

Heiress to the Schlumberger oil fortune, Dominique and her husband John, collected one of the largest private art collections in the world (valued at between $75 and $150 million), and in 1987, the Menil Collection opened with over 15,000 pieces of primarily 20th century works in a building designed by Renzo Piano. Beyond the main exhibition building, there is also a non-denominational chapel designed by Mark Rothko with architect Philip Johnson, and a Byzantine Chapel with frescos on permanent loan from Cyprus, from where they originated in the 13th century. The collection and the setting are staggering, and definitely worth the visit.

It so happens that when I was in Dallas, I emailed my friend, Dr. Amit Sarma, who I thought had a fellowship in Austin. But in fact, he was a fellow in oncology in Houston, and he informed me that my other friends, Jeremy and Gretchen Zucker were visiting him that weekend. So I bypassed Austin and made my way to Houston, and was treated to some homecooking, and Amit's crazy home theater system. We also went to Goode Co. BBQ the following day for lunch. The Texas BBQ is so different from the stuff I had in the Carolinas...all ketchup-based, and the real flavor comes from the smoking. Delicious.

Since I had already dipped my toes in the Pacific and Atlantic Oceans on this trip, I figured the Gulf of Mexico was the last large body of water to hit. So I took the 70 mile trip southeast to Galveston, walked out onto a stone jetty, and dipped my hand in the water. It was cold and salty for those that were wondering. But it felt good to have done it anyway.

Sunset
Alfred P. Murrah Building Memorial
Oklahoma City, OK

Until September 11, 2001, the Oklahoma City bombing had been the worst terrorist act in our nation's history. Today on the same plot of land, stands a dramatic, but serene memorial to the men, women and children that lost their lives on April 19, 1995 at 9:01 am. When I was a child, I couldn't understand how something like a piece of music or a sunset could make a person cry. I couldn't understand how people could be "overcome with emotion." But life experiences change all of that. Experiences contextualize the events that happen to us every day. And as I approached the memorial, I started to feel my chest tighten and my eyes watering. I had witnessed the worst terrorist act in US history, and this one was no less tragic.

I remember driving across country from New Haven to LA in May of 1995 when I passed through Oklahoma City via I-40. I argued with myself over whether to stop to see the site, still uncleared...I looked at my watch, and I passed through without stopping. I regret that decision even today.

A shallow pool filled with water sits between two towering walls, and on a still day like today, acts as a mirror for those who come by to visit.



168 empty chairs sit adjacent to a reflecting pool, representing the lives lost. Smaller chairs for the children.



As I walked away with a heavy heart, I noticed a crowd gathering at the museum next door. I wandered over to find that I was only minutes away from witnessing a rare copy of the Declaration of Indepence being delivered as part of the traveling US Post Office exhibit. As a local high school band played the Stars and Stripes, two postal employees carried the hard-shell case housing the document to a celebratory crowd. Such a strange day it has been from witnessing Dodge City to the Oklahoma City Bombing site to watching the Declaration pass in front of my eyes.





A strange, and wonderful day to realize our storied history.

Roadside Table
Buffalo, OK

A curious feature of the US highway system is the prevalence of roadside tables. A blue sign marks the one mile mark before these small, often covered picnic benches appear just feet away from speeding traffic. In 1919, a young highway engineer named Herb Larson, who had campaigned to save old trees along the budding highway system, was frustrated by the lack of areas to picnic and cook while enjoying nature. His contribution was the creation of roadside tables. I haven't actually seen anyone using the roadside tables yet, but maybe that's because it's about 40° outside.

As I passed highway workers in Kansas and Oklahoma, I noticed that all of them waved at me. And in fact, I think one of them was upset that I didn't wave back. I thought to myself how terrible New Yorkers are, with our reluctance to even say hello to a neighbor. A little further into Oklahoma in Fort Supply, however, I saw a sign that indicated that the highway workers were from the corrections facility. A sign a few miles from the jail read "Hitchhikers may be escaping inmates."

So maybe they weren't just saying hello after all...


The back of the truck reads "Haulin' Liquid Chicken" and then in smaller type "INEDIBLE." I'm not sure what it is, but my BK chicken sandwich with light mayo tasted really good today.

Boot Hill
Boot Hill Museum
Dodge City, KS

For the second year in a row, Dodge City won't be on my Top Ten Most Fragrant Cities in the US list. Along with Harley, TX, Dodge City smells like a big, nasty cow. But it wasn't always that way...

As the white settlers moved west and started the trade industry, they took advantage of the Santa Fe Trail that had been established by the Native Americans. Not pleased that their land was being invaded, the Native Americans started attacking the convoys that came through their territory. The US set up Fort Dodge as a westward outpost in 1865, but while the trade lines boomed, the traders were still succumbing to the superior fighting skills of the Native Americans.

In response, the US Goverment decided to call on men to slaughter the buffalo herds on which the Native Americans relied on for food, clothing and tools. The slaughter of millions of Buffalo led not only to the decline of the Native American stronghold on the area, but also the near extinction of the buffalo.

In 1872, Dodge City was born to manage the rapidly growing cattle industry, and along with the creation of the Atchison, Topeka and Santa Fe railroad lines that ran on Front Street, Dodge became one of the largest western outposts. With the large population of cowboys and their associated behavior, crime became a problem within the town leading to its notorious reputation. Men were shot and killed and often buried on Boot Hill, so named because men were buried with their boots still on. But lawmen like Bat Masterson and Wyatt Earp became legend for their tough crime fighting ways, which led to the popular phrase, "Get the hell outta Dodge."

Earp and company were so successful that they ran themselves out of a job, and Earp eventually left Dodge. In 1885, a cattle quarantine law destroyed the cattle industry, and Dodge City turned to the more peaceful business of farming. These days, however, cattle has come back along with farming, and dairy farms and slaughter houses are abound. The acrid scent of cow permeats the air in many parts of the town, and gives visitors a new reason to "get the hell outta Dodge."

The Drive-In
Sonic
Guyman, OK

Next to apple pie and freakish entertainers like Michael Jackson, what could be more American than the drive-in? Although the drive-in conjures up images from the 50s with rollerskate girls serving up shakes, the drive-in experience is still alive in chain-restaurant form care of Sonic - America's Drive-In.

Of course, you need a lot of cheap land to set up a place where cars can pull up in droves (cars, droves, get it?), but space isn't really an issue in the midwest. Push the button to order, and a few minutes later, a happy Sonic employee brings out your food. If it's warm enough, they'll even give you a tray that hangs off the ordering contraption. Since it was freezing today, I was given a bag with my toasted bacon cheeseburger, and cold fries. But you can't beat their fountain soda with crushed ice. I love crushed ice, and it shows.

Buckaroo Motel
Tucumcari, NM

The two lane highways that run across the US are littered with small towns that are only a few blocks in length, and whichc seemingly exist for the benefit of the few truckers that pass through. Tucumcari is a New Mexico border town that leads into Oklahoma, and like the other towns that dot the blue highways off I-40, it's littered with derelict motels. But a few survive.

I passed the Buckaroo Motel, and then pulled an illegal u-turn to take a picture. An "Open" sign hung on the door of the flourescent-lit lobby, but no one was inside. Who are the people that stay in places like the Buckaroo?

A little further down the road, I pulled over for gas and some washer fluid. As I went up to the registered, I encountered my first beef jerky dispenser. This wasn't a jar filled with Slim Jims. Oh no, this was a plexiglass cabinet, sectioned off for the different flavors of jerky that were available in what I can only describe as sheets. A pair of tongs rested on the handle. As I pulled up after taking the photograph, a man gave me the most puzzled look -- a "why is that boy taking a picture of jerky" look. You know the one.

The man in line in front of me was buying "Big Truck Trader," and was going on about how he had sold "the only 4-wheel drive station wagon in Amsterdam" that day. Then it was reminiscing about how he used to have a foreign sports car with the driver's side on the right, and how he'd have fun with the cops when they would pull him over in the rain and have to squeeze next to the guard rail to talk to him. Big Truck Trader...

I have, for the most part, not sampled the cuisine that the country has to offer. This is mostly because the majority of the country has no cuisine to offer besides McDonald's and the occasional Applebee's, which we New Yorkers don't quite consider fine dining. But Santa Fe was different -- a place of culture, and natural beauty, so I felt compelled to treat myself to something other than a #6 Super Size.

The Old House at the El Dorado Hotel is the only 4-star restaurant in New Mexico. I'm not sure who's handing out stars and what they mean, but we're programmed to think 4-stars is pretty darned good. And you know what? 4-stars is pretty darned good. While the salad left a little to be desired, the crab cakes and the sirloin were incredible. I tried in vain to peruse the dessert menu, but my stomach was about to burst. Just another bite, sir.

And then, of course, in the morning it was off to the spa. Damn those who will mock my metrosexuality, I think spas are cool, and 10,000 Waves was definitely cool. With a Japanese aethestic, the spa featured massages and baths, and accolades galore. There is something very cool about going into a therapeutic bath set in the outdoors. Ah, nature.

Getting Kicks
Route 66
Gallup, NM

If you ever plan to motor west,
Travel my way, take the highway, that's the best.
Get your kicks
On Route 66

It winds from Chicago to LA
More than 2,000 miles all the way
Get your kicks
On Route 66

You go through St. Louis, and Joplin, Missouri
Oklahoma City will be mighty pretty
You'll see Amarillo, Gallup, New Mexico
Flagstaff, Arizona, don't forget Winona
Kingman, Barstow, San Bernadino

If you get hip to this timely tip,
When you take that Ca-li-for-nia trip
Get your kicks
On Route 66


Everyone's heard of the Continental Divide, but who actually knows what the hell it is? As it turns out, I passed the Continental Divide driving on old Historic Route 66, so I stopped to ponder and medidate the question...

The Continental Divide
Elevation 7245 ft

Rainfall divides at this point. To the west it drains into the Pacific Ocean, to the east, into the Atlantic Ocean.

Now you know.

Eduardo Rubio
Meteor Crater
Meteorite Crater, AZ

50,000 years ago, a 150 foot meteor slammed into the desert in Northern Arizona. Travelling at 40,000 mph, the mostly iron rock vaporized on contact and left an impact crater 3 miles in circumference and 700 feet deep. In the late 19th century, the crater was misidentified as a volcanic caldera, but in 1902, a mining engineer named Daniel Berringer became convinced that it was actually the result of an impact. He reasoned that there would be an abundant amount of iron buried in the crater (which was very valuable during those days), so he received three mining permits from the US Government. Berringer built a small home at the rim of the crater in 1910, which eventually burned down during the mid 1940s, but the remnants of the house still exist including an old stove.

Despite many drilling expeditions around the crater, no significant veins of iron were ever found, but because Berringer had mined the area for 27 years, he became the owner of the land under antiquated mining laws. Although he died virtually penniless, his family inherited the land , which was eventually leased to a private corporation called Meteor Crater Enterprises, which runs the museum and tours today. The crater has been featured in such movies as Starman and the Sean Connery disaster, Meteor.

In 1964, two American Airlines pilots took a cesna aircraft and flew it into and around the crater only to find that the winds had picked up significantly. Unable to pilot out of the winds, they crashed into the wall of the crater, survived, and much to the chagrin of tourist everywhere, returned to work for the airlines. The wing of the plane still sits on the wall of the crater, gleaming in the sunlight.

Eduardo Rubio is the head guide at Meteor Crater, having taken the job 7 years ago after many years as a Spanish translator for a California HMO. He always vowed that when he was able to go into semi-retirement that he would find a low-key job that would allow him to interact with people and enjoy nature. And that is how he spends his time now.