Niagara falls, 7th day

I wake up very early with a beautiful feeling, maybe it is the lake shore, after all I was born on the shore of another lake. I drive up from Geneva on the Lake to the next town which bear a native sounding name Ashtabula, I stop on the shore where there is a coffee house, it is about 7 30 in the morning and the coffee place doesn't open until 8. A solitary fisherman looks at me with that look that fishermen give you, "are you going to bother my fishes and my peace?"; a tractor is cleaning the beach, I touch the water expecting freezing water, it is warm, not less than 18- 20 degrees, it is now or never, I put on my swim suit and throw myself in the water, which is clean too. At 8 o-clock I am the first and happy customer of the coffee house.

Back on the I-90 the noise at the front of the car is getting bad, I ask advice at the first rest area and pull over at the next gas station. At the back there is a garage where a lame mechanic welcomes me, he evidently does not deal in non-American cars. The place contains some of the Americana that one dreams to find in the USA. His diagnosis is clear, it is a wheel-bearer, the front right one. 260 $ and few hours of work. I am glad I have found him, he is clearly competent and honest. In less than three hours the car is back on the road and drives perfectly again.

My early start has turned into a late day. What the hell at this point I want to break the day in full. The next sign is a welcome center for the Niagara Falls, I pull over and get instructions.

As I arrive in Buffalo, the weather changes, a huge storm is over the city. When I get to Goat Island Car Park at the Niagara Falls, the rain is pouring down.

There they are the Niagara, from the top it is difficult to evaluate the dimension, but when a boat approaches them from below, you can appreciate how gigantic they are. Water, water, when was I in the desert? three, four days ago? I wander in the park for about one hour, before heading back to the car.

The rest of the day is driving on the I-90 till late to get as close as possible to Boston, where tomorrow morning I need to resume my scholarly clothes for a few hours. When I approach Springfield MA, I decide to pull over, it is about 10 pm I am very tired, but most of all , I want to sleep in a Springfield before going back to Europe. This is my last chance. I wish there could be Moe's pub round the corner.

day 6, south and then north again

Last night I slept, south of Chicago, to avoid being stuck in the morning traffic, the motel was in a place with a funny name on the I 65 that will take me down to Indianapolis where I will rejoin the I 70 that will take me to Columbus where I have a meeting for lunch with N a long time friend of mine. I am in the state of Indiana, and the landscape continue to be dominated by cornfield and by another plant which I am not able to identify. However in relation to Colorado where this central flatness begun, the number of trees has continued to increase, and so has the presence of water. When on the 70 I enter in Ohio, the landscape more or less remain the same. The skyline of Columbus is the usual series of skyscrapers. My lunch appointment is in a neighborhood north east of downtown, a sort of upscale suburban village with restaurants and shops. For the first time I eat at the Cheesecake factory a well known chain of restaurants, renown for their cheesecake that I forget to taste, the salad was not bad.
After lunch there is a decision to take, which way to the east coast, I have three option , the I 70 which will continue east to NY the I-80 which will proceed 50 miles north and pass north of NY, or the I 90 that will take me to Boston. Checking my mail I find out that a pamphlet I wanted to read is waiting for me in a library in Cambridge Massachusset. Thus the decision is taken: after traveling south from Chicago to get to Columbus, I will go back north to get to the 90. As I drive in the evening light, a noise is becoming evident, it comes from the front. Looking at the map I set my mind in sleeping on the lake Erie. It should be nice to touch the water of the Great Lakes. There is a village on the map, it is called Geneva, and has its little seaside resort, Geneva on the lake. I think it is perfect, last summer I passed on my motorbike trip to france and switzerland near the lake of Geneva, this summer I sleep in Geneva on the Lake. I should be there around sunset. As I leave the 90 to get to the coast I look at the houses, many are not well maintained, crisis? Decadence, or just the local culture. I missed the sunset on the lake just for minutes. Geneva on the Lake turns out to be a summer resort with gambling and family attractions, many bars and restaurants are biker friendly. I choose the sleaziest one, run by an Italoamerican from Campobasso.

Chicago, day 5

The goal of the day is reaching Chicago in the afternoon so to visit it. Iowa is an infinite theory of cornfields and cows fields with the occasional small forest to break the sequence. The bridge over the Mississippi is under revision, thus I have to get round Davenport through a southern junction. As soon as one sets into Illinois, there are lots of road work to slow the pace of the car. Finally I get to Chicago around 5 pm. The lake side drive is a rather impressive way for a first contact. Driving north, the skyscrapers on the left , the beach on the right. It takes a while to find an outrageously expensive park for the car. Then I set off for a walk downtown. It is humid and hot, as it has been in the last two days. After driving two days among caws and corn I arrive in the capital of the Midwest. I follow the advice of a friend: strolling along Michigan and going up to the Signature Room bar at the top of Hancock Tower. I start with the latter. The elevator takes no more than one minute to go up to the 96th floor, then you are there, on top of the world, which is flat around you, both the water and the land till the horizon.
Walking in the city, at street level, I am reminded of what the adjective urban is meant to feel in its most extreme, that is Metropolitan, London, Paris New York. After few months in Los Angeles this is quite shocking. I can say now, I never had this specific feeling. LA stands really apart from the other metropolis. Chicago however has its own specific feeling. Let me put it this way. It is monumental, punctuated by statues, quite overwhelming in the beauty of the skyscrapers. This is somehow the Chicago that in home to Batman, its dark knight. Then there is the magnificent and luxurious city, made of an endless superposition and juxtaposition of palaces and skyscrapers, a city that shows its sheer wealth with unashamed pleasure. It made me think of Venice, the richness of the individual palaces, the many facades that the city presents to the world, the view from the lake, the one from the river, the one from Michigan Avenue. It shares something else with Venice; there is a specific source of wealth that has made these cities rich, in the case of Venice it is the commerce of spices, in that of Chicago, cows, in neither of the two there is an explicit acknowledgement of this basic fact. In simple words, where is the monument to the burger?

Entering Midwest, day 4

The day starts with an oil change, in the outskirit of Denver. In the waiting room they show the US open of golf. They were also on in a diner two days ago. Golf must be more popular than one imagine. A short drive north to Boulder where just under the mountains, where I have a coffee with T a colleague met at the Huntington. Downtown Boulder is a lovely are with coffee houses and restaurants. Leaving Boulder around 1 pm I drive north for few miles and then eastbound to reach the 25 north and then the 34 east to reach the I 76 that will lead me to the I 80 in direction of Chicago. As soon as I leave the mountains behind me a new landscape sets in. It is a well known one, the flatlands of the Midwest. Caws hanging on the field alternate to cornfields or to some other form of cultivation. There is nothing to see. It is as vast as the desert, but for reason that are hard to explain, not as exciting and of course lack any sublimity. When I stop at the first gas station I am struck by the heat. Humidity must be very high, close to 90 or 100 %. I remember the same sensation getting off the airplane in Cuba. A pool of liquid is dropping from under the car. Damn, they have done something wrong at the oilchange!!! Under the hood, everything looks fine. I am worried. What could it be? I touch and smell it, definitely water, with a car scent. As I am still checking I notice that other cars produce their pools too, the air conditioning, that’s what it is. Relieved I resume my journey.
Nebraska’s green is a little more intense, but basically the same, the only thing to do is to follow the activities of the caws as the afternoon pass, they eat they ruminate, they doze, they eat. Eventually evening sets in and I am relived of this never changing landscape. As I enter the urban area of Lincoln on the 80 something tipical happens: I am passing a lorry, speeding just over the 75 miles per hour limit. Since we are entering a urban area, the speed limit decreases to 65, as I am completing the overtaking, a patrol car is standing there and they come and stop me. As I explain the tricky situation I was, I am issued a warning and I continue. However I am driving more carefully. I stop in a place called just passed Omaha, Underwood, in Iowa.

Colorado, Day 3

Entering Colorado is also leaving the desert, the land of rivers and water and forest. A completely different environment from either the mixed environment of Utah and the deserts. As I am crossing the river Colorado leaving Utah I cannot but think how crazy It is that Los Angeles gets its water from this river, two days away from the metropolis. Rather extreme. I leave the I-70 for route 50 which takes in a loop south and east, following the river Gunnison. It is a long detour but it will grant quite remarkable sceneries. The Black Canyon is just north of the 50 and it is a National Park. The view from the top, at the visitor center is one to be remembered, the river flows quite richly down about 200 meters or more. The comparison with the Gran Canyon which I visited 4 months ago is impossible, like comparing an island to a continent. Continuing on the 50 and following the Gunnison one encounters the Blue Mesa Reservoir, an artificial lake. At the junction with the 285, turning north towards Denver, the road starts to climb. Patches of snow covers the trees, the top of the mountains are free of trees, I wonder how high are we getting… When I get to the pass I am unprepared it is at 9346 feet, serious altitude, but one of the lowest passes in this area. This is the Grand Divide, that sets the US’ rivers east or west bound. Stopping in a fancy place near Fairplay called Coyote Cantina full of Americana hanging from the ceiling, a full motorcycle and a statue of a Viking warrior among the most remarkable item. Over a door hangs a chain of beer cans, called the redneck doorbeads.
In the evening driving to Denver I stop at a motel in West Village.

Southern Utah

“If you are driving back, you should not miss southern Utah”, I was told more than two months ago, I am glad I listened to that advice, yesterday drive was incredible throughout the day, with the help of some luck.
Las Vegas’ strip in the morning is like a half empty glass of wiskey looked with hangover eyes, it is hard to look at it. The huge clown of the Circus hotel looks too big and the colourful neonlights structures are dwarfed by the desert sun. One rather hit the road and get away.
However if you want to stop there is no much around, industrial plants for the estraction of minerals, cement from the mountains sides. With some luck, and the help of a sign, GOOD FOOD, I find a diner in a god forsaken place called Ely, near a phantom place called Glendale. It is a diner, like the one you would see in a road movie. Entering it is like entering in a movie set, the blonde, once upon a time pretty waitress behind the counter, the other, stouter, one that only smiles to regular customers, who are mostly large men. Two huge tv screens showing golf and a reality are the vivid reminder that you are indeed in reality. They would not be there if you were in a movie. The diner offer a meat-lover menu. The big-boy breakfast includes a ½ pound ham steak, scary.

The highway 15 is a beautiful ride, but when I leave it to get towards the national park the scenery becomes amazing. The layered rock formations are all red in the great majority, but also white, grey, and white. However, within the desert there is a small river, the river Virgin, which allows for agriculture and farming. John Smith the prophet and founder of the Mormons had pointed to Utah as the promised land and a good section of the population in this area are Mormons.
In spite of this the National Park is called Zion, it is beautiful with its coloured mountains and its rivers. Exiting it means changing shape of desert yet another time, this time is more of a western tipe with large plain and at the bottom this large flat hills.
Driving with the evening sun behind you means having a good lighting of the landscape. Between Salina and Green River on the I-70 there are 110 miles without services, without a town, only the occasional ranch. It is the kind of place where god may give signs: It starts to rain, and a rainbow appear. Driving for about one hour with a rainbow, a full one, in front of you, and driving in the middle of it, in the rain, and lightning in the far back, I do not know why but is a filling experience.

The evening is spent in Green River.

Death Valley to Vegas

I am writing from a trendish coffe shop organic store in the middle of southern Utah, a beautiful valley along a River named Virgin. The valley is green all along in the middle of this huge desert.

But this is today. Now I have to write about yesterday.

Setting off from LA was not easy, both on an emotional level and on a practical level too since there is quite some traffic leaving the city. Setting off on the 210 and turning north on the 15 towards Las Vegas, this was the plan, but as the 15 was quite busy, and Vegas not far I decided to make a detour and drive through Death Valley.

Approaching the area for the first time I saw the water cooling indicator of the car going beyond half way up where it stood the past three months. The air is quite hot. As you get over a some hills and dive into Death Valley the bottom of it, which stands under sea level, is covered in white sand. But there is life, lots of life even in this terrible heat. it is 5 in the afternoon, and the temperature is well over 43 degrees c°

I take a gravel road through what is calle "immigrant pass" the indicator continue to raise. As the road goes up and the speed decreases the hand reaches closes the black zone that indicates (too) high temperature. A panel on the road says, Radiator water 1 mile, the water was not there. After a couple of miles I stop and wait, hood open, for a quarter of an hour. Finally I make it over the pass. After some time I get on the route 90 again. And it takes me to Zabriskie Point!!!

A coyote has stopped in the middle of the road to eat a run-over reptile. I stop and wait for it to finish his meal and leave me going over my way. This is the first coyote I see. I am very happy I have seen one.

Driving through death valley to emerge back to new (fake) life in Las Vegas is sort of ironic. So I am very happy as I get to Vegas just as sun has set and neon lights are taking over.

Mine must be one of the cheapest motels on Vegas strip. However, it has a wedding chapel, two white limousines parked in front and the doors painted in pink. No wireless.

I walk all the way on the strip, which is made of these giant hotels/casinos/theme parks, Sharah, Circus, Treasure Island, on the stroll tons of visitors and tourists and lines of peoples offering cards of the flourishing prostitution industry. When I arrive in the one copied from Venice I can hardly believe it, the houses, the bridges, the gondola, S Marco. The gondolieris are singing italian songs, and the tourists are clapping their hands, as their gondolas slides through crystal-clear water.

The Paris one does not look much like Parisian street, more like austria or the netherlands, but the effect is good enough. And the crepes are real.