Sunday, May 30, 2010

In the spirit of academic musing

It is my hope that by blogging I am going to come up with some ideas.

So here's the general premise. We have a basin. That's the "biggest" measurement for essentially, a valley with a river/stream in it that all tributary streams drain into. These tributary streams, even down to the littlest ephimeral (short-lived, maybe only a few weeks) streams, each have their own "mini-basin," if you will. There are, of course, terms for all the sizes of basins, with the size of basin we will work on being about 10 km^2, which qualifies it as a watershed.

In this basin we have transects. Transects are sampling "lines" that have been put in by researchers; they usually run along the paths of easiest access and are generally parallel to one another. The amount of transect lines is determined by the amount of plots per line (and the size of plot) which usually comes from a calculation for desired sampling intensity. These intensities are usually not very big; at Clemson, we aimed for somewhere between 1.5 and 3 %. Then again, that was very standard terrain, with large portions of the samples being loblolly plantations.

At each point on the transect, a circular plot is constructed through the very high tech (not) method of the BA prism. Essentially, you take a prism out into the field with a desired diameter, stand at the middle of the plot, and look at every tree on that plot. If the tree through the prism, is not "disconnected" (you look at the trunk), then the tree is considered "in" the plot and measurements are taken. If the tree is disconnected, you do not consider it "in" the plot. The idea is that by measuring the trees counted "in" and out by the prism, you get the right distribution of smaller trees (which will be "in" when they are closer to you and not in when further) and larger trees (which can be "in" at further distances) for an expansion of the data from your plots to reflect on the samples as a whole. This sounds tenuous, but many foresters in the 1960's made their fame by calculating this way versus total enumeration (oh god, say it isn't so) and finding no significant difference.

Well, our plots are different here, a bit. First of all, they have more variation, and second of all, there are sensors within the plots themselves to measure very interesting stuff, like sapflow, air temperature, soil moisture, etc. Many of these measurements can be accessed remotely, however, they have to be "calibrated" by hand. For example, you can calculate remotely what the soil moisture content is, but you need to be on site to see how much of the soil is a nice thick O-layer of litter, which of course contributes to this moisture.

So what's the question to answer? The proposal is to establish a "budget" similar to an accounting budget of carbon assets (pools) and liabilities (fluxes). Carbon assets are measurements (in Mg C/hectare) of carbon in biomass (separated by grade from foliage to fine roots), litter/slash/swd/snags/downed snags/submerged snags, and soil (separated by fraction, which has to deal with its buoyancy, which relates to surface area per soil "particle" and fraction composition (mineral). This, of course, isn't just something you plug a "carbon-o-meter" into a tree or dirt to get. Some of these measurements, like the carbon in the O-layer of soil, are relatively easy to figure out (figure out the fraction of carbon in organic material, which is SOM/1.72), and you've got the weight of the SOC (soil organic carbon). Measurements of SOM are available from data which we can get wireless. Other measurements, such as C in biomass, including the tree bole, are harder to get, but can be determined in a similar way, and allometry (using species specific equations to determine the amount of biomass in say, the leaves, based on the amount in the bole, which is essentially just its volume-- pretty much like finding V of a cylinder, plus some annoying stuff dealing with forestry units (standards for how you measure V are different depending on which units you want to use).

Just like in accounting, if you look hard enough, you can calculate all your assets. But it's harder to determine your liabilities. Your liabilities change depending on the length of the term that you are evaluating, who you owe, what the interest rate is. Let's say I want to know how much the atmosphere "owes" the leaves in C. Do I look at seconds? Minutes? Days? Years? If I look at a longer term, then I have to consider-- shade leaves will take CO2 in a different manner than sun leaves. In some seasons, CO2 uptake is greater. Trees, like people, store up for a "rainy day"-- so tree health, individually, is important. Not to mention species composition, air shed, diameter, canopy cover, leaf area, and isotopic signature. All of these factors come into what to use to look at photosynthesis for just the leaves of the tree.... obviously all are important, but where to start? Do you start with the basics of photosynthesis and then work out-- looking at a "perfect system" and then deduct for flaws in LAI, isotopes, air shed... or do you start by looking at measurements of atmospheric CO2 and seeing how these change over time, and then trying to pick up how much of this is taken by plants based on what is taken by soil or litter....

In a way, I allude this question to having a really nice piece of art but no house. You want to display the art, but you need to figure out how-- do you build the house around the art, or do you build the house, and then try to fit the art in. Either way, you have nice art and you're getting a house, but it's the method of getting from A to B that makes the question hard to answer.

Saturday, May 29, 2010

Cool pic

In keeping with my general useless lack of blogging, I present to you:

http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/8/82/Orbitalaltitudes.jpg

Sunday, May 23, 2010

Another day in Oregon

Until the 27th when I am back online, my daily or twice daily trips to free wifi will have to do.

Today I did what I am doing "best"-- spending money on random crap. Well, not random crap-- stuff I need, for example, a chair to sit in. Still, all this junk adds up-- jeez, it's a great way to be kind of stressed out. My highlight was a little drive to Powell's Technical Bookstore in Portland, which has the best math books section I have ever seen. I don't really have money for extra books right now, but I did chill there for a while wishing I did-- there is a whole aisle (about the size of a supermarket aisle) with shelves to the ceiling of nothing but books on linear algebra and... "group theory" (I am not sure what that is, but the next aisle over had "number theory" and "statistical physics" so I guess it relates to one or both of those?) I scored a sweet poster-- a map of the moon with all it's craters and their sizes. Pretty cool! I guess a map of the moon poster is not "necessary" but it does take up wall space-- and I have a lot of it.

I also enjoyed a fairly strange conversation at Lowe's

Me: So, I need a really, really big whiteboard, or something that will work as a whiteboard.
Guy at Lowe's: Uh...
Me: I have heard that melamine will do the trick, but it does not work.
Guy at Lowe's: Why do you need a giant whiteboard?
Me: Well, you see, I am married to a theoretical physicist and I love math, so I need a big whiteboard so we can do lots of expansive math.
Guy: Oh! Okay! Alrighty then! Well, how big are we talking?
Me: We're talking Ising Model big. 2-D Ising model big. *gives guy a 'knowing' look*
Guy: Oh, that's big. I am not sure we carry something that big....

As it turns out, they don't even carry whiteboards. But I was fairly amused by the fact that either this guy at Lowe's knew what an Ising model was, or at least he was pretending quite well that it was a standard size measurement. Maybe I will start measuring my height in terms of Ising models, too.

Still working on this giant whiteboard thing. I am determined. My next idea is to paint the back of a plexiglass so that I can write on the front and have a backing. What may be even cheaper is to test this on a small one, first.

Saturday, May 22, 2010

The House Strikes Again!

The house of major evil proposed giving me a stroke that would destroy all my major brain functions, but the house of minor evil instead suggested that all my attempts to blog be not recorded because Google Chrome had an Oh, Snap! moment (i.e. "crash") and of course, the minor house won.

I'll make this quick, as I just rented "Taken" and Liam Neeson may hurt me if I don't get to watching him. Today I learned how to bike commute successfully and how to transport mega stuff on my bike. I thought long and hard about what bike to get; in my heart I really wanted a road bike again, because they feel like a natural extension of my body. However, after driving around Corvallis for a while, I realized that this would be a bad choice. The roads here get a lot of rain damage and although it is a very biker friendly town, I am not sure I am confident enough in my "riding WITH traffic" skills to really bike it like that. Road bikes are fast and efficient, but very hard to get going from a stop because you have to fix your balance. If you are carrying a load that would be hard, especially on rough streets.

So I opted for a hybrid/mountain. It's not a hardcore BMX bike but it certainly could handle dirt and trails, and I've been tweaking it a little to actually do the opposite; I'm tightening it up to get a little more horizontal vector and a little less vertical. I've equipped it with a nice seat rack to carry stuff, and today I successfully travelled about 10 miles (6 of which were in the rain) with a full rack of produce, water, plunger, etc.

I have learned an important lesson about rain-- I need to buy some undershirts or something. It really chills you to the core when it's on your jacket and you are making a headwind on the bike. When I'm not riding, its fine, but the wind is cold. Although over all I think it feels very eco-friendly to bike-- I am really loving the idea of doing most of my major travels within the city that way-- it seems "right" or something. I mean, it's not for everyone, but it seems like a little way to do my "part" or whatever that is.

Anyhow. Enough about me. It's time for an evening with Liam....

Oh, in other news: I actually cooked something (what?!?) Yes, I got a slow cooker for $9.00 in CA and I proceeded to put cabbage and tomatoes and ACV into it. Yep. 7 hours later I had real German KRAUT of my own. The legit kind. Okay, so maybe the cooker cooked it. BUT I CHOPPED THE CABBAGE.

Friday, May 21, 2010

Hello Oregon

Yesterday I entered Corvallis, OR. As expected, it is 45 degrees and rainy here. Which will be really nice-- when I figure out what to do about a small problem with my apartment--it has no shower curtain rod. Hmmm.

Monday, May 17, 2010

16 miles of rain in the enchanted PNW

I woke up early because I could tell it was going to rain. I guess I haven't lost "my touch" yet for sensing rain, as I hear will happen to me as I stay in the west, or maybe it's just that rain follows me around, so I sense it always. I don't know. In any case, there my diurnal clock went at 6 am whispering... "it's going to rain... go outside... it's going to rain."

Who can turn down a slightly rainy morning at fifty degrees? I thought for a moment of my days plans: not much, other than to try to do the Jackson Mountain trail at Muir Woods. Damn good plans, eh? It seemed only fitting that I might as well get an early run in at Mt. Tamalpais State Park, as well. I've been itching to run there since the last time I was here. I grabbed a gas station coffee, some gas, and a bagel and meandered up Hwy 101 to Muir Woods. It was a good day at Muir Woods at 7:15 am. No one was there. I put on my Sauconys and my Arcteryx and let the rain come down on me as I hopped, ran, and jumped over rich mollisols. In the distance, there were a few houses, painted in dull sea colors with white siding. Past that, the pacific ocean, barely visible through the fog. Deers played around as I ran, not at all afraid that I was about to mow them down. I'm not sure when I'm going to get used to that-- Pacific deer, ever time I have seen them, are fearless. Not harmful, just fearless. I guess that's how deer are supposed to be?

I thought as I ran, I think maybe at some point I'm supposed to feel homesick. I kept trying to will it on myself. "You're never going back," I thought. "You're never going back to that place." It didn't seem to work. All I could think of was the last chapter of Narnia. The story is something that the four kids (main characters) have just fought this epic battle in Narnia that they were called from our world to fight. The battle is over but only thanks to Aslan, who has brought them to this new world. The new world is really awesome-- they can run up waterfalls, ride the talking horses, eat the fruit from the floating gardens, etc. So they're just enjoying this new world to the nines and then they see Aslan just hanging around. They get kind of upset, right, because every time Aslan appears it seems like they are going to be sent back to our world (which they call "the Shadowlands") So one of them asks Aslan something like "I guess this is it and we're going back to our world now?" And Aslan replies that there has been a train wreck and in fact they are now permanently in this new world, where they will be and be happy forever.

Actually, looking online, he says, "The term is over: the holidays have begun. The dream is
ended: this is the morning." Then it goes on to give the paragraph that used to fill my eight year old body with some kind of hopeful tremble (and it still does, admittedly):
"And as He spoke, He no longer looked to them like a lion... All their life in this world and all the adventures in Narnia had only been the cover and the title page: now at last they were beginning Chapter One of the Great Story which no one on earth has read: which goes on forever: in which every chapter is better than the one before."

That is what I felt on the mountain. Maybe there is supposed to be some kind of longing, but how could I miss anything when I'm running through the coastal mountains in the middle of a PNW rain- "storm"-- it's far too beautiful.

You are probably wondering where the other seven or so miles comes in. I did make it to Muir Woods, and although part of the Jackson Mountain trail was closed, I knocked back most of the Salmon and Hillside trails in a few hours and got to be amongst the redwoods. When I was a kid I had a CD called "cloud forests." It was just a CD of rain and bird noises. I remember trying to imagine what it was like in the cloud forests-- I was in one today-- the answer is that it is magical. I could barely stand to go inside my car to head back through the city for some navigation practice, except that I was kind of hungry again and I dreamed of having a giant bowl of kiddie cereal with some berries in it. And it was good. Sixteen miles and blueberry toast crunch mixed with mixed cheerios and pineapples and soymilk was downright stellar.

I keep thinking I'm going to get up tomorrow and have to go to the airport and fly back to the southeast. I'm almost scared when I get up that being here forever is too good to be true. I know it sounds stupid, but whatever. It's kind of like learning to see a new color or something. You know, you can't really describe it because your only context is the other colors, but it's definitely there, and great, and you never knew it was coming, but now that you can see it, the world looks completely different.

Right on. So much lameness above... but so much truth.

Tuesday, May 11, 2010

A short but epic post

I haven' t posted in a while during the last few days of adventures. Obviously there have been many adventures to be had in Denver ( :) ), the I-70, SD random trip, and in Utah, which could take a while to detail, so instead I will really tell the most awesome of the awesome stories, which is also known as THE ADVENTURE TO THE HOUSE OF EVIL.

(right, I know, you say, but you are supposed to be on a "honeymoon" of sorts enjoying all of life's pleasantries, to which I say, well, when you've got a husband who also shares a love of awesome adventures, you find yourself able to tell tales about the HOUSE OF EVIL without batting an eye to the complete irony of the story. Or perhaps batting an eye and then making an ironic note of it. In any case, I will say that I am lucky and undeserving but extremely joyful and grateful.)

So there we were, in Denver again, looking for the great bastion of road travellers-- free showers and laundry. It is a legend long told in the world of travel that there are places with free showers and laundry facilities, but it is truely a myth, just like Man-Bear-Pig and the Sasquatch and getting an accurate prediction from weather.com. Therefore, we instead found "relatively cheap showers" and "relatively cheap wash" in a great State Park (the oldest in the state, actually) in Denver called Cherry Creek Park. The park was expansive and glorious, with lots of roads for running and many laundry machines, and a place to remember that having an afternoon of sun and yoga is sometimes just as good as an epic adventure. Having relaxed "to the max" we headed westward on the I-70 through the Rocky Mountain Pass.

It is a fact that most interstates are terribly boring at some point or another and I-70 may not be a great exception, but the Rocky Mountain Pass is outstandingly interesting. Imagine riding a roller coaster through heaven with the best companion you can imagine and you may be getting 1/10th of the way close to what I-70 in the Rocky Mountain Pass felt like. It is absolutely surreal. It goes up and up to over 11000 feet high, and you actually lose your sense of "flat." Were it not for the tachometer, I would have presumed that the pass had many up and downs, but in fact, it appears to be mostly "one big up" with "one big down" at the end. And it is mostly an "up." In fact, here in Utah, we are still about 5500 feet high, meaning that we have not fully descended, albeit the temperature is hotter.

As the sun set we drove through the mountain towns I've always wanted to visit-- Vail, Breckenridge, Aspen-- I felt my strength returning. The mountains fulfill me, I guess. I don't guess, actually, I know. Mountains. They're something else. Breckenridge had a huge lake in front of it, and the town was nestled in a mini-valley. Ski lifts climbed the slopes of the mountains, empty in the evenings, but still warm and lively. It was cold, maybe 38 degrees or so, but it felt really warm and nestling.

When the sun was down the pass got more treacherous, and it was time to stop for the night. My tremendous ability to sleep means that when it's night time, I pass out faster than I can control, and so we looked on the map and found the Sylvan Lakes State Park. Actually, I lie. I found the Sylvan Lakes State Park and take full responsibility for its failure to be awesome. It appeared to be right next to a town of Evil... I mean, Eagle.

Eagle is also known as Traffic Circle Capital of the World, and as G drove (I will not take credit for driving the awesome mountain pass-- I would have definitely inched through it at 25 mph scared to death I'd run into a cliff), we continued to encounter Traffic Circles. Sometimes they were even interconnected Traffic Circles! Finally we came to a sign for Sylvan Lakes State Park, and drove down a nice "flat" road past farms. After 10 miles, the flat road dead ended into a gravel/dirt FS road. A sign indicated a campsite up ahead, so we continued to drive. Every so often, we passed a fairly ominous looking "viewpoint" with a name like "BEAR EATS YOUR FACE GULLY" or "BEAUTIFUL FLOWERS MEADOW OF PLEASANTRY" <-- scary, I know! Along the side of the road were white birches-- first of all, why are white birches in Colorado? They are a New England species. Second, white birches looks-- well, awful. They had no leaves, and they appeared to be bones growing right out of the ground. It was a bone forest in the dark.

As we drove, I grew scared. I remembered stories of bears that I was told in Wilderness Safety prior to Clemson, and all I could think was, surely something is going to get us tonight. Yes, I am a wuss. I complained more than necessary about this, mostly trying to vent the fear from my heart, my OCD needing great reassurance that yes, in fact, no bears would be having us for dinner tonight. Deep in the woods, we encounted no campsites, only many SUVs high-tailing it out of the woods as fast as possible. Finally, we turned around and headed back to an open area near the front of the woods. We noted that we had climbed up in altitude a long way. How much climb? Too bad GPS didn't want to work out there. Must have been that place. We came to the open space. "Pleasant Meadows," it said.

I looked up above my feet on the dash. They were crowned in Goretex Salomons. I let out a rather unpleasant exclamation. In front of us was a house... but it was not just any house. It was a house of EVIL. I will try to describe it without touching on the aura of terribleness it gave off. It was a brick house with a half-way collapsed tin roof. The windows were boarded up and the house was fenced off. "NO TRESPASSING" signs were tacked on its walls. To it's side lawn was a smaller, yellow-green shack. It was also fenced off and boarded up in the same way. White birch, China-berry, and sawoat grass grew all around it. G concurred that this was in fact the scariest house known to all of mankind. We quickly hauled out of there, trying to laugh off the terror that was the HOUSE OF EVIL (and it's friendly shack, the HOUSE OF MINOR EVILS). Yes, it was indeed a haunted place if you believe in such a thing. I think I don't, but if I were to, that was it. You could write a movie about that place. And it would be scary. M. Night Shalaman would probably be scared.


Needless to say, we're safe in Utah now, at a coffee shop, with sore joints and happy stomaches. Yesterday we went to an epic steak house. My joy at bread eating was realized as I ate probably some of the most excellent prarie breads ever.

I am tired. I am not usually tired, but I also don't usually move all the way across the country and get married. So it's really the best kind of tired, the kind that you feel on an overcast day at four in the afternoon, when you put on some quiet music and think about how heavy the sky feels. I must say so far this is probably the most epic trip of all the trips I have taken.

At some point during this trip I thought of a minor epiphany. There were many epic views to be had and it occurred to me that as I look at an epic view I can't really capture it all in a picture, or in words, or even in my mind, but if I focus on one part, I can kind of grab that part and describe the rest in context. I think that's how really awesome things work-- you can't possibly describe their grandeur in a little way with words, instead, you find and enjoy little bits of them at a time, using that little bit as a metonymy for the whole. I realized also that this reflection extends to people-- and suffice my corniness to say that I believe that a certain fellow travelling companion of mine reminds me of a very awesome view-- and that I believe I have many metonymical and enjoyable experiences to come. It's cool to think about travelling around the whole world and being able to bring your home and what you care about with you. I am not sure I can really understand it well enough yet, but it's sort of like the end of a really great movie, when the hero rides off into the sunset, but maybe in this case, the hero isn't riding alone.

Okay, well, enough of the "corn" for now. After all I am out of Nebraska. Finally! :)

May I also note that it's raining in the desert. Now that's cool.

Monday, May 03, 2010

Far to the west of Big Loins, Arkansas

West of Junction City, Kansas was blank. Ahead, there was a thin greenish-brown strip of prairie, and occasionally a low hill, but everywhere else there was sky.

Sparky had said she expected the plains to be boring. The plains are boring, but it's not the endless green and brown grasses that make the high prairie beautiful; it's the sky. Growing up in the Southeast, surrounded by glass and steel in the cities, and a sea of tall, dense trees in the country, I never saw this kind of sky. I remember I'd see descriptions of places like Montana and West Texas as "big sky country," and I don't think I really got what that meant. The sky encompasses everything in the western plains -- there's no trees or tall buildings to shrink it, and as you drive west, the horizon recedes farther and farther away, until you think you can see forever, across the dwindling barren line in front of you...

"Well," I said, as the Suzuki barreled up and to the west, "it's a hell of a lot better than Big Loins, Arkansas."

Sparky rolled her eyes. "Osceola."

"What?"

"The hotel we stayed at was in Osceola, Arkansas."

"Oh, right," I agreed amiably, staring at the sky. "I mean, it doesn't get much worse than Areola, Arkansas -- tiny, noisy room with obnoxious neighbors staying 10-to-a-room, broken wireless, floods, tornados, the only restaurant in town is a McDonald's..."

She smirked. "Pretty upset about that, hm?"

I-70 in west Kansas is flat, and completly, utterly straight. It reminded me of an old Bill Cosby joke that he figured it was ok to go to sleep while driving if the road was going straight, the car was going straight, so what could possibly go wrong? I-70 west makes you believe it. But it does climb -- Denver is a mile up, and by the time we'd passed through the city and started ascending into the Rockies, we checked on her GPS and noticed that we were well over 8,000 feet. On the map, there were three promising campsites on highway 40, past the tiny town of Empire. As we drove, the mountains we passed were wilder and taller, and draped with snow. It slowly dawned on us that, since the ground right next to the road had snow on it, we were going to be in for one cold night. The thermometer on the Suzuki read 39 degrees Fahrenheit, and falling rapidly. This alarmed me somewhat, as I have a 40 degrees minimum sleeping bag; anything below freezing would have been a long, painful night, even before factoring in the icy winds blasting through the passes.

I wasn't quite sure how to mention this. I mean...it should be simple, but Sparky's a tough-as-nails forester, with a remarkable ability to fall asleep in 10 seconds flat, and remain blissfully asleep through anything short of getting hit by a bolt of lightning. I'm not usually prone to stupid displays of machismo, but who wants to think he's a bigger wimp than his girlfriend, right?

Fortunately, she provided a neat exit from my self-imposed doom. "Don't you have a 40 degrees minimum sleeping bag?" she asked, gingerly.

"Um...yes."

"It's 39 out," she pointed out, "and dropping quickly."

"Yeah," I agreed, grinning. "This promises to be a fun night!"

"Why don't we go back and camp at lower altitude? It would be better if you didn't freeze to death."

I congratulated her on having such a wonderful idea, and wholeheartedly agreed. We wheeled the car around, and drove back to Denver. We downloaded directions to a campsite in south Denver over the internet, and, as is our custom, promptly got completely lost.

I frowned, my head swimming from the hundreds of miles we'd driven over the day. "Wait...were we supposed to get on highway 6, or 6th avenue?"

Sparky stared unhappily at my chicken-scratch directions. "I don't know," she grumbled. "My stomach hurts. This campsite is all the way across town. I'm incredibly out of it. Maybe we should just stay at a hotel tonight...?"

I wasn't too hard to convince, so we checked into a Days Inn, conveniently located next to a prison, which evidently has lousy enough security that all the highways are decorated with signs reading "DO NOT PICK UP HITCHHIKERS, STATE CORRECTIONAL FACILITY LOCATED NEARBY." In fact, I had a hunch that the scary-looking motel next door might actually be the state correctional facility...

I mentioned this to the desk workers at the Days Inn, who both responded with hearty agreements and slightly-too-amused laughs. Undeterred, we stumbled to our room, exhausted. C'mon...what could possibly go wrong with this plan?

We're not in Kansas anymore...

Actually, that's a lie. We're still in Kansas. But I had to use the one quote about Kansas that I actually know.

I thought since I am awake maybe I would put a little blogination about the epic journey so far. The journey began with a drive across highway 20 through Bama and Mississippi. This is my synopsis of the journey:
- From Dunwoody to Carrollton everything looked like Atlanta.
-From Carrollton to Memphis everything looked exactly the same. Not like Atlanta, but exactly the same. There were various low-grade hardwoods lining the side of the roads (sweetgums and maples, mostly, a few blackgums, sumacs, and sourwoods as well) and some sort of half-alive fescue strewn with weeds. After passing through Birmingham, which was not such a bad looking city, we really didn't pass through much else. Tupelo is in Mississippi. Tupelo is also a southern word for the genus that blackgum is in (Nyssa). For example, you might hear people talking about Swamp Tupelo, and that's a kind of tree. Funny how trees are everywhere! Anyway, Tupelo has something to do with Elvis, I think, because there were many Elvis signs and stuff around there. But the town was kind of non-existent. Past Tupelo is Memphis. I am not sure why many singers like to walk in Memphis with their blue suede shoes, but I wouldn't walk in Memphis; it's kind of scrubby. I mean, I think there are probably more abandoned buildings in Memphis than there were lived in ones. It was kind of sad, actually, seeing all those abandoned places...
But the real epic place was Arkansas. It was dark while we were in Arkansas so we didn't see much of it, except for crossing the Mississippi, and that seemed pretty cool. Port of Memphis seems like a veritable trade center and the port on the Arkansas side didn't at first appear to be much less exciting. There were those huge cranes like I have only seen in Duluth Minnesota and in Charleston-- very cool-- and the really neat suspension bridges with the steel crossbeams. So we got through much of Arkansas before getting really tired and just pulling off some exit; we had no idea what exit it was or where we were but there appeared to be a selection of low-grade motels. When I awoke in the morning it was 4:30 am and the sun was already starting to rise. I was on eastern time so this was the 5:30 am I was used to in my time. I decided to go walk around a bit to see where I could run. I couldn't see much so I just started running down the one and only road that was there. It was a flat, straight, east west road which I later learned was highway 140. The experience was at best surreal. To either side of me appeared to be water as far as the eye could see and in between the streets, water. On the shoulder where I was running were all these toads. I mean, not just one or two toads, but like ten toads per square meter. Enough that I almost worried about stepping on them. As I ran, the toads were jumping off the road in front of me into the water. It seemed kind of like being in one of the Biblical plagues. When I got far enough down the road I came to a town of Osceola, AK. This is, as the sign to the city proclaimed, the home of THE FIRST NASHVILLE COUNTRY STAR whose name was Buddy Jewel. Other than that, there was nothing really in Osceola, AK. I am not sure what that sign meant but I think there is a TV show called nashville country star, and so I guess maybe it's like an American Idol or something?

We awoke in Osceola and G was asleep so I went to the town to find some foods. There was really very little there. Luckily I had with me a loaf of yeast bread baguette, and the top part was not moldy, so I ate that, and some of the great berries from Chinatown, and also a strange kind of cereal bar which was supposed to be Golden Grahams but it was pretty nasty, so I only had a bite or so. In other words, I ate much of the marginally healthy stuff and needed to replenish the epic chubby one with some MCDONALDS. I put this little vignette here to discuss the dialect of those in Osceola.

Me: "I'd like a bacon, egg, cheese biscuit meal and two medium coffees."
McDonalds: "Hrrrmurrrnycurrmrrsyuuuwaneeeenurrrcurrrfeh?"
Me: "Uhm... how much?"
McDonalds: "I say-uhd, hurr murrrny currmurrs yuuu wan eeeen urrr currfeh?"
Me: "Creamers? Uhm, just throw a few in the bag."
McDonalds: "Thuh bay-ugh? Urrrr wan-eyt turr gow?!"
Me: "Yeah, something like that."

They say that in literature you can tell the elite southern from the southern backwoods by the presence of the letter "r." "Elite" southern (cities like Savannah, Charleston) eliminate the "r" altogether. Southern backwoods over emphasize the "r." I offer the above as support to the linguistic arguement.

With the sun up I learned that the great water fields of Osceola were actually not lakes... but flats of bogged over pig doo-doo as far as the eye could see. And with the sun up, the whole place began to smell like it was on the same level as giant fields of pig doo-doo backing in the summer sun. So we quickly booked it out of that joint and headed on up the great highway to St. Louis.

St. Louis, I think, is the first thing that looks different from Atlanta over. It is a really cool town. The buildings are kind of old and brick and there is a huge arch, and the Mississippi River is running through it. There was a cardinals (baseball) game on while we were there so many people were out at brewpubs having classic lunch fair. We went to some really classic little american place with a great, authentic baseball atmosphere. Cardinals game was on a lot of TVs. And they had what was probably an entire head of lettuce in my salad. Excellent, go STL!

After STL we headed west for approximately forever. Missouri is a bigger state than one would think. We finally got through Kansas city, which I think is the second cool 'gateway' to the west. As soon as we passed into Kansas it was BAM! change of landscape. The land begins to roll here; the dirt is black because it is mollisols, and that was hugely exciting to me-- real MOLLISOLS! The best soils! Everything is ridiculously lush.

We planned to stop in Topeka/Google, but we missed it, and instead found ourselves in Junction City, which is where we are now. This place is really neat; just down the road is a classic western town with the old stone construction. There are just these awesome precision ag farms everywhere around here. When I think of ideal farming in my head this is what I picture; it's really neat to see it for real. I like Kansas.

Today's journey will get is into CO, who knows how far. We've got at least 4 days there to explore the rockies and such, so it should be awesome. Then it's north to WY, Montana, and Idaho for a bit before cutting across northern Nevada and into SFO probably around the 15 or 16. We'll chill there a few days and then I'm headed up to Corvallis to move into my new home; AKA drive back and forth to Portland many times buying furniture and trying to figure out how to fit my bed into the subcompact!