Written by Corey

(For a bleeped version of this post go to…..sorry there is no fucking bleeped version)

I have often wondered, while walking along a narrow trail, with a steep wooded or rocky incline next to me, what would happen if I fell. Would I simply slide along until something, say a rock or tree, broke my slide? Once my reverie is broken, I decide it probably wouldn’t be so bad. Of course it’s not something I ever planned on finding out.

Until today. Fuck. Fuck. Fuckity fuck. Without supplying too many details, a grouse had parked along the trail. A little grouse. He looked innocent enough, until we attempted to move past him. He was guarding this narrow path with his fuckity bird life. Oh come on, I thought, we’d come up this several hundred feet of trail and this mother fucking bird was not going to stop me. He called my advancing bluff and made towards me (like a mean mother fucker). Instinct took over and I made a slight quick “run” backwards away from-said scary psycho grouse.

This is where I now have some idea of what it would be like to hurtle down a mountain side. It’s not pretty. It hurts like hell. Those branches and shrubs along a trail will stab and scrap the fuck outta of you. And gravity, especially this high up, will work its physics magic and pull you down. In this moment, all you’ll think is “what is happening?….ouch-FUCK”. Once you stop, and the rush of movement has ceased, and you try to get back up-cuz believe me, you’ll be knee deep in dry brittle shit you never expected to be in-there will be a moment of utter shock.

Life is like this. Walking along on a sunny god damn day, minding your own business and BAM. Down you go.

This post is not a, woe is me post. Not at all. Fuck. I got people at home fighting a bigger fight than a few scratches.

But nothing like a tumble to make you take stock a bit. Shit goes down in this life-sometimes it’s you. The initial shock-the “what the fuck?”, the taking stock, the getting back up and the moving on will hopefully make you stronger. Sure as hell it’s with a bit more fight in you. Which believe me, helped me muscle through the remaining 1,000 feet in a mile to get my sorry ass to the top of the mountain.

I will say though that along the way, the wild flowers were still beautiful. The snow patch we had to cross made my heart race, but I sloughed through. Ultimately the top was glorious and the pizza tasted yummy as hell.

In summation. Fight the fight. Assess the situation. Love and support your people. To believe in this living is a hard road to go.

Corey

Enjoying my cup of coffee. The temperature is probably in the low 40s and several critters, a collared fox, a deer and a hungry crow, have already made their way through the campground. The sun, however, is just beginning to peak over the trees and soon I will trade my sweater, jacket and robe combination for shorts and a T-shirt.

Yet I can’t help but think of Sydney, NE. It is a small speck on the map about a hundred miles between North Platte and Cheyenne. It has, though, a giant Cabela’s right off the interstate. Until 2017, it was actually the headquarters for the entire Cabela’s operation. But then it was bought by Bass Pro Shops which resulted in over 2,000 people being laid off (or about one third of Sydney ‘s population). So now many of the big houses on the hill surrounding Sydney are empty. But the giant Cabela’s remains, almost like a taunt to what used to be.

A couple of hours into our drive and the sky got really scary. It was dark. Like the middle of the night dark and then the rain fell so hard we had to pull over. For the next few hours that rain would come and go. By Waterloo though we had cleared the storm.

If only North West Nebraska had a bit of that rain. Their, a wildfire blew up the night before our trip and very much threatened our beloved Fort Robinson State Park. So much so they had to evacuate campers and close down the park. Luckily everyone got out OK. And for now the parade grounds, Trailside Museum and Post Playhouse (where we had hoped to see Oklahoma!) appear safe.

So we had to make new plans. It cost us a few hours extra driving but now we are in Sydney, NE ready to head up to Dubois, WY. Corey is sleeping upstairs and I’m probably going to have a second helping of that hotel biscuit and gravy combination. Here’s to the road ahead. I’m

The car is mostly packed and I’ve been kicked out of the house. Not for too much longer. It’s kind of a tradition with us. Corey does a deep clean and I help out by going somewhere else. To be honest, most of her effort is just redoing the stuff I did earlier in the day (with her muttering stuff like “you know the dish towels don’t belong in the stove”).

We only half planned out our trip. Mapped us out  as far as Vancouver Island but have no idea how we get ourselves back home. Maybe we don’t. We just crash on David’s couch and let GoFundMe take care of the rest (help Noel and Corey fulfill their dream of leisure).

The first time we headed we were just a bit older than Henna is now. A lot of people gave us advice on that trip. And some of it was even worth remembering. The best was from Ethel and David (a couple in their 80s traveling by RV) who graciously took our photo at a rest stop in South Dakota overlooking the Missouri. They said the best way to get to know someone is by traveling with them. Corey and I were just barely a couple at the start of that trip. By the end we just knew. The same way I just know to stay out just a bit longer.

We love New York. We love Chicago more. But still, we love NY for its high intensity all night vibe, it’s endless walks, the cool AF people who live there and it’s amazing architecture (all spiraling upwards and fueled by the millions and millions of immigrants who have passed through). Hands down the second best city in America.

We spent almost a week in Gotham. And we are exhausted. Honestly the city kicked our asses. But we cannot wait to get back.

Flew into LaGuardia to take a bus that led us to the F Line and we were off to Manhattan. Thank you mom and dad for lending us your timeshare!

New Yorkers love to make fun of their subway. At the Comedy Cellar last night Ophira Eisenberg told a funny story that involved a lunatic scaring passengers on the train. Trust me, it was funny. Another comedian pointed out that no matter what improvements they make, the subway still smells like piss.

New Yorkers also love to ride their subway. Over three million riders a day, all winding their way below ground off to the theatre, dentist, a friend’s house, whatever. And it’s been a heck of a ride joining them over the past few days.

The video was so bad that Fox News didn’t immediately brand Alex Pretti a domestic terrorist. A day later their website talks about “unrest” but not the clear as day, no question about it, execution of an American citizen by an unrestrained paramilitary police force. Let the record show Alex Pretti died while attempting to shield a woman from being tear gassed at point blank range by a gang of ICE officers. He was unarmed, prone on the ground when shot almost a dozen times by multiple officers. Alex and Renee Good and Silverio Villegas-Gonzalez deserved better. All three deserve to still be alive.

Public protest and private prayer both help to heal the soul. Both are likely equally effective at exacting change. Not great at crowd estimates but I would say at least 10,000 people felt the same way. Together we trudged through the snow to listen to speeches and then march down Michigan Avenue. A couple days before they did the same in Minneapolis where it was about -11. Not “feels like” -11 but good old fashioned -11 that feels like Hell has frozen over. And Hell it must be there right now. With 5,000 thugs descended on a city of about 500,000.

Don’t know how this ends but it will likely get worse before it gets better. Eventually though it will get better. At least we have to believe so cause the alternative is just too fucking bleak.

In-between the usual Christmas/Hanukah rush of errands we stumbled upon the Grind ‘N’ Gears Cafe (8030 W Oakton). While neither of us have ever actually ridden a motorcycle, we do appreciate their cool collection of bikes. The shop also makes excellent use of what we assume was  a former auto repair shop. And their couches are super comfy. All of this makes it worthy of being Hennacornoelidays recommended. 

Christmas Eve and the Festival of Lights have since come and gone. Both were made special by having Henna home and the time spent with family. Wishing everyone a Happy New Year!

You can tell the season by the highway sign telling the fine folks of Wisconsin to buckle up on the way to their deer camp. That and the naked trees screamed late fall all the way to Devil’s Lake.

We drove up north to pick up Henna. Along the way we decided to stop at one of our favorite points in the Midwest. The thing we love most about Devil’s Lake is that it reminds us of places far from the Midwest. Maybe it’s the cliffs. Or the boulder fields casually strewn about. But the lake feels much more Colorado than Wisconsin. But then you see a fisherman snacking on cheese curds and are immediately brought back to the land of brats and cheese.

I’ll admit being a bit late to the game on this one. Mitchell ain’t exactly some out of the way hole-in-the wall just waiting to be discovered by the Hennacornoelidays Gang. Going strong at a century +, Lou Mitchell’s is the first, last, second and probably also the fifth word in breakfast dining. Hard to believe then that it took us fifty-two years to finally sit down at the joint.

They brag about their coffee (supposedly the world’s finest) and it’s good. But man, what they do to eggs. Had myself some Eggs Benedict and I probably ruined it for every hollandaise mismatch that follows. That sauce! Oh my. It was thick and giving and, honestly, it kind of made me blush. Corey had her eggs Sunnyside up and both of our meals were served with these perfectly fried up scalloped potatoes. Before you order they also gave us each a homemade donut hole and an orange slice. Even cooler, Mitchell’s is known as “the first stop on the Mother Road” due to it being located a stone’s throw from the beginning (or, depending on your perspective, the end) of Route 66.

Afterwards we walked off of our food. We walked it off so far, in fact, that we gave up on the 10:30 train taking us home. It felt peaceful. Maybe partly because the federal thugs roughing up the joint have taken their goon show on the road. I wonder if, in-between their clubbing pastors, harassing brown people and tear gassing children at a Halloween parade, they were able to take a few moments and really appreciate all the city has to offer. I know Bovino did. You can see it in his joyful grin as he posed with his  henchmen by the Bean. They were having so much fun they even took off their masks (which is actually kind of funny since they supposedly only wore it when roughing up the public out of concern for being doxxed).

They will be back. Four times in force I have been told and in Spring which actually kind of makes them the worst kind of tourist. The kind that stays away during winter only to reappear at the same time as the bars lining up the River Walk. In a way it’s kind of a shame. Would have really been something seeing them trying to skate at Millennium Park.