Towering in the distance—too far, given the wind—was a ship. Yes, we were in the middle of a field in Kentucky, miles from navigable water, but before us was a 510-foot-long, 51-foot-high ship—a life-size replica of Noah’s Ark.
Nevada is a large and empty place. You have to plan your gasoline stops. Don’t expect cellular service. Bring water, just in case.
Your campsite is your campsite, right? Not in 2016, the year common courtesy died.
There was only one thing to do: a pilgrimage to the New Beverly Cinema to see Inglourious Basterds, one of my favorite films of all time.
I rolled across the border into Tennessee with the stereo pumping out the Charlie Daniels Band, as is required.
If you’ve been to the Grand Canyon’s South Rim, you’ve probably had someone tell you, “Yeah, the North Rim is better.” Like a hipster whose favorite band is someone you’ve never heard of, who drinks an obscure beer you can only get in this one shop in Vermont, he can’t be stopped.
The UFO flew a few hundred feet off the ground, and slowly. Steady and flashing lights made it visible in the night sky, and it made a rumbling sound, almost like jet engines. It approached my car, swung around, and flew back the way it had come, in no particular hurry. Then it was gone. The Extraterrestrial Highway lived up to its billing.
The last couple of times I went to Yellowstone in early- to mid-June, it was pretty cold and the crowds weren’t too bad yet. This time, not so much: it was ten degrees warmer, and already crowded. I guess I’ll need to start going in May. Thanks, global warming.
Look, I realize it’s a national park, and there are animals here you don’t get to see every day. I understand that you’re excited to see the bison. So how about, just a thought, if you could pull off the road to take your pictures?
The random things you see.